“If you didn’t eat that little girl, who did?” he asks me gruffly.
It takes me forever to catch my breath. “I do not know, but it wasn’t me.”
“And I’m supposed to believe your word?”
“Believe whatever you wish. I’m telling the truth.”
I feel a dull stab of pain against my forearm. Little more than a pinprick. Given all of my other wounds, I could have imagined it.
“Make a deal with me, demon.” The captain’s words come hoarse, barely above a whisper.
Whatever snappy remark I have wilts on the tip of my tongue as a sudden scourge of dizziness grips my mind. I lift a hand and press it to the back of my head. My fingers come away black and sticky. A head wound, severe at that. It must have happened when I fell. Running on pure adrenaline has seen me this far, but now my injuries are finally taking their toll. I’m sluggish, every thought and movement laced in confusion.
“What?” I croak.
“A deal. With me. Demons make deals, do they not?”
It’s a little-known truth that, when asked a direct question, demons cannot lie. For what reason, I haven’t the faintest clue. It’s written into our beings, a trade-off of sorts for our strengths. Perhaps the gods looked upon my kind eons ago and feared the twisted lies we’d whisper in their ears, and so condemned us to speak the truth when questioned as one of our only shining qualities.
“Yes, we make deals,” I answer tightly.
He speaks between labored breaths. “Spare my life and help me escape this place.”
I want to laugh, but the sound comes out as a squeak. I think one of my lungs is punctured. “Why”—I wheeze—“would I ever agree to that?”
“Would you prefer to die?”
“No, but this is nothing,” I murmur. “I’ll heal. It will take time, but it’s going to take more than a fall to do me in.”
“I’m not talking about the fall.”
I strain my neck to glare at him. “What are you on about?”
Even through swollen eyes, the captain glances down at my forearm. I follow his line of sight, startled to find my fair skin has begun to fester. That pinprick… it wasn’t a figment of my imagination after all. A black ooze spreads beneath the surface of myarm, tendrils of ink reaching and squirming like a squid marooned on land. The ghastly sight brings with it a burning sensation. Liquid fire spreads through my veins, searing everything in its path.
“What have youdone?” I seethe.
“Poison,” he replies, almost smug. “Derived from the feathers of a Zhenniao bird. I always”—he coughs—“keep a needle or two on hand.”
All I can do is glare, my heart hammering. I’d seen a handful of those pretty birds before, back when my sisters and I still called the jungle our home. They might be extinct now. I haven’t seen one in ages. It wouldn’t be a surprise if the humans had hunted them to death, or perhaps they did the smart thing and left the jungle for safer skies.
I remember its body was small, as were its wings, but its tail feathers were so long that they spilled out from over their nests and almost touched the jungle floor. I easily recall the brilliant violet of their plumage. Lighter near its head, with an impressive crimson beak and a gorgeous, green-tipped tail. I almost made the mistake of eating one as a pup, but my sisters saved me from a most horrific fate, for their feathers are so poisonous they could kill even a dragon stone-dead. Even the gods are said to fear them, from the tales I’ve heard—one of the only things in existence strong enough to kill them.
And now I have a pin’s dose filtering through my bloodstream.
“I have… an antidote,” Sonam says around another breath. “Spare my life and see me from this place. Agree, and I’ll give the antidote to you.”
“You conniving little—” I speak around burning lungs. The poison is taking effect. I’ll be dead in a few minutes. Maybe sooner, given the state I’m in.
The reality of my situation finally settles. I’ve been thrown into the pits of Hell with the very man who banished me here. I don’tknow if there’s a way out, and we may well end up killing each other first, even if there is. Striking a deal with this heathen is the last thing I want to do, but I’m desperate enough to do it. The fact that Sonam didn’t hesitate to bring his sword down upon my neck gives me pause, however. He spared me, that much is true, but to willingly work with this human could be my death sentence. He tried to hurt me once; who’s to say he won’t try again the moment he’s free to—I will not risk my neck on a human’s fickle whim.
My body seizes, every muscle suddenly pulling tight. I try to scream, but the sound is choked out of me. I can’t see clearly, can’t even hear the sound of my own thoughts. My arm has turned completely black, the poison spreading up and over my shoulder toward my neck and chest. If it reaches my heart, I’m done for.
Death sours the air around us. We’re both running out of time.
Curse it all.
“Fine,” I finally answer. “We have a deal, but give me the antidote first.” He eyes me warily, prompting me to say, “You can’t get what you want if I bloody well die first.”
