The Traitor Prince

by C. J. Redwine

  “There. Now you’ll at least live to see the morning.” She turned to walk away as a guard cleared the stairwell and began to take roll, moving from one cell to another, checking to see that each prisoner was inside, his job made easier by the fact that so many cells on the fifteenth level were currently empty.

  “Wait!” Javan called, his stomach in knots as she paused and gave him a raised eyebrow. He didn’t know how to convince her. He had no leverage, no wealth, and no power. Nothing to offer.

  He also had nothing to lose.

  She’d bought him some time. If he didn’t find a different strategy, this night could be his last.

  Meeting her eyes, he said quietly, “I need your help.”

  NINETEEN

  THE GUARD ASSIGNED to Javan’s side of the fifteenth level approached Javan’s cell and gave Sajda a quizzical glance. “You’re out a bit late, aren’t you?”

  “Just making sure all the prisoners who decided to leave the infirmary made it safely to their cells,” she said, her voice devoid of all emotion. “The warden is in one of her moods.”

  The guard’s jaw tightened, and he quickly ticked Javan’s name off the list he held in his hands. “Better get yourself to your own room, then.”

  Sajda nodded. “I will.”

  The guard hurried on, making short work of his checklist, and Javan wrapped his hands around the iron bars of his cell before Sajda could leave.

  “Please,” he said softly. “I really need your help.”

  “I just helped you. And since you ignored my advice earlier and made a true enemy of Hashim, I don’t see why I even felt compelled to stay late working on the weapons so I could keep an eye on the infirmary.”

  He studied the irritation on her face and took a gamble. “It’s because Tarek asked you to, isn’t it?”

  “He’s sentimental. You protected him, and now he feels loyal to you, even though you’ve proven to be completely foolish.”

  “And you feel loyal to him, so here you are.” He offered her a smile, but her expression only sharpened. “I think maybe we got off to a bad start. I’d like to be friends.”

  “I don’t have friends.” Her voice was flat.

  “You have Tarek.”

  “That happened by accident.”

  He gave her his best attempt at the kind of charming smile that came so easily to Kellan. “We can pretend this happened by accident too.”

  “No.” Her tone was dismissive as she started to turn away. “And stop smiling like that. It’s annoying.”

  “Wait! Please.” He softened his voice as she gave him an icy glare. “It’s terribly rude of me to push after you’ve already said no. I realize that, and if you say no again, I promise this is the last you’ll hear of it.” Though Yl’ Haliq knew he couldn’t think of a way to survive Maqbara without her.

  She opened her mouth, and he raised his hands in the air, palms out in a gesture of surrender. Of desperation.

  “Please. Hear me out. That’s all I ask.”

  She stared him down in silence as the rosy glow of the dying sun dimmed into the purple gray of twilight. Finally, she jerked her chin up a notch. He took that as permission to keep talking.

  “I want to trust you with the whole truth,” he said.

  She rolled her eyes. “The whole truth about what?”

  “About me. I have to get out of Maqbara.” He fought to sound calm. To keep his voice quiet so that none of the other prisoners could overhear. “My father’s life depends on it. Akram itself depends on it.”

  “Well, you lasted longer than most, I’ll give you that.” She sounded dismissive. “Most start begging for a way out within hours. And I’ve yet to hear such dramatic stakes. The fate of Akram itself depends on your release. You have to know how ridiculous that sounds.”

  He adjusted his position and winced as pain shot across his back. “If you think that sounds ridiculous, then you’re really going to have trouble with the next part.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest and waited.

  His voice was a faint breath of sound as he said, “I’m Prince Javan of the house of Kadar, heir to the crown of fire.”

  The words hung in the air between them, and he couldn’t read her expression. He tapped his fingers against the iron bars and willed the anxious energy churning through him to subside. He’d told her the truth. If she didn’t believe him, or if she used it against him, he was out of options.

  When the silence became more than he could bear, he said, “An impostor who resembles me tried to have me killed. There was a dragon and then assassins and all my belongings were stolen, and the impostor returned to Makan Almalik before I could get here, and my uncle betrayed me and said I wasn’t Javan, but I am.” He drew in a shaky breath and met her skeptical gaze. “I am. My father hasn’t seen me in ten years, so he doesn’t realize the boy in the palace isn’t me. Or maybe he does, and they’re going to kill him. Get him out of the way so the false prince can rule Akram with dishonor, violence, and greed. I have to get out of here so I can stop it.”

  One slim brow climbed toward her hairline. “Right. Because you’re the real prince.”

  “Yes. You don’t have to believe me. I know it sounds impossible. But—”

  “Escape is impossible. You belong to the warden now.”

  “I belong to Yl’ Haliq. I belong to Akram. And I can’t stay here.” He leaned closer to the bars, took one look at her expression, and quickly straightened his spine. “It doesn’t matter to you what my reasons are. All that matters is that I need a way out, and you know this prison better than anyone else I’ve met. Plus no one else is interested in talking to me in case they anger Hashim.”

  Her lip curled in scorn. “Is this the part where you try to bribe me?”

  “This is the part where I offer to pay for your services.”

  She laughed, but there was no mirth in it. Sweeping her gaze over his prison clothing, she said, “With what? You’re no better than any of the other debtors who get tossed in Maqbara and forgotten about.”

  “I’m the prince. Once I’m free—”

  “If you got free, you’d shake the dust from this place off your feet and never look back.”

  He straightened his shoulders, ignoring the bolt of pain the movement caused. “I swear upon my mother’s life that I would pay your fee. I am a man of my word. Simply name your price.”

  She shook her head. “What good is wahda to me?” She swept her arms out wide, the first diamond-bright sheen of starlight catching on the marks carved into her bracelets. “What would it buy me? An extra blanket from the weavers when they come to visit next spring so I can warm myself on terribly cold nights? A nice cut of meat from the butcher so I can enjoy its flavor while I eat an animal that knew more of the outside world than I do? Or maybe I can bribe the more violent prisoners to stay away from me for one more miserable day. Tell me, O prince of Akram, which of those fine items should I buy with your coin?”

  He’d miscalculated. Badly. And if he didn’t find a way to salvage the situation quickly, his best hope to stop the impostor and rescue his father—his kingdom—would be lost.

  He would be lost.

  “You’re right,” he said quietly, before she could turn away and leave him alone, teetering on the brink of despair. “I’m sorry. I’m desperate.”

  “Everyone in here is desperate.” Her voice trembled a little, though the stoniness of her gaze was unwavering.

  Everyone here was desperate. Everyone.

  Including her.

  “What do you need?” he asked.

  She drew back, eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t need coin. You care nothing for the promises of a prince. But you’re right—everyone in here is desperate.” He caught himself leaning toward the bars again and stopped. “I have to stop the impostor who wants to take the throne of Akram by killing anyone who stands in his way. That means I need a way out of here. And that means I need you. But it has to b
e worth it to you to help me.”

  “And it isn’t.”

  “It could be.” Yl’ Haliq be merciful, it had to be worth it to her. Javan was out of other ideas. His voice shook as he said, “A fair trade. You show me how to escape—”

  “There is no escape.” She ran her fingers over the bracelet on her left arm. “Do you think I’d still be here if there was?”

  “There has to be something.” His voice rose, and he clenched his fists against the futile spark of anger in his chest. It wasn’t her fault he was trapped in Maqbara, surrounded by enemies. Wasn’t her fault the kingdom Javan had dedicated his life to was in terrible danger. He took a deep breath and sent a silent prayer to Yl’ Haliq for help.

  She cocked her head to study him, and something in her expression told him he’d been found wanting. “There are only two ways to get out of Maqbara before your sentence is up. Overpower the warden—”

  “We could do that if—”

  “Which is impossible. Or—”

  “Nothing is impossible.” He hoped.

  “Says the boy who thought he was supposed to rule a kingdom, but whose god allowed him to be thrown into prison instead.”

  He absorbed her words and tried to ignore the ache of doubt that fed on them. Pushing against the heavy sense of despair that wanted to shroud him in stone, he said, “And the second way out?”

  That eyebrow climbed toward her hairline again. “Win the tournament and for your boon, ask for immediate release.”

  He closed his eyes, and swallowed past the sudden lump in his throat. It all came down to that cursed tournament. To surviving the days between combat, though he had enemies throughout the prison and guards who wouldn’t lift a finger to help. To gaining enough points in the combat rounds to win while watching his back every second so that no one drove a sword through it.

  That strategy had already failed him, and she was telling him there was no other way. Slowly, he opened his eyes to find her watching him, a tiny frown etched into the space between her eyes as if he was a puzzle she was trying to solve.

  A puzzle.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. All puzzles had a correct solution, but often there were multiple paths to the same outcome. He’d tried one path, and it hadn’t worked. Maybe she could help him forge another.

  “If there’s no other way out of Maqbara, then I have to win the tournament, but that’s going to be hard after today.”

  She sniffed.

  “I have to survive between combat rounds. And I can’t fight the beasts and also watch for Hashim and his friends. I need allies. I need leverage. And I need a plan.”

  She looked annoyed. “I gave you a plan, and what did you do? You ignored it and nearly got yourself killed in the arena for your trouble.”

  “I ignored it because I learned that if I win the tournament, I get an audience with my father. And I didn’t get myself killed.”

  “Nearly.”

  “Nearly isn’t the same as dead. I can do this. I just need a better plan.”

  She remained quiet.

  “Sajda, I have to win. And clearly, I need help understanding the power structure inside the prison and which prisoners might turn into allies.” He met her gaze. “I need you. Please tell me what I can do for you to earn your help.”

  She stared at him in silence, but the stoniness of her gaze softened into something faraway and troubled.

  “What do you need?” he asked softly.

  There was a long silence, and then in a whisper he had to strain to catch she said, “Freedom.”

  “I know you won’t believe me, but I can promise that after I’m released, I’ll come back and free you.” Please let her believe him. He had nothing else to offer.

  Her gaze snapped back into the present, and her full lips twisted as though she’d sucked on something bitter. “And then what? I go out into the world and pretend I know how to live there? No thanks.”

  There was something dark beneath her words. Something that struck a chord in the grief that lived within him. He sifted through her words, hunting for the thing she wasn’t saying.

  She wanted freedom. That was clear, though he thought she already regretted admitting it. But she was afraid. Afraid of the world outside the prison, because she’d known nothing else since she was five.

  Sold as a child. Raised in a prison that ran on violence and bloodshed. It was all she knew. No wonder she was afraid of the one thing she desperately wanted. She knew how to survive in the darkness, but was terrified she’d be lost in the light.

  “I can teach you,” he said, fragile tendrils of hope threading though his despair.

  She folded her arms over her chest. “Teach me what?”

  “Anything. Everything. The history of the kingdoms. Tactical military strategy. Applied mathematics. Court customs and manners. Alchemy. The path of the stars.”

  Her eyes lit up. “You understand the stars?”

  “I do.” His breath caught in his chest at the way her face glowed when she was unguarded.

  They watched each other in silence while far below the sound of the door that led to the magistrate’s office slammed shut behind the last guard.

  Finally, she said quietly, “We have a deal. But you have to listen to my advice this time. And you have to give me my first lesson within the next three weeks.”

  “Yes. Anything. That’s . . . Thank you. Truly.” He paused. “Wait . . . what happens in three weeks?”

  “The next tournament round. It’s going to take us a while to procure the next group of beasts and get the arena set up. I want to learn about the stars first. In case nearly dead turns into actually dead.”

  “I do love your optimism,” he said, his voice shaky at the edges as relief swept through him. “Thank you.”

  “Tarek will bring you meals so you can avoid Hashim in the kitchen. He and his friends are on level five and are separated from you during chore and practice hours, so don’t stray from where you’re supposed to be unless I personally come to get you. We’ll see if we can figure out at least four other competitors who can be bribed into liking you enough to be your allies during rec hour and in the arena.”

  He opened his mouth to thank her again, but she was already walking away.

  Holding on to fragile strands of hope that felt as tenuous as a rope made of water, he crawled into bed and prayed until sleep claimed him.

  TWENTY

  THE PRISON HAD long since fallen silent when Sajda crept from her room, closing the door quietly behind her.

  Her body trembled with fatigue, but she couldn’t bear to sleep yet. The remains of the creatures from the day’s combat had been skinned, chopped, and turned into meals for either the remaining beasts or the prisoners. New monsters had been commissioned from the bounty hunters on Llorenyae. She’d scrubbed some of the arena floor and dragged the bodies of those who’d died to the center of the arena for the warden to deal with in the morning. And of course she’d lost her mind and defended Javan and then agreed to help him gain allies.

  She wasn’t sure she’d made a good decision. She’d spent the last two years ignoring Hashim’s speculative gaze and disgusting suggestions. Shrugging off his questions about why the warden made her wear cuffs. Keeping him in line through an occasional show of power and the composure she borrowed from the prison’s stone. She didn’t need him to decide she was his enemy.

  His eyes already lingered on the runes carved into her iron cuffs. Some days he stared so hard at her while the magic was stinging her blood that she feared the power trapped within her was branded on her skin. She’d met prisoners like him before, and it always ended the same. A confrontation far away from the guards and the warden. A show of dominance and aggression that required her to call on her elven speed and strength just to survive.

  She’d endured it all. Years and years of whispers and stares. Of offers and threats. Of violence spilling over, outside the arena.

  She’d survived.

  And s
he’d keep on surviving until she could learn how to survive in the outside world too. How to get the cuffs off.

  How to escape, not just Maqbara but any hint of the slave she’d been.

  Her boots didn’t make a sound against the stone floor of level five as she crept past the cells, circling the arena below until she came to the staircase that was nearly opposite her little room. Moonlight drifted in through the skylights above and gleamed against the iron bars of the cells. Sliding into the narrow staircase, Sajda listened carefully.

  The quiet snores of prisoners. The faint whisper of the desert wind scouring the ground far above her. But no footsteps. No warden hunting for a prisoner who’d failed to return to his or her cell at twelfth bell.

  Satisfied that she was alone, Sajda climbed the steps, pausing at the landing on each level to listen for footsteps. When she reached level fifteen, she turned left and moved silently down the line of cells, many of which stood empty, waiting for new prisoners to be swallowed by the dark depths of the prison. She paused briefly beside Javan’s cell, though he was nothing but a dim outline beneath the blanket on his bed, before moving on. The aristocrat who claimed to be the true prince might be able to help her learn how to survive outside Maqbara, but his belief that she could somehow help him survive the next three rounds of competition was optimistic bordering on foolish. Maqbara crushed the innocent and the good. He’d be no different.

  Still, she hadn’t turned him down. Even though it meant declaring war with Hashim. Tarek was the closest thing to family she had, and he rarely asked her for anything. She hadn’t had the heart to tell him the pretty aristocrat with the earnest sense of honor and duty was beyond saving.

  At the opposite end of the landing, she came to a small supply closet whose door stood permanently ajar, one broken hinge hanging askew. A few empty buckets, a mop, and several dusty chests filled with old bedding lined one wall. The ceiling had a deep crack running across it, a fissure just a few handspans wider than Sajda’s waist. The walls were stained with water that had leaked into the prison during the last monsoon season, and small eddies of dirt covered the floor.