Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(43)
She walks in a lazy circle around me, and the snakes follow her until I’m surrounded on all sides. I can barely breathe. “I don’t see how I could be too deadly to be useful,” I say through clenched teeth. I desperately want her to be lying.
“Oh, you will be,” she says. “The poison is part of you now. And it will build and build until in a few hundred years you’ll be able to kill with nothing more than a touch.”
“That’s not true,” I say. It can’t be.
“Do you remember the first boy you killed? How long did it take him to die? Five hours? Six? Darling Marinda, my kiss would kill a man in seconds.” She throws her head back and laughs. “Hardly subtle enough for assassination, but I make a marvelous executioner.” She leans close and her next words are only a whisper against my ear. “And as the years go by, you will too.”
I press my fingers against my eyelids. The horror of my future stretches out in front of me like an endless desert—living forever trapped in a prison of poison. Killing the Nagaraja’s enemies and demanding more life for myself as payment to help other girls become killers. I’d rather die tomorrow than live a thousand years like that. “No,” I say. “I won’t become you. It doesn’t matter if I’m the only visha kanya. I’m still done.”
Kadru steps toward me and drags a scarlet nail down the side of my face. “No, my sweet. You will never be done. Gopal is a snake worshiper—a loyal member of the Naga. When the Nagaraja chose you as his princess, you became an object of worship for them. And they will never, ever let you go. They will hunt you, chase you, follow you to the ends of the earth. Like it or not, you belong to them.”
All the air leaves my lungs. Princess. Rajakumari. It’s what Gopal has called me all my life—she’s telling me the truth. I think of the snake tattoos coiled around Gopal’s arms and I feel sick. I’ve been so stupid thinking I was nobly serving the kingdom.
“Go back to Gopal,” Kadru says. “Apologize. Promise to be a good little killer. Rajakumari or not, the Naga aren’t afraid of meting out punishment.” She searches my face. “But you probably already know that.”
“Who was I killing?” I ask. “All this time, who was I killing?”
Kadru shrugs. “Many in Sundari don’t care for the Naga. You’ve been killing those who are actively trying to stop us.”
“Why would they want to stop us?” I ask, and then cringe at the word us. I don’t want to be one of them. I won’t.
“They don’t approve of some of our practices,” she says evasively.
“Such as?”
Her eyes slide away and she strokes the head of a snake hanging nearby. “The Nagaraja must be fed,” she says lightly. “Sundari would like for us to stop feeding him humans.”
The walk back through the market feels like a dream. I’m vaguely aware of crowds—of bustling people pushing past me, brushing against my shoulders, pressing into my side, of children clinging to their parents or skipping away, of carts bumping along the cobblestones. But the images are like scattered pieces of broken glass, disconnected and confusing. Everything sounds muffled and I am numb inside.
My head is heavy with all that Kadru told me, with all the lies that Gopal made me believe. I feel as if I’ve stepped into a nightmare—one filled with cults of snake worshipers and brothers who die and sisters who kill—and I’m longing to wake up. But worst of all, I’m returning empty-handed.
I can’t save Mani, just like I couldn’t save Deven. They are both in danger because of me, and I haven’t been able to help either one of them. I hoped to return with an antidote so that Mani and I could escape together. But now I’ll need to get him to safety and keep searching until I find a way to heal him. But the thought of being without him fills me with an aching emptiness.
I walk past vendors calling out enticements—waving bright scarves and bits of meat for sampling. An old man with gnarled fingers shakes a small bag of herbs in front of my face. “Remedies, remedies,” he calls. “Remedies for broken hearts and broken bones. Remedies for every ailment.” I stop for a moment and gape at his booth. Hundreds of bags line the shelves behind him, and dried herbs swing from the wooden rafters. He sees me watching him. “What’s your trouble, miss? I’ve got cures for everything.” Deep lines carve through his face, and his shoulders are curved with age. He grins at me, revealing two rows of yellowed teeth.
“Do you have a cure for vish bimari?” I ask, not daring to hope. His smile evaporates and he takes a step back.
“My condolences, miss.” He turns his back and doesn’t speak again until I start walking away. I hear his voice call out behind me, “Remedies, remedies.” I swallow a lump in my throat. Things are so bad for Mani that even charlatans don’t dare to promise relief.
Suddenly the urge to be as far away from Bala City as possible overwhelms me. I need to get Mani to the Widows’ Village while he still has the energy to travel. If I think beyond that to what comes next, to how I’ll find an antidote—to if I’ll find one—I’ll be too paralyzed to move. Instead I focus on Mani’s future. Think about how he’ll live with a grandmotherly woman who will spoil him. About how he’ll fall asleep feeling safe and wake up with sunlight on his face.