Poison's Kiss

by Breeana Shields

  Rage flies through me. I try to kick Gopal, but he twists my arm again and pain shoots from my wrist to my shoulder. Where are the Raja’s soldiers? Why aren’t they here apprehending the Naga? The others in the circle start to whisper to each other, and for a moment I have some hope that they might oppose Gopal, that they might let Mani and me go. But then Gopal clears his throat, and the cavern falls silent except for Mani’s sobbing.

  “Have no doubt,” he says loudly, “that our dear Marinda will behave herself once the sacrifice is finished.”

  “Don’t you dare touch him!”

  “Silly girl. He was nothing but an experiment. Unfortunately, he can’t hold his poison as well as you can, my dear.” Gopal must see the horror on my face, because he laughs. “We had hoped to have someone the Naga could count on to kill our female enemies, but alas, the boys all seem to die eventually.”

  I flail around, but I can’t seem to land a blow. Gopal just holds me tighter and whispers in my ear—Shh, shh—like I’m a baby who needs comforting.

  “This child is the last thing keeping Marinda from being fully in our midst,” he tells the Naga. “Once he is gone, she will embrace us as family.”

  “I will never become one of you,” I say through clenched teeth. “Never.”

  “We’ll see,” he says softly. He turns back to the group. “Let us continue summoning the Nagaraja. I will restrain the girl.” The Naga begin chanting again and panic blooms in my chest. Gopal’s grip on me is like a vise, and no matter how I struggle, I can’t get away. And then I remember the dagger in my waistband. I stop fighting and let my body go limp. “Good girl,” Gopal says. Beyond the altar, from a round hole in the floor of the cavern, smoke begins to rise, and with it the musky smell of snake. The chanting grows louder, more urgent. Gopal’s grip relaxes as he begins to chant along with the other Naga. I twist my body slightly, pretending that I am as transfixed by the ritual as he is. I use my uninjured hand to reach for the dagger. Gopal looks at me, but I keep my eyes trained on the smoke.

  “See?” he says. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

  “I’m so sorry,” I tell him.

  His eyes soften. “Oh, Marinda,” he says, his voice full of love. Because he thinks I am apologizing for resisting him, for not wanting the life he gave me, for loving Mani.

  I give my body one last twist and plunge the dagger into Gopal’s heart. His eyes go wide with shock and betrayal as he stumbles backward. He touches his chest, and his fingers come away soaked in blood. He holds them up to his face and stares at them like he can’t quite make sense of what’s happening.

  He reaches out a hand toward me, and I can’t tell if he’s beckoning me to come closer or pointing a finger of accusation. His mouth opens and closes, fishlike, but he’s not making a sound. He continues to stagger back until he’s pressed against the cave wall, until it’s the only thing holding him in place. His gaze lands on my face and stays fastened there.

  My heart gives one slow beat and a moment of clarity shivers between us—the realization that, despite everything, he was only human and just as easily killed as any other man.

  And then he slumps to the ground.

  I run toward Mani and untie his hands. He throws his arms around my neck. “I love you,” he says.

  I bury my face in the soft skin of his neck. “I love you too, monkey. I love you so much.”

  I hear a collective gasp behind me and whip my head toward the smoke.

  The Snake King has arrived.

  My entire body goes rigid.

  The Nagaraja makes even Kadru’s largest snake look no bigger than an earthworm. As he slinks from the hole in the rock, his head skims the top of the cavern—and that’s with at least half of his body still submerged beneath the ground. Fully stretched out, he must be at least as tall as the palace. His skin is snow white and his beady black eyes are the size of human fists. He seems to survey the crowd, until his gaze fixes on me and Mani. The Nagaraja lets out a hiss that makes my blood run cold. Huge droplets of yellow venom drip from his fangs and splat on the ground.

  I’m vaguely aware of a commotion behind me, but I’m frozen in place with fear. The Nagaraja sways his head back and forth, dancelike, until our faces are level. His eyes are so shiny I can see my own reflection—all the terror and awe of it. And then a voice comes into my mind as clearly as if it were spoken out loud.

  Daughter.

  The weight of the word burrows into my mind and I can feel everything else slipping away, until there is nothing left but the Nagaraja.

  I have been waiting for you.

  My mind is foggy and I think maybe I’ve been waiting for him too. Or maybe I came here to find him?

  I see you, Marinda.

  And I feel him there in my mind. Looking, searching. He shakes his head and I can feel his disappointment.

  You want all the wrong things. You desire love…but love only makes us stupid.

  Love. The word nearly brings a face to my mind, and I turn my head—a young boy crying. An older boy nearby shouting my name. I feel like I should—

  Look at me. My gaze swivels back to the Nagaraja and there I am again, reflected in his eyes.

  You feel powerless.

  Memories flood into my mind—finding out I killed the man with the balloon, watching my friend die after Gopal forced me to kiss him, lying helplessly in Kadru’s arms as the snakes infused me with their venom. No one has ever understood before, but I can feel the Nagaraja there in my mind sharing my pain. Yes. He does see me. He knows. He understands.

  You are not powerless, Marinda. The blood of my children runs through your veins. If you serve me, I can make you more powerful than you ever dreamed possible. If you want love, I can make people love you. If you want money, you can have all you wish. Come to me and I will give you the world.

  A vision fills my mind of all my life could be. I see myself sitting on a throne, dripping in jewels, surrounded by people who live to serve me. Power. Wealth. Love.

  Get the dagger, Marinda.

  I go to the man slumped in the corner and pull the dagger from his heart. It makes a sucking sound as it leaves his body. I return to the Snake King, fist clenched around the weapon, my palm sticky with fresh blood, and wait for him to show me what to do.

  The Nagaraja laughs. I know you can use this. I watched you. It is a pity. Gopal was a loyal servant. But if you don’t care for him, then it is good that he is dead.

  A vague memory tugs at me—did I stab someone? I’m not sure if it’s a real memory or a dream. I have the urge to turn toward the man in the corner, to try to place him, but I don’t want the Nagaraja to stop talking to me. I can’t look away.

  You must do something for me, Marinda.

  I blink. I’m ready to do anything he asks if he will keep talking to me, keep seeing me.

  You must kill him. Kill the boy and we will feast on him together.

  My nose is filled with the mouthwatering scent of human flesh. I turn back to the boy on the altar. He is shivering and his eyes are puffy and red. There’s something familiar about him, something just at the edges of my memory, but I can’t quite reach it.

  Do it now. Kill him. The Nagaraja’s voice cuts through my mind, sharp and demanding. I raise the dagger.

  “Marinda?” Mani’s voice washes over me like sunshine. He is cowering, his face full of fear. I lower the dagger back to my side. Horror wells in my chest.

  But then the Nagaraja’s voice is back in my mind, pressing with a force I can’t withstand. Kill the boy! And I know what I must do—now, before I change my mind.

  I raise the dagger high above my head and with all the force I can muster, I turn and stab the Nagaraja.

  A howl pierces through my mind so painfully that I stumble backward. I scan the length of the Nagaraja’s body for the wound I’m sure will be there, but I have made a huge miscalculation. My tiny dagger was not enough to kill him—not even enough to injure him. Only enough to infuriate him.

  I
start untying the knots at Mani’s ankles. I have to get him away from here.

  Out of nowhere I hear Deven’s voice. “Marinda, watch out!” I whip around just in time to see the Nagaraja’s head plunging toward me. His voice is back in my head. An instant, shrill command: kill him, kill him, kill him. I almost fall under the snake’s spell again, but Mani is calling my name—his is the only voice that keeps the Nagaraja at bay, the only voice stronger than the killer in my head. I remind myself who I am, who I love. It works, but the moment of hesitation was too long.

  The snake clamps his jaw down on Mani’s arm, sinking his fangs deep into Mani’s flesh. Mani’s screams turn my blood to ice. I can feel the Nagaraja’s pleasure in biting him, and he doesn’t intend to stop there. I know now that I have no chance of killing the snake, and my mind is scrambling for how to get him away from Mani. Deven charges forward with a sword. He tries to stab the Nagaraja, but the snake is too fast. He twists his body right before Deven can land a blow. Deven pitches forward and falls to the floor. Mani’s screams fade away as he loses consciousness. He’s dying.

  Rage explodes in my chest.

  I lift the dagger and plunge it into the center of the Nagaraja’s shiny eye.

  Pain blasts through my head and black spots dance in my vision. I grope at my face, searching for the sharp tip of metal I can feel there, but I can’t find it. I press a palm to my eye to stem the bleeding and my hand comes away dry. Panic swallows me in a single gulp. I’ll never be able to defeat the Nagaraja if hurting him means hurting myself. Mani’s head lolls to one side, and my stomach lurches forward. I have to do something. If I feel the Nagaraja’s pain, maybe I can force him to feel mine. I let all my anguish come to the surface, not just from this moment, but from years and years of terror wrought by the Nagaraja’s subjects. I focus all my pain until it is as sharp as the tip of a sword, and then I shove it toward the snake and try to invade his mind like he took over mine.

  The Nagaraja shrieks and rears back, releasing his grip on Mani. The dagger is still lodged in his eye, and thick rivulets of blood gush from the wound. My own head is throbbing too. I scoop Mani into my arms. Pain shoots through my shoulder, but I push it away. My injuries are nothing compared with Mani’s. I run with him to the far end of the cavern. His face is pale and his breathing is shallow. I risk a glance at his arm and bile rises in my throat—it looks like ground meat. And there’s so much blood. I lay him on the ground and put pressure on his arm with both of my hands to try to stop the bleeding, but it’s not working. His arm is torn up in too many places. Soon my hands are soaked in red, and blood is oozing through my fingers.

  “Stay with me, Mani. Stay with me.”

  Deven runs up beside me. He kneels down, yanks the sleeve from his shirt and wraps it tightly just above Mani’s elbow. Gradually the blood stops flowing. A sob escapes my lips. “Thank you,” I say. Mani is so pale. I can’t lose him. I lay my head on his chest.

  “Please,” I whisper. “Please don’t die.”

  Deven lays a hand on my shoulder. “Marinda, you need to go now.”

  My head snaps up. “I’m not leaving him.”

  “If my father finds you—”

  “I’m not leaving him!”

  Deven nods and sits back on his heels.

  “I’m surprised you bothered to come,” I say. I smooth the hair from Mani’s forehead.

  “Of course I came,” he says. “But I was too late. We all were.” And I would have been too if I hadn’t escaped. The Raja may have cost Mani his life. Deven touches my shoulder and I shrug him away.

  The Raja’s soldiers are swarming through the cavern, detaining the few Naga that haven’t scattered. Gita is several paces away from me, her hands shackled in front of her, her face pinched with worry. Our eyes meet and the door in my heart that I used to let her walk through slams shut. I wonder if she feels it too—the loss of who we used to be to each other. The cavern looks utterly ordinary now. The Nagaraja has disappeared along with the smoke. For a moment I let myself hope that he might be dead, that the Raja’s men succeeded in killing him when I couldn’t. But I know it’s not true. There’s a corner of my mind that still feels the snake’s fury. His frustration. His hunger.

  He’s still alive.

  “Marinda,” Deven says. His voice is low and urgent. “I promise I will take care of Mani, but you have to go.” I open my mouth to protest, but he shakes his head. “You’ll go back to the dungeon when these soldiers realize who you are. You’ll probably hang. Mani will never forgive you if you leave him.”

  I chew on my lip. I don’t know which is worse: to leave Mani when he is so badly injured or to risk never seeing him again. A sudden vision of his face as I held the dagger above him flashes through my mind, and I think I might be sick. I don’t want that to be his last image of me.

  “Where would I go?”

  Deven exhales forcefully, as if he’s been holding his breath. “There’s a place you can stay in the Widows’ Village.” His eyes flick up. “Iyla can take you there.”

  “Iyla? She’s here?”

  “I’m here,” Iyla says softly behind me.

  I spin around and relief floods through me. She’s here. She didn’t leave Mani to die at the hands of the Naga. Her expression is guarded and unreadable, but I’m so happy to see her. Deven shoots a worried glance at the soldiers.

  “Time to go,” he says. I feel like I’m being ripped in half.

  I press my lips against the top of Mani’s head and my tears dribble down his cheeks. “I can’t leave him,” I say.

  Deven lays a hand on my arm. “I’ll bring him to you when he is well. I promise.” He scoops Mani into his arms and my heart breaks. If I lose Mani, nothing else matters.

  “Please,” I say, grabbing a fistful of Mani’s shirt and burying my face against his chest. I don’t know if I’m pleading with Mani to live or with Deven to take care of him, but I can’t stop saying it—“Please, please, please.”

  “Marinda,” Deven says, “I need to get him out of here. You have to go. Now.” Deven shoves me toward Iyla. “Don’t forget what I said,” he tells her. His voice has an edge to it—maybe from the exertion of lifting Mani. He holds her gaze until Iyla nods.

  “I’ll see you soon,” he says to both of us. “Now go.”

  Iyla grabs my arm and drags me into the dark passageway. I can hear the echo of Deven’s voice across the cavern. “We need to get this boy to a physician now!” I wipe the tears from my eyes as we make our way out of the cavern.

  And I leave the only person I love behind me.

  We are nearly to the Widows’ Village when I spot the cloak peeking out from Iyla’s bag. The coppery scales glint in the waning sunlight, and the sight of them sends my stomach spinning. I stop walking.

  “You didn’t come to the Snake Temple to help. You were there with the Naga.” I can see from the expression on her face that I’m right.

  She sighs. “It’s complicated.”

  “No,” I say. “It’s really not.” She turns her back and keeps walking as if I haven’t spoken.

  “So what now?” I ask. “You betray me again? Tell the Naga where I am so that they can capture me?”

  “Of course not.” Her voice is flat and unemotional. Something about her refusal to argue enrages me.

  “He is a little boy, Iyla! And you were ready to let them take his life!”

  She spins to face me. “You weren’t so concerned with life when Kadru was taking mine and giving it to you.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. Years of visits to Kadru unspool in my mind—the fear, the pain, the torture. And Iyla was there every time. Those were the only times I ever saw her visibly afraid. Kadru’s voice, when she told me what Gopal had done, echoes in my memory: It was someone else’s life in the bargain, but those are his secrets to share.

  “It was you? She drained the life from you?” I feel like I’ve swallowed a brick of ice.

  Iyla rubs her forehead. “Over and over. In Gop
al’s mind my life was valuable only if it sustained yours. My job was to make sure that your jobs were safe. He didn’t care how endangered I was. From the very beginning everything was about you. ‘The Nagaraja chose Marinda. Marinda is special. Marinda must be protected at all costs.’ ”

  “Wait,” I say. “You’ve known we were serving the Nagaraja since we were children?” A pit opens in my stomach. I assumed that she sought out Deven because she found out who we were really working for, but I can tell by the heavy silence and the expression on her face that I was wrong.

  “Why?” I’m practically shouting now. “Why would you let me think I was killing for the good of Sundari when you knew those men were innocent?”

  “Why do you think?” Iyla shouts back. “Gopal has broken my bones, Marinda. He has held a blade to my throat and whipped me until I bled. What do you think he would have done if I’d told you the truth?”

  “I would have protected you,” I say. “We could have come up with a plan together.”

  “No,” she says, her voice raw with pain. “You’ve never been able to protect me, and we stopped making plans together a long time ago.”

  “Gopal was cruel to me too—” I start.

  But Iyla cuts me off. “He was cruel to you by being cruel to me. I paid a heavy price for your friendship.”

  My heart clenches. Mani paid a heavy price too. And Japa. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I never knew.” But that hardly seems an adequate excuse. “You must hate me.”

  “Yeah,” Iyla says. “I kind of do.” She stares at her feet, nudges a stone with her toe. “But I care about you too.”

  I think of Gita. I know all about hating and loving someone at the same time.

  “When I met Deven,” Iyla continues, “I thought I’d finally found a way out. But then you stole that too.”