Poison's Cage

by Breeana Shields

  She doesn’t trust me—not that she should, not that I’ve given her any reason to—but the thought of her whispering her secrets to someone else, trusting another person to hold her life in their palm—it fills me with so much darkness that I can hardly breathe.

  Before I can stop myself, I’m striding down the hall to her room. I slap the door with my palm. A long pause. And then a groggy “Come in.”

  I swing the door wide. Marinda is lying in bed, her sleep clothes rumpled, her hair a mess. As if she’s been here all night.

  “Iyla,” she says pleasantly. “How are you?” She scoots into a sitting position. She doesn’t look surprised that I’m here, even though it’s been weeks since she’s laid eyes on me.

  “Do you realize how reckless it was to leave here last night? What will happen to you if Balavan finds out?” I didn’t intend to show her my hand so early, but there’s something dangerous and raw pulsing through my veins.

  She frowns. “You followed me?”

  “How did you get the password to tell the guards?”

  Her chin juts forward. “You followed me.” A statement this time, her voice filled with certainty.

  “Answer the question.”

  “Why, Iyla? So that you can be thorough in your report to Balavan? So that you can get the maximum payment from him? My entire life for a few years of yours?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say. “That’s not how it is.” But I feel like I’m standing at the edge of a lake, studying my own reflection. And Marinda’s words are a stone dropped in the water. A weight that fractures my image. And no matter how I try, I can’t make it look the same again.

  Marinda gets the same faraway expression she wore earlier. Her face softens. “Then tell me,” she says. “Tell me how it is.”

  “I don’t want to die,” I tell her. I’m startled at my own honesty, at the way the words leapt from me without forethought. At how they make my throat burn.

  Marinda’s eyes go wide, and then they fill with tears. “I don’t want you to die either.” A single drop escapes, trickles down her cheek, drips from her chin. She’s always been willing to give me this gift—to cry for me when I am too hollow, or too scared or too broken, to express emotion. And somehow, seeing her weeping always makes me feel like I don’t have to.

  “I don’t know what else to do,” I tell her.

  She starts to say something, and then her expression abruptly changes. She swipes the tears from her eyes and straightens her spine. “What’s wrong?” I ask, but she just gives me a quick shake of her head.

  The door swings open and Amoli comes in with a breakfast tray. She sees me and narrows her eyes. “Oh,” she says. “Hello, Iyla.”

  I smile and snatch a grape from the tray. “I hope you brought enough for two.” I pop the fruit into my mouth and talk around it. “Marinda wanted some company.”

  Amoli slides the tray onto the nightstand. “I thought you had work to do,” she says, giving me a pointed stare.

  “Oh, I’m sorry,” Marinda says. “I bumped into her in the kitchen last night when we were both getting a glass of water, and I begged her to join me this morning. I’ve been lonely, but I didn’t mean to keep Iyla from her assignment. Is it something I can help with?”

  Amoli flinches. Balavan expressly cautioned us not to discuss Naga business in front of Marinda. He doesn’t want her curiosity piqued, doesn’t want her asking questions. But somehow Marinda knew that this was exactly the tool to use to make Amoli back away. And it worked. I can see it all over the attendant’s face.

  “Nothing important,” she says. “Enjoy your breakfast, girls.”

  The exchange catches on something in my mind. Tugs at it. How did Marinda know that I went to the kitchen last night? Her quick lie matches reality too closely to be a coincidence. Someone must have been watching me. A prickle races up the back of my neck.

  Who is she getting her information from, if not Amoli? Who else is even in the palace right now?

  Marinda stands up and pulls her fingers through her hair. “That was close,” she says.

  I bite my lip as I study her. “How did you know she was coming?”

  Marinda glances away. “I heard her footsteps,” she says. “I’ve gotten a lot of practice. The woman never knocks.”

  “How did you know I went to the kitchen for water last night?”

  “I’ve known you since we were small,” she says. “You go to the kitchen for water every night. At least twice.”

  Maybe I’m being paranoid. Marinda has been trained to think quickly under stress just like I have. Of course she knows my habits. Of course she knows that Balavan is keeping her at arm’s length. And it’s not surprising that she would leverage that information to get what she needs. It’s what we’ve been taught to do.

  I sigh. Amoli walked in right when we were on the precipice of something big, right as we were about to cut through all of the suspicion and mistrust and split open our friendship to remake it into something new. And now it feels like the opportunity has vanished.

  Marinda clears her throat. “That day at the market? The day we questioned Pranesh?” Understanding vibrates between us. Marinda is trying to reclaim the moment. To capture what we lost when Amoli walked in. I move closer to her, and we sit on the edge of the bed, facing each other.

  “I remember,” I say.

  “The reason I wanted to visit Kadru…” She pauses and wraps her finger around a loose thread on her sleeve. When she looks up, her expression is raw, vulnerable. “I asked Kadru if she could help me get your life back.”

  “You did?” A seed of hope sprouts in my heart. My chest is tight with it.

  Marinda squeezes her eyes closed and shakes her head. “Kadru wouldn’t do it,” she says. “Or she couldn’t. I don’t know which.”

  The seed withers and dies. And it’s so much worse than if it had never been planted. “I’m sorry,” Marinda says. “I didn’t mean to…I just want you to know that I do care what happens to you. I know you don’t think so, but I do.”

  “I’m going to die.” As I say the words, I can feel their truth settle deep in my bones, their inevitability.

  “You’re not,” Marinda says.

  But she can’t stop it from happening. If I don’t serve Balavan, I can’t reclaim the years I’ve lost. And I’m tired of choosing people I hate over people I love.

  “So you keep serving him,” she says, as if she’s seen my thoughts. “You give him just enough that he keeps giving you your life back, and when you have what you need, you get out.”

  I stand up and pace back and forth. “It won’t work,” I tell her. “He wants information on you.”

  Her gaze is sharp. “So give it to him.”

  I can’t figure out if she’s a genius or if she’s lost her mind. “But…”

  She stands up and takes both of my hands in hers. Her scars are scattered like pearls against the smooth insides of her wrists. I rarely see her without her bracelets. Rarely see the reminder that I’m not the only one the Naga stole from. “We have to stop letting Balavan divide us,” she says. “We’re stronger if we stand together.”

  I don’t know if I trust myself to make that promise. I’m not sure it’s one I can keep. Marinda doesn’t look away. Her expression is expectant, hopeful. “You followed me last night,” she says.

  I thought we’d already established that. “Yes,” I say. “I did.”

  She holds out her hand. “Can I have the note I left for Deven?”

  I shake my head. “I didn’t take it,” I tell her.

  But she knows I don’t have it. I can see from her expression that she already knows. Still, she keeps her gaze glued on me. “Why?”

  And then I understand. I’ve already made my choice. When I left the note in the tree, I declared my allegiance, even if I couldn’t admit it to myself. I blink several times to clear my eyes, and then I express the same sentiment I did years ago, when we were little girls ridi
ng on the top of an elephant and gazing at the entire kingdom sprawled before us like a spilled jewel box.

  “Because,” I tell her, “I choose you.”

  The words shimmer between us like a bridge of glass.

  Marinda crosses it. She wraps her arms around me and holds me close. She smells like the jasmine Balavan favors. I think of sitting across from him and agreeing to spy on her. I think of all the days he has access to. All the sunsets he could give me. I try to put a boot on the neck of my worry, to deprive it of air until it stops moving, but my thoughts spin away from me.

  Marinda lets go of me. “I need to meet Deven tonight,” she says. “But we’ll need a way to slip past Amoli. I don’t think telling her I’d like to go to bed early is going to work twice in a row.”

  “I have an idea,” I say. A mischievous smile tugs at Marinda’s mouth. Her expression wraps me in nostalgia and makes me itch for adventure. It makes me believe I can do this, be just one person.

  “What is it?” she asks.

  “We’re going to offer her a cup of tea.”

  The city is burning.

  Iyla and I are at the edge of the rain forest when we notice the black smoke curling above the treetops, the sight reaching us a moment before the acrid smell does. We quicken our steps. As we get closer, we hear the clamor of angry voices, the roar of things smashing. The screams. We break into a run.

  It feels like it takes forever to get to the heart of the city, and when we do, the scene stretches before us, glorious and horrible. Flames lick up the sides of buildings, glass glitters on the street, a mob of people presses toward the Raja’s soldiers, held back only by the swords pointed at their throats.

  The crowd shouts for justice. They promise retribution. When I get closer, I see that their faces are painted to look like tigers. My mouth goes dry. My heart thrums in time with the chorus of voices. Clearly, the Naga were wrong. Not all of Bagharani’s followers have been destroyed. Not even close.

  “Silence,” one of the Raja’s men calls. The throng quiets. Somewhere not far off a baby cries. I wait for the soldier to promise to find whoever killed the Tiger Queen, to assure these people that justice will be done. I curl my toes inside my boots. I’m itching to run to Deven, to bring him news that will help make retribution possible.

  The soldier clears his throat. “Return to your homes immediately or we will cut you down.”

  My stomach plummets. For just a moment there is a pregnant silence, as if the entire crowd is taking a breath at once. Rage trembles in the air like the final notes of a melody. And then all at once the mob surges forward.

  The Raja’s men don’t hesitate. Their swords slice through necks and torsos. They show no mercy.

  I start toward the commotion, but Iyla puts a hand on my shoulder. “No,” she says. “We can’t do anything.”

  Anger roils in my gut. “We can’t just stand here. We can’t do nothing.”

  I wrench away from her, but she catches my arm and yanks me back. “Marinda.” Her voice is near my ear, urgent. “Think. You can only help them if you’re alive.”

  My breath comes in ragged gasps. I wrap my arms around my middle. She’s right. I have the best chance of taking the Nagaraja down. Of making him pay for what his people did to Bagharani. But the Raja is supposed to have the same goal. So why are his men killing her followers just like the Naga did?

  Iyla brushes a stray hair from my forehead and tucks it behind my ear. “If we’re going to make our meeting with Deven, we need to leave now.”

  I can only nod in response. We duck through a side alley. I try not to look behind me. I tell myself no good can come of it. But, in the end, I can’t help throwing one fleeting glance over my shoulder. I wish I hadn’t. The streets are slick with blood.

  Iyla doesn’t say anything until we’re far from the chaos. And then, softly, as if she’s approaching an injured animal, “Something must have happened to the Tiger Queen.”

  I pull my wrap more tightly around my shoulders. The night is frigid. The mountainside is crusted with frost.

  “The Naga killed her.” My voice is wooden. My entire body feels numb.

  Iyla stops walking. “They killed her? Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” I say. “I’m sure.”

  “But how do you know?”

  I swallow. I can’t tell her about the snakes. Our relationship is too fragile, our alliance too tenuous. And she hates Kadru—I don’t know if I can bear to give her the truth and watch her face as I become someone different in her eyes. My heart is already too heavy. “I overheard Balavan talking about it,” I say.

  Her eyes tighten. “I find it hard to believe that he would be so reckless.” She doesn’t say the rest of what she’s thinking, though I can guess. Especially around you.

  “He wasn’t,” I say. “I was careful.”

  “But—”

  “What kind of spy would I be if I didn’t figure out a way to actually spy?”

  Iyla lets it drop, but I can tell she’s still turning my words over in her mind.

  We keep hiking, and I try to focus on my surroundings—the moonlight hovering above the tree line, the barren branches stretching spindly fingers toward the sky. It keeps me from replaying the horror of the evening over and over. I already know what I’ll see behind my eyelids when I sleep tonight. The blood of angry men. The screams of their loved ones as they were cut to ribbons.

  The roar of rushing water pulls me back from my dark thoughts and urges me forward. Mani sits at the edge of the waterfall, a bright blue blanket wrapped around his shoulders. Deven sits beside him. Their heads are bent together, lost in conversation.

  My heart expands until my chest can barely contain it. “Mani,” I call. He turns at the sound of his name. His eyes light up. He scrambles to his feet, tossing his blanket aside, and launches himself into my arms. I pull him close to me and sob into his hair.

  The sight of his left arm missing below the elbow is still unfamiliar—a fresh shock each time I see him. My fingers stroke his cheeks, smooth his forehead.

  “I missed you, monkey,” I say.

  His good arm wraps tightly around me. “I missed you too.”

  Deven puts his hand on the small of my back. His lips find mine and he kisses me slowly, tenderly. Mani groans.

  Deven laughs and ruffles his hair. “I warned you, pal.”

  Mani wrinkles his nose. “Still.”

  Iyla stands stiffly off to the side. I reach for her hand and pull her into our circle. Deven puts his arms around her shoulders and gives her a quick squeeze. Mani stands on his tiptoes and kisses her cheek.

  Her expression changes. Her smile trembles. She’s trying to control some emotion, but I can’t tell what it is.

  “Come,” Deven says. “Let’s sit.”

  He brought extra blankets and hot drinks, which we sip from canteens. We fill him in on everything that has happened since we were last together: Bagharani’s death, the riots, Balavan’s search for the relics.

  Deven rakes his fingers through his hair. “There have been skirmishes all over Sundari,” he says. “Not just in Bala City. My father’s men are trying to control them, but the crowds keep growing.”

  I shake my head. “They weren’t trying to control it. They were making it worse. The people were begging for justice, and instead the soldiers killed them.”

  “How do they expect to get justice when they’re burning buildings? When they’re destroying things? The Raja’s job is to protect the kingdom, not to bend to the will of the mob.”

  I thought Deven would be horrified when I told him what had happened tonight. I thought he’d be enraged. I didn’t expect him to defend his father.

  “Their leader is dead,” I say softly. “Their comrades have been slaughtered. And their kingdom refuses to defend them. I think a little anger is justified.”

  Deven’s face is rigid. A muscle jumps in his jaw. “Their leader,” he says, “is my father.”

  The words snuff o
ut the conversation like a pinched candlewick. Suddenly I’m painfully aware that we have an audience.

  My gaze cuts to Mani, and for the first time I notice the shadows under his eyes. “Are you tired, monkey?”

  He shrugs. “A little. I’m not sleeping very well.”

  I run the back of my hand along his cheek. “Why not?”

  He lifts his chin, and his eyes meet mine. “Nightmares,” he says. His voice is just above a whisper, as if he’s ashamed. As if he’s too old for bad dreams.

  “Nightmares about what?”

  His face tightens. His gaze is haunted. “The Nagaraja.”

  I pull him onto my lap and hold him close. “I’m so sorry, monkey. What happened to you was terrible. Any boy would have bad dreams.”

  The hopeful look he gives me rips my heart in two. “Really?”

  I bend down so that my lips are near his ear. “I have nightmares sometimes too.”

  He wraps his arms around my neck. “Will you come back to the palace with me, Marinda? Please?”

  I bury my nose in his hair. I breathe him in—the little-boy scent of him. It would be so easy to leave now. To never go back to the Naga palace. To never see Balavan again. To leave Sundari to its own fate. But I can’t shake from my mind the vision of Mani tied to the stone altar in the Snake Temple. Of Bagharani’s followers crying out for justice. Could I live with myself if I turned away? Would Mani still respect me when he grew older and realized what I’d done?

  Both Iyla and Deven are watching us with solemn expressions. I take Mani’s face in my hands. “Soon,” I tell him. “I promise. But I have to stop the Nagaraja so that no other little boys will have to live with nightmares. Can you understand?”

  His eyes swim with tears. “Yes,” he says. But his expression says no. His trembling lip begs me to reconsider. I hold him closer and rock him back and forth.

  Deven’s face has softened, and it gives me the courage to speak.

  “The Raja governs them,” I say. “But Bagharani made them feel like they belonged. Your father would do well to remember that.”