Poison's Cage

by Breeana Shields

  I’m sweeping the floor when I hear a knock on the door. My pulse spikes and I have to remind myself that I’m safe now. That it won’t be Gopal or Gita to give me a new assignment. I lean the broom against the wall and swing open the door.

  Fazel stands at the entrance. He’s rocking back and forth on his heels, a box clutched in his hands. My stomach flutters at the sight of him.

  He grins. “I brought you something.” He shoves the box of sweets toward me. “I mean, not just you, both you and Marinda—and Deven too if he likes sweets. Does he? Like sweets, I mean?” He licks his lips.

  I smile. “I’m sure he does, yes. Do you want to come in?” I push the door wider and Fazel steps over the threshold.

  We sit together on the sofa and my knee brushes against his. Silence stretches between us. Fazel clears his throat and turns slightly so we’re not touching anymore. “Is Marinda…? Are the others here?”

  My stomach sinks. I had hoped…but no, I was wrong. Fazel has gotten close to Deven. And Marinda too. We’re his friends and nothing more.

  “They’re not,” I tell him. “They went for a walk.”

  “Oh. Do you think they’ll be back soon?” He glances toward the window. “It’s getting dark.”

  The sun has set, and the sky is painted in shades of indigo.

  “You don’t have to stay,” I tell him. “I can tell Deven and Marinda you stopped by when they get back.”

  Fazel scrubs a hand over his jaw. “Are you kicking me out?”

  “Of course not. It’s just clear you’d rather not be here.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  I give a harsh laugh. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you’re treating me like I have some kind of disease? Like if you touch me, you might break out in huge, pus-filled boils.”

  A hint of a smile tugs at his mouth. “Pus-filled boils?”

  “It’s not funny.”

  His smiles fades. “What’s not funny is that you think I don’t want to be here.”

  “So, what, then? It’s that you don’t want to be here with me?”

  “Iyla…” He says my name softly, but I don’t stop talking.

  “I’m sorry that you’re so ashamed to have almost kissed me when we were trying to escape from Chipkali.”

  “Iyla…”

  “And I’m sorry that I lost it when Mani died, and I forced you to deal with me, but I really loved him and…”

  “Iyla…”

  “But I’m fine now and so you can just go back to…wherever…and pretend that you never met me.”

  “Iyla!” This time his voice is insistent enough that I stop talking. He leans forward and slides a hand behind my neck, burying his fingers in my hair. He pulls me so close that his breath skims across my mouth. “I didn’t want to take advantage of you when you’re stressed and scared and grieving. But believe me, it’s taken every ounce of self-control I have not to.”

  Fazel’s gaze roams over my face, and I forget how to breathe.

  “What?” he asks. “You don’t have a snappish retort for me?”

  I swallow. “No.”

  I’m not sure my mouth could form words if my life depended on it. I’m still waiting for Fazel to confess that he’s teasing me, that his words before were a cruel joke and that he’s leaving after all. My vision feels fractured and fuzzy, like I’m dreaming instead of actually sitting here with Fazel, our knees touching, his fingers warm on the back of my neck.

  He grins as his thumb moves idly over my cheek. And then our eyes lock and his smile melts away. He pulls me closer and his lips meet mine. He kisses me slowly, tenderly. And I kiss him back. I pour my soul into him—my grief, my heartache, my worries, my fears and my passion. I give him all the pent-up emotions that have chased me these past few months.

  My whole body feels like it’s in bloom.

  And when we finally pull apart, breathless, it’s as if something has shifted inside me. As if there’s finally room for an emotion besides despair.

  I lean my head on Fazel’s chest and he pulls me tightly against him, so that I’m nestled in the curve of his body.

  “I miss Mani,” I say. The words have been burning inside me for weeks, but I haven’t been able to say them to Marinda. Not when her grief is so much bigger than mine.

  He lays a cheek on the top of my head. “I know.”

  “I should have treated him better.”

  Fazel doesn’t respond, and the only sound is the chirping of the crickets outside. I worry that I’ve said too much, that I’ve given myself away for the heartless person I often was when it came to Mani.

  But then Fazel clears his throat. “When I was twelve, my sister died.” His voice is tight and strained. I sit up and turn toward him so I can see his face. “It was an accident—unexpected. The day before, we’d gotten in a huge fight. I told her I hated her.” He closes his eyes, as if the memory still pains him. “For years I lived with that regret. But I was just a child. And so was she. And if she had lived, I think she would have forgiven me. So eventually, I had to learn to forgive myself.”

  My throat is thick with emotion. He is so quick to assume the best of me, to offer redemption with no strings attached. I lace my fingers through his.

  I think of Mani the last time I spent any real time with him. He had just returned to the Widows’ Village, and despite everything I’d done, he wrapped his arm around my waist. I told him I was sorry and he squeezed me tight. “I know,” he said. And he did.

  A warmth expands in my chest, and I know what Fazel said is true. Mani would have forgiven me. He already had.

  “I’m sorry about your sister,” I say.

  He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I’m sorry about your friend.”

  I lean my head on his shoulder and tuck my body against his. And for the first time in many years, I feel safe.

  Mani’s ashes rest in a clay jar on my bedside table.

  It shouldn’t be possible for a boy who filled my heart so completely to be reduced to so little. And yet this is all that’s left of him—a pile of dust that could fit in the palms of my cupped hands.

  I run my fingers along the container’s red-hued stone and wish that my gift had been to bestow life instead of take it away.

  “Have you decided where to release him?” Iyla’s voice in the doorway startles me, and I drop my hands to my lap. It’s a question I’ve been thinking about for weeks—I want to scatter Mani’s ashes in the perfect spot, somewhere he felt only love, but so many of our special places have been tainted with one horror or another. He loved the bookshop, until the Naga killed Japa and kidnapped him. Our flat was the only home Mani ever remembered clearly, but the last time we were there, we found Smudge dead and our things ransacked. Every other possibility is the same. The Raja’s palace. The Widows’ Village. All the places Mani was loved, he was also tormented.

  But then early this morning the answer came, warm and comforting, like sunlight on my face. “Yes,” I tell Iyla. “I’d like to release him at the waterfall.”

  She smiles. “That’s perfect.”

  All five of us—me, Deven, Iyla, Fazel and Vara—sit at the edge of the waterfall, the spray gently misting our faces. Last time I was here, the branches were barren, but now they’re bright with new growth. Delicate leaves quiver in a gentle breeze. It’s as if the mountainside has taken a deep breath and started over.

  I hold the clay jar in my lap. I know it’s time to let Mani go, but I don’t know if I can find the strength.

  Deven’s fingers trace circles on the small of my back. “My favorite memory of Mani,” he says, “is how easily he got excited. Simple things made him happy—pastries, books, discovering a stray coin in his pocket—he found joy everywhere.”

  My heart stretches and squeezes at once. An exquisite blend of joy and pain.

  “He was so smart,” Iyla says. “He never let me get away with anything. But he was forgiving too. And I loved him even if I didn’t show it very well.”


  “He was the best thing that ever happened to me,” I say. “Loving him made me a better person.”

  “He sounds like a great kid,” Fazel says.

  “He was,” I say. “He was perfect.”

  Vara sighs. “I wish I’d gotten to know him better before…” And then she breaks off, not wanting to skirt too close to Mani’s death.

  “It’s all right,” I tell her. “We can’t tiptoe around it forever.” But I have a feeling I always will, that Mani will be with me at every turn. That his memory will cut short every laugh and darken every sunrise.

  “It will get easier,” Vara says. She takes my hand in hers. “It won’t ever go away, but eventually Mani won’t be the very first thought when you wake up. And someday you’ll be able to feel something besides emptiness.”

  Mani not being my first thought every morning doesn’t sound like a good thing. I pull my hand away and toy with the bracelets on my wrists. “How long did it take for you?” I ask. “To get over losing me?”

  Vara presses her lips together and closes her eyes. “I gave up too soon,” she says. “I should have kept fighting.”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  “Never,” she says softly. “I never got over it.” She touches my elbow. “But don’t make the same mistake I did. I let my grief be a victory for Balavan. And that’s no way to honor Mani’s memory.”

  The emptiness inside me aches. I turn toward Vara. “Do you remember what you told Mani about Smudge?” I ask. Her words have been tumbling through my mind for weeks. “That animals often try to replicate the life that made them the happiest?”

  Her eyes are soft. “Yes,” she says. “I remember.”

  “Do you think…” A lump forms in my throat that makes it hard to speak. Deven squeezes my fingers, and it gives me the courage to keep going. “Do you think people are the same?”

  “You mean, do I think there’s a chance that Mani will—in some form or another—return to you?”

  My heart trembles, afraid of her answer. I bite my lip and nod.

  “As deeply as that little boy loved you,” she says, “I would be very surprised if he didn’t.”

  A tiny seed of hope sprouts in my chest. I want a better life for Mani than the one I gave him—a life without want, or fear, or pain. But maybe, someday, our paths will cross again. Maybe I’ll have the privilege of catching a glimpse of him, even if it’s from afar, even if I don’t recognize him. The thought makes me smile.

  I stand at the water’s edge and tip the jar upside down. The ashes drift in the wind, land softly on the water and disappear.

  One spring passes and then another. Deven and I walk along a grassy riverbank, our shoes dangling from our fingertips, our feet sinking into the cool grass.

  He stops and circles his arms around my waist. I lift my chin so I can look into his eyes. “I love you,” he says. “I’m really glad you decided not to kill me.”

  I laugh. “It’s not too late, you know. You could forget my birthday. Or force me to sit through another of your father’s awful state banquets.”

  His fingers press into my back and he pulls me close to him. “That day in the Naga palace when Balavan told you to choose between me and Vara, I thought you might.”

  “You’re teasing me,” I tell him. “You’re trying to guilt me into kissing you.”

  He widens his eyes, feigning offense. “I’m far too handsome to have to resort to dirty tricks.”

  “And yet…”

  “To be fair, you did have a dagger in your hand,” he says. “You can understand why I might have thought you’d take me out.”

  “You’re insufferable,” I tell him.

  He shrugs and gives me a smile that makes my knees go weak. “I wouldn’t have blamed you,” he says. “You were in a tough spot.”

  I stand on my tiptoes and run my thumb along the stubble at his jaw. “With all I went through to save you?” I say. “I could never.”

  And then I kiss him.

  Deven holds my hand as another sharp pain seizes me. “I can’t take any more,” I tell him. Sweat beads on my forehead, pools at the small of my back.

  “Hold on,” Deven says. “It’s almost over.”

  I squeeze my eyes closed and release a stream of air through pursed lips. My hair sticks to the back of my neck.

  Iyla comes into the room with a bowl of ice chips and a wet sponge. “How are you holding up?”

  I’m in too much pain to speak, so Deven answers for me. “She’s doing great,” he says. But it’s a lie and we both know it.

  Iyla spoons ice into my mouth and dabs at my forehead with the sponge. “The whole palace is already awake and pacing,” she says. “Feel free to scream.”

  I press my lips together and shake my head. “What would people think?”

  “Hmm,” Iyla says, “you’re right. You wouldn’t want them to realize you’re human.”

  The pain subsides for a moment, and I let my head fall back on the pillow. I close my eyes. “Why is everyone pacing?” I ask. “Why can’t they just go about their business?” I spent so many years trying to be invisible that it feels unsettling to have my life subject to such scrutiny.

  Deven smooths the damp hair from my forehead. “They’re just excited to meet the new heir.”

  My middle tightens again, and I grab Deven’s forearm, my fingers digging into his skin. He gives me a smile through clenched teeth.

  Each moment feels like a day, but finally the midwife announces that it’s time. I sigh in relief, but it’s still more than an hour before she finally places a swaddled baby in my arms.

  “Congratulations, Your Majesty. It’s a boy.”

  I gaze into his small face, and my pain feels like a distant memory. His skin is velvet soft, and his head is covered with a cap of dark, downy hair. I stroke his wrinkled palm, and he closes his tiny fist around my finger. My heart feels too big for my chest.

  He’s perfect.

  He blinks, his long lashes fluttering against his cheek, and looks up at me with dark, solemn eyes.

  My breath catches. I’d recognize those eyes anywhere.

  “Hi there, monkey,” I say softly. “Welcome home.”

  Writing the second book in a duology is a unique challenge. On the one hand, I wanted to give readers more of the elements they enjoyed in the first book—more of Marinda’s grappling with what it means to be a visha kanya, more of her relationships with Deven and Mani. But on the other hand, I wanted to offer a different, fresh experience. A bigger, more complex world to discover.

  While Poison’s Kiss was an examination of what would happen to a girl who’d been turned into an assassin against her will, in Poison’s Cage I was excited to expand on and deepen the mythology I’d introduced in the first book, especially as it related to the Naga, the Nagaraja, and Garuda.

  These figures are found in both Hindu and Buddhist mythology. In the Mahabharata—one of two ancient Hindu epics—the Naga make frequent appearances. Often they are portrayed as having a mixture of human and serpentine traits. In the Buddhist tradition, the Naga are generally described as large cobra-like snakes, sometimes with only one head and sometimes with many. And at least some of the Naga are portrayed as having the ability to transform into humans.

  Garuda also appears in both mythologies, though in slightly different form. The Mahabharata casts Garuda as a singular being—a giant half-man, half-bird (though in Poison’s Kiss and Poison’s Cage, I’ve taken creative license and made my Garuda female). In Buddhism, the Garuda are a mythical species of huge, highly intelligent predatory birds. In both traditions, Garuda is an enemy of the Naga and hunts snakes at every opportunity.

  The hints of humanity for both Garuda and the Naga in these legends fascinate me. Though I find large, powerful creatures frightening, they’re not nearly as terrifying as a monster who looks like a man or a woman. After all, the enemy who can hide in plain sight, who can conceal his or her malevolence behind a human face, is s
o much more dangerous than an enemy who has the good manners to look like one.

  I couldn’t wait to explore this idea in Poison’s Cage—how the Raksaka went from humanity to monstrosity, and how these qualities can overlap even in regular people. I wanted to put Marinda at the intersection of the two and see what she would choose. I hope you enjoyed taking the journey along with her.

  For readers who are interested in exploring more of the mythology that inspired both Poison’s Kiss and Poison’s Cage, I recommend seeking out the Mahabharata or the Ramayana (the second of the two great Hindu epics). The original texts are in Sanskrit, but English translations are widely available in bookstores and libraries. Another wonderful resource for further reading is Folktales from India: A Selection of Oral Tales from Twenty-Two Languages, collected and edited by A. K. Ramanujan. It’s filled with captivating stories from across the Indian subcontinent that have been translated into English.

  Poison’s Cage has been a joy to write. Thank you so much for reading it!

  Here I am again at the end of another book and with a heart so full of gratitude, I’m sure I won’t find words to adequately express it. But I’m not a quitter, so I’ll give it a shot.

  First, to my talented editor, Caroline Abbey, thank you for pushing me in all the best ways. This book is so much better than it would have been without you. I treasure every note in the margins—both the hearts and the question marks.

  To my wonderful agent, Kathleen Rushall, who has been with me through the highs and the lows of both publishing and life over the last few years. Thanks for always being willing to either celebrate or comfort and advise, as the occasion requires. I’m so happy to have you in my corner.

  Thank you to all the wonderful people at Random House who worked on this book—everyone from copyediting to design to marketing and publicity. I haven’t met all of you, but I know each one of you exists, and I’m grateful for your wonderful work on this book. And special thanks to Ray Shappell for the beautiful cover design.

  To all my fellow writer friends—both those I’ve met in the flesh and those I haven’t (yet!)—thank you for sharing this journey with me. For the exclamation points in happy times and the commiseration when the going gets tough. I treasure you all. And thank you to Holly Black for being such a wonderful mentor and patiently answering all my newbie questions. You are as generous as you are talented.