Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(30)

“What do you think?” Deven’s voice pulls me from my thoughts and I follow his gaze. The trees have parted to reveal a small cove, closed in on all sides by mountains. Azure-blue cottages spill into the valley and spread out in every direction, the blue roofs rising and falling in waves. For a moment I’m too stunned to speak. It seems incongruous to see a village in such a secluded location. It’s beautiful in a whole different way than the waterfall is, but just as breathtaking.

Mani finds a voice before I do. “What is it?”

“The Widows’ Village,” Deven says. His voice is full of awe, like this place is sacred to him.

“Widows?” I say. Widows are considered unlucky in Sundari—superstitions abound that if a wife outlives her husband, she must be cursed, and socializing with her is dangerous. Even stepping in a widow’s shadow is said to bring seven years of bad luck.

Deven clears his throat. “Years ago the Raja heard reports about a settlement of poverty-stricken widows living in the far reaches of Sundari. He traveled there to see with his own eyes, and it was even worse than he thought. All of the women were destitute, dressed in rags and barely surviving off only a few meals a week. Their families had disowned them when their husbands died, and they had nowhere to go. It infuriated him that the women should be so poorly treated for something that wasn’t their fault, so he had his men search the kingdom high and low for somewhere they could be secluded and start a new life in a place of their own. When his advisers showed him this valley, he knew it was perfect. So he had this village built for them, and now they live and work together without any stigma.”

“That’s incredible,” I say. A wave of warmth washes over me. Gopal has always said that working for the Raja is an honor, but until this moment the Raja has never seemed like a real person, let alone a kind one. Maybe my work is noble after all. But then I remember that the Raja wants Deven dead, and the feeling drains away.

“Why are the houses blue?” Mani asks.

“Living under a blue roof is a symbol of dignity,” Deven explains. “But the Raja didn’t want to settle for just the roof. He wanted the entire house to be blue.”

“It’s beautiful,” I say. A solitary blue house might look garish, but all of them together are like a work of art. I can’t tear my gaze away.

“How did you find this place?” Mani asks.

A shadow passes over Deven’s face and it takes him a moment to answer. “My grandmother lives here,” he says finally.

“She does?” Mani claps his hands together. “Can we meet her?”

Deven laughs. “We’ll have to save that for another day. If we don’t head back soon, we won’t make it before dark.” I glance up and see that he’s right. It must already be late afternoon.

On the way back Deven slides his hand into mine, and tingles race up my arm. It’s a lie, our palms pressed together, our fingers entwined like we belong to each other. But it’s a lovely lie, and I wish it never had to end.



By the time we make it back to the flat, the sun is dipping beneath the horizon and the sky is blushing like a new bride. Mani is finally worn out, and he slumps against me as I fish for my key. When I swing the door open, he crawls into bed still fully dressed and pulls the covers over his head.

Deven leans against the doorframe. “Thank you for today.”

“So typical,” I say.

“What?”

“Thanking me when I’ve done nothing at all.”

He smiles and tugs gently on my ponytail. “You came,” he said. “I didn’t think you would.”

“I didn’t think I would either.”

“So why did you?”

I’m sleepy and content and it’s working on me like a drug running through my veins, making me loose and fearless. I tell him the truth. “You make me do irresponsible things.”

He laughs and pulls me against his chest. He wraps his arms around my waist and presses his lips to my forehead. “I hope to make you do more irresponsible things in the future,” he says. I lay my head on his shoulder and relax against him. His fingers move up and down my spine, and my whole body comes to life. It steals my breath away, this sensation of being touched, of feeling alive. Deven’s fingers twine through my hair, stroke the back of my neck. My nerves are singing. I lift my head—just for a moment—and he catches my face in his palms. His thumbs idly stroke my cheeks. I can’t breathe. I can’t think. He’s looking at me like I’m the only person in the world. His eyes are deep brown, pools of melted chocolate, and I could drown in them. Deven leans toward me, lips already parted, and time seems to slow down. I want him to do it. I want him to kiss me more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

I put a palm on his chest and push him away. Deven’s hands drop to his sides and a look of hurt flashes across his face.

“I’m sorry,” I tell him, and I am. So sorry. “I can’t. I…” I’m floundering for an excuse, for a way to erase the wounded expression on his face. I reach for his hand and squeeze his fingers. “It’s just that Mani is here and I’m so tired.”

“Oh,” he says. “I’ll let you get some rest, then.”

I nod. “Thanks,” I say, because it’s the only thing I can.