Poison's Cage

by Breeana Shields

  I shrug. “I always find things faster when I know what I’m looking for.”

  The statement dangles between us for a moment. Finally Balavan looks away and tosses another handful of bread to the peacocks. They viciously stab at it with their beaks, as if they think they need to kill it before they can eat.

  “You’re looking for a tooth,” he says.

  At first I don’t think I heard him correctly. I envisioned the relic as something splendid. Something gilded and lined in velvet. “A tooth?”

  “Yes.” He smiles as if my shock pleases him. “A giant crocodile tooth. I imagine you’ll know it when you see it.”

  “But what does it do?”

  He regards me coolly, like I’m an insect he’s considering flattening. Just when I think he won’t answer, he does.

  “It’s infused with the blood of the ancients,” he says. “It makes it so the Crocodile King can live forever.”

  “And you want me to find it so…”

  He throws another piece of bread onto the stone terrace and then watches with relish as the birds attack it. “So I can destroy the Crocodile King?” He turns toward me and gives me a smile that freezes the blood in my veins. “Yes, priya. That’s exactly what I want.”

  The snakes finally give me something I haven’t had in all the weeks I’ve been at the Naga palace—freedom. Or at least the promise of freedom.

  I train Jasu and the others to search the minds of anyone who passes my door. To let me know when Amoli is coming, when Balavan is nearby, when meetings are scheduled that will provide information I can bring to the Raja. Finally I feel like I’m getting somewhere.

  Now I just need to find a time to slip away from the palace. I hold the possibility of escape—even a short-lived one—close to me. It’s like a flower in a garden I stroll through daily. I touch the delicate petals, I lean forward and inhale the heady fragrance. But I don’t pluck it. Not yet.

  My opportunity comes one evening after I’ve eaten in the dining room with Balavan. All through the meal he seemed distracted. His fingers thrummed the table. He stared into space for long stretches. At one point he slipped and called me Marinda. Not “rajakumari.” Not “the visha kanya.” Not “my love” or “my pet.” It’s as if he forgot to put me in my place. Forgot to remind me that he owns me.

  When I get back to my rooms, I send the snakes to investigate. They return with their minds full of chaos. Images assault me from five directions—a long journey, copper-colored cloaks made to look like snake scales, an underground cavern lit with flickering candlelight. Bags packed. The air vibrating with anticipation. I run to the window and find the moon—a bright coin against a velvet sky. Just a few days from being a perfect circle.

  The Naga are going to the Snake Temple. A shiver runs through me, and Gita’s words echo in my mind. The Nagaraja must be fed.

  Another sacrifice. Another man, woman or child who will be devoured by the Snake King. I could try to stop it from happening, but I have no chance of overcoming the dozens of Naga who will be there. And trying to prevent the sacrifice would most certainly end any hope I have of staying in a position to collect information that might actually be useful in figuring out how to destroy the Nagaraja.

  The choice is a weight on my heart.

  But the Raja’s men know that the Nagaraja eats at the full moon. Maybe they’ll find a way to stop him this time. To stop all of them.

  For the first time I wonder if I weakened the Snake King when I rescued Mani. When I deprived him of his monthly meal. The thought gives me a sharp stab of satisfaction.

  I call Jasu. Her mind perks up and bends toward me. Tell me when they’ve gone. Her thoughts swivel to the bustle in the rest of the palace, to the frenzied thoughts of those who are packing and preparing. And then suddenly my own face enters my mind. Someone in the palace is thinking about me, but it’s not Balavan or Amoli. The thoughts are laced with too much tenderness, too much guilt.

  Iyla.

  A lump forms in my throat. I didn’t know she was back. I haven’t seen her since the day we questioned Pranesh. Since the day Kadru told me Iyla would report my activities to Balavan. And she did. I nudge Jasu’s attention toward Iyla, and the thoughts of the rest of the Naga fade away. Iyla paces back and forth in her room.

  Her mind is a chaotic jumble of images that don’t seem to have any connection to one another—a tree, a sprained ankle, an out-of-focus room, a palm touching close-cropped hair, a peacock, a giant tooth. Stay with her, I tell Jasu. But no matter how I try, none of it makes sense. Iyla’s thoughts are colored with a choking sensation of panic. And my face seems to dance around the edges of her fear.

  Is it that she’s worried I’ll find out she betrayed me? Or is she actually worried for my safety? It’s impossible to tell.

  A sharp warning pierces my mind. An image of Amoli from one of the other snakes. Go, I tell them. Hide.

  The snakes barely have time to slither under the wardrobe before the door swings open.

  Amoli comes into the room with several freshly washed saris thrown over one arm and a stack of clean towels in the opposite hand. One of the male snakes reaches for her mind without my even having to ask. All of my training is paying off. Amoli’s thoughts are tinged with disappointment. Resentment. My stomach pitches forward as I realize what it means.

  She’s not going to the Snake Temple with the rest of the Naga. Balavan is making her stay here and serve as my warden. Which will make it considerably harder to slip away from the palace.

  “Is everything okay?” I ask.

  Amoli’s gaze sharpens. “Of course,” she says. “Why do you ask?”

  “You look…I don’t know…” I glance up at the ceiling and pretend to search for the right word. “Disappointed.”

  A spark of panic flares in her mind. Then shame. Then resolve. Her face goes forcibly relaxed. “Not at all,” she says. “I’m just tired.”

  “You don’t have to wait on me,” I tell her. “I’ll happily take care of my own clothes.” I try to take the saris from her, but she steps away and heads toward the wardrobe.

  “Don’t be silly,” she says. “Balavan wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  Stay, I tell the snakes. All five of them are focused on her now, and the last thing I need is one of them emerging to curl around her ankles. “Because he wants you to keep an eye on me?” I ask.

  “Because you’re the rajakumari.” She steps away from the wardrobe, and the pressure on my chest lifts.

  “I’m not sure I believe that,” I say. I’m trying to stall to give the snakes enough time to rifle through her mind. With all five of them searching, I’m hoping to find something I can use to help me win my freedom tonight.

  Amoli gives me a patient smile. “I’m not sure it matters what you believe.”

  She didn’t mean to say it. The regret that leaches from her mind to the snakes’ minds to mine is instantaneous and sharp. But her anger over being left behind has gotten the better of her. She spoke without thinking, and now her gaze roams over my face to assess the damage. I don’t intend to make it easier on her.

  “See, that’s what I suspected, but Balavan keeps telling me differently.”

  “I only meant that you are important whether you believe it or not,” she says. Her face doesn’t betray her thoughts. Her expression stays as smooth as glass.

  I make a noncommittal noise at the back of my throat, and the anxiety in her mind blooms.

  “Is there something I can bring you? Something that would make you more comfortable?”

  I almost feel sorry for her. She’s forced to walk the tightrope of Balavan’s approval—he has declared me untrustworthy, tasked her with making sure I don’t step out of line. At the same time, he’s affirmed my status as the beloved rajakumari. And Amoli is supposed to hold those two things in tension, skepticism and reverence. But I don’t feel bad enough not to take advantage of it.

  “You know what I’d really like?” I ask.


  “What is that?”

  “I’d like to go to bed early and sleep uninterrupted as late as I want. I’m so tired.”

  The relief that floods her mind almost makes me laugh. She worried I would ask for something she couldn’t give me. “Of course, rajakumari,” she says. “Rest as long as you like. I won’t disturb you until morning.”

  “Late morning,” I say. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Her smile is genuine. “No trouble at all,” she says.

  As she leaves, each of the five snakes searches her mind. But the only thing they find is a warm glow of anticipation. With every other member of the Naga away from the palace and me sleeping late, Amoli has the rare gift of time all to herself. And she plans to spend it alone in her room.

  I leave a few hours later with a scarf in my hair and Jasu tucked into the bag slung over my shoulder. I should be back before sunrise, but I hope that my conversation with Amoli will give me the luxury of more time if it comes to that.

  The guards don’t question me as I leave, and their silence unsettles me. I have the excuses on the tip of my tongue, steel coated and ready to offer up like weapons. But they barely look in my direction as I pass. Maybe they think I’m headed for the Snake Temple, like the rest of the Naga. Maybe they haven’t been informed that I’m a prisoner. Or maybe they know all of that and they’re just biding their time. Jasu searches their minds and finds that, just as I feared, their uninterested, faraway gazes are only a ruse. Their thoughts record every aspect of the moment—the color of my clothing, the scarf in my hair, the bag on my shoulder, the precise time I pass by.

  Every detail will be reported to Balavan. I’m allowed to leave, but I don’t leave unnoticed.

  My stomach twists into a hard knot. But it’s too late to turn back now. The damage is done. And the sooner the Raja has the information he needs to destroy the Snake King, the sooner I can be with Mani and Deven again. The thought quickens my steps.

  Moonlight bathes the forest in soft light, and the sound of crickets trills in the air like a lullaby. My fingers instinctively go to my pocket, to find the wooden carving Deven made for me, but then I remember it’s not there. It was one of many things I left behind when I returned to the Naga. When I lost Mani, the cricket became a kind of talisman—a reminder that no matter what happened, I had loved and been loved. I could use that reminder now. But until I escape the Naga’s clutches for good, the chirping of real crickets and the darkness that wraps around me like a blanket will have to be enough.

  Once I emerge from the rain forest, I pull the scarf from my hair and study the constellations printed on the silky fabric. The brightest stars indicate dead drop locations—places where I can leave information for the Raja’s men to find. The closest one is just a short distance from here.

  I walk along a dirt path dotted with small houses nestled on sprawling land populated by chickens and goats. Most of the windows are dark. But a few glow with flickering candlelight, and I wonder what keeps their occupants awake. A sick child? A lovers’ quarrel? A late-night meal of bread and cheese?

  My heart bends toward the idea of home, and I wonder what it would be like to have a place of safety. A place where I could take a breath without worrying about who was watching and whether my pattern of breathing had given anything away.

  A noise behind me pulls me up short. I freeze. A snapping twig? A gust of wind whistling through the trees? My mind reaches for Jasu, but she’s fast asleep, lulled by coziness at the bottom of my bag and the motion of my gait. I’m probably only being paranoid, but I can’t afford a mistake. Not when so much is at stake. I reach into the bag and stroke the top of Jasu’s head with my index finger. She is slow to wake, and when she does, her mind is sluggish and groggy. It takes a few tries for her to understand my command, to reach out toward the thoughts of anyone who might be following me.

  Jasu sends me fragmented images of dreams, the half-awake sounds of snoring, the thoughts of goats sniffing for food. Anyone who might have been following me before is gone now. I shake off my worry and keep pressing forward.

  Finally I spot the location marked on my scarf, but the only thing here is a gnarled tree in the middle of an abandoned field. I turn in a circle, looking for somewhere to leave a message. Nothing. I search the base of the tree, run my hands along the trunk, and my palm skims over a loose knot in the wood. I tug at it, and it comes away in my hand like a lid off a pot. I lean closer and see that there’s a small opening dusted with tiny scraps of parchment and bits of fabric, as if many messages have been left here before.

  I pull a piece of parchment from my bag and scrawl a quick message. Meet me after dark tomorrow. At the place where the maiden sings. Bring the monkey. I fold the note into a small square, stuff it into the opening and replace the knot. I hope the Raja’s men will find it in time. I hope they will know it’s for Deven.

  I’m headed to the kitchen for a glass of water when I see Marinda slip out the front door of the Naga palace like she has a death wish.

  Her hair is pulled up and tied in a scarf. She’s wearing pants and leather boots, as if she plans on hiking for an extended period of time. She can’t possibly be stupid enough to walk out of here the moment that Balavan leaves for the Snake Temple. The moment he has everyone on high alert that she might try to go. And yet she does.

  I’m paralyzed by incredulity for a few seconds before I grab a pair of sandals and follow her into the night. Marinda strolls past the guards and then slows down and cocks her head to one side as if she’s listening for something. Her shoulders tighten. At least she has the sense to be nervous.

  One of the guards gives me a smirk as I pass. I can tell he’s about to make a sarcastic comment, so I press a finger to my lips. “I’m following her on Balavan’s orders,” I say. “If you mess this up, he’ll have your head on a stake.”

  A flicker of anger flashes over his face, but then his expression goes stony. He shrugs one shoulder and motions for me to pass. Marinda trudges all the way through the rain forest, and I follow behind her at a safe distance, careful to stay in the shadows.

  A few minutes after she emerges from the foliage, she pulls the scarf from her hair and studies it. I try to edge closer to see what’s printed on the fabric, what’s creasing her forehead and making her bite her lip, but the night is too dark. She shoves the scarf into her bag, takes a sharp left and keeps walking.

  I thought Marinda would go to the bookshop, or to the girls’ home, or maybe straight to the Raja’s palace to see Mani and Deven again. I didn’t expect to follow her to a humble settlement of tiny homes. She stops and gazes toward one of the houses. The light in the window changes her face—turns it wistful and sad. It’s an expression filled with such aching that it tugs on something low in my belly. My throat is thick with emotion. I’m torn by the desire to go to her and the need to keep Balavan satisfied. I shift my weight, and a twig snaps in half.

  Marinda freezes. Her expression of longing vanishes, and stark fear takes its place. I’m too exposed here. I turn and sprint into the darkness, careful to make my steps as light and silent as possible, but I don’t find a place to hide right away. I run until my lungs burn, until I find a house with an open gate. I slip through and press myself against the side of the house, deep in the shadows.

  I wait until I’m sure Marinda is too far away to hear my footsteps before I step back onto the path. I catch up with her just in time to see her slipping something into an opening in a tree trunk. She replaces the knot of wood that conceals the hole, looks both ways and then hurries back up the path in the direction of the Naga palace.

  How many years would Balavan give me for clear evidence that Marinda is spying for the Raja? Could I convince him to give me all of it?

  I wait several minutes, the sound of my heartbeat rushing in my ears, before I remove the knot of wood and unfold the message. Meet me after dark tomorrow. At the place where the maiden sings. Bring the monkey. My chest constricts as I remember Marinda tak
ing me to the waterfall and telling me the story of the maiden and the prince. It was a peace offering during our time in the Widows’ Village. Even after she realized I’d betrayed her, she so often tried to mend my heart, to offer up a gift in her open palm. And I so often smacked her hand away. If it wasn’t life she was holding, I wasn’t interested.

  Bring the monkey. It’s what Marinda calls Mani in moments of great tenderness—monkey. As if that’s the most lovable creature she could possibly imagine. She never had a nickname for me.

  The letters start to swim in my vision. A single teardrop falls onto the parchment and blurs the signature—just a simple letter M. I fold the message along the creases Marinda made so that it looks just as she left it. The note feels heavy in my palm. It’s worth more coin than I could possibly carry. It’s worth more years than I’ve lived so far.

  I picture Balavan’s face when I hand him the parchment. I imagine him opening it, his gaze sweeping over the words, realizing that the handwriting matches the letter he took from Marinda’s room. I envision telling him about the waterfall, about Mani, about Marinda meeting with Deven. I see his face turn to stone.

  This message is the most valuable thing I’ve ever held.

  I return it to its hiding spot and follow Marinda back to the palace.

  I expected the guards to stop Marinda. I thought I’d have to intercede on her behalf to keep her alive. But when one of the men utters the first half of the new password, his hand already reaching for the weapon at his hip, Marinda stares into the distance for just a beat and then gives him the second half with a steady voice. It’s as if she plucked it out of the air like a ripe piece of fruit.

  I spend hours tossing and turning before I finally give up on sleep. I pace back and forth across the length of my room until bright light seeps around the edges of the drapery. In the short time I’ve been here, the rug has already grown threadbare in the center.

  Balavan would never have given Marinda the password, never have trusted her not to leave in his absence. That means she has someone else helping her on the inside. The realization cinches up my heart like a silk purse.