Chipkali’s men return the next evening just as daylight is tipping into dusk. I stand on my tiptoes and watch through the bars of the window. They must have taken an elephant once they reached the mainland to have returned so quickly. That, or Bagharani’s lair is close. The men move toward the Crocodile King at a pace just short of a run. I press closer to the window. The news is urgent, then.
I’m too far away to hear the report, but Chipkali listens with his arms across his chest. As the men speak, his posture stiffens. His head dips low for just a moment before he starts barking orders. The entire camp springs into action. It must be true, then. The Tiger Queen is dead.
I sink onto the bed and pull my knees to my chest. Now all I can do is wait.
I try to discipline my thoughts, to pin them to this moment, to focus them on getting off the peninsula alive. But they keep slipping backward to the ritual I witnessed—the horror of watching Chipkali transform into the Crocodile King.
And from there my thoughts slide headlong into Marinda. My breath catches at the sudden pain in my throat. I’ve spent so many years resenting her, convinced that she wasn’t doing enough to protect me, certain that she never thought of me at all. And yet now that it’s staring me in the face, losing Marinda is the most painful thing I can imagine.
I envision Balavan transforming into the Nagaraja, and a wave of nausea rolls through me.
The chains at the door rattle. I take a deep breath and try to clear my mind. If I’m going to face Chipkali, I can’t do it with the memory of Marinda pressed against my neck like a knife.
The door swings wide, but it’s not Chipkali who walks through. It’s Fazel.
“You’re alive,” he says. His eyes have dark smudges beneath them. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday.
“For now,” I tell him.
He sighs. “You must have told him something good.”
“Something good? I told him that the Tiger Queen is dead. I told him that the Snake King is planning to kill him next.”
Fazel’s eyes go wide. “Something valuable, I meant,” he says. He rubs his forehead and then scratches his face like he’s not sure what to do with his hands. Finally he shoves them in his pockets. “Is all of that true?”
“You think I’d admit it to you if I gave your leader false information?”
Fazel doesn’t answer right away. He just holds my gaze as if he’ll be able to discover everything he needs to know just by studying my expression. And despite the uncomfortable weight of his stare—the way it makes me feel like I’ve swallowed a swarm of bees—I refuse to look away. “I don’t think you lied,” he says finally. “Even you wouldn’t be that reckless.” But his voice is uncertain.
“And what would you do if I had?”
“Nothing,” he says.
I fold my arms across my chest. “Nothing? Now who’s lying?”
He shakes his head. “It’s true. This…” He sweeps his hand around the room, and I don’t know if he means to indicate this space or this peninsula or the whole of Sundari. “All of this—taking prisoners, watching people I care about die—it’s not what I signed up for.”
“And yet you watched the Crocodile King eat one of your friends without a second thought.”
A spasm of pain crosses Fazel’s features, and I almost wish I could take it back. Almost.
“The Nagaraja doesn’t require sacrifices?” he asks softly.
I think of Mani tied to the altar in the Snake Temple, his frantic cries, the naked terror in his eyes. And I stood by and did nothing to help him. The memory bathes me in shame. I have no right to judge Fazel. At least his friend knew what was happening. At least he died willingly.
“Of course he does,” I say. And then, “I’m sorry. That was unfair.”
He sits next to me on the bed and puts a hand on my shoulder. “I’m really glad you’re not dead.”
Something about the statement makes a laugh bubble up from my chest. “Are you flirting with me?” I ask.
Fazel flinches. “What? No. I’m just…I just…” He stands up and runs a palm over his short hair. “Forget it,” he says, striding toward the door.
“Wait,” I tell him. “Don’t go. I didn’t mean to offend you. It’s just not the most romantic thing a guy has said to me, that’s all.” Except even as the words leave my mouth, I realize that I’m wrong. That it actually might be one of the sweetest things I’ve ever heard. Especially since Fazel is the only boy who has seen me as I really am. Not the skilled seductress that Gopal trained, but the unvarnished, irritable, real me.
Fazel stops walking, and several seconds pass before he turns toward me. “I wasn’t flirting,” he says.
“Understood.”
A ghost of a smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “It would be in poor taste to flirt with a prisoner.”
“Extremely,” I agree.
He grins and returns to sit beside me. “Okay, then. Now that we have that settled, we should figure out how to keep Chipkali from killing you.”
Chipkali leads his followers to the boats docked at the water’s edge. The men are silent—the only noises on the peninsula are the steady fall of boots and the occasional snap of a twig or rustle of a leaf. The leaders of the group all carry flaming torches, which cast an ominous orange glow over the procession.
I’m still not sure I can trust Fazel, but when his gaze finds mine as Chipkali shoves me toward one of the boats, I feel—at least for the moment—like I’ve found a friend.
I settle between two of the Crocodile King’s younger followers, both of whom smell like they haven’t bathed in a week. I hold my breath against the stench as the boats glide toward the opposite shore.
Chipkali climbs into the boat and sits across from me but won’t meet my gaze. He holds his back ramrod straight, even though everyone else is hunched against the cold.
“So where are we going?” I ask.
The boys on either side of me shrink away as if they’re worried they’ll be punished for my indiscretion. As if just sitting near me is enough to indict them too.
“No questions,” Chipkali says without looking in my direction.
“Does that apply to both of us?” I ask. “Because I’m happy to stop answering questions.”
The boy on my right stiffens. The one on my left lets out a startled gasp. Chipkali’s jaw goes tight and finally his gaze meets mine. The fire from the torches dances in his eyes. “Careful, prisoner,” he says. “Or I’ll have you killed before we ever make it to the mountains.”
I bite my lip to keep from smiling and turn away as if cowed. As I suspected, Chipkali’s personality is more like Gopal’s than Balavan’s. He loses control when he’s angry. It makes him careless and easy to manipulate; he will give away in anger what would be impossible to pry from him when he’s calm. Now I just need to find out which mountains so I know how much time I have to formulate an escape plan—because there’s no doubt that Chipkali will kill me eventually.
I search for Fazel among the passengers in the other boats. I finally spot him a ways off, seated in the opposite direction from me, so that we’re facing each other. It’s too dark to know for sure, but I feel like his gaze is already fixed on me. I told him everything earlier—how I didn’t know that the Raksaka can take human form, how Marinda is in danger, how I need to get to her and warn her before something terrible happens. Fazel promised to help me escape. It’s just as likely that he’ll use the conversation against me and earn himself a higher place in the Crocodile King’s ranks, but at this point I have nothing to lose.
I’m dying either way. I’d like to die knowing that I tried to save Marinda.
Deven is quieter than usual on our journey to the palace. I can feel the unease rolling off him in waves, and I’m no longer sure if it’s the snakes feeding me thoughts or if it’s only my own worries gnawing a hole in my gut.
“I’m sorry,” I tell him when the silence has stretched on too long. “I know how it must have looked to see me with snake
s after…” The words stick in my throat as I think of the Nagaraja attacking Mani, and it takes me a moment to find my voice again. “After all that happened. But it’s not like that—”
“Don’t,” Deven says, and the word feels like a slap. But then his gaze finds mine, and his eyes are soft. “You don’t have to justify yourself to me.” He slides his hand into mine. “We do what we have to in order to survive.”
Tears prickle at the corners of my eyes. Somehow his understanding hits me harder than his disapproval did. And I wonder if my life will ever be about anything except survival. If I will ever have a chance to live for happiness instead.
By the time we make it to Colapi City, the sun is sinking beneath the horizon and I’m so tired I can barely stand up straight. But then the palace comes into view, and the promise of seeing Mani again gives me a surge of energy. Deven has to rush to keep up with me as I race past the guards and wrench open the enormous golden palace doors. And then I realize I don’t know where I’m going, and I skid to a halt on the marble floor of the pavilion.
“Where is he?” I ask, turning toward Deven, who has a sheen of sweat glistening on his brow.
He gives me an amused smile. “I thought you’d forgotten I was here.”
“I just…I need to see him….”
Deven puts a hand on my arm. “I know,” he says softly. “Follow me.”
He leads me across the jewel-studded marble floor and around the corner to a long corridor. My heart knocks against my rib cage. The snakes stir in my satchel, reaching for my mind, their concern for me prodding at the edges of my consciousness. But my thoughts are only for Mani.
Deven opens a set of mahogany doors, and my breath lodges in my throat. Three of the walls are lined with bookshelves that soar from floor to ceiling. The fourth wall is made entirely of glass, drenching the room in golden sunlight.
Mani is curled on a red sofa in the center of the room. His eyes are closed, and he’s clutching a book to his chest as if he’s worried it will disappear while he sleeps. It reminds me forcefully of our days in Japa’s bookshop. Of the many times I went searching for Mani only to find him snoozing on the purple cushion in the corner of the shop, an open book splayed across his nose.
My throat is thick with emotion. I cross the room and kneel at his side, stroking his cheek with the backs of my fingers.
“Mani,” I say. “Mani, I’m here.”
His eyes flutter open, but he doesn’t speak, doesn’t move. Fear seizes my heart.
“Mani?”
He blinks once. Twice. “I know you’re not there,” he says. The statement robs my breath.
I take his face in my palms. “I am, monkey. I’m right here.”
He squints at me then, his expression wary. He’s looking at me like I’m a mirage—like he’s been tricked before, and my return is too much to hope for.
My heart splits in half.
Mani lifts a hand to my cheek. “Really? It’s really you?” The hope in his voice chips at my self-control, and soon the tears are streaming down my face. I gather him in my arms.
“I’m here,” I tell him. “Really, really.”
His face crumples and he throws his arms around my neck. “I thought you’d never come back for me,” he says. His tears soak through my shirt as I hold him tight and rock him back and forth.
Deven comes to my side and lays a hand on my shoulder. “You can kiss him now,” he says. “He’s immune.”
My chest gets tight. It seems too much to hope for. “Are you sure?”
Mani pulls away and wipes at his eyes. “It’s true,” he says. “I’ve had more venom in my body than anyone in the whole palace. Everybody says so.” He puffs out his chest and holds up his left arm like it’s a source of pride.
“Are you sure you want your sister kissing you?” I ask. Mani shrugs and tries to act nonchalant, but I know him too well. I cast one more glance Deven’s way and he nods.
“I promise,” he mouths.
I lean in and kiss Mani on his cheek.
He wrinkles his nose. “That tickles,” he says, and my heart pinches. No one has ever kissed him on his face before. I always had to be so careful, planting kisses on the top of his messy mop of hair, avoiding his skin.
“Hmm,” I say. “Maybe I did it wrong.” I kiss his other cheek and he giggles.
“That tickles too.”
“Yeah?” I kiss his forehead and his chin and the crook of his neck, and soon he’s laughing so hard that he can scarcely breathe. I tickle him as I rain kisses down on his entire face, and soon Deven joins in, laughing and tickling too. For a shimmering moment I’m filled with a joy so big my body can’t contain it. And then I remember Kadru’s warning—that I’ll grow more and more deadly as time passes. That someday even my touch will be enough to kill. My happiness vanishes as quickly as it came. I let him go and lean back on my elbows.
Mani catches his breath and then lets out a contented sigh. A few moments later he climbs into my lap, his face suddenly serious. “Don’t leave me, Marinda,” he says. “Please.”
“Never again,” I tell him. “I promise.”
Deven, Mani and I are on the path to the Widows’ Village a few hours later. Deven wanted to wait until dawn, but Balavan’s description of Mani—the hollows under his eyes, how haunted he looked—echoed in my mind. It was so accurate that it rubbed my soul raw, and I didn’t want to stay in the palace another moment, let alone an entire night. I can’t protect Mani from a threat I can’t see.
“Will we stay in the Blue House?” Mani asks as we walk. His hand is firmly clasped in mine, and for the first time in months I feel whole again.
“Yes,” I say. “I imagine we will.”
He turns toward Deven. “Will we get to meet your grandmother?”
Deven stiffens. His eyes go unfocused for just a moment, as if he’s lost in a memory, and then he tousles Mani’s hair. “No, I’m afraid we won’t.”
Mani stops walking. “Why not?”
“She died a few months ago,” Deven says softly, his gaze fixed on the ground.
I touch his shoulder. “You didn’t tell me.” I think of all the time I spent studying the faces of the widows in the village, desperate to find Deven’s grandmother among them. And she wasn’t there.
He meets my gaze and his eyes are tight, his mouth a thin line. “I didn’t know,” he says. “She died shortly after I met you, but my father decided not to tell me.” His voice is strained, as if it cost him something to say it out loud.
I pull in a sharp breath and curl my fingers around his. “Why?”
“I was doing well working with Japa,” he says. “My father didn’t want me to get distracted and lose focus.”
What kind of man doesn’t tell his son that he’s lost someone close to him, doesn’t give him the chance to say goodbye or to grieve? But then I remember the Raja’s soldiers—their callous disregard for Bagharani’s followers, how they cut them down without hesitation. And I know exactly what kind of man does something like that. “I’m sorry,” I tell him.
He gives me a small nod and squeezes my hand.
“I hate when people die,” Mani says suddenly, and something in his tone chills my blood. Japa is the only person he’s ever known who died. Except for Gopal, which could hardly be considered a loss. But I get the sense he’s not talking about Japa.
I kneel next to him and look into his eyes. “What do you mean, monkey? When who dies?”
His gaze roams over my face. He bites his lip. “Nothing,” he says finally. “Never mind.”
“Mani, what is it?”
But he won’t meet my gaze. So I reach for Jasu’s mind and ask her to reach for Mani’s. And when she does, I cover my mouth in horror. Mani’s mind is full of images of me dying. Vivid nightmares of me being murdered in a variety of grisly ways—the Nagaraja tearing out my throat, the Nagaraja ripping me apart limb from limb, the Nagaraja slashing through my chest with a sharp fang and then feasting on my organs while
Mani watches.
Tears well in my eyes and I pull Mani close to me. No wonder he can’t sleep. He’s been torturing himself for months, and I’ve been too far away to help him. “I’m right here, monkey. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Mani buries his face in my neck and holds me tight. But he doesn’t say that he believes me.
I thought navigating Crocodile Island was hard, but that was nothing compared with navigating the rocky hills of the mainland with my hands tied behind my back. The terrain is uneven, and without my arms to lend me balance, I keep stumbling. The knees of my pants are soaked through with blood from my last fall, and my body still aches from my earlier injuries, but Chipkali refuses to untie me.
The moment the boat pulled ashore, he called for rope and then wrenched my arms behind my back as he tied my wrists together. I sucked in my bottom lip to keep from crying out, but he must have seen my expression, because he gave a dark laugh.
“What is it, prisoner?” he said, his voice full of grim satisfaction. “No sharp comment this time?”
Maybe I pushed him too far. It’s going to be a lot harder to escape without the use of my hands. I want to look for Fazel, but he’s somewhere behind me, and I don’t dare crane my neck to get a better view. If I’m being watched, I don’t want to draw attention to him.
We hike for hours before Chipkali finally calls for the men to make camp. Moonlight filters through the trees and casts the leaves in silvery light. It looks eerily like the night I watched Chipkali transform into the Crocodile King and eat one of his own followers. A shiver goes through me at the thought. Maybe this time it will be me.
But the men don’t set up an altar. They start pitching tents.
“Would you like me to start a cook fire, master?” one of the men asks.
“We can’t risk the smoke giving away our location,” Chipkali says. “Distribute dry rations.” He glances at me and frowns. “The prisoner only eats once the others are satisfied.”
My stomach grumbles in protest, but I won’t give him the pleasure of seeing me look disappointed. I study the trees as if I find them fascinating. From the corner of my eye I see the sharp look he gives me, but then he walks away and I’m left standing in the clearing alone.
Poison's Cage Page 15
