WHAT WAS SHE supposed to do with the new boy?
The prisoners who joined the ranks in Maqbara were either petty thieves, vicious criminals, or poverty-stricken debtors who couldn’t afford to pay what they owed to a member of the aristocracy and who spent their lives in the prison while their families tried desperately to scrape together enough wahda to pay off the debt.
This boy held himself like he owned every space he entered. He met everyone’s gaze like an equal. And he spoke with a crisp polish to his words that sounded jarringly out of place amid the softened syllables of the peasants who filled Maqbara’s cells.
Plus, he was almost pretty, a fact that shouldn’t have offended Sajda but somehow did. His smooth bronze skin, shoulder-length black hair, and brown eyes were a distraction in a place where distraction could get her killed.
“Why didn’t the guards on level nine stop Hashim? Shouldn’t they protect us from attacks?” the boy asked, righteous indignation filling his words.
“They aren’t here to protect you,” Sajda said. “They’re here to protect the warden and keep the prisoners from breaking her rules. And her rules say nothing about prisoners keeping their hands to themselves.”
“It’s dishonorable.”
“It’s a prison.” Sajda shot Javan a glare as she escorted Tarek toward the stairs with the boy right behind them. He met her gaze without flinching, a hint of challenge in his eyes.
Not the kind of chills-down-her-spine challenge she saw in the eyes of Hashim and several of the other prisoners. Not the threatening kind.
More like he was determined not to show fear in the face of her icy dislike of him.
Which would be admirable, except that Sajda’s safety depended on the prisoners fearing her. If they didn’t—if they pushed her beyond the speed and strength she possessed—she had nothing left but her trapped magic. Magic she had precious little idea how to use as a weapon.
Plus, using magic against a prisoner would ignite a firestorm of rumors. It wouldn’t be long before someone put her magic together with the fact that Sajda’s hair always covered her ears and came up with the answer.
Dark elf.
Cursed.
Monster.
If she’d heard it said once, she’d heard it a thousand times: the only good elf was a dead elf.
Sajda had no intention of being a dead elf, which meant the new boy needed to learn to fear her. She knew exactly how to accomplish that. One quick sparring match with her, and he’d see her speed. Her strength. He’d know he was outmatched.
She waited until they’d reached the stalls before turning to Javan and saying, “The magistrate already put your name into the betting pool for tomorrow’s tournament, but of course since you’re an untried competitor, the aristocracy isn’t biting. If you survive tomorrow, maybe you’ll move up the ranks a bit, but now that you’ve made an enemy of Hashim, surviving isn’t likely.”
“You are quite the optimist,” Javan said in his elegant voice, crossing his arms over his chest. “I have no idea what competition you’re talking about, but I’ve had plenty of training, and I’m no stranger to winning contests of sport.”
Her brow rose. “Contests of sport? Who talks like that?”
He frowned. “Who doesn’t?”
“Everyone but you.”
“Aristocrats talk like that,” Tarek said quietly, his eyes on Javan.
The boy tensed, his gaze darting quickly to Tarek’s face before returning to Sajda. “I must have overheard it, then.”
Her eyes narrowed. His hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. The vein at the side of his neck showed that his pulse was beating rapidly.
He was lying. But why?
“I’m sure that’s it.” Tarek gave Sajda a pointed look and said, “We should check on the beasts. Javan can help. His level isn’t assigned chore time until third bell. We’ll just tell the guards on level fifteen not to come looking when he doesn’t return to his cell at second bell—”
Sajda ignored Tarek. “Why are you lying?” she asked Javan.
His body stilled—prey who’d just sensed a predator closing in. “Lying about what?”
“Sajda.” Tarek’s voice was stern, something he never tried with her. “Let’s check the beasts.”
She shot a glare at Tarek. “I’m not turning my back on him. I don’t trust him.”
“He defended me.” Tarek put his hands on his hips.
“He’s lying.”
“We all have secrets. The boy proved himself—”
“The boy hasn’t even begun to prove himself.”
“The boy is standing right here and would really appreciate it if you stopped talking about him like he’s part of the scenery.” Javan uncrossed his arms and stepped forward.
Sajda whipped her arms up and crouched, her body braced for his attack.
Javan froze as he took in Sajda’s defensive stance. Raising his hands as if to show he meant no harm, he said softly, “I’m not going to hurt you. I already told you I would never do something so dishonorable.”
Why did he talk like an aristocrat? Was he spying on the warden? Surely a woman that vicious had enemies outside the prison.
Sajda’s magic bit into her skin as she considered another possibility. Could he be spying on her? Had she let something slip—been too strong, too fast, too frustrated by her restrained magic as the runes in her cuffs glowed—in front of someone? The warden had always warned her that if her true identity was discovered, she’d be killed. Maybe there were rumors about a dark elf in Maqbara and this boy had come to the prison to find the truth.
“Why are you here?” Sajda demanded.
“I was sentenced to prison by the magistrate—”
“Yes, but why?” She stared him down, magic itching painfully beneath her skin, begging for release. “You aren’t afraid of me. You defended Tarek against a pack of bullies. Both of those facts mean you must have combat training, which is rare to find in a prisoner. It also means you must think gaining Tarek’s trust, and by extension mine, will benefit you somehow. And you talk like an aristocrat. Aristocrats rarely get thrown into Maqbara. But here you are. I want to know why you’re here and what you want. If I’m not satisfied with the answer, you’d better pray your training is enough to save you from me.”
The skin beneath her cuffs ached as her magic hissed through her blood, a feral creature anxious to hurt the liar in front of her.
Javan stared at her, the silence between them punctuated by the sand scraping the skylights above and the faint slosh of a water beast in its cistern.
Finally, he said, “I won’t dishonor Yl’ Haliq by lying, but I can’t tell you the whole truth.”
“Wrong answer.” She rose from her crouch, magic burning, arms extended toward him, this aristocrat masquerading as a prisoner and trying to gain her trust.
Did he know what she was? Had the warden slipped up after all these years and told the wrong person just what kind of slave she was keeping in the bowels of Maqbara?
“Wait!” He kept his hands in the air, palms facing her even as she lunged for him.
“Sajda!” Tarek yelled as she crashed into the boy and wrapped her hands around his throat.
Magic hummed through her blood, stinging her palms as it reached for Javan, hunting for his strength, his truth.
The boy’s brown eyes widened as if he could feel the pull of her magic on his blood, and then he brought his arms up beneath hers in a sharp movement that loosened her hold on him and knocked her back a step.
He didn’t wait for her to find her footing.
Pivoting, he swept her leg with his, sending her hurtling toward the floor. She spun into the momentum of the fall, landed briefly in a handstand, and then flipped onto her feet again.
“Let me explain—”
She rushed toward him, letting her elven speed carry her fast enough that he never had a chance to brace before she crashed into him, wrapped her arms around him, and threw him to the ground.
He rolled as he landed and was back on his feet in a flash.
Definitely trained. She was going to have to be more elf than human if she wanted to gain his fear and his truth.
Pouring on the speed, she took two running steps forward and plowed her fist into his chest.
He flew backward, but as he fell, he grabbed the front of her shirt and took her with him.
“Let go!” She seized his wrists, magic raking at her skin, hunting for a way into Javan’s body. His mind. His weaknesses.
A tiny thrill of pain seared her wrists beneath her cuffs as his pulse beat rapidly against her palms.
She wanted to draw his strength and his composure from him and leave him shaking and weak. Leave him begging her for mercy. She wanted to hear the truth spilling from his lips so she would know if she was in danger or if the warden was the one in trouble.
Her magic prickled and hummed, and she imagined turning it loose on the boy with the challenge in his eyes and the aristocracy in his voice.
He dug his heels into the ground and flipped them. She hissed as her back hit the floor, her hands still wrapped around his wrists, his pulse fluttering against the heat of her magic.
“Let. Me. Explain.” He bit the words out as he eased back onto his knees, his legs straddling her waist as he opened his hands to show her his palms.
A gesture of surrender she couldn’t accept while she was at a disadvantage. He’d surrender to her, but it would be because he understood that she could hurt him if he didn’t.
Feeling a faint whiff of regret for his pretty face, she concentrated on her strength, on the magic coiling in her blood, and then she sent her right fist straight into his jaw.
His head snapped back, and he hit the ground. Sliding away from him, she lunged to her feet, hands up and ready. He dabbed at the blood welling from a cut that had opened beside his mouth and then slowly stood to face her.
She frowned. His lips quirked.
“Are you smiling at me?”
“Yl’ Haliq forbid,” he said gravely, the ghost of a smile disappearing, though the challenge in his eyes had been replaced by something warmer.
“I just knocked you to the ground—”
“I knocked you down first.”
Tarek waved his hands in the air. “Maybe you two could stop fighting, and we could hear the boy out.”
“I didn’t actually fall. I turned it into a flip.” Sajda raised her chin to glare at Javan.
“And I flipped us both.” He tilted his head to the side to study her. “You’re fast. And strong. That’s a mean right hook you’ve got.”
She smirked, caught herself, and resumed glaring. “I was holding back.”
He gave her a slight nod. “I believe you. Whoever trained you truly understood how to help you harness your power.”
Her skin went cold, magic piercing it like shards of ice. “What do you know of my power?”
He frowned. “Lower center of gravity since you’re female, but still the power behind any combat move comes from the abdomen.” He glanced at hers, and then quickly looked away, a faint pink highlighting his cheekbones.
She drew in a slow breath, willing the painful itch of her magic to settle. Either he was the world’s best liar, or he knew nothing about her true power. And she’d already established that he was a terrible liar.
“Will you listen to me without trying to kill me now?” he asked. There was a note of deep sincerity in his voice that made her want to walk away.
She didn’t want his story. Didn’t want to understand why, even when she’d thrown him to the floor and punched him hard enough to split his skin, he hadn’t tried to do anything but hold his own.
He hadn’t tried to hurt her.
Either he was after the warden, or he needed her trust for something else entirely.
“I’ll listen,” she said. “But if I don’t like what I hear, I’m going to stop holding back.”
“Understood.” He glanced around them as second bell rang, but they were alone by the stalls. Still, the boy lowered his voice as he said, “I was accused of attempted murder.”
Her brow rose. Murder was the last thing she’d expected him to say. If someone wanted to plant an aristocrat in the prison, a murder accusation against a boy whose every move screamed “give me honor or give me death” was a pretty flimsy disguise.
“Did you do it?” she asked, and waited smugly for him to spin a tale about wrongful accusations and misunderstandings and could he please see the warden to sort it all out?
“Yes.” He held her gaze, a muscle clenched along his jawline.
Misery and defiance warred for dominance on his expression, and she blinked.
He was telling the truth.
“Who did you try to kill?” she asked.
Defiance won. “The false—a boy who stole my life. Took my belongings, killed my friend, and tricked my father.”
“I thought you weren’t going to tell me whole truth,” she said as her magic settled, a smooth heat coursing through her veins.
His dark eyes settled on her, and something in her stomach twisted in a warm, unfamiliar way. “I haven’t. But only because if I do, it could cost someone his life. Someone I owe a debt to for putting me here instead of executing me.”
“You’re an aristocrat, aren’t you?” She gave him a look that dared him to deny it.
“I was.”
He wasn’t a threat. Not to her. If he’d wanted to prove she was a dark elf, he’d have gone for her ears. Tried to push her into using her magic.
Maybe he’d rescued Tarek out of the sense of honor he wore like a second skin. Maybe he’d been trying to gain allies and had heard that Tarek was special to her.
It didn’t matter. She was satisfied that he wasn’t after her, and that was good enough for now. He’d made powerful enemies of Hashim and his crew, which meant that once tomorrow’s arena competition started, the problem of whether or not to completely trust Javan was going to be moot.
No way would he survive what was coming at him.
She turned away from Javan to check on the beasts, ignoring Tarek’s and Javan’s discussion of the upcoming tournament’s rules and then Tarek’s hurried explanation to the guards who’d entered the arena intent on punishing Javan for not returning to his cell by second bell.
It was easy to let their conversation wash over her and float away without leaving anything behind.
It was far harder to silence the whisper of regret that tightened her throat when she thought of the pretty aristocrat lying dead on the arena floor.