The Traitor Prince

by C. J. Redwine

  Helpless anger filled him. He couldn’t defeat the warden without weapons. He couldn’t turn back time and save Tarek. All he could do was prepare for the upcoming round of combat and try to comfort the girl he loved.

  Javan didn’t wait to see the prisoners who’d sold Tarek gain their prize. He knew where Sajda would be. Turning away, he climbed the stairs to the fifteenth level and entered the storage closet.

  Prayers gathered in his heart and poured from his lips in fractured whispers. As he closed the broken door behind him, he fell to his knees and cried beside the crate Sajda had used to escape into the rafters.

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  “THE KING IS no longer taking his tonic,” Rahim said, bursting into Fariq’s sitting room as his father was signing a pile of documents with a quill.

  Fariq frowned, and waved his manservant from the room. When the door had closed behind him, Fariq said, “Watch your mouth in front of the staff. We don’t need rumors. Especially since someone murdered the heads of the FaSaa’il right under our noses. If that isn’t a clear sign that we have a traitor somewhere in our organization, I don’t know what is. We don’t know who we can trust.”

  Fariq had no idea just how true his words would turn out to be. Rahim turned from his father before he could see the rage that crawled through him at being given orders.

  He was the future king.

  He was through taking orders from anyone.

  “Now, what is this about not taking his tonic? The palace physician refilled it just yesterday.”

  “Well, I don’t know what he’s doing with it, but he isn’t swallowing it.” Rahim turned back to Fariq, though the rage was still clawing at its cage. “His eyes are clear. He isn’t shuffling around and running into things. He asked me several very pointed questions yesterday, and I think he knows the tonic was poison.”

  Fariq laid his quill down. “And did you answer those questions carefully?”

  Rahim closed the distance between them. “I’m not a fool, Uncle. I deflected suspicion from me and agreed with him that he might be in danger and that he should double his personal guard.”

  “You are a fool.” Fariq glared at his son. “You don’t validate his fears and make him harder to reach!”

  “If I hadn’t agreed with him, I would have looked guilty. He was fishing for it. Asking me questions about my mother. About Milisatria. About the symptoms of his illness. About you.”

  Fariq froze. “He suspects me?”

  Rahim nodded. Oh yes, the king suspected his cousin of trying to kill him and remove him from the throne. Rahim had made sure of it. It was unfortunate that the king’s suspicion of Fariq had caused him to stop taking his tonic. Rahim couldn’t afford to risk the king recognizing Javan and halting the coronation. Still, he could dose the king with saffeyena the morning of Maqbara’s competition, and that would keep the king in a groggy state long enough to be seen with Rahim without acknowledging Javan, a certain way to stop the gossip about whether Javan was a royal. After the coronation, the king could have a well-timed accident, and Rahim’s future would be secured.

  “We must move quickly and carefully.” Fariq turned to look out his window at the golden sunshine pooling on the mosaic tiles of his personal courtyard. “With extra guards, it will be tricky, but the key is to make it look like an accident.”

  “We can’t kill him immediately after he hired extra guards and told them he thinks you’re making a move against him and his son.” Rahim’s voice was cold as he slowly pulled his royal purple sash from around his waist. “The important thing is that I get the crown. I’ve promised him I’d reveal whatever it was Javan was supposed to show him at his mother’s grave at the coronation. Made a big deal about wanting it to be a moment that honored her in front of the entire kingdom. He bought it. The coronation is proceeding on schedule.”

  “It’s still more than a week away!” Fariq tapped his fingers on the table impatiently. “As the poison continues to leave his system, his thoughts will be sharper. His logic clearer. And if he suspects me, he’ll come after me to protect you.”

  “It’s what a loyal father would do for his son,” Rahim said as he moved to stand directly behind Fariq’s chair. “And, of course, it’s what a loyal son would do for his father.”

  “What are you—”

  Swiftly Rahim wrapped the sash around his father’s neck, twisted it tight, and pulled. Fariq clawed at his son’s hands, knocking the parchment and quill to the floor. Rahim dug his heels into the rug and held on. As his father’s struggles lessened, Rahim leaned down and let every ounce of bitter rage he’d nursed for seventeen years out of its cage.

  “The important thing is that I get the crown. Not you. Not the father who left his son to rot in poverty and filth for years.” He twisted the sash tighter. “My new father believes me to be a loyal, honorable son worthy of being his successor. You’ve just helped me prove him right.”

  Fariq’s body went limp, and Rahim slowly let go of the sash. And then he turned to find the king to report that someone loyal to the king had apparently uncovered Fariq’s treachery and put an end to it.

  THIRTY-NINE

  JAVAN LOST TRACK of the hours as he bent over the crate in the supply room on the fifteenth level, his agony pouring out of him in broken prayers to Yl’ Haliq, who had allowed all this.

  The headmaster’s death.

  The impostor taking Javan’s place.

  Javan’s imprisonment.

  The corruption in Akram.

  Meeting Sajda.

  Losing Tarek.

  Javan had been so sure of himself. So sure of the entire world when he stepped on the stage beside the headmaster to receive the sash he’d worked so hard for.

  He was a prince, destined to rule. His father was a king full of honor and greatness, and Javan’s task was to live up to his example. Akram was the jewel of the desert—her people thriving in a just society. He’d thought everything was carved in stone. A destiny ordained by Yl’ Haliq himself.

  But here he was.

  On his knees in a dusty supply closet in Maqbara, surrounded by corruption and grief, praying though he no longer knew what to ask for.

  He’d begged for deliverance, but he was still here.

  He’d prayed that the injustice done to him would be made right, but instead he’d learned about the injustices that had been done to others. And here he knelt, broken by the truth that his father had failed. That pain was a way of life for so many of his people.

  That pain was a way of life for Sajda.

  He’d asked for mercy. For help.

  He’d received silence.

  Bending his head over his hands, he stopped praying. Stopped picking up every shard of grief, every splinter of anger to examine it anew. Instead, he went quiet, his heart aching as he let go of everything he wanted to demand. Ask. Beg.

  For long moments, he stayed curved over the chest in the middle of the closet, silent and aching.

  And then something shifted inside him.

  A breath of peace. A soft whisper of comfort that didn’t take away the pain but somehow made it easier to endure. The gentle touch of Yl’ Haliq resting on Javan’s battered heart.

  And in the stillness of his mind, an idea formed, crystallizing before he realized what was happening. He clenched his folded hands as hope, soft and fragile, unfurled in his chest and took root.

  He was right where he was supposed to be.

  He was meant to hurt the way his people hurt. To see the truth of Akram from their eyes.

  Their grief was his to bear. Their injustices his to make right.

  He was destined to lose what he’d thought was his so that he could gain something far more important—wisdom.

  He was destined to learn how to fight for his kingdom. For his people.

  And he was destined to meet Sajda.

  As if she’d read his mind, she dropped out of the crack in the ceiling and stared at him with weary grief on her face.

&nbs
p; “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice husky from crying.

  “Praying and waiting for you.”

  He got to his feet, moving stiffly, his knees protesting his hours on the hard stone floor.

  “I was wrong,” he said.

  “About what?”

  “Everything.” He moved so that the crate was no longer lying between them. “I kept praying for deliverance. For escape. I was so consumed with the wrong done to me that I failed to stop and listen. To learn. But I’ve been listening, Sajda. And I know that I was always meant to be in Maqbara. I was meant to understand the corruption my uncle brought to Akram, the pain it causes my people, and the horrors that take place here in the name of sport.”

  He moved closer. “And I was destined to meet you. I wouldn’t take back a second of my own pain if it meant that you and I would still be strangers. But my pain isn’t the most important thing to me. Yours is. I would do anything to take back the heartbreak you feel. Even if it meant I’d never get to be your friend in the first place.”

  “Stop trying to make me love you.” She stood across from him, her body trembling, her eyes haunted.

  Love.

  The word hung in the air between them, bittersweet with its wounds and its wild possibilities.

  Gently he asked, “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

  “Yes.” She hurled the word at him, an accusation full of longing. “You protect me, you listen to me, you show me the stars, and make me feel things. Make me trust you. But I can’t trust you. I can’t want you. I can’t . . .”

  His heart ached with every beat, an unfamiliar, delicate pain that felt like walking into a strange house and realizing he was home.

  “Why not?” He breathed the words and held himself still so that she wouldn’t change the subject or brush him off. So that she wouldn’t run.

  Her hands curled into fists, held tight by her sides. Tears slowly welled in her beautiful eyes and slipped down her cheek. “Because you’re going to leave.”

  The pain in his heart thrummed through his entire body at the dark grief that lay beneath her words. Of course she thought he was going to leave her. Her mother had left—pocketed the wahda from selling her strange, powerful daughter and disappeared. The female prisoner she’d been friends with had died two years ago in the arena. And Tarek, the closest thing to a father she’d ever known, was gone. Love must feel like a double-edged sword to her.

  “Sajda—”

  “Everyone goes away.” Her voice shook, and the desperation on her face tore something inside him. “Everyone. You will too.”

  The tears glittered on her skin like starlight as he moved closer. Close enough to feel the tiny thrill of her magic reaching for him. To feel the heat from her skin lingering on his. With one gentle finger, he lifted her chin and looked deep into her eyes.

  “I’m not the kind of girl people keep,” she whispered.

  “I’m not the kind of boy who leaves.” He held her gaze as he raised his other hand to lay it against her cheek, her skin damp from tears.

  “But that’s what you want. It’s what you’ve been working toward all this time.”

  “I find myself very conflicted about what I want,” he said quietly. “I have a responsibility to my kingdom. To my father. But I want you, Sajda.”

  A tiny frown puckered her brow, and he smiled. “Don’t start arguing with me.”

  “I’ll argue if I want to. You can’t just throw away everything—”

  He kissed her, covering her mouth with his and swallowing the words he wasn’t ready to hear.

  He already knew what she’d say. He had to leave. Had to win the competition and be restored as the heir to Akram’s crown of fire. And he couldn’t take her with him. The warden would never part with her—not for any price, he knew that. New laws banned the selling of child slaves in Akram, but it hadn’t freed those slaves who had already been purchased. And until he was established on the throne, he couldn’t use the power of the crown to give the warden her death sentence and free Sajda. Couldn’t change the laws to free the few slaves left in Akram and make sure others were spared the pain Sajda had faced.

  She made a sound in the back of her throat and wrapped her arms around him, dragging him against her until nothing separated them. Her lips tingled, tiny bites of magic that pulled at him, seeking a way in.

  He surrendered. Welcoming her magic into his mouth, into his blood where she could feel the heart of him. Where all that drove him—every fear, every doubt, every longing—would be hers for the taking.

  It was like being scoured with lightning. He gasped and stumbled back, pressing one hand to his heart as it crashed against his chest.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her hand hovering over his chest as though she wanted to take back the lightning thrill of her magic as it blazed through him.

  “I’m not.” He held himself steady as the blaze settled into a hum that prickled under his skin with a strange heat. “I wanted you to see for yourself. You don’t need words and promises. You need truth. And your magic can give you that. Tell me.” He swayed as her hand came to rest on the bare skin above his tunic, dragging the prickling heat through his blood and back into her.

  She sucked in a little breath, her eyes gazing at something far away as she took what he’d offered and sifted through what her magic was showing her.

  “Tell me,” he repeated quietly.

  Her voice was soft and full of hesitant wonder. “You don’t want to leave Maqbara.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’m here,” she whispered.

  “And?”

  “And you blame yourself for Tarek, which you shouldn’t. You’re afraid you can’t save your father. And you’re afraid that if you fail in the tasks Yl’ Haliq has given you, you’ll lose yourself. That you’ll be broken.” She flinched. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have looked at that.”

  “I showed you willingly,” he said, though meeting her eyes with all his secrets laid bare took more courage than going into the arena on combat day.

  They locked eyes for a long moment, and then he said, “What else did you see?”

  Pink blossomed on her cheeks. “Nothing.”

  He smiled. “Nothing?”

  She shook her head, but she didn’t move away as he leaned in. Framing her face with his hands, he said, “You didn’t see that I want to sweep you out of this place and lay the world at your feet?”

  The pulse in her temples sped up, and he pressed his lips to her forehead before saying, “You didn’t see that I think of you every hour of the day? That when I catch myself staring at your mouth, I lose track of everything except how much I want to kiss you?”

  He traced his lips down the bridge of her nose. “Or maybe you saw how winning a single smile from you makes me feel like I’m already a king. How you inspire me to be better, and how until I met you, I never knew I needed a girl who would constantly challenge me on every level.”

  “Javan—”

  He moved to her mouth and hovered a breath away from kissing her. “You didn’t need to hear my promises. You needed to see the truth for yourself. And you have to know now that I will come back for you. That I will take you away from here and give you the stars and the wide-open spaces you long for.”

  “I know.” Her voice shook.

  “And you have to know why I will come back for you.”

  Her lips trembled, but she didn’t speak.

  Closing his eyes and praying that she would accept the truth she’d seen in him, he whispered, “Why am I coming back for you, Sajda?”

  She was silent for seconds, moments, years, and every breath he took was agony as he waited for her to accept it—to accept him—or to walk away from the risk that once again her heart would be shattered.

  Finally, in a voice full of wonder and peace, she said, “Because you love me.”

  FORTY

  IT HAD BEEN three weeks since Tarek’s death, and Sajda still expected him to s
how up every morning with an orange for her breakfast.

  She still noticed interesting things about the other prisoners that she wanted to share with him. Still thought of her workload in terms of what she would do on her own and what she would delegate to him.

  And she would give anything to hear him call her little one again.

  Her grief refused to subside, no matter how much calm she tried to borrow from the stone. It was a hollow space that remained black even when she swallowed the starlight.

  The only comfort she’d found had been Javan’s steady, solid presence—a bedrock she could stand on when everything else seemed to be shifting beneath her feet. He’d quietly begun to bring her something for breakfast every morning after she fed the beasts, even though it meant daring Hashim to attack him in the kitchen. During his chore hour, he’d taken on the tasks she would’ve usually given to Tarek. He’d sparred with her daily in preparation for the final round of the tournament, and he’d welcomed her strength and her speed, even when she left bruises because something inside her could no longer stomach the thought of holding back.

  Every afternoon, she’d used the prisoners from levels fourteen and fifteen to help set up for the final round of competition, and she’d stolen a few moments between tasks with Javan to escape to the room on the third level.

  Sajda hadn’t wanted more lessons at first. It felt wrong to be planning to leave, to do more than just survive, when Tarek couldn’t plan for his future too. But Javan had challenged her—bragging about the scores he received in mathematics, astronomy, and history—until she was irritated enough to show him she was just as good, if not better.

  Now, she had a head full of facts she hadn’t known before. She understood the history of the surrounding kingdoms; she could name the constellations as they spun past her place in the rafters; and she’d become so good at doing complicated math problems in her head that Javan had started getting grumpy when he needed to use a piece of parchment.

  And now, grief had given birth to anger. She woke with her magic scraping at her skin, hunting for a target. She moved through her day with rage bubbling in the hollow space that had opened within her at the sight of Tarek’s body. She lay down at night with a buzzing, humming power pressing against her cuffs in a futile effort to tear apart the things that held her back.