“GET HIM!” HASHIM shouted.
Javan dove to the side, but Hashim and his allies were on top of him in a flash. Pain sang up his injured arm as they wrestled his limbs until they had him pinned between them, each holding an arm or a leg. Javan held tight to his weapon and lifted his bare back out of the water as they crossed the arena floor with him.
Prayers tumbled through his mind, fragmented and desperate. Was this the end? He’d survived the Draconi, the assassins, a death sentence, and a stay inside Maqbara only to be killed by criminals in a tournament that went against everything his father and his kingdom stood for?
It was impossible to breathe the fear out and let courage in. Panic was an iron fist squeezing his chest. Frantically he scrambled for leverage, reason, anything that could stop what was about to happen.
Hashim and his friends might hate Javan, but they wanted the same thing he did. They wanted to win. To gain an audience with the king and ask for a boon. Killing Javan would hurt their goal. He had to make them see it.
“You can’t afford a five-hundred-point loss,” he said, his voice sharp with desperation. “You could lose your place as the tournament leader. You could lose your chance to talk to the king.”
A shudder worked its way down his spine as someone else screamed and the crowd applauded.
How did his father condone this bloodbath? How did the audience? Surely sending people to their deaths for sport violated everything the sacred texts taught. It hardly mattered that the people in question were criminals. If their crimes had deserved death, they’d have been sentenced to the muqsila instead of Maqbara.
“I told you I would make you regret interfering. I can afford a point deduction. There are still three rounds left,” Hashim said, but his eyes darted toward the warden as he spoke.
“Here!” A female competitor with broad shoulders and the outline of a galloping stallion inked into her neck called.
Javan bucked and twisted as he caught sight of the faint shadow spreading out along the floor beneath him.
They were going to drop him on the lake crawler.
The iron fist of panic squeezed, and his throat constricted.
The crowd roared. Someone cried out. But Javan could barely hear past the deafening beat of his heart.
He couldn’t die like this. He was the prince. His destiny had been foretold by Yl’ Haliq. He wasn’t supposed to be in this bloodbath trying to survive monsters that should never have been brought to Akram in the first place.
His lungs burned for air as he struggled to breathe past the noose of fear closing around his neck.
He’d have an instant to react once they dropped him. An instant to twist, as he fell through the water, then to drive his sword into the thing that lurked beneath him.
And he had no idea where to aim for the kill shot.
“Now!” Hashim yelled.
The people holding Javan let go.
His back hit the water and he began to sink.
A flash of white shimmered out of the corner of his eye, and he twisted toward it as he fell.
The worm’s jaw was already distended—a cave of teeth and tongue.
Javan kicked out, his foot finding someone’s chest, but hands were reaching into the water, shoving him down. Panic burned through him. There was no way out of this. Either he dove beneath the worm and landed in the gaping maw of the lake crawler, or he would be swallowed by the monstrous thing surging toward him.
Spinning, he raised his weapon and collided with the worm.
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.