Gopal always worried about me being captured. He taught me never to trust anyone, never to say more than what was absolutely necessary, never to ask him questions and above all never to answer questions from anyone else. Not with the truth, anyway.
It’s basic tradecraft that the person with the most information has the most power. How foolish of me to trust the Raja enough to tell him the truth. I should have been more careful. I should have traded information for Mani’s safety and not given anything away until they led me to the Snake Temple, until Mani was back in my arms. I rest my forehead on my knees and let the tears soak through the thin fabric of my pants.
The other prisoners finally fall silent, and the only noises are the constant drip, drip from the ceiling and the sound of my own breathing. And I have nothing left to focus on but despair.
I wake up to the creak of a door. I’m slumped over in an awkward position and my neck is so kinked that it screams in pain when I try to straighten it. It takes a moment to sort out where I am, for my mind to arrange all the unfamiliar smells and sounds into a memory of the previous day. But then it all comes rushing back—the Raja, the Snake Temple, the dungeon—and I wish I hadn’t woken up at all.
Flickering light dances at the far end of the walkway, and I hear footfalls and the low hum of whispered conversation. And then a loud voice ricochets through the dungeon. “Wake up!” It’s a man’s voice, probably one of the guards. He takes something metal and scrapes it along the bars of the cells as he walks back and forth. It makes a horrible screeching noise, and suddenly the dungeon is filled with groans. He laughs. “Breakfast time.”
Another guard lights torches all along the passageway. It barely illuminates the space, but compared with the blackness of last night it feels like stepping out into full sun. The guards are sliding metal trays to each prisoner through a small slot near the floor. I scramble forward to examine the opening, but it’s too small for even my head, let alone my whole body. When the guard approaches my cell, I recognize him from the Blue Room. He slides the tray forward and water sloshes over the side of the cup, soaking the small loaf of bread.
“Wait,” I say. He pauses but doesn’t look at me. “Could you give me any information about my brother?” He shakes his head slightly and starts to move away.
“Please,” I say. “You were in that room yesterday. I know you heard everything. He’s only a little boy.” The guard keeps moving down the corridor, sliding trays to prisoners. I’m the only one even attempting conversation. “Could you tell me if anyone has left yet for the Snake Temple?” I shout. “Is Deven still here in the palace?” Only silence as an answer.
The guard finishes distributing the trays, and as he passes my cell again, I try one more time. “Please, tell me something.” He pauses and turns his face toward me, his expression conflicted.
For a moment I think he will answer me, but then he looks away. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. My stomach pitches forward. Sorry for what? Sorry that he can’t tell me? Or sorry that the Raja tried but couldn’t save Mani? But I don’t have a chance to ask because he’s already gone.
I sink to my knees, but I have no tears left to cry. Mani will be fed to the Nagaraja in less than two days and I’m trapped here. I want to believe that Deven will help him, but the image of Deven’s stunned face as the guards placed the manacles around my wrists haunts me. He did nothing to help me. What if he does nothing to help Mani?
I scoot forward and shake the bars of my cell, but they are solid. The guards didn’t take my boots, though, and maybe with enough effort…I sit down and press my feet to the bars and push as hard as I can. They don’t budge. I kick at them until sweat trickles down my back.
“Are you finished?” It’s a small voice and it sounds so much like Mani that I leap to my feet. Maybe they’ve already rescued him. Maybe they brought him here last night and I never noticed. I press my face to the bars of the neighboring cell. But the eyes staring back at me aren’t Mani’s. This boy is a few years older, his hair is a shade darker, and his eyes have a haunted look. “Are you finished?” he asks again.
“I—yes, I guess I am,” I say. “I’m sorry if I scared you.”
“No, not finished with your tantrum,” the boy says. “Finished with your breakfast. I’m still a bit hungry.”
“Oh.” I look over at my tray. I don’t think I could eat right now even if I wanted to. I scoop up the loaf of bread and pass it through the bars. “I’m afraid it’s a little soggy,” I tell him.
“S’okay,” he answers through a mouthful of bread. I wait until he’s swallowed and then pass him what’s left of the water.
“What is such a little boy doing in a dungeon?” I ask. He looks offended and I feel a pang in my chest. He reminds me so much of Mani. “Sorry. Young man,” I correct myself. “What’s a young man doing here?”
He shrugs and takes another bite. “In trouble for telling the truth,” he says. “How about you?”