The prisoners who were going to compete tomorrow were lined up across the middle of the arena facing the warden’s platform. Their hands were shackled behind their backs, and a row of guards stood behind them holding the chains attached to the shackles.
Sajda glanced at the warden’s platform, expecting to see the woman glaring down at the arena while her accountant readied herself for a flurry of bets on the upcoming tournament round. Instead, the accountant was sitting at her table shuffling parchment while the warden was nowhere to be seen.
The sharp crack of a whip cut through the air, and Sajda whirled to face the prisoners as Javan stumbled forward out of the line, his lips pressed tight against the pain while blood bloomed against the shoulder of his tunic. Behind him, the warden drew the whip into the air again, her dark eye lit with fury.
The guard who held Javan’s shackles yanked the boy back into line, and the warden stalked past him to face the prisoners, the whip held ready.
“You will cooperate fully with everything the bettors ask you to do.” The whip sliced through the air and bit into Javan’s shoulder again.
He threw his head back as he grimaced, and blood dripped down his arm.
The other prisoners murmured, shifting their bodies away from Javan as if worried whatever he’d done to anger the warden would somehow bring the whip down on them next.
What had he done to anger the warden? Sajda held herself still, her magic churning beneath her skin as her mind raced. It was unlike the warden to damage a competitor right before she expected to take bets on his chances of survival. Especially when that competitor had impressed the crowd.
The warden’s voice rang out. “You will show respect and deference to everyone who examines you.”
The whip snaked out, and Javan flinched as it dug into his already wounded shoulder.
Sajda frowned, magic itching in her blood. What could possibly be the point of injuring him before the bettors arrived unless the warden no longer wanted him to have a chance to be a crowd favorite? He was the underdog who’d wowed the audience with his unexpected display of both skill and compassion—the warden could make a killing on the bets people would be lining up to place on him.
“Finally, you will not speak.” The warden raised her whip, and Javan’s chin came up, his eyes meeting her gaze in challenge. “Not a single word. If you break this rule, I will personally cut out your tongue.”
The back of Sajda’s neck prickled with unease. In the five years since Prince Fariq and the warden had begun the tournaments, the warden had never instructed the prisoners to be silent on Exhibition Day.
But in five years, the warden had also never had an aristocrat who resembled the royal family shackled to the line of competitors. She couldn’t do anything to change Javan’s face, but she could make sure none of the bettors heard the refined, elegant polish in his voice. She could make sure no one speculated about the one aristocrat who’d landed himself in Maqbara.
For the first time since Javan had confessed to her that he was Akram’s true prince, Sajda began wondering if he was telling the truth.
Magic hissed and scraped at her as Sajda met Javan’s gaze and willed him to obey. The warden didn’t bluff. His expression was stoic, but the defiance blazing in his eyes sent a cold wave of fear over her.
This is what came of having friends. Of letting herself get close to others. She couldn’t afford to worry about him. He’d leave her, either by dying in the competition or by winning it. She needed to spend her time worrying about finishing her tunnel, deflecting the warden’s suspicions, and making a decent plan for how to get the cuffs off her wrists once she was out of Maqbara.
Part of that plan meant paying close attention today so she could glean knowledge about the world outside the prison.
“Let them in,” the warden called. The guards stationed at the far end of the arena opened the door that led up to the magistrate’s office, and a small crowd of those who took betting on the tournament as seriously as the rest of Akram took betting on the horses filed in.
Sajda went to work. Meeting the visitors as they stepped into the combat arena while the warden climbed to her platform to oversee the bets, Sajda said, “Good morning and welcome to Maqbara.”
A few of them nodded or murmured in response, though most didn’t deign to speak to a slave girl. She continued, “As a reminder, the rules for Exhibition Day allow you to personally examine each competitor for a few moments. Once everyone has had a chance to make an examination, each of you may request a skills demonstration from three of the prisoners and may choose up to five skills for the prisoner to present. I will handle the weapons demonstrations, and the warden has chosen guards to run both the speed and strength tests.”
The group nodded impatiently, their eyes already scanning the line of prisoners, looking for their favorites. Sajda glanced once at Javan, and found him watching the small crowd around her with desperate hope in his eyes. She cleared her throat and said quickly, “The warden has added one last rule. Today, none of the prisoners will be allowed to speak.”
A woman closer to Sajda’s shoulder frowned. “Why not? Questioning them about their background and experience is an important part of making an educated bet.”
A short, round man who stood at the edge of the group said, “It adds to the risk, which adds to the fun. Scared your instincts won’t be good enough, Lady Bah’ Thrayn?”
The woman glared. “My instincts have already made me far richer than you.”
Sajda took note of the woman’s posture, the way her shoulders were thrown back, her hands hanging loosely at her sides. This was how a free woman stood. Not braced for attack. Not scurrying to do someone’s bidding. This was how she took on the world and left her mark.
As the bettors made their way to the line of prisoners, Sajda threw her own shoulders back and strode toward the weapons table, arms swinging loosely as if she owned the prison and had nothing to fear. Unguarded. Unbowed by the weight of the warden’s gaze.
It was like being naked in front of the entire prison, but she had to learn how to do it. When she escaped Maqbara, she needed to blend in.
The morning passed in a blur of activity. Sajda handed weapons to unshackled prisoners, watching closely to make sure they did a proper demonstration instead of turning the weapons against the guards or the guests. Some of the prisoners did a passable job at showing some expertise with the weapon they’d been handed. Some made it clear they’d survived to this point in the competition by sheer luck.
When Javan was hauled to the weapons area, a dozen or so bettors surrounding him, Sajda risked a quick glance at the furious set of his jaw before looking up toward the warden’s platform. The warden was watching closely, her whip clutched tightly in one fist.
“Let’s see what this boy’s got,” one man said. “This might be the one to bet everything on.”