My fingers are trembling as I slide my hand through the bars and grope in the darkness for the padlock. I’m holding the key so tightly that my fingers ache; I’m terrified I’ll drop it and send it clattering to the stone floor and my hope of escape will be gone. I try several times, but I can’t twist my wrist at the right angle to get the key into the lock. Beads of sweat have broken out on my forehead.
“Marinda,” Kavi whispers. “Give me the key.” I pass the key through the bars to him and wait for the sound of him opening his own lock, but I don’t hear anything. My heart starts to pound—maybe he changed his mind and plans to keep the key after all. Then—the tiniest creak as the bars to my cell slide open. Kavi touches my elbow and I clap my hand over my mouth to avoid yelping. He pulls on my arm so that he can whisper in my ear. “Don’t say a word.”
He takes my hand and leads me carefully through the dark. We turn left, which means we’re headed in the opposite direction of the staircase. The only sound I hear is the blood rushing through my ears. We make it to what seems like the end of the walkway, but then Kavi squeezes my hand, turns to the right and pulls me downward. We duck through an opening in the wall only half as high as a proper door. As soon as we’re around the corner, the space opens up and I can see a small amount of light coming from somewhere farther down the passageway.
“This is a secret entrance,” Kavi tells me once we’re far enough away that we won’t be overheard by the other prisoners. “It’s a way for the guards to check on us without making any noise.” He leads me forward. “They keep some weapons in that little room there,” he says, pointing to the left, “in case the prisoners get out of control. And the kitchen is around the corner and up the stairs. I recommend the sweet bread.”
“Thank you,” I say. My voice is trembling and my knees feel weak. I’m not sure I can do this.
“Okay,” Kavi says. “Gotta go.” He puts one arm around my waist and gives me a quick hug. “Remember,” he says. “Fear is the fuel of bravery.” And then he scampers off back down the pathway and into the dungeon.
I lean my head against the stone wall and take deep breaths. I’m out of my cell, but I have no idea what to do next. I don’t know how to get out of the palace, let alone how to find the Naga. I try to remember Hitesh’s directions. Due west. Path up the mountain. Snake Temple. But even if I find them, I don’t know what to expect. Will they try to kill me? Will they let Mani go if I promise to stay?
The sound of footsteps somewhere above startles me into action. I creep along the wall toward the staircase, intending to head straight for the kitchen. But then I pause in front of the weapons room. The door is slightly ajar, and a weapon of some kind could prove useful. I glance into the room to make sure it’s empty and then I slip through the doorway. The room is considerably dimmer than the corridor, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust. Dozens of weapons hang on the walls: curved swords, battle-axes, a large mace, several spears. I heft one of the swords from the wall and immediately realize that carrying it will be impossible. It’s too heavy for me even to lift, let alone use properly. Or carry for thirty miles.
I experiment with several other weapons before settling on a small dagger. It’s not much, but it’s the most I can manage. I squeeze back through the doorway and continue down the path. When I round the corner, I stop short. I’m at the bottom of the staircase that Kavi said led to the kitchen, but that’s exactly where the light is coming from. The last thing I want is to walk headlong into a room full of people when I smell like the dungeon. But I don’t have time to wait for the lights to go out either. I move up the staircase one step at a time, careful to make as little noise as possible.
When I reach the top of the staircase, I peer into the room, but I don’t see anyone. Several rows of freshly baked rolls are cooling on the countertop. I’m just about to step into the room, when a maid breezes into the kitchen, humming softly. I flatten myself against the wall and hold my breath. The maid starts packing rolls—a dozen or so at a time—into canvas bags. I wonder if one of those rolls will end up on Kavi’s breakfast tray in the morning. After the bread is packed away, she starts cleaning the kitchen—scrubbing down the work surfaces with soapy water from a large wooden bucket. My calves are on fire from being pressed against the wall on my tiptoes, but I don’t dare move.