Slowly, Javan turned his back on the royal box and joined Intizara, Gadi, Nadim, and Kali at the edge of the arena, his hands curled over the wooden wall that separated him from the lake of sand on the other side and whatever horror the warden had hidden beneath it. He risked one quick glance toward the stalls where Sajda and Tarek stood. Tarek sent him a reassuring smile, but Sajda’s expression was carved out of stone. He met her eyes for one brief moment, his chest tightening at the fierceness of her gaze, and then he turned back to the arena as the audience took their seats.
He couldn’t think about Sajda or the impostor and his uncle. He needed all his focus to survive whatever waited for him in the arena.
“We have a special treat for your entertainment today,” the warden said. “For the first time in the five-year history of this tournament, at great risk and expense, we’ve brought in a beast of myth and legend from the outer reaches of our own Samaal Desert. Buried beneath the sand is a shy’ tan amarryl!”
The crowd gasped, and Javan’s skin went cold. Sand demons were deadly and impossible to kill. How would setting an unbeatable beast loose against her competitors serve the warden? If everyone died, the competition was over, and her income stream would dry up until the winter tournament.
“A sand demon?” Gadi breathed the words beside him. “I thought those were just in bedtime stories to frighten children.”
Javan had thought so too, but the warden wasn’t interested in frightening children. He looked up at the platform and found her dark eye trained on him. She smiled and reached up to touch the bandage that covered the eye his arrow had taken. Understanding settled over him, heavy as a stone, and it was suddenly hard to breathe.
This was a death sentence.
He swallowed past the thickness in his throat and tried to force his frantic pulse to slow. The warden was working with Fariq and the impostor. Javan was supposed to have died in Loch Talam. When he’d shown up in Makan Almalik and confronted the impostor, he’d been sentenced to death at the muqsila. Instead, he’d ended up in Maqbara, competing for a boon from the one person who was sure to recognize Javan as the true prince: his father.
Of course, Fariq and the impostor couldn’t let that happen. If the warden killed every competitor left in the tournament today, the takeover of Akram could continue without a hitch. The warden would probably receive a nice fee for her service to Akram’s new ruler, and she could mount another tournament as soon as she’d replenished her supply of prisoners.
He was in deep trouble, and so were his fellow competitors.
The warden’s voice echoed across the arena. “As you know, the shy’ tan amarryl has the body of a lizard the size of a full-grown dragon with seven snake heads. It lives far beneath the ground and only surfaces to eat every ten years during a season of drought. Most have never seen one of these creatures in person, but you will get to see one in action today.” Her voice lowered as if she was sharing a secret. “I can assure you the monster is most unhappy at being taken from its natural habitat. I doubt it will die willingly.”
The crowd clapped its approval, and Javan clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking.
The beast wasn’t going to die at all. The storybooks all claimed it was invulnerable to the weapons of men. All Javan could do was hope to somehow survive.
The warden raised her voice again. “Competitors, fifty points will be awarded for every head you cut off, but be careful. For every head you remove, two grow in its place.”
“Listen to me,” Javan said quietly. His allies turned to look at him, their faces blanched with fear. “Grab your weapons and get into formation quickly. We’ll fight off any head that comes our way without cutting it off, if possible.”
“We won’t get any points that way,” Gadi said.
“We aren’t going to need points if we’re dead,” Javan answered. “Killing one head makes the creature twice as powerful. Only take a head if you have no choice.”
“Then how are we going to kill it?” Kali asked, her voice shaking as the crowd stamped their feet and yelled for the competition to start, many of them glancing fearfully at the royal box to make sure Fariq noticed their fervent participation. Behind her, a ripple shuddered over the sand as if something beneath it was moving.
“I’m working on that,” Javan said, putting as much confidence as he could into his voice.
He looked past Kali to meet Sajda’s eyes once more. They blazed with fury, and the runes on her cuffs were glowing.
“Competitors, take your places!” the warden yelled.
Javan turned away from Sajda, grabbed the edge of the arena wall, and leaped into the ring.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“A SAND DEMON? She’s going to kill all the competitors, and the tournament will end before we’ve raked in the bets from the final two rounds,” Fariq grumbled as he took a seat beside Rahim. Below them, the prisoners were crawling over the arena’s wall and gingerly moving to the black flags that marked the location of the hidden weapons. Turning to the closest guard, he said, “Take note of which families are in attendance today and send someone to get an account of how much each family bet. There are several petitions lying on my desk. I’ll need the information to make decisions in the morning. Especially since this will apparently be the final round of the event.”
“We have bigger things to worry about than a silly tournament,” Rahim said, his voice sharp. “There’s plenty of wealth in the royal coffers.”
The crown wasn’t lacking an income. He’d seen the tax ledgers himself while quietly exploring the palace steward’s office during a late night excursion just this past week. It could withstand not getting its cut of a sporting event.
“Fool!” Fariq hissed. “My cousin cut me off from all but a measly stipend seven years ago. This tournament is all that finances the FaSaa’il and our bid for the crown. You can’t take over a kingdom and ensure the loyalty of your allies if you can’t be generous with your coin.”
“The crown is within reach,” Rahim said. “You won’t need coin to finance the FaSaa’il much longer.”
Fariq opened his mouth to reply as Rahim leaned forward to get a good look at the competitors.
A boy about his age strode toward a cluster of black flags, four other prisoners in his wake. He held himself with a confidence and agility that were familiar. Bending to retrieve a pair of short swords, he slowly stood and locked eyes with Rahim.
The fury that radiated from the boy’s body landed on Rahim like a physical blow, and the air left Rahim’s lungs as if he’d been punched. Fariq was still talking as Rahim grabbed his arm, his fingers digging into the older man’s skin.
“Unhand me this—”
“He’s alive.”
“Who?” Fariq yanked his arm free.
Rahim’s voice was little more than a breath. “Javan.”
Fariq’s mouth snapped shut, and he whipped his head toward the arena.
As the warden shouted for the guards to wake the sand demon, Javan lifted his swords and gave Rahim a look that said the boy wanted to use the weapons on him instead of the monster waiting beneath the sand.
“That traitorous guard, I’ll have his head.” Fariq’s voice rose. “I’ll have his family’s heads. I’ll—”