His head slammed into the roof of the worm’s mouth, and he drove his sword up, through the soft palate and deep into the creature’s tiny brain.
The thing shuddered, and its fangs scraped over Javan’s bare skin. And then the worm was sinking, taking Javan with it.
He’d killed the worm only to be eaten by the lake monster.
His lungs burned for air, and his pulse was thunder in his ears as they hit the floor of the arena. Yanking the worm’s jaw open, Javan struggled to get his arm out of its mouth, unhooking fangs from his skin and tugging his sword free so that he could face the lake monster.
The shadow was gone.
Hands reached for him, and Javan slashed at them with his sword.
He wasn’t getting caught by Hashim’s group again. He’d killed the worm. One hundred points to add to the sixty he already had. Sixty-five if the judge had seen him kill the snake. No one was taking that from him now.
Ignoring the pressure that was building in his head as his lungs strained for air, he plunged his sword through the worm’s tongue and deep into its jaw. Then, using that as a hook, he dragged the creature over a floor now littered with the corpses of the water beasts and a few human corpses as well. When he could hold his breath no longer, he rose from the water, dragging the huge white worm with him.
The crowd cheered as he stood there, surrounded by blood and bodies, the monster in his hands. He caught the eye of the same judge who’d scored his earlier kills and heaved the worm into the water in front of her.
Fifty paces away, Hashim stood holding the mangled body of the lake crawler and glaring at Javan. The prince glanced around the arena, noting the other competitors who still remained upright. None of them would meet his eyes.
Not even the man who was still wearing Javan’s tunic as a bandage.
A bell tolled, deep and sonorous. “This round is over.” The warden’s rough voice echoed across the arena. “Scores will be tallied shortly and winnings may be collected at that time. Prisoners, you are dismissed. If you need the infirmary, the guards will escort you. Otherwise, return to your cells.”
Slowly, every inch of his body feeling battered, bloodied, and bruised, Javan made his way to the side of the arena closest to Sajda and Tarek and climbed over the wall.
His knees gave out as his feet touched the ground, and he went down hard. The stone was rough and cold against his skin, and he lay his cheek against it as he struggled to breathe. To ride out the waves of pain that racked his body now that the distraction of battle was over.
He’d survived. More than survived, he’d put a worthy number of points onto the board.
But he’d only made his situation with his fellow prisoners worse, and he had no illusions. Hashim wouldn’t accept the humiliation of failing to defeat Javan. He’d be coming for Javan—in the near future or in the next round of competition. And none of the other prisoners wanted to be in the middle of it.
Javan was on his own.
Tarek rushed toward him as a guard barked an order to get on his feet and go to the infirmary or be beaten for noncompliance. Quickly, the older man slid his arthritic hands beneath Javan’s arms and helped the prince struggle to his feet.
“Thank you,” Javan said, his chest heaving as he fought to catch his breath. Pain sent a wave of sickness crashing through him as he took a tentative step forward. Gritting his teeth, he moved cautiously, holding his injured arm close.
Sajda stood apart from them, her arms crossed over her chest, her expression cold as he limped past her to follow the other injured prisoners to the infirmary. “What happened to staying near the wall? To not competing?”
Javan met her gaze. “I changed my mind once I learned about the prize for winning.” His voice trembled, and he glanced once more at the audience above him, hoping to see a familiar face. Hoping someone would be staring at him with recognition and horror that the crown prince of Akram had nearly died as a prisoner inside Maqbara.
No one was paying him any attention.
No one but the guard tasked with bringing him to the infirmary.
“I said move,” the guard snapped, pulling a thick iron bar from its place on his belt. Javan barely had the energy to flinch as the bar swung toward him and slammed into his back. Staggering forward, he caught himself on the wall beside Sajda.
Her eyes were chips of ice boring into him. “You’re a fool. And now you’ve put an even bigger target on your back. The infirmary is wasted on you. You’re as good as dead.”
She turned away, calling Tarek to her side. Javan stumbled down a side corridor that led to the infirmary, her words echoing in his head, a prophecy he didn’t know how to avoid.
EIGHTEEN
JAVAN COULDN’T STAY in the infirmary overnight. Not if he wanted to survive to see the dawn.
It wasn’t because the physician was nothing more than an old prisoner who’d once sold medicinal herbs to feed herself and her children on the streets of Makan Almalik. It wasn’t because the cries of pain and anguish from a few of the other eighteen patients scraped against the fragile hold Javan had over himself until he thought he’d scream just to give the helpless despair that had taken root in him somewhere to go.
No, he couldn’t survive in the infirmary because four of Hashim’s friends were also patients, though they didn’t look to be in bad shape, and judging from the hushed whispers that had drifted Javan’s way, he had until the guards locked the infirmary door at twelfth bell before all four came for him.
The old woman had smeared a salve over his wounds and bandaged his arm, though it did little to quell the pain. Every move felt as though there were shards of broken glass beneath his skin.
As the heavy, mournful tone of eleventh bell filled the air, Javan slowly pushed his way off the flimsy cot he’d been resting on since the tournament round ended and got to his feet. He swayed for a moment, darkness swarming his vision, and there was a rustle of sound behind him.
Turning, he saw Hashim’s friends rising from their cots too, their eyes locked on him.
Forcing himself to go as quickly as the pain would allow, Javan stepped away from his cot and moved down the aisle that bisected the row of beds. Shadows stretched long fingers down the stone walls from the half dozen torches lit inside iron cages, and Javan nearly stumbled over a prisoner’s boots left haphazardly at the end of her cot.
“I’m going back to my cell,” he announced to the guards stationed at the door.
One of them glanced between Javan and the swiftly approaching prisoners behind him and said, “Better make sure you’re inside your cell by twelfth bell, or you’ll be hunted down.”