Poison's Kiss

by Breeana Shields

  “You need me.” I say it softly, but the room falls silent and every head swivels in my direction. I lift the hood of the cloak and let it drop behind me. “If you’re going to take down the Naga, you need me.”

  The Raja’s mouth pinches. A vein bulges at his temple, throbbing in time with his rapid heartbeat. But he doesn’t speak. I take his silence as an invitation.

  “The Naga have taken everything from me,” I tell him. “They have robbed me of parents, of friends, of freedom. They have beaten me and tortured me and attempted to kill my brother.” I swallow. “They have turned me into a killer. I want what you want. I want to destroy the Naga.”

  The Raja’s eyes narrow. “And yet”—he waves his hand in my direction—“you come to me dressed like this.”

  “The Nagaraja gave me a gift,” I say. “If I don’t use it the way he intended, is it any less mine?”

  The Raja temples his fingers under his chin and stares off into the distance. His breathing evens out, and when he turns back to me, his expression is drained of anger. His eyes are sharp, calculating. “What do you propose?”

  Breath rushes out of me in a long exhale. The guards recede to their posts.

  “I go back to the Naga,” I say. “I pretend loyalty and I pass you the information that you need.”

  “You become my spy?”

  “Yes,” I say. “For a price.”

  The Raja bristles. “You haven’t earned the right to ask me for favors.”

  “Fine,” I say, holding out my wrists. “Then throw me back in your dungeon. And best of luck finding another visha kanya willing to do your bidding.”

  He narrows his eyes and holds my gaze. I refuse to look away. “What are your terms?”

  “You protect Mani,” I say. “You allow him to live here at the palace and make sure no harm comes to him. You give me the training and the information I need to take down the Naga. And when they have been eliminated, you give me my freedom.”

  “That is all?”

  “Yes,” I say. “That is all.”

  His brows lift. “You ask for so little.”

  “My freedom is no small thing,” I tell him.

  The Raja nods. “Indeed,” he says. He doesn’t speak for a long time, and I watch the emotions play across his face, watch him measure his hatred of me against the desire for an ally on the inside. In the end it’s not a difficult choice. Not for a man who loves his kingdom. “We have a deal,” he says. “But you would do well to remember that you are at my mercy.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” I say. “And you would do well to remember that you are at mine.”

  I hear a sharp intake of breath from one of the guards. The Raja’s eyes flash, but he stays silent, and I feel as if I’ve won something, as if we finally understand each other. “What do you need?” he asks.

  “For starters, I need to know where you are holding the Naga prisoners. And a key so I can free them.”

  Two weeks later Gita and I arrive back at the girls’ home under cover of a purple darkness. The rest of the Naga have gone their separate ways—back to their posts to plot the destruction of the Pakshi, to find new targets for me to kill.

  My feet ache from the hours of walking, and my throat is raw from talking, scratchy with all the lies I’ve coughed up.

  “The Raja threw me in the dungeon,” I said.

  “He has Mani,” I told them.

  And this is how I will do it, wrap up the lies in slippery truths so that they will slide down easier. Just like Gopal used to lie to me.

  Gita twists a key in the lock and pushes the door open. She wraps her arm around my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “Welcome home, Marinda,” she says.

  My stomach is swimming with dread. But I smile at her anyway, because this is the only way to get what I want.

  That’s the thing about poison. The deadliest ones always come from the inside.

  Story ideas come from all kinds of unlikely places, and Poison’s Kiss is no different. Several years ago, I was listening to a lecture series on espionage and covert operations. In one of the early episodes, the professor discussed different civilizations and their views on and myths about spies and assassins. He mentioned a legendary figure in Indian folklore—the poison damsel, a woman fed poisons from childhood so that she gradually becomes immune but is toxic to any man she lures as her lover.

  It was one sentence in an eighteen-hour course, but my mind caught on the idea. Forty minutes later, I realized I hadn’t heard a single word since “poison damsel.” Most assassins and spies are recruited as adults, so I was fascinated by the thought of making such a monumental choice for a child. I wondered what would happen to a girl who was poisoned but wasn’t cut out to be a killer. How would the fact that she was deadly shape her? How would it break her?

  The idea wouldn’t leave me alone. I started researching the legends of the visha kanya (Sanskrit for “poison maiden”), as well as mithridatism, which is the process of slowly becoming immune to a poison by ingesting it in ever-increasing doses.

  Gradually, the idea for Poison’s Kiss took shape. I knew I wanted the story to take place in a world other than our own, but I also wanted to be true to the origins of the visha kanya and create a setting that looked and felt like the place where the myth was born. So although Sundari is not India, it is influenced by that culture and its mythology.

  I read dozens of Indian folktales, and bits of those legends made it into Poison’s Kiss. I knew I needed a mechanism for obtaining the poison that would make Marinda deadly, and I couldn’t think of anything more terrifying than snakes. I had already made the decision that Marinda would be poisoned by snake venom when I stumbled across a mention of the Nagaraja in my research. Anciently, this “king of the serpents” was worshipped as a deity in northern India, while in southern India the serpent cult included worship of live snakes. I thought it would be fascinating to explore how a blend of these two elements—the visha kanya and the Nagaraja—could be shaped into something new that would provide a context for Marinda, a reason she had been turned into an assassin.

  I read everything I could find on snake worship and came across numerous references to the Naga. In some stories, the Naga are serpentine beings who live under the sea and are considered deities. Other tales cast the Naga as a human tribe of snake worshipers. My imagination took off as additional pieces of the puzzle fell into place.

  Another nod to Indian mythology in Poison’s Kiss is Garuda, a giant birdlike creature (sometimes depicted as half bird, half human) who appears in both Hinduism and Buddhism. Garuda in these myths is always male, but I’ve taken creative license and made my Garuda female.

  The other members of the Raksaka (as well as the concept of the Raksaka itself) are my own invention.

  Sundari’s belief system differs from those found in India as well. Although reincarnation is a central tenet of Hinduism, and the concept of rebirth is found in Buddhism, the characters in Poison’s Kiss believe in a limit of ten lives, a notion that isn’t found in either religion.

  My goal in Poison’s Kiss was to create a unique world, with its own history and culture, while paying homage to the origins of the visha kanya myth. I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it as much as I loved writing it.

  It’s a strange thing to work with words all day and then suddenly be unable to locate the right ones and put them in the correct order for something as important as saying “thank you.”

  But I’m told that an acknowledgments page filled with nothing but kisses and hearts isn’t going to cut it, so words it is.

  This book would not have been possible without a whole host of amazing people. First, to my brilliant agent, Kathleen Rushall, for believing in this story right from the beginning and for being not only a great advocate but also a great friend.

  A million thanks go to my exceptional editor, Caroline Abbey, for asking all the right questions and for being such an enthusiastic champion of this book. I can’t wait to work with you again on the
next one!

  I’m so grateful to the entire team at Random House: Nicole de las Heras and Martha Rago, for the gorgeous cover design; Barbara Bakowski and the copyediting team.

  My heartfelt thanks to my mom, Sharon Berrett, who saved everything I ever wrote, convinced it was brilliant (even when it wasn’t), and who laughs at my jokes even when they aren’t funny (and occasionally when they aren’t jokes). Thank you for filling my childhood with books and my life with laughter.

  I’m indebted to my dad, Dan Berrett, for encouraging me to take out my teenage angst on the page instead of in real life. (“Feel free to name the villain Dan Vader,” you told me once when I was in a particularly bad mood.) And then, in the years that followed, for always asking how the writing was coming along. You never forgot where I was going, and you always had faith I’d eventually get there. I hope it’s not too disappointing that you get to be a hero instead of a villain.

  To Britnee Landerman, who read this story in less than twenty-four hours and then texted at 3:00 a.m. to gush. You have no idea how much that meant to me. You may claim to be the World’s Okayest Sister, but we both know it doesn’t get any better than you.

  To Cameron Berrett, who read my writing (in the form of letters) every single week for two years and who almost always wrote back. Thank you for teaching me not to take myself too seriously.

  To Derek Berrett, who shares my love of all things reading and writing and who will have his own name on a book cover one day. Marinda only knew how to love Mani so much because of how much I love you.

  To Don and Ginny Shields, my wonderful parents-in-law, for all your love and support over the years and for raising such a fantastic son. And thanks also go to Steve and Christy Shields, for making sure their brother grew up with a high tolerance for teasing and excellent taste in movies. (Where there’s a whip, there’s a way.)

  To Stephen Beck, who taught me to use strong verbs, colorful nouns, and crisp prose. I’m still taking your writing advice all these years later.

  My deepest appreciation to all my fellow writer friends (you know who you are) who have offered encouragement and advice along the way.

  Others who read this book (in whole or in part) at various stages and offered valuable feedback and encouragement: Elizabeth Briggs, Krista Van Dolzer, Caroline Richmond, David Landerman, Keaton Landerman, Kaiser Landerman, Danica Landerman and Jill Shields.

  Everlasting hugs and kisses to my children, Ben, Jacob and Isabella, for your love, your enthusiasm and your endless supply of great ideas. You are the kind of people I would choose as friends if I weren’t lucky enough to call you family. It is the great privilege of my life to be your mom.

  And finally, most important, to Justin, my best friend and the love of my life, for your unwavering faith and support. You are my partner in crime, my sounding board and my safe harbor. This book is just as much yours as it is mine. (Well, it’s a little more mine, but you get the idea….)

  has a BA in English from Brigham Young University and is an active member of SCBWI. When she’s not writing, Breeana loves reading, traveling, and spending time with her husband, her three children, and an extremely spoiled miniature poodle. Visit her online at breeanashields.com or follow her on Twitter at @BreeanaShields.

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