Poison's Kiss

Marinda has kissed dozens of boys. They all die afterward. It's a miserable life, but being a vish kanya--a "poison maiden", is what she was created to do. Until now, the young men she was ordered to kiss have been strangers. When she receives orders to kiss a boy she loves, she questions who she's really working for. And that is a thread that will unravel more than she can afford to lose.

Zusatztext "...the subsequent speedy unraveling of every aspect of Marinda's life will likely leave readers as floored and shocked as it does Marinda." Bulletin ! starred review Quick and addictive. Booklist (online) A fan of mythological fantasy will find a lot to enjoy here . . . and your standard YA enthusiast will like it as well! based on its well-researched and engrossing plot. Culturess Addictive! riveting! and beautifully written. YA Books Central Informationen zum Autor Breeana Shields has a BA in English from Brigham Young University and is an active member of SCBWI. When she's not writing! Breeana loves reading! traveling! and spending time with her husband! her three children! and an extremely spoiled miniature poodle. Visit her online at breeanashields.com or follow her on Twitter at @BreeanaShields. Klappentext Marinda has kissed dozens of boys. They all die afterward. It's a miserable life! but being a vish kanya - a 'poison maiden'! is what she was created to do. Until now! the young men she was ordered to kiss have been strangers. When she receives orders to kiss a boy she loves! she questions who she's really working for. And that is a thread that will unravel more than she can afford to lose. Chapter One I'm not a bad person. At least that's what I tell myself over and over as I wend my way through the marketplace, past the vendors selling spiced meats and bright fabric, incense and rare birds. Not a bad person. Not a bad person. It's a mantra I'm hoping will loosen the knot of dread that has been twisting in my stomach all afternoon. It's not working. I lift my hair off the back of my neck and yearn for a breeze that fails to materialize. It's hot today; far too hot for my waist-length mane, but Gopal took one look at my hair this morning coiled in a tight knot at the back of my skull and groaned. No, Marinda, he said. The boy will favor the hair down. His sudden concern about the preferences of any boy--especially this boy--struck me as laughably ironic, but I didn't argue. I just took out the pins and let my hair tumble around my shoulders. Better, rajakumari, he said. Much better. The meeting is supposed to happen near the fruit vendor on the other side of the market. The streets are thick with people--women balancing baskets of laundry atop their heads, men pulling heavy carts loaded with bags of rice and tea, children chasing each other between vendors. I feel a tug on my skirt and whirl around. A fortune-teller sits on a bright blue carpet surrounded by cards. Her hair is braided in intricate coils, and gold hoops dangle from her ears. She shows me her teeth--it's meant to be a smile, but it looks more like a challenge. Let me read your future, she says, her fingers still clasped around a fistful of my sari. No, thank you, I tell her, and I have to take a step back before she lets go. Gita says that most fortune-tellers are frauds and a waste of good money. Even if she's wrong, it doesn't matter. I have no interest in knowing anything about my future. I continue pressing through the crowd and I start to think about the boy I'll find waiting for me at the fruit stand. It's a bad habit, one I'm trying to break. I hope I don't like him. It will make it so much easier to walk away without feeling guilty. And I'm always the one to do both--the walking away and the feeling guilty. I wonder what he's been told about our meeting today. What does he expect from me? What does he know? A quick glance at the sky tells me I'm early. I've been walking faster than I realized. I slow in front of the spice merchant to admire the neat rows of pails overflowing with the rich colors of the earth--spices in hues of deep brown, clay red and golden yellow. A woman with lime-green f...

"...the subsequent speedy unraveling of every aspect of Marinda’s life will likely leave readers as floored and shocked as it does Marinda."— Bulletin, starred review

“Quick and addictive.” —Booklist (online)

“A fan of mythological fantasy will find a lot to enjoy here . . . and your standard YA enthusiast will like it as well, based on its well-researched and engrossing plot.” —Culturess 

“Addictive, riveting, and beautifully written.” —YA Books Central

Autorentext
Breeana Shields has a BA in English from Brigham Young University and is an active member of SCBWI. When she’s not writing, Breeana loves reading, traveling, and spending time with her husband, her three children, and an extremely spoiled miniature poodle. Visit her online at breeanashields.com or follow her on Twitter at @BreeanaShields.

Klappentext

Marinda has kissed dozens of boys. They all die afterward. It's a miserable life, but being a vish kanya - a 'poison maiden', is what she was created to do. Until now, the young men she was ordered to kiss have been strangers. When she receives orders to kiss a boy she loves, she questions who she's really working for. And that is a thread that will unravel more than she can afford to lose.

Zusammenfassung
A teenage assassin kills with a single kiss until she is ordered to kill the one boy she loves. This commercial YA fantasy is romantic and addictive—like a poison kiss—and will thrill fans of Sarah J. Maas and Victoria Aveyard.
 
Marinda has kissed dozens of boys. They all die afterward. It’s a miserable life, but being a visha kanya—a poison maiden—is what she was created to do. Marinda serves the Raja by dispatching his enemies with only her lips as a weapon.
 
Until now, the men she was ordered to kiss have been strangers, enemies of the kingdom. Then she receives orders to kiss Deven, a boy she knows too well to be convinced he needs to die. She begins to question who she’s really working for. And that is a thread that, once pulled, will unravel more than she can afford to lose.
 
This rich, surprising, and accessible debut is based in Indian folklore and delivers a story that will keep readers on the edge of their seats.

Leseprobe

Chapter One

 

 

I’m not a bad person.

 

At least that’s what I tell myself over and over as I wend my way through the marketplace, past the vendors selling spiced meats and bright fabric, incense and rare birds. Not a bad person. Not a bad person. It’s a mantra I’m hoping will loosen the knot of dread that has been twisting in my stomach all afternoon.

 

It’s not working.

 

I lift my hair off the back of my neck and yearn for a breeze that fails to materialize. It’s hot today; far too hot for my waist-length mane, but Gopal took one look at my hair this morning coiled in a tight knot at the back of my skull and groaned. “No, Marinda,” he said. “The boy will favor the hair down.” His sudden concern about the preferences of any boy--especially this boy--struck me as laughably ironic, but I didn’t argue. I just took out the pins and let my hair tumble around my shoulders. “Better, rajakumari,” he said. “Much better.”

 

The meeting is supposed to happen near the fruit vendor on the other side of the market. The streets are thick with people--women balancing baskets of laundry atop their heads, men pulling heavy carts loaded with bags of rice and tea, children chasing each other between vendors.

 

I feel a tug on my skirt and whirl around. A fortune-teller s…