THE CROWD WAS already chanting Javan’s name when he slowly made his way out of the tunnel Sajda had spent years carving into the bedrock behind one of the stalls. She’d led him there the moment the warden was gone, creeping past the ruins of his cell by the light of the full moon. His bed was a charred, twisted lump. The rest of his cell’s sparse contents were piles of ash on the stone floor, but it was the bed that held his attention.
He could have been lying on it, oblivious to the death that was heading his way. He already owed so much to Sajda, and now he owed her his life.
He’d stayed in the tunnel all night while Sajda smeared sheep’s guts over the opening and the stall itself to throw the warden off his scent once the sun rose and she saw that the prince hadn’t been caught in the inferno. He wasn’t sure how long the warden searched for him, or what excuse, if any, she’d made to the other prisoners for trying to burn him alive. His world had narrowed down to the cool darkness of Sajda’s little cave until she’d pushed the trough away from the opening and called for him to head to the arena.
The audience of aristocrats would make it nearly impossible for the warden to justify another attempt on Javan’s life during the competition. At least that was his hope.
He left the stalls and walked to the arena, the parchment with a note to his father folded up inside his red sash and tied to his chest with a thin strip he’d torn from the edge of his sheet. He was thankful he’d decided to wear the sash at all times or it would’ve gone up in flames and, with it, the proof of who he was.
His stomach knotted, and his heart felt like it was hammering against his throat.
Today he’d finally see his father again.
Today he’d either become a prince again or die trying.
He reached the gate and stood a little ways from Hashim, who was already there, his fist raised in the air as his supporters screamed for him. Iram, the third competitor, joined Javan, and they surveyed the arena in silence.
The warden’s platform was still empty. The weapons were secured beneath black cloths again, but it hardly mattered. Hashim knew where every weapon was located. So did Javan. And thanks to Sajda, he’d had enough warning about Hashim’s treachery to form an alternate plan.
That plan included silencing Hashim.
Permanently.
The sacred texts were clear about the taking of an innocent life, but Hashim wasn’t innocent. He’d tried to kill Javan, and he’d sent his minions to do the same in the last competition. There was every likelihood that he’d try again, especially because they each had over five hundred points now, so the deduction for killing another competitor would be more than balanced by receiving that prisoner’s points. Javan could kill him in self-defense.
But he wouldn’t.
Hashim had threatened Sajda with exposure. He’d whipped her with a chain. There was no possible way Javan was leaving Sajda behind in the prison if Hashim was still alive.
“We should fight back-to-back,” he said quietly to Iram.
The young man looked at him in surprise.
“The beasts we’ll be facing are lethal. If we don’t have to watch our backs, we have a better chance of surviving,” Javan said.
“Some of us aren’t just trying to survive.” Hashim turned to meet Javan’s eyes. “Some of us are fighting to win.”
Javan held Hashim’s gaze and let every spark of righteous fury he felt show on his face. “I wasn’t offering to fight with you.” He stepped closer. “In fact, if I were you, I’d run from me. The monsters coming into the arena will kill indiscriminately. But me? I’m coming for you, Hashim. And I won’t miss.”
Hashim drew back, fear flashing in his eyes before anger washed it away. “Not if I kill you first.”
Javan turned to Iram. “You like the spiked whip and the long sword, don’t you?”
Iram nodded slowly, his eyes darting between Hashim and Javan.
Javan smiled grimly. “He isn’t your ally, Iram. You’re just another body standing between him and victory. Now listen. The whip is on the floor in the northeast corner. The sword is hanging on the wall directly beneath the warden’s platform.”
Iram’s gaze widened as he peered around Hashim to check the position of the black cloths that hid his weapons of choice. “Why would you tell me that?”
“Because you and I aren’t enemies. We can fight back-to-back. It gives us one less foe to worry about.”
“And if I refuse?”
Javan shrugged. “Then you’ll at least know where your weapons are and hopefully you’ll get out of this alive.”
He glanced at the stalls, where Sajda was calling orders to the guards as they positioned the competition’s monsters for entry into the arena. The pale skin of her arms was burned red where the chains had held her, and a deep welt rose over her heart, courtesy of Hashim. She’d assured Javan that it would fade. That it was nothing. She was used to the pain of her cuffs, but he didn’t care.
Hashim had imprisoned her. Threatened her. Hurt her.
He was going to pay dearly for that.
A ripple of excitement ran through the crowd, briefly silencing the cheering. Javan looked up as a trio of royal guards stepped through the door on the far wall. The air suddenly felt thick, time moving in slow motion as the guards walked forward and Javan caught his first glimpse of the royal family.
Of his father.
He was different from the man in Javan’s memory. His shoulders stooped a bit, his black hair had gray at the temples and throughout his beard, and there was a shakiness to his movements. His piercing gaze had dimmed into something faraway and confused, but though he was different, he was achingly familiar. The same quiet kindness in his eyes when he looked at the boy he thought was his son. The same raised chin and calm expression that demanded perfection from those around him even as he strove to deliver it himself.
He hadn’t delivered it.
He was walking into a pit of corruption, violence, and injustice, and by sitting in the royal box, he was sanctioning it all. Did he know that? Or was the confusion on his face a symptom of a once-great mind that no longer understood his present circumstances?
Javan’s heart ached as he watched the king. He wanted to run to his father. To speak to him and hear him call Javan by his name. Whatever his father had become, he was still the gravity that had held Javan to his duty for ten long years. His respect, his regard, was what Javan had been working so hard to earn.
Javan clenched his fists and held himself still as the impostor took the king’s arm, purple sash flowing, face alight with fierce pride.
Hashim wasn’t the only person Javan needed to silence today.
Another trio of royal guards followed the pair as they slowly made their way to the closest staircase and up to the first level. Javan frowned. Uncle Fariq hadn’t come. Javan didn’t know whether to be relieved or disappointed. Without his uncle’s influence, it might be easier to convince his father that he was the true prince. But he’d also wanted to confront his uncle’s betrayal in front of all of Akram.
The warden stepped to her platform as the king and the impostor took their seats above Javan’s head. He craned his neck, but he wouldn’t be able to see into the box until he was in the arena, and at that point, he couldn’t afford his focus to be split between his father and the monsters who were coming to kill him.
The crowd fell silent as the warden raised her arms. For a split second, she locked eyes with Javan, and he shivered at the fury on her face. Turning away, he met Sajda’s gaze, his heart thudding in strange, jarring beats.
He might die.
He might win.
Either way, he might not see her again for a very long time.
He tried to put everything she meant to him in his expression. Her eyes darkened, and she pressed one pale hand to her heart, and then she lifted her chin, jerked it toward the arena, and gave him a look that was pure challenge.
She wanted him to win. To gain an audience with the king, be restored to the throne, and leave Maqbara. Even though it meant leaving her behind.
“Competitors, enter the arena!” the warden called.
Hashim was first through the gate, and he went immediately for the short swords lying in the center of the arena. Javan sprinted past him as Iram went for the whip and then the long sword. The prince had just put his hands on the bow and arrow when the warden yelled, “Bring in the beasts!”
Slinging the quiver onto his back, he hooked the bowstring over one arm and raced for the battle-axes. With only one sharp edge, they weren’t as good as the swords, and they were certainly heavier, but they were better than fighting with his hands.
The crowd was seething with anticipation. The monsters for the final round were a mystery. The scoreboard was shrouded with a black cloth, and the crowd would get the excitement of seeing each creature as the warden announced it.
Javan whirled toward the gate in time to see a guard yank on the rope that held the netting above the arena. The crowd clapped wildly as the netting fell. The prince risked a quick glance at the royal platform and found the impostor glaring at him with naked hatred.
The king was sitting quietly, a frown on his face. He wasn’t looking at the arena.
The crowd erupted into cheers as Sajda and another guard ducked under the netting with a cage the size of a barrel of mead balanced between them.
“Our first creatures are vampire bats that can smell blood from three leagues away. They attack in swarms and drink the blood of their prey until the prey is dry.” The warden sounded cheerful at the prospect. “Each kill is worth ten points.”
Sajda lifted the latch on the cage door, and the bats flooded the arena, leathery wings beating the air, fangs gleaming as they circled, searching for blood.
Javan was going to give them what they wanted. Whipping an arrow into his bow, he sent it straight for Hashim.
It buried itself in Hashim’s shoulder, and he went down on one knee. The crowd surged to their feet in a frenzy as Hashim pulled the arrow free and threw it to the ground, but Javan couldn’t hear them. His world was the thunder of his heart, the weight of his weapons, and the horrifying beasts being led to the gate by Sajda.
The bats shrieked and dove, a spiraling swarm of black bodies and white teeth. Hashim screamed as they landed on him, tearing at his bleeding wound with their fangs. Javan focused on the gate as Iram moved to stand beside him.
“Sa’ Loham, what is that?” Iram breathed, his hands clutching his weapons with desperate strength.
The warden’s voice echoed over the sound of bats. “Our next pair of beasts are the legendary rencapal! Each kill will be worth fifty points.”
The two enormous horselike creatures Sajda was leading into the arena were nearly twice as broad as an Akramian racing stallion. Their coats looked to be made of shadows that shifted and twisted independently of the creatures’ movements; their eyes glowed black; and their hooves and teeth were iron.
“Demon steeds from the mountains north of Loch Talam,” Javan said quietly, another arrow already at his bow. “Don’t let either of them get close. They can trample us in seconds.”
He sent an arrow into the chest of the rencapal on the left. It screamed in furious pain and charged.
Whipping another arrow into the bow, he shot again.
The beast kept coming.
Yl’ Haliq be merciful, what did it take to kill this thing?
The second rencapal took its cue from the first and charged as well.
“The whip!” Javan yelled as he nocked another arrow.
Iram slashed at the incoming beasts, his iron-studded whip cracking through the air. One rencapal shied. The one with the arrows sticking out of its chest kept coming.
It was twenty paces away.
Javan sent another arrow, this time into its neck, and its nostrils flared as it bore down on him, black eyes glowing with rage.
All he’d managed to do was anger it.
Tossing the bow to the ground, he grabbed the battle-axes and readied himself. When the steed was five paces out, he dove to the side, slashing at the tendons on the creature’s massive forelegs as he went.
The rencapal crashed to its knees. Leaping on its back, Javan quickly sliced the artery in its neck. Blood gushed, and the beast slowly toppled.
Javan leaped clear, and it was only after he heard the rush of leathery wings that he realized his hands were covered with the creature’s blood. Iram’s long sword swooped past Javan’s head, and the bodies of five bats went skimming across the arena floor.
Javan whirled, looking for the other rencapal, and saw Hashim on his feet, bleeding profusely from his shoulder, the ground around him littered with the bodies of the rest of the vampire bats. The other steed was slowly backing away from the snap of Iram’s whip as the warden yelled, “Turn loose the were-jaguars! Fifty points a kill.”
Javan ran for his bow, scooped it off the ground, and sent an arrow flying into the chest of the first were-jaguar that cleared the arena gate. The other two were right behind it, unnaturally long limbs and sleek bodies gleaming in the afternoon sunlight. Hashim abandoned the short swords and grabbed a spear instead. The rencapal screamed and charged the closest jaguar as Hashim threw the spear into the third shape-shifter.
That made one hundred points for Javan. At least one hundred points for Hashim, depending on how many bats he’d killed. Iram had only killed five bats, but even with Iram’s low opening score, Javan was still in third place.
Javan needed to take both of the top predators being sent into the arena. As the rencapal stomped the were-jaguar into oblivion, Iram drove his sword into the side of the beast. The creature twisted, lashing out. Its hind legs, with its sharp iron hooves, crushed Iram into the wall. The man slid to the ground and lay still.
Javan tore his eyes from Iram and faced the gate as Hashim moved toward the center of the arena, keeping a safe distance between himself and the injured rencapal.
The worst was yet to come. A chill slid over Javan’s skin as an earsplitting roar shattered the air, briefly silencing the crowd. The faint skittering of bony legs and claws followed the roar, and Javan swallowed hard as Sajda and the guards led a pair of muzzled, shackled monsters toward the arena.
They were sending in both at the same time.
He drew in a shaky breath as the warden clapped her hands for attention.
Fear out.
Courage in.
“As our grand finale, we have two vicious monsters! The first is the legendary triceleon from Llorenyae.” She waved her hand in a grand gesture, and as if on cue the three-headed lion roared, the chain netting around its mouths trembling with the force of the beast’s anger. “The second monster is the rare jorogumo—a spider devil from the country of Ichil! One hundred points each.”
The jorogumo was a female spider several handspans taller than Javan. Her bulbous body was supported by eight bony claw-tipped legs, but her upper body looked vaguely human, as though a woman’s frame had been embedded in the center of a spider’s body. Her face looked somewhat human too, though her mouth opened and closed in a perfect circle with an equally perfect circle of fangs inside.
Sajda and the guards whipped the muzzles and chains from the creatures and slammed the gate shut behind them. Briefly Sajda met his gaze, her eyes fierce. He felt his heartbeat steady, his thoughts slow.
This was it. His last chance to free her from the warden. To free Akram from the impostor. He glanced up at the royal box and found his father leaning forward, watching intently while the impostor sat beside him, fists clenched.
The lion padded toward the bodies of the slain were-jaguars, one face looking at Javan, one looking at Hashim, while the other gazed at the injured rencapal that was stomping its hooves as it sized up this new threat.
The spider skittered to the side, claws clicking, and huddled against the wall beneath the warden’s platform.
Javan nocked an arrow and sent it flying toward the lion. It struck the head that was gazing at him. The beast roared, shaking its heads. Hashim raced forward and grabbed the spear he’d sent into a were-jaguar as Javan sent another arrow into the lion’s second head.
Hashim yanked the spear free as the lion snarled and came for him. Javan sent another arrow, but it missed as the lion sprang for the threat in front of it.
The prince started moving as the lion crashed into Hashim, bringing them both to the floor. The beast roared in pain as the spear went through his chest and out its back. It slashed with its claws, its uninjured jaws yawning wide as it snapped at Hashim.
Javan skidded on the blood of a fallen were-jaguar and caught movement out of the corner of his eye. Pivoting, he barely had time to brace before the injured rencapal slammed into him, one iron hoof connecting with Javan’s hip and sending him sprawling.
He rolled out of the way as iron hooves drove into the floor where seconds ago he’d been lying. The beast reared again, blood pouring from its sides, and Javan sent a battle-ax into its chest.
Its hooves crashed into the floor, shaking Javan as he scrambled back. The ax hadn’t nicked the artery, and until he did that, the creature was just going to keep coming until it killed him. Rolling quickly to the left, Javan readied the other ax and gauged his move. The rencapal reared, screaming in fury, and when its hooves hit the floor again, Javan was already running.
Grabbing the mane, he swung himself onto the creature’s back, its shadowy skin as slippery as the wind. Tangling his fingers in its mane, he leaned down and slashed the artery in the creature’s neck. Then, leaping clear, he turned to find Hashim, bleeding and breathing heavily, crawling out from under the lion’s corpse.
That left the spider.
Javan whirled to face the wall where the spider had been, but she was gone. In her place was the thick, glistening edge of a web anchored to the wall before spreading up into the empty space overhead.
A rapid clicking sound reverberated through the arena, directly above Javan’s head. He looked up just as the spider dropped, wrapped her bony legs around him, and pulled him high into the air.