Javan had been bitten twice. Blood was flowing. Even if the other competitors somehow found a way to defeat the sand demon, surely it was already too late for the prince.
The boy’s allies reached the wall beneath the warden’s box, shoveled sand out of the way, and revealed a gleaming copper faucet with a mouth as wide as two fists. Wrenching the handle, they cranked it all the way open. Water gushed into the arena.
At first, nothing changed. The creature attacked, its seven necks now carrying the weight of at least twenty-eight heads. Prisoners were screaming, fighting, or lying silent on the sand. The crowd was stomping its feet and cheering, many of them looking at the royal box to make sure their show of appreciation was being noted.
The water sank into the sand, and a large dark spot began expanding from the faucet’s mouth as the water rushed toward the center of the arena. When it reached the sand demon, the creature hissed, all seven necks whirling to investigate the source of the water. In seconds, it was burrowing down below the surface of the sand, but the water was already there.
The monster thrashed, its heads breaking the surface.
“It can’t breathe underwater!” one of the prisoners yelled.
Instantly, those who could still stand converged on the beast, wrestling with the heads, chopping them off and then plunging the necks into the watery sand before new heads could grow in their place.
In moments, it was over. The sand demon was drowned. The crowd was screaming its approval.
And the true prince of Akram was shakily climbing to his feet, someone’s tunic pressed to the wound in his stomach, while he locked eyes with Rahim and glared.
Rahim glared back.
Sometimes when you wanted someone dead, you had to do the job yourself.
TWENTY-NINE
JAVAN WOKE IN the predawn darkness of the infirmary the morning after facing the sand demon, his body throbbing with pain. The monster had torn into his back and raked his stomach open. Every breath hurt, every movement was fire running through his veins.
But worse was the crushing knowledge that he’d failed.
His bargain with Sajda, his allies, and his strategy were worth nothing in the face of the warden’s alliance with Fariq and the impostor. Yes, Javan had survived. But he’d gained no points; the warden was bent on killing him, even if it meant killing everyone else in the tournament; and the impostor now knew that Javan was still alive.
Still a threat.
How long before he came for Javan?
And how could Javan stop him? He couldn’t defeat the warden, the crown, and his fellow prisoners combined. At the moment, he couldn’t even get out of bed.
Darkness bloomed in his chest, heavy and absolute, and he closed his eyes.
Where was Yl’ Haliq in all of this? Where was the steady presence that had comforted and guided Javan for so many years? Didn’t he see the prince, abandoned and surrounded by enemies?
Tears pricked his eyelids, and he blinked rapidly.
Something rustled to his left, and he whipped his head in that direction, half expecting to see Hashim rising from his bed, but the man had been hurt worse than Javan, and he wasn’t moving. Instead, Javan locked eyes with Sajda, who sat beside the doorway, her back against the cold stone wall.
She rose in one fluid motion and came to his side. For a long moment they stared at each other, and Javan couldn’t think of a single thing to say. Finally, she reached past him to a shelf above his cot and grabbed a small bowl and a cup of water. Scooping up a spoonful of yellow-gold powder, she dumped it into the water, stirred briskly, and then sat beside him on the cot.
“Drink this,” she said.
He stifled a groan as he struggled to get into an upright position. She placed the cup on the floor, wrapped her arms beneath his, and lifted. In seconds, his pillow was between his back and the wall, and she was handing him the cup again.
“Turmeric powder,” she said. “It will help the pain.”
He took an experimental sip, and then quickly downed the rest of the spicy drink. Maybe it would help dull the pain of his wounds. He wished there was something that would dull the rest of his pain as well.
She watched him carefully, and he scrambled for something to say. It wasn’t her fault their plan wasn’t going to work. She was caught up in all of it because she’d been loyal to Tarek. He prayed that loyalty didn’t get her killed.
“You should leave,” he said, keeping his voice low to avoid waking the other prisoners.
Her brow rose. “No ‘thanks for giving me some medicine, Sajda’? Or ‘thanks for spending the night in a doorway so that no one tried to kill me, Sajda’?”
“You spent the night here?” His voice rose. “Why would you do that?”
Hurt flashed across her face, so fast he almost missed it. “So that no one would try to kill you when you couldn’t defend yourself.”
He closed his eyes and tried to push the darkness inside him away. Tried to find the thread of hope he’d been holding on to for weeks. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.
“It’s okay.”
“No, it isn’t.” He opened his eyes and met her gaze. “I’m sorry I got you involved in this at all. You shouldn’t be here watching over me. You shouldn’t try to help me with the next combat round. In fact, you need to stay as far away from me as possible.”
Her eyes flashed. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
“I’m not.” He drew in a deep breath, striving for calm. Maybe he couldn’t protect himself, but he could protect her. “You’re right. I don’t tell you what to do. So I’m asking you. Please. Get away from me before my enemies decide to punish you for helping me.”
She glared. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m pretty much all you’ve got. The warden just tried to kill everyone so she could get to you. Hashim might be too injured from the sand demon to hurt you at the moment, but that will change. And that boy in the royal box yesterday seemed very angry when the sand demon died. I don’t think he wants you alive either.”
“No, he doesn’t. They all want me dead, and they’re going to succeed, Sajda.” He leaned forward, wincing at the pain that shot across his wounded stomach, his voice shaking. She had to listen. “They’re going to succeed because they have all the power; and when they do, they’re going to take down anyone close to me. I can’t be responsible for your death. I can’t. I might not be able to do anything else right, but let me at least do this.”
She fell silent, and he stared at her for a long moment, his chest heaving with every breath, his composure fraying as he waited to see if she would do the one thing that would save her.
The one thing that would finish ruining him.
Then she straightened, throwing her shoulders back and raising her chin. There was fire in her eyes, and the runes on her cuffs glowed in the dim gray of the room. Leaning forward, she put a hand on his chest, and licks of heat spread from her skin to his. With one gentle push, he was back against the pillow, her face a few breaths from his.
“I’m not your slave,” she said. “I don’t take your orders.”