Poison's Cage

by Breeana Shields

  Jasu’s body suddenly goes still. Her mind perks. I focus my attention on her and feel the slow convergence of various thoughts flowing in the same direction like a river that winds toward Balavan. The Naga are meeting again.

  I stroke Jasu along the length of her body. Can you reach them from here? She tries, but it’s too far. Go, I tell her. She slips under the door into the hallway, her thoughts focused on moving along the crevice where the wall meets the floor so she stays out of sight. The other snakes clamor for my attention. Do you want us to go too? But I don’t dare send all five—the risk that they will be spotted is too high. Stay with me, I tell them. I need you here.

  Jasu doesn’t reach the Naga until the meeting is well under way. She immediately goes for Amoli’s thoughts again as an easy access point, and I wonder if familiar minds are easier for her to enter than strangers’ are. But this time Jasu doesn’t fumble around the edge of Amoli’s thoughts. She dives right in, and Balavan’s voice slips into my head as effortlessly as sinking into a warm bath.

  “The sacrifice was adequate, but we’ll need much more if we hope to accomplish our goals. It’s the willingness we’re lacking.”

  A thick cloak of fear drops over Amoli’s mind that I can’t make sense of. She shifts on her cushion.

  “Volunteers won’t be a problem,” a male voice says. “I’m sure we all agree. Isn’t that right?”

  A low murmur of assent moves through the room. Amoli’s voice joins the others, but her hands twine together in her lap.

  “Good,” Balavan says. “I need more than lip service.”

  Amoli feels his gaze land on her. The thoughts gather in her mind like storm clouds punctuated with the thunderous sound of her heartbeat in her ears. But when she speaks, her voice comes out steady. “You’ll have it,” she says. “I give you my word.”

  I try to make sense of what Balavan is asking and why Amoli is so frightened by it, but I can’t quite put the pieces together. And it doesn’t help that she’s trying not to think explicitly about it. She’s shoving the request out of her mind before she even looks at it fully.

  And I don’t have time to linger on it either, because Balavan abruptly changes the subject. “Speaking of volunteers,” he says, “I need someone willing to go to Crocodile Island and infiltrate the clan there.”

  “What about Iyla?” someone asks. “I thought she already picked a target.”

  Balavan doesn’t answer for a moment, and Amoli’s mind is full of dark anticipation. When he finally speaks, I wish he hadn’t.

  “Yes,” he says. “She did. But that doesn’t matter anymore. Iyla is probably dead.”

  My thoughts spin away from me in slow motion. It can’t be true. The rest of Balavan’s words filter through Amoli’s mind and then mine in a haze of disbelief. I barely hear the rest of the details. “Iyla missed her scheduled check-in. She wouldn’t have gone dark without a reason. Could be captured. More likely she was killed.”

  Balavan’s words are like a bucket of stones thrown in my direction. I see them coming toward me and I want to flinch away, but there are too many and they are too big, too powerful. And then they slam into me and I shatter.

  My reasons for staying vanish one by one as I lie awake staring at the ceiling. I try to sleep, but every time I close my eyes, I see visions of Iyla. Her fingers reaching for mine under the table as Gopal flew into one of his rages, her carefully controlled expression as she told me about her latest target, the way her eyes would flash when she was angry. And her smile—a sight so rare that glimpsing it always felt like a gift. If she were dead, wouldn’t I know it? Wouldn’t there be a piece of my heart that vanished along with her soul? Wouldn’t I feel the space it made?

  Jasu nudges at my fingers, anxious that she has caused my pain, worried that it’s her fault that a dull anguish is spreading over me like frost on a windowpane.

  But the fault belongs to the Nagaraja and all of the people who serve him.

  I was so sure when I left the Widows’ Village, when I stood in front of the Raja with my spine straight and proud, that I could do this. I was sure that I would give up anything to see the Nagaraja destroyed. But it turns out I was wrong. Balavan played his hand far better than I played mine. I came with too much to lose, and now I risk losing everything.

  I can’t be here. Not even for a moment more. I can’t risk letting the Naga take Mani from me too.

  I send Jasu to make sure that the Naga are still meeting with Balavan. My best chance of escape is when they’re all preoccupied. Amoli rarely checks on me after one of their gatherings—especially ones like this that stretch late into the evening. If I leave now, it will give me a head start of several hours before she knows I’m gone.

  Jasu’s thoughts touch mine, and I hear the echo of Balavan’s voice in Amoli’s mind, feel her sleepy realization that the meeting isn’t close to wrapping up. Fantasies of curling up in a cozy bed hover in Amoli’s mind just beneath the drone of Balavan’s words.

  I pull my satchel from beneath the bed and shove several saris inside, along with my scarf and hairbrush. The snakes circle my ankles, their minds colored with panic. Don’t worry, little ones. I won’t leave you. I lift the snakes one at a time and deposit them in the bottom of my bag, where they curl up together like a pile of puppies. Their minds quiet.

  I glance around my room one more time—the rumpled covers, the pillows scattered at the foot of the bed like spilled jewels, a platter of expensive, half-finished cheese on the bedside table. It’s the bedchamber of a rajakumari. And it feels nothing like home.

  The flat I shared with Mani was home. The cramped space, the tiny table, the shabby yellow curtain that concealed our bathroom. And yet when we lived there, I always longed for more. Why does it seem like fate always grants the wrong half of a wish? Both Mani and I have been living in palaces, but we’re not together. And that’s the only thing that ever really mattered.

  I slip out and close the door softly behind me. This time, instead of passing the guards, I wait just off the path, concealed by a giant fern, and let the snakes search the men’s minds. If Balavan is cunning enough to use Mani to try to control me, he’ll know that threatening my brother’s safety might send me over the edge. And I am right: the guards are prepared. This time they have orders to do more than report the fact that I’ve left.

  The time passes like dripping molasses, and my legs twitch with the desire to bolt. The Naga’s meeting won’t last forever, and the longer I crouch here, the more likely Balavan is to catch me. But despite my sweat-slicked palms and the blood pulsing through my veins, I force myself to be patient.

  Finally, more than an hour later, I find my chance. One of the guards steps off the path to relieve himself. The other man stands watch, but the thought of his comrade peeing makes the pressure in his own bladder intensify. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He tenses the muscles in his lower body. He curses his friend for taking far longer than seems necessary. When he can hold it no longer, he steps off the path, reasoning that it will take only a moment. And what trouble is there likely to be in the middle of the night?

  I won’t get a better opportunity. I dart past the checkpoint, racing along the path as silently as possible. I don’t slow down until I’m sure that I’m too far away to be seen. Balavan will come after me the moment he knows I’m missing. But I hope by then I’ll be long gone.

  Kadru is asleep when I burst into her tent. She lies curled on a crimson settee, her legs tucked to her chest, her breathing deep and steady. I’ve never seen her like this—her face smooth and expressionless, her wrists and ankles unadorned.

  The sight pins me in place.

  She looks so ordinary. And nothing like herself.

  I clear my throat, and Kadru’s eyes fly open. She presses a hand to her chest and sucks in a sharp breath. “Marinda,” she says, swinging her legs to the floor. “What are you doing here?”

  “I need your help.”

  She stares at me wide
eyed for several long seconds before she finally blinks. “I didn’t hear you coming.”

  Kadru’s snakes stir at her voice. I can feel their minds reaching for hers.

  “I was quiet,” I tell her.

  She shakes her head. “That’s not what I meant.”

  I open my mouth to respond, but she cuts me off. “This is about Iyla again.” Kadru snatches a green silk robe that’s draped over the back of the settee. She pulls it over her shoulders and cinches it at the waist. “I told you, I can’t help her.”

  “Balavan thinks she might be dead. I need you to use your snakes to find her. And to check on Mani.”

  “Why would you think I could…” Kadru’s gaze drops to my hand. “Oh.”

  I glance down. Jasu has crept from my satchel and wrapped her small body around my wrist. I can see how it must look to Kadru, what assumptions she must be making. “No,” I say, “it’s not like that.” I’m not like you. I never will be.

  But she’s not listening to me. Her full attention is directed to Jasu. She strokes the snake with the tip of her finger. Her expression is so tender, so sad, that it rattles something inside me.

  “I need your help,” I say. “Please.”

  “You’re different, Marinda,” Kadru says absently. She’s still focused on Jasu instead of me.

  “No,” I tell her. “I’m not.”

  But my palms are dry. My heart isn’t racing. It’s the first time I’ve ever been in Kadru’s tent without feeling like I was suffocating. With a start, I realize I can’t smell the snakes.

  “Kadru.” I say it softly, like a plea. At the sound of her name, her gaze snaps to my face and her expression shutters. Her hand falls to her side.

  She saunters to an ornately carved side table and scoops a handful of jewels from a glass dish. She slides heavy emerald bracelets onto her wrists and golden rings onto her fingers. The snakes—both mine and hers—go still, as if they sense something dangerous in the air. Kadru takes her time settling a heavy necklace over her collarbones, putting on teardrop earrings, slipping jangling bands over her slender ankles.

  By the time she turns to me, her expression is distant and cold, as if she’s just dressed in armor instead of emeralds.

  “What were you hoping I could help you with, darling?” Kadru asks.

  I swallow. “I need your snakes to search for Iyla,” I tell her. “And to make sure Mani is safe.”

  “Not possible,” she says.

  The muscles in my shoulders tighten. “It’s possible. I know it is.”

  Kadru throws back her head and laughs. “Do you?” she says. “Do you know?”

  “Yes,” I say, though a note of doubt has crept into my voice.

  Kadru touches the tip of my nose. “Sweet Marinda. You train one batch of snakelets and you think you’re an expert.”

  I take a step back. “I don’t know everything,” I say. “But I know the snakes can be used to gather information. And I’m guessing yours are better at it than mine.”

  Too late, I realize it was the wrong thing to say. That I’ve just admitted to spying on Balavan. I press my fingers to my mouth.

  Kadru smiles. “Don’t worry, darling. My lips are sealed. But it really doesn’t matter—this won’t be a surprise to him.”

  Dread curls in my stomach. So I was right. Balavan can read my thoughts just like Kadru can.

  “No,” Kadru says as if I’ve spoken out loud. “He can’t. Not unless he’s…” She presses her lips together like she’s afraid she’s said too much. And then after a pause she continues. “It would take a great deal of focus for him to enter your mind.”

  I think of the intense way Balavan looks at me, like I’m a tray of pastries. “Maybe he has been focusing.”

  “Darling, if Balavan were in your head, he wouldn’t be able to do anything else. Seeing your thoughts would take his undivided attention. He wouldn’t even be able to speak.” She runs her palm along the length of my hair and tucks a strand behind my ear. “He’s not like you and me.”

  Jasu’s body tenses around my wrist. She tries to send me calming thoughts, but it’s too late. I move out of Kadru’s reach.

  “Then why won’t he be surprised?” I ask.

  “I’d imagine your ingenuity at finding snakes to train would surprise him very much,” she says. “But your disloyalty won’t. He never trusted you.”

  I take a deep breath. None of this matters right now. My cover was compromised the moment I left—it doesn’t matter if Balavan ever trusted me. I need to find out if Iyla is alive. I need to make sure Mani is safe.

  If Kadru won’t help me, then I’ll have to do it on my own. I start toward the front of the tent.

  “It’s not that I won’t help you,” Kadru says. “It’s that I can’t.”

  I freeze and wait for an explanation.

  “The snakes can only focus on one mind at a time,” Kadru says. “If they leave my presence, their minds will find the Nagaraja. They will focus on him, and I’ll lose control of them.”

  “But…” I think of sending the snakes to spy on Balavan’s meetings. They were away from me then.

  “Not very far away,” Kadru says softly.

  My thoughts spin in search of a solution. “Can’t you control the snakes from here?”

  Kadru sighs. “For a time maybe, but not long enough to do what you’re asking.”

  “You could come with me.”

  “With a hundred snakes in tow?” Kadru strokes my cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I’m sorry, darling. But I think it’s time you let Iyla and Mani go. There’s nothing you can do to save them. You’ll be happier once you’ve made peace with that.”

  I wrench away from her. “No, I won’t. I shouldn’t have come here. I should have known you’d do nothing.”

  My eyes burn, but I won’t give her the satisfaction of seeing me cry.

  “Why do you keep coming?” Kadru asks.

  The question jangles inside me, and it takes me a long time to answer. “You’ve never lied to me.” And it’s true. She can be cruel, but she’s always told me the truth. It was Kadru who told me I was the only visha kanya, Kadru who told me that I served the Nagaraja, Kadru who told me Iyla was dying. She gives me the gift of truth even when it hurts.

  Her expression softens. “Then please believe me when I tell you that there’s nothing you can do. Let them go, darling.”

  “I can’t do that,” I say. “I won’t.”

  I walk away from her and lift the flap of the tent. But before I leave, I turn and look at her one last time. She’s watching me with something like pity.

  “Did it ever occur to you that Balavan has no power without you? Without me?” I ask. “Don’t you ever wonder what we could do if we worked with each other instead of with him?”

  Kadru opens her mouth, but then she snaps it closed without speaking. And she turns her back on me.

  My throat feels thick as I step into the cool night air. But I don’t have time to feel sorry for myself. Balavan could be looking for me at this very moment. I need to get as far away as I can.

  I pull the scarf from my satchel and examine the map. I’ll have to find a different dead drop—tradecraft forbids me from using the same one twice in a row. And once I do, I’ll leave a message that only Deven will understand. As soon as you get this, find me on the path lit by the growing moon. I have a promise to keep.

  “Iyla?”

  I blink once. Twice. Light swings into my eyes and then away again. My head throbs.

  “Iyla?”

  Someone stands in front of me, a lantern held near his head. His face blurs in and out of focus. Fazel.

  I try to sit up, but my entire body screams in protest. I ache all over. “Where am I?” The room is dark and cold. I’m lying in a bed that feels like it’s made of stone, and I’m covered by a thin white sheet that looks suspiciously like a shroud.

  “Crocodile Island,” Fazel says. “But you already knew that. The question is, why are yo
u here?”

  I put my fingers to the back of my scalp and find a bump the size of an egg. My hair is matted with what I can only assume is dried blood. I suddenly remember falling from the tree, and the fact that I’m not dead bites into me with sharp disappointment.

  “How long have I been out?” I ask. My head feels stuffed with cotton, as if I’ve been unconscious for days.

  “You fell last night,” he says, “and you slept all day. Now tell me why you’re here.”

  Fazel is staring at me, waiting for an answer. The lantern in his hand sways from side to side, casting him in an eerie light. The irony of my situation bubbles in my throat and escapes with a harsh laugh.

  I’ve been captured.

  Only a few weeks ago, I pressed a knife to Pranesh’s throat to force him to draw me a map showing the location of the Crocodile King. I lied to him that day when I told him that there were only two kinds of spies—the ones in it for the thrill and the ones who really believe in their cause. There’s a third kind: the spies who only do it because they’re forced, because they don’t have anywhere else to go. Those spies are just as easy to turn as the first. And they don’t die when captured either.

  “I’m here to spy on you for the Nagaraja,” I tell him.

  Fazel’s eyes widen. Not because of my confession—he must have already suspected that I was working for one of the Crocodile King’s enemies—but because I offered the truth so freely. He was probably ready to threaten violence, and now I’ve saved him the trouble.

  His features rearrange themselves. The surprise leaves his face and is replaced by suspicion. “You’re lying.”

  I sigh. “I’m not.”

  “If you were actually working for the Nagaraja, you’d never confess so easily,” he says. “It would be a death sentence.”

  I press my lips into a fine line. “A death sentence? You’re going to kill me?”

  “I’m not, but with an admission like that, Chipkali certainly is.”