Poison's Cage

by Breeana Shields

  A shudder goes through me as I wonder what kind of weapon I’ve given him. He hands the map back to me, and I raise my eyebrows in question.

  “You’ll need to infiltrate them, of course.”

  I don’t cover my surprise quickly enough, and his expression fills with dark amusement. I open my mouth to speak. Snap it shut again. “I thought you wanted me to spy on Marinda,” I say finally.

  He splays his fingers against the back of a chair, his hands crushing the azure velvet. “Oh, I think you can do both,” he says. His lips curve up in a smile, but his eyes are hard as flint. “You’re practiced at doing two things at once, aren’t you? Just like how you’re trying to protect the rajakumari even as you betray her.”

  Blood roars in my ears. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Balavan circles the chair and stalks toward me. It takes all of my self-control not to back away. He puts one finger under my chin and lifts my face until I’m gazing into his bottomless black eyes. “Yes, you do.”

  He never takes his eyes off me as he reaches for a drawer in a low table, slides it open and pulls out a folded sheet of parchment. He hands it to me. “Is this the letter you wish me to believe that the rajakumari mailed today?”

  I skim the page—a plea for Mani’s release in Marinda’s small, even script. My chest tightens. She obviously meant for Balavan to read the letter, but how sloppy of her to tell me to use it before it was destroyed. My pulse thunders in my ears, but I force a laugh. “Are you suggesting she’s only written one letter?” I shake the paper gently. “She sounds desperate. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s written to the Raja a dozen times.”

  Balavan pushes off the chair and clucks his tongue as if I’m a child caught with her fingers in the cookie jar. “Iyla, my love, let’s not play games. Today was the first time the rajakumari has been out of the palace since she arrived. Why would she write another letter when she had yet to send the first?”

  My mouth goes dry. Fear skitters against the back of my neck. Balavan rests a hand on my bare shoulder. His fingers are dry and cold against my skin. “Now,” he says softly. “Let’s try this again. Where else did you go besides the weapons shop?”

  Suddenly I’m grateful that Marinda insisted on going to the marketplace. She’s handed me a less deadly weapon to wound her with.

  I swallow. “She went to visit Kadru.”

  “I see,” he says. “And what did they discuss?”

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I stayed outside the tent.”

  A muscle twitches in his jaw. “How did she look afterward?”

  This time I tell him the whole truth. “Like she’d just glimpsed her own death.”

  Balavan’s smile is victorious. “Good,” he says. “Very good.”

  “Are you sure you’re all right, rajakumari?” Amoli says. “You look ill.”

  I try to gather my thoughts, but they are dashing through my mind like panicked children. A dull ache pulses at the base of my skull. “I’m fine,” I say. “Just very tired.”

  It’s as if Kadru has tugged on a loose thread in my soul and I’m slowly unraveling. The room looks different than it did before. Before I knew that Iyla appeared suddenly younger, that the Crocodile King not only lived but was amassing followers. Before I knew that I could see into the minds of snakes. The world has shifted under my feet, and there’s no safe place to stand.

  Amoli studies me, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. “Can I get you anything? Something to eat, perhaps?”

  I have a sudden sharp urge to pick up the vase on the table and launch it at her head. Why does everyone keep offering to fill the hole in my heart with food? Bring me my brother, I want to shout. I don’t need anything else. Instead I paste on the false smile that has become as much a part of me as the ache in my chest. “No,” I say. “But thank you.”

  She doesn’t move. “It’s brave, what you do,” she says. “Though I imagine it must take a toll.”

  I stare at her, speechless, until it dawns on me what she means. I have to suppress the unhinged bubble of laughter that rises in my throat. She thinks I look ill because I killed Pranesh. She’s impressed with my ruthlessness because she assumes it’s directed at her enemies.

  A small weight lifts from my heart. Maybe the day is not a total loss. “It does,” I say. “But the Nagaraja knows what must be done.”

  The corners of her mouth turn up. It’s the first genuine smile she’s offered me since I got here. I am not one of you, I want to tell her. I never will be.

  But Gopal’s voice echoes in my memory, cries out from the dust. You already are, rajakumari. You already are.

  The table in the dining hall is laden with food. Balavan sits at the far end, his elbows propped on the glossy surface. He doesn’t rise as I enter.

  With a sweep of his arm, he directs me to sit on his right. “Thank you for coming,” he says.

  As if I had a choice.

  Amoli woke me early this morning and informed me that her master had invited me to dine with him. But we both knew it was an order, not a request.

  I sit in the chair at Balavan’s elbow. My plate is already filled—two fluffy pieces of warm idli, a bowl of sambar and a small dish of coconut chutney. I keep my hands on my lap, hidden under the table, so they won’t betray me by trembling.

  “How are you finding our palace thus far?”

  So he’s not going to explain why he summoned me here. And I won’t give him the advantage by asking.

  I reach for my water glass. Condensed droplets bead on the surface. It was obviously ice cold at one point and has been sitting here for some time. I take a sip.

  “It’s beautiful,” I tell him.

  He smiles. “I’m delighted you think so.” And then, after a pause, “Well, don’t just sit there. Eat.”

  I swallow. The plate in front of Balavan is empty, and his dark eyes hold a challenge. I can’t refuse his request without arousing suspicion. He doesn’t take his gaze from me as I tear off a section of idli and dunk it in the sambar. He’s still staring when I place the savory cake, dripping, on my tongue.

  He watches me like a man starving. The room feels overly warm. A bead of sweat trickles down my back.

  Finally Balavan clears his throat. “It’s time to officially present you to the rest of the Naga, rajakumari. They’re all dying to meet you.”

  The jubilation in his voice makes me nervous. I wipe my fingers on a napkin. “I’ve already met many of them,” I say.

  “I was thinking something a little more formal,” he says. “We’re having a celebration.”

  My pulse spikes. “A celebration for what?”

  Balavan reaches across the table and touches the back of my hand. “For your return to us, of course.”

  I pull my hand away and take another sip of water. I don’t say what I’m thinking—that one can’t return to a place she’s never visited, a place she’s just discovered exists.

  The corners of his mouth turn down. His eyelids are half-closed and heavy. “You’re not excited.” He leans forward, elbows on the table. “Are you unhappy to be with us, rajakumari? Is there somewhere else you’d rather be?”

  The hair on the back of my neck prickles to life. “Of course not,” I say. I don’t look him in the eye.

  “Iyla tells me you visited Kadru,” Balavan says. “How is she?”

  The goblet in my hand trembles. Water sloshes onto the surface of the table as I set it down. Kadru was right. I shouldn’t be surprised—Iyla has betrayed me before—but still, the knowledge is like a dagger sliding between my ribs.

  “Kadru is well,” I say. “She sends her regards.”

  Balavan laughs like I’ve just told him an amusing story. “Does she?”

  I ignore his question and ask one of my own. “When are we celebrating?”

  He touches my hand again and this time he curls his fingers around mine so that I can’t pull away. “Tonight, my love. We celebrate tonight.”


  Amoli takes great care in dressing me. I wear a deep green sari, edged in gold. Emeralds dangle from my ears, and thick golden bracelets circle my wrists and ankles so that the Naga will be spared from seeing my scars, shielded from remembering how they made me one of them.

  A single long braid falls past my hips, and Amoli has woven a column of small golden disks imprinted with snakes down the entire length of my hair. My head already aches with the weight. I can only imagine how heavy it will feel by evening’s end.

  By the time I enter the main room of the palace, the celebration is already in full swing. Colorful paper lanterns hang from the ceiling, and hundreds of candles flicker from every surface, sending dancing firelight across the black marble floor. The members of the Naga mill around the room, drinks in hand, each of them dressed in the most gorgeous clothes I’ve ever seen—the women wrapped in elegant saris and dripping in jewels, the men swathed in silk dhotis.

  There are more of them than I ever imagined. Hundreds. And I can’t help but wonder which of them were in the cave the night that Mani almost died. Which of them would have sat idly by and let a little boy be sacrificed to the snake they worship?

  The fluttering in my stomach slows. Stops. Morphs into diamond-hard rage. I will make them pay. Every one of them.

  Across the room a woman lifts her head. Catches my gaze and holds it. She makes her way to me and takes my elbow in her palm. “You must be Marinda,” she says. There’s an edge to her voice that I don’t understand.

  “Yes,” I say. “And you are?”

  She gives me a cold smile. “Chara,” she says.

  “Nice to meet you.”

  Her lips twist into a wry smile. “Is it?”

  “Of course it is,” I say. “I’m always pleased to meet another of the Naga.”

  She laughs. “Another of the Naga. Oh, aren’t you adorable.”

  Before I can stop myself, I take a step back. Chara closes the distance between us and touches my elbow again. “I find it fascinating, your sudden change of heart,” she says. “Tell me, what convinced you to come back?”

  I wrench away and fix her with a stony stare. “Loyalty,” I say. “Now if you’ll excuse me…” But before I can leave, she grabs me again, forcefully this time. Her fingertips dig into the flesh of my upper arm.

  “You aren’t fooling anyone,” she says, her lips near my ear. “And you won’t get away with it.”

  I sweep my gaze across the room, searching for the one person I can communicate with at a glance. The one person who might rescue me from Chara’s clutches before I do something stupid, like kiss her. But Iyla is nowhere to be found. I crane my neck; I’d even settle for Gita at this point. I catch a movement from the corner of my eye and turn to see Kadru watching me. She’s dressed in a black silk top with matching pants. Her midriff is bare and glistening. A white snake curls around her neck like a scarf.

  Do you need me? Her voice in my head makes my heart leap from my chest to my throat. But the answer floats to the surface of my mind before I can stop it.

  Yes.

  “Balavan may have accepted you back into the fold,” Chara hisses in my ear. “But that doesn’t mean he trusts—”

  “Chara,” Kadru says behind us, her voice as rich as melted chocolate. “How wonderful to see you again.” The woman’s next words die in her throat with a strangled gasp. She lets go of my arm and takes a step back, her eyes suddenly filled with abject, naked fear. Kadru could kill her with only a touch, and Chara knows it.

  “Balavan will be so interested to hear that you were schooling the rajakumari on his true motivations,” Kadru says. “It’s good he has you to speak for him.”

  Chara’s face drains of color. “No,” she says. “It wasn’t like that.”

  “Wasn’t it?” Kadru circles the woman, coming so close her breath ruffles Chara’s hair. The snake flicks his tongue. “Because it seemed like you were suggesting that Balavan was lying.”

  Chara shakes her head. She opens and closes her mouth, fishlike, but no sound comes out. Her expression plucks at a cord of sympathy inside me, and I lay a palm on Kadru’s arm. She’s made her point. Chara’s gaze follows my hand, and her mouth falls open at the realization that I can touch Kadru without dying.

  For the first time all evening I feel powerful. Kadru takes a step back. “Marinda is more forgiving than I am,” she says. “But remember that Balavan is more ruthless.” She strokes the snake’s head, and he closes his eyes with pleasure. “I wouldn’t risk his wrath.”

  “No,” Chara says, sidling away from us. “No, of course not.”

  Once she’s out of hearing range, Kadru turns to me. “Gopal was her mate.”

  The floor drops from under me. The self-satisfied warmth that filled my chest a moment ago cools to an icy, rolling horror. It’s no wonder Chara hates me. I killed the man she loved. I put a knife through his heart. She probably watched me do it.

  I press a hand to my mouth—I think I might be sick.

  “You can’t afford mercy,” Kadru says. “Chara never felt it for you.” She surveys the room coldly. “None of them did.”

  No, I think, they didn’t. We stand together for a full minute, the silence wrapping around us like a shawl. Finally she turns to me. “Go,” she says. “Mingle. Be their rajakumari. You can’t afford to risk Balavan’s wrath any more than Chara can.”

  Again she’s right. I step forward and let myself be swallowed by the throng.

  Later I see Kadru moving through the crowd, regal, beautiful. The Naga stare at her in awe, but they give her a wide berth. And for the first time it strikes me how lonely it must be to be that deadly. To be that feared. At this thought Kadru’s gaze finds mine. And she smiles.

  The party wears on.

  Balavan finds me and threads his arm through mine. We dart from one cluster of people to the next like bees in a flower garden. He whispers so many names against my ear that I have no hope of remembering them all. The members of the Naga regard me with suspicious, cool expressions. Still, Balavan holds me out like a jewel on his hand.

  “Trilok,” he says to a man with a close-cropped beard and a row of straight white teeth. “Meet our visha kanya.”

  The man takes my fingers in his and kisses the backs of my knuckles. His lips feel like dry paper.

  “It’s an honor,” he says. “Perhaps with your assistance we can make some headway with the re—” Balavan silences him with a sharp look. The man’s face goes slack. He licks his lips.

  “Let’s not discuss business tonight,” Balavan says smoothly, his cool hand resting on my back. “It’s a celebration.” My fingernails bite into my palms.

  Trilok scratches the back of his neck. “Of course,” he says. “My apologies.”

  If I didn’t understand before, the exchange makes it crystal clear. I’m nothing more than an exotic bird in a gilded cage. The kind its master takes out at parties so that his guests can watch it spread its wings and admire its jewel-toned feathers before it’s locked away again. I’m a symbol to be admired, but never trusted. And never free.

  Sleep refuses to find me. My worries gather until they are a tangled throng in my mind, twisting around one another, squeezing, choking, until I’m not sure which problem is the worst. The deadliest.

  I need to bring down the Naga and get back to Mani and Deven before this place changes me. Before I forget what’s real and what’s performance. But no one trusts me here. No one will ever say anything useful in my presence. It’s not an ideal situation for espionage.

  Except…a germ of an idea wriggles into my mind. I try to dismiss it. It’s reckless. It would likely never work. And worst of all, it would be another step down the dark path that leads to becoming Kadru. And yet I can’t stop turning it over in my mind. Poking it. Examining it from every angle. And then I let the idea drift down into the fertile soil of necessity, where it takes root and starts to grow. I slip out of bed, tiptoe to the door and ease it open. I make sure no one follows me as I make my w
ay down the corridor in my sleep clothes.

  Remnants of the celebration are everywhere. Half-empty glasses smudged with fingerprints, bits of glitter dusted across the black marble floor, pools of wax at the bases of cold candles. But the room is empty and unguarded.

  I’ve spent so much time committing every detail of the Naga palace to memory that I could navigate it in my sleep. I walk with hurried, silent steps all the way to the hatchery. Hundreds of dirt-filled wooden boxes line the walls, but I pick up only one. Five pale eggs are nestled inside. I clutch the box to my chest and hurry back to my room.

  I close the door softly behind me, climb onto the bed and pull the box into my lap. It takes several long minutes, sitting with my eyes pressed shut, pulling air in slowly through my nose, before I find the courage to lift one of the oblong eggs and cradle it carefully in my palm. The wrongness of it scoops the breath from my throat, and I resist the urge to fling it back into the box. It’s not hard like a bird’s egg, but leathery and rough. And it has a little give to it, like I could curl my fingers, squeeze, and collapse it like soft clay.

  I hold the egg up to the light and see the tiny snake coiled within the translucent shell. Hello, I think, and the snake curves toward me as if it can hear the timbre of my thoughts. As if it wants to. I pick up each of the eggs in turn, examining them from every angle. Learning to touch them without fear creeping down my spine.

  I think of Kadru and how, even before she could see into my mind, she always seemed to know more than I told her. I think about the snakes wrapped around her neck and coiled at her feet.

  If Balavan won’t trust me with his secrets, I’ll create an army of spies that can take them from him.

  And they’ll only report to me.

  The mosquitoes make it nearly impossible to hold still. They nibble at my cheeks, my neck, my fingers. I long to kill them with a slap of my palm, but I can’t risk the noise.