The Traitor Prince

It was infinitely satisfying that he would go to his grave still unsure which boy had been telling the truth.

  Voices filled the dining room, and Rahim flagged a page who was standing at attention by the door.

  “Yes, Your Highness?”

  That title never got old. “Have all the invited families arrived?”

  “Yes, Your Highness.”

  “Every member is present?”

  “Yes, Your Highness. I checked the invitation list as you instructed.”

  “Excellent. You’re dismissed,” Rahim said as the kitchen staff began assembling the first course on a table beside the door.

  “Very good, Your Highness.” The page left, and Rahim nodded at the two maids who were checking that the orange florets that garnished each plate were in their proper places. “You may begin serving. I’ll be along shortly. Abbas, please take a position in the dining room.”

  The maids curtsied, picked up the trays, and entered the dining room. Abbas frowned as if he wanted to argue that he should stay with Rahim, but a quick glare from the boy sent him into the room as instructed.

  Rahim examined the tray of goblets the maids had left behind. Pale, golden apple wine shimmered in the sunlight that streamed in through the nearby windows.

  His breath was a ragged gasp that sounded deafening in his ears, and his hands shook as he unstoppered a bottle Fariq had purchased from an apothecary weeks ago for the king’s tonic.

  Poison.

  A soft white powder made from grinding cyallip seeds.

  Rahim had ordered cyallip tarts for dessert even though there would be no one left alive to eat them. It had seemed fitting.

  Tipping the bottle over each glass, he watched as the powder spilled into the goblets, spinning like a tiny sand devil until it disappeared into the golden liquid. A small amount, as was given daily to the king, would weaken the body, eat away at the immune system, and confuse the thinking as the body fought to heal the damage to itself.

  The large amount he’d just mixed into each goblet would do far worse than that.

  When the maids returned for the trays, Rahim had the bottle concealed in his pocket again. He waited until the maids were finished serving the drinks before excusing them.

  “You can come out now,” he said quietly. A rustling came from the drapes that flanked the windows along the hall and then the three peasants hired to assassinate Javan joined him outside the dining room. “You remember what to do?”

  “Wait until you shout, and then enter and kill the guard,” one of the men said.

  “He’s highly trained. I trust you brought poison-tipped blades as instructed,” Rahim said.

  “We’re ready,” the tall man said.

  Turning away from them, Rahim entered the dining room and closed the door behind him.

  The members of the FaSaa’il sat at the table glaring at him.

  He met their eyes calmly.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Borak demanded. “You don’t call meetings with us. We call meetings with you.”

  Rahim raised a brow. “Then why didn’t you refuse to come?”

  “And have it be said that we disobeyed the prince?”

  Moving to the head of the table, he inclined his head graciously and said, “I can see your dilemma.”

  “Where is Fariq?” Borak demanded.

  Sweeping the assembled aristocrats with his gaze, Rahim said, “I apologize that Fariq is unable to join us as promptly as he wished. He’ll be along as soon as he’s able. In the meantime, we have excellent news. The coronation plans are proceeding without a problem. The king is fully in support. In a few weeks, all you wanted will be accomplished.” He raised his glass as Abbas stiffened, his eyes widening as he stared at Rahim. “A toast! To the success of your plan and to many years of prosperous rule in Akram!”

  They stood with him. Raised their glasses. Spilled a drop as an offering for Yl’ Haliq before raising the liquid to their lips.

  The shortest man went first—the poison working rapidly as it shut down his organs and dropped him to the floor. The others realized something was wrong, but they were already too far gone to do anything but fall to the ground, convulse briefly, and die as well.

  Rahim set his goblet on the table with a click as Abbas scrambled for the closest aristocrat, calling for someone to send for the palace physician.

  “Happy to oblige,” he said. Raising his voice, he shouted, “Help! Bring the physician!”

  The door burst open, and the three peasants rushed in, poison-tipped weapons drawn. By the time Abbas realized he was in danger, it was too late.

  Rahim reached inside the pockets of his tunic for his throwing stars. The first star embedded itself in the tallest assassin’s neck. The second burrowed into the shortest man’s chest. The third man tried to run, but Rahim simply adjusted his aim and sent the final star deep into the man’s back.

  In moments, all three were dead, their blood spreading across the hand-painted tiles of the floor like a river. Rahim took an extra minute to arrange the bodies so that it would look like Abbas had taken out the intruders and lost his own life in the process and then rehearsed the story he’d tell about being the last to raise his glass to his lips, seeing the others fall, and realizing that someone in the kitchen staff was a murderer. He’d call for a full investigation, and no one would doubt his word. After all, he was their prince.

  His smile stretched wide and feral.

  A god among men indeed.

  THIRTY-THREE

  THE NIGHT JAVAN was well enough to leave the infirmary, Sajda waited until twelfth bell rang, the bars dropped, and the prison fell silent before she quietly instructed Tarek to bring Javan to her. Tarek winked at her as he escorted Javan to the stairwell that led up to the old man’s room on level eight and then left them alone.

  The second Tarek was out of sight, Sajda froze.

  What was she doing?

  Sneaking a boy out of the infirmary when she knew what would happen if the warden discovered that Javan, of all people, wasn’t where he was supposed to be. Worse, planning on taking him to the one place that had always been hers alone.

  Her magic stung her veins, an anxious buzzing she couldn’t ignore as she met his gaze beneath the moonlight that filled the skylights above.

  He smiled, a slow journey of warmth that hammered away at her already shaky defenses.

  “What are we doing?” he asked, his voice a low breath of air that brushed against her, sending a shiver over her skin.

  She took a step back.

  This could be a mistake. The kind of mistake that ripped out her heart and left it in ruins. She’d had enough of that in her sixteen years to last her a lifetime. If she was smart, she’d return him to the infirmary.

  “Sajda?” He came closer, and she held her ground, her magic churning, her heart aching at the concern on his face.

  Who knew if she’d ever truly escape Maqbara? Javan could lose the competition and his chance for an audience with his father. Gretel could change her mind about smuggling Sajda out. The warden could find the tunnel her slave was digging. Even if she did escape, would she ever find another friend who fit her jagged edges so effortlessly? If she backed down now, she might never know what he would do with her truth.

  He faced his demons, both in the arena and without, and he was honest with her about every doubt, every fear.

  It was absolutely terrifying that she wanted to do the same thing with him.

  “Are you all right?” he asked, and she took his hand before she could talk herself out of it.

  “Come with me,” she whispered, magic dancing across her fingertips and on to his as she led him to the fifteenth level, past the mostly empty cells, and into the storage closet at the end. Leaping into the crack in the ceiling, she turned, braced herself, and offered her hand to help pull him up.

  Once he was through the gap, she guided him around pillars and under support beams until they reached the corner of the ceiling where her skyligh
t was waiting for them. The stars were just winking to life, and the moon was a thin slice of brilliant light high in the sky. She helped him duck past the last beam and then they crawled onto the blankets she kept there.

  Javan stared at the blankets and pillows, at the skylight and the huge swath of sky above them, and slowly smiled.

  “You like it?” she asked, and her cheeks warmed as she waited for his answer. This wasn’t just a hideout. It was her dreams. Her secrets laid bare. It was the side of her she sheathed in stone every morning to keep it from the prison’s taint.

  “I love it. It suits you,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice settled the churn of magic through her blood.

  She sank back against a pillow and waited for her tiny blue star to appear. He lay beside her, his head on a second pillow, his arms crossed beneath the back of his neck. The silence between them was warm and welcoming, and she let it linger.

  When finally her tiny blue star shimmered into focus, she said softly, “Sometimes I pretend I live there.”

  “Where?” He followed her finger as she pointed, and then said, “Seraphael.”

  “Seraphael? Is that the star’s name?”

  He turned to watch her face. “It’s not a star. It’s another planet like ours.”

  “I knew it.” She smiled, wide and content, as she turned the word Seraphael over and over in her mind until it felt familiar.

  “When did you discover this place?”

  “I was nine. Exploring the entire prison at night trying to find a way out.” She lifted her fingers to tangle them in the starlight, letting her magic drink in the cold purity and unbearable beauty until her blood seemed to sing with it. “I never did find a way out, but I found the next best thing.”

  “Will you tell me what this means to you?” he asked, his voice quiet.

  She stretched her fingertips toward the starlight as far as they would go. It was never far enough. “It’s freedom, or the closest thing to it that I can find.”

  Her heart thudded, and her breath caught as the words she’d never said to anyone gathered in her throat, surrounded by the icy distance of the stars that had always felt like home. And then he unfolded his arms and slid one under her shoulders, pulling her to his side where she could lean against him if she wanted.

  She wanted. She wanted so many things that she could never have. But just for tonight, hidden from the eyes of the warden and the other prisoners, safe from the fear that Javan would be killed, she could pretend that the things she wanted were all within her reach.

  Moving slowly, she tipped her head against his shoulder and wiggled until she fit against his side like the second half of a whole. When he squeezed her gently and rested his cheek against her hair, the words came pouring out.

  “I would lie here and find the blue star . . . planet. And I would pretend that’s where I belonged. If I lived there, I wouldn’t be trapped underground, afraid every second of every day. I wouldn’t be a slave.” Her voice shook and tears slid down her face. “I have a mother who keeps me. A father who loves me. And I can go anywhere, do anything, without worrying that someone will see me for who I am and say the only good elf is a dead elf.”

  She pressed her lips closed and waited, every second an eternity, for his response. Did he hate dark elves? Was he afraid of them? Had she just lost something precious between them?

  He pressed his lips to the crown of her head and said, “I’m glad you finally told me.”

  “I finally . . . Wait. You knew?”

  His fingers traced lazy patterns across her back. “I figured it out.”

  “How?” She sat up and stared at him, her pulse racing, magic buzzing.

  “It’s all right,” he said. “I only know because I pay extra attention to everything about you. When you asked me about dark elves, I could see it meant something to you. That my answer meant something to you, which made it personal. And then I remembered that runes carved in iron subdue fae magic, and that elvish magic is a close cousin, so it would dampen yours a bit. Plus you’re so much stronger and faster than me, and I’ve never seen your ears.”

  “And you aren’t scared to be around a monster?” It hurt to say the word aloud, but she had to be sure.

  He sat up. “Why would you call yourself that?”

  She shrugged.

  “Sajda.”

  “It’s what the warden always says.” She couldn’t look at him. “And the reason Dabir lost his mind is because he tried to attack me, and I hit him and drew blood, and then I don’t know what happened. I just . . . The blood called to my magic, and I took some in my hands, and then I was seeing everything about him, and I knew how to tell a story—”

  “You wielded a nightmare.”

  “You understand what I did?” She leaned toward him.

  “Only what I learned in school. Dark elves can read the hearts and minds of the living things they touch, and they can borrow qualities, manipulate the physical being, or wield a nightmare that never leaves.”

  “That sounds pretty monstrous.” She turned to stare at the stars so he wouldn’t see the tears that were back in her eyes.

  “It sounds like power. Power is neither good nor evil. It just is. It’s what people do with power that matters. And I know you, Sajda. I know you better than I know anyone else. You are a girl full of courage, intelligence, strength, and beauty from the inside out. It isn’t monstrous to defend yourself or others.”

  “Dabir might never get better.”

  “He’d better hope he doesn’t because if I meet him again, he’s going to have a whole different nightmare to contend with.” His voice was flat.

  She raised her face to the silvery starlight and felt its purity pour into her, a bolt of cold fire.

  “What do you do with the starlight?” he asked.

  She looked at him. “What do you mean?”

  He smiled, his eyes lit with wonder. “I mean, you are literally swallowing starlight. Or your magic is. Have you seen yourself?”

  She turned away from the skylight and held out her arms. Her skin shimmered, a brilliant silver-white that almost hurt to look at.

  “Did you borrow something from the stars? Or is it something you plan to manipulate and use?” He sounded fascinated.

  “I have no idea. I mean, I borrowed their essence—it’s cold and pure—but I don’t know if I could use it.”

  “Want to try?” He grinned at her, and she laughed, her tears drying on her cheeks.

  He patted around the blanket nest until he found an old mug she used to keep filled with water until it cracked down the side. “Here. See what starlight does to this.”

  She took it in her silver-white hands and let the magic that hummed and crawled beneath her skin seize the cracked porcelain of the mug. There was a flash of brilliant light and icy liquid silver poured out of her palms to coat the mug until it glowed like it had been dipped in real silver.

  The cold bit deep, and she dropped it to the blanket. It struck and shattered into tiny fragments that melted into nothing.

  “Whoa.” Javan patted the blanket where seconds earlier the shards had been, and then met her eyes. “Just think what you could do with the sun.”

  Pain seared the skin beneath her cuffs and she pulled her hands to her chest.

  “Do the cuffs make it painful to do magic?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s why you have scars beneath them?”

  Another nod.

  “Maybe we can get them off of you.”

  She turned her left wrist and held it up until the cuff was illuminated by starlight. The runes were tiny shadows carved into its surface, and the lock was a slim crescent of darkness cut deep into the iron. “I’ve tried. I’d need a key, and only the warden and the magistrate’s head guards have shackle keys. The magistrate’s guards are only here during tournament rounds, and they don’t keep their keys where I can see them. And the warden keeps the key hidden in her quarters.”

  His voice was
still gentle, but there was a lethal edge to it. “The warden is the monster, Sajda. Not you.”

  She pushed him back down onto the blankets and curled up beside him. “You can sleep up here tonight. No one will find you. Once the bars raise tomorrow morning, we’ll get you back in your cell. And then we have four days until the next combat round to get you back into fighting shape.”

  “Will you stay for a while?”

  She leaned her head on his shoulder and watched the stars cross the sky until he fell asleep. And then she stayed a little bit longer just to pretend that the boy, who was going to leave to become the king of Akram, and the half-elven girl, who was going to escape to anywhere else, belonged together.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  IT WAS LESS than an hour before the next round of competition started. Javan followed Sajda out of his cell and into the stairwell that led to the arena. He was down to two allies in the arena. Nadim had been killed in the last combat round, and Gadi’s leg had been injured so badly, he was unable to compete.

  Every prisoner Javan passed fell silent, but this time instead of enmity, he saw anger in their faces. At first he thought they were angry with him, but when Kali and Intizara joined him on the staircase between levels nine and eight, Kali said, “Have you heard about the warden’s treachery?”

  Javan shook his head, nervous energy careening around inside him as if he’d swallowed lightning. What new threat was coming for him now?

  “She announced to all of level five that any of them who killed you during combat today would immediately be released from Maqbara.” Kali’s voice was rough with anger. “We overheard several of them talking about it during breakfast.”

  “Just level five?” Sajda asked, her quiet voice giving nothing away, but Javan knew what she was thinking. She’d told him the false prince had made that offer for any prisoner, not just the ones who were the most experienced and had the most points in the arena. He’d already prepared a strategy that kept Kali and Intizara at his back at all times.

  Maybe by only offering the bounty to level five, she thought it would cause less of an uproar among the prisoners and be less likely to reach the ears of the bettors.