“OPEN THE DOOR,” Rahim snapped as he entered the magistrate’s office surrounded by his team of guards the day after the combat round against the sand demon. “I’m going to do an inspection of the prison.”
“Inspection, Your Highness?” The magistrate hurried out from behind his large desk, his eyeglasses askew. “This is most unusual. Does the warden know you’re coming?”
Rahim silenced him with a long, cold look.
“But of course, my prince. Whatever you’d like.” The man hastened to lead Rahim and his guards to the tunnel that wound down to Maqbara’s entrance.
Rahim didn’t reply. Sweat beaded the man’s brow as the silence extended throughout the length of the journey through the tunnel.
“My apologies, Your Highness.” The magistrate’s voice shook slightly. “The warden dislikes unexpected visitors, but that is no excuse for questioning my liege.”
Rahim inclined his head in a slight acknowledgment of the apology and then swept inside the prison.
If the warden didn’t want a surprise visit from the crown prince, then she should’ve made sure to kill Javan in Loch Talam like she’d been paid to do.
The tall girl with the pale skin and dark hair was sweeping sand from the arena floor so prisoners could shovel it into the open crates that lined the edges of the arena. She stilled as Rahim approached, and then slowly raised her gaze to his. Something cold skittered across Rahim’s skin at the look on her face, and he gave her a predatory smile for the pleasure of watching her icy confidence dissolve into quivering obedience.
She raised her chin, something dangerous burning in her eyes.
His smile winked out.
Once he’d solved the problem of Javan, he was going to teach the warden’s slave a lesson as well. He hadn’t crawled his way out of the desert filth and into the palace just to have a slave refuse to give him his due.
“Where are the injured prisoners?” he asked.
“If you’re looking for Javan, you should know—”
“I’m Javan,” Rahim snapped. “Anyone claiming otherwise is a traitor who deserves death.” His heart pounded, and rage licked at his veins.
Had the prince already turned the prisoners against him?
Something flickered in the girl’s blue eyes, and she tugged at the iron bracelets she wore. “Of course you are,” she said in a quiet, cold voice. “There is a prisoner here by the same name. You seemed interested in watching him fight yesterday. He was injured, so I thought you were referring to him.”
It was a plausible explanation given how angry Rahim had been at the prince’s survival, but it was unsettling that the slave had paid it any notice.
“You should know that he is one of the favorites among the aristocrats,” the girl said. “They love to champion someone who has the strength to beat the odds.” Her eyebrow rose. “Better return on their investment.”
“What do I care about the aristocrats’ betting?” he asked sharply.
“The crowd favorites are closely followed,” she said, her eyes boring into his. “Rumors abound. Especially when one seems to resemble the royal family. It would be a shame for him to succumb to his injuries and fuel the speculation that he’s a royal in prison by mistake.”
Everything inside Rahim went cold and still. “Why would his death fuel speculation like that?”
“Because if he’s in Maqbara by mistake, then there could be only one person who would benefit from placing him here. At least those were the rumors I overheard on the last Exhibition Day.” She cocked her head. “I’m not sure what a group of suspicious aristocrats could do to a prince, of course. I’m sure I’m worried on your behalf for nothing.”
He glared as his plan to simply slit Javan’s throat and walk out of the prison disintegrated before the knowledge that doing so could jeopardize his upcoming coronation. One of the prison guards could talk. The magistrate could connect Rahim’s visit with the death of the boy who looked like a Kadar. It was too risky to do the job himself, a fact that sent a flush of anger through his body.
Had the king heard the rumors yet? Rahim would have to make sure every guard around the ruler was loyal to the FaSaa’il and then instruct them not to allow the old man any visitors. And he’d have to come up with a less personal way to make sure Javan died before the king attended the final round of combat. Quickly sorting through his options, he turned to the slave girl and said, “Tell the warden I want to speak to her and then take me to the infirmary.”
She nodded, the barest inclination of her head that left him feeling like he was the one who’d been dismissed, and returned shortly with the warden.
Rahim kept it brief. “Announce to the prisoners that the aristocrat residing here and going by the name of Javan is an enemy of the crown. I will grant immediate release to any prisoner who kills him.”
The slave girl remained silent and still. It was infuriating that Rahim couldn’t tell if his words had made an impact.
“He’s becoming a crowd favorite,” the warden said. “If he dies suddenly, those betting on him will demand an investigation.”
Rage curled through Rahim. Would every person he spoke to today question his judgment? Had they no care for the power he wielded over their pathetic lives? Leaning toward the warden, he snapped, “Then tell them to do it in the arena. I don’t care. Just get it done.”
Turning away from the warden, he motioned for the girl to take him to the infirmary and followed behind her as her long strides ate up the corridor. The infirmary was a long room filled with beds. Eight prisoners were currently in residence, including the prince. Torches illuminated the dim space, and a quick glance around the room showed Rahim that the prisoners were all badly wounded. Most were asleep or unconscious, and the two who were awake were lying on their backs groaning in pain.
No one even bothered looking at Rahim as he moved to Javan’s bedside, leaving his guards and the slave girl behind in the hall.
Javan opened his eyes as Rahim approached, and anger swept his face. He struggled to sit up, and Rahim dug his hand into the bandaged wound on the boy’s stomach and shoved him back onto the mattress. Blood seeped into the bandage, and pain bracketed the boy’s mouth, though his furious expression remained unchanged.
Rahim leaned down and whispered, “Why don’t you just die?”
“You first.”
He bared his teeth. “Akram is mine now. The crown is mine. Your father is mine. You have nothing left to fight for.”
“There’s always something to fight for.”
“Keep fighting then.” Rahim shoved his fingers deeper into the wound, enjoying the hiss of pain that escaped the prince’s lips. “It will only make my victory sweeter. You’ll be dead by the end of the next combat round; but before you die, I want you to look in my eyes and know that I will personally kill your father once he gives me the crown. I was going to just let the poison he’s been drinking twice a day do its work. We’ve become rather close these last few weeks, and I thought it the most merciful course of action.”
“You know nothing of mercy. Or honor.” The prince spat the words at him.
“Mercy and honor are for those who’ve never had to fight for a single thing they possess. I know everything about taking what is mine and destroying those who stand in my way.” Blood soaked through the bandage and coated Rahim’s fingertips. He bared his teeth in a vicious smile. “And the knowledge that I will kill your father, that he will suffer as he dies, is how I will finish destroying you.”
Before the prince could reply, Rahim turned on his heel and left the room, and the prison, behind.