Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(34)

The need to find Deven fades into the background as Mani loses strength. He’s too weak to leave the flat and has spent the morning curled on his bed staring vacantly into space, his pupils dilated, his eyes watering and his breath so shallow I have to strain to see his chest moving up and down. I’ve made three trips to the healers in the marketplace, and none of the potions I’ve purchased have done Mani any good—not the ones from the real healers and not the ones from the frauds either. I’ve seen Mani’s face this pale only once before, and I almost lost him then.

A few days after the incident at the river, Gopal showed up on my doorstep with a ceramic pot and a bottle of medication. “This should help your brother breathe easier,” he said. This was Gopal’s way—to create the problem and then insist on being treated like a savior for providing half a solution.

The breathing treatments helped Mani at first—enough that I was willing to tolerate the foul-smelling vapors that clung to our flat for days after each treatment. But after a few months, he stopped improving and I grew suspicious of Gopal’s motives. The next time he showed up with a treatment, I told him I wanted him to breathe in the vapors along with Mani.

“Excuse me?” he said. “What are you implying, Marinda?”

“How do I know you’re not making it worse? If the medication is harmless, then what will it hurt if you inhale it too?”

Gopal’s laugh was brittle. “How quickly you forget the lessons I teach, little one.” He stalked over to the bubbling water and dumped nearly half the vial of medication into it. A bitter mist rolled through the flat, and Gopal stood with his face pressed to the pot for a full minute, inhaling deeply and grinning like a madman. Then he stood up and tipped the remaining contents of the bottle into his mouth and grimaced as he swallowed.

“Satisfied, rajakumari?”

My stomach curled around the terrible mistake I’d just made.

Gopal tossed the bottle on the floor and it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces. “But if you are convinced that I’m trying to hurt the boy, then I’d best keep my distance.”

The coldness in his voice was final and he was true to his word. He didn’t return for ten days. Mani grew weaker and weaker, until his face was as pale as rice and he shivered uncontrollably. I held off as long as I could, hoping against all reason that he would improve on his own, but soon he was so ill I couldn’t wait anymore. I ran to the girls’ home and found Gopal. “He’s dying,” I said. “Please come.”

Gopal looked at me with ice in his eyes. “Beg me, rajakumari. Tell me I was right.”

Shakily, I fell to my knees. “I was wrong to doubt you,” I said. “I’m begging you to give Mani the breathing treatment. Please.”

Gopal reached down and stroked my cheek with the backs of his fingers. “See now? Was that so hard?”

Mani’s health looks just as dire as it did that day, but I know Gopal won’t give him the treatment until there’s blood on my hands.

Several times I’m tempted to go to the bookshop to talk to Japa, but something holds me back. My emotions are taut, stretched to their very limit, and I worry if I see Japa’s kind face, I will break down and tell him everything. If I thought he could save Mani, it would be worth the risk, but if there were a medication to heal his tiny broken lungs, I would have found it already.

Instead I curl myself around Mani and try to calm the shivers that have taken over his small body.

Finally, after days of silence, there’s a knock at the door, and I open it to find Gita. Relief floods through me and I have to resist the urge to throw myself into her arms and beg her never to leave me again. But I remind myself that she’s not here to offer mercy—she’s here to exact Gopal’s revenge. And I won’t let her.

She offers me a weak smile. “I forgot my key,” she says. She looks tired—blue smudges underline her eyes, and the wrinkles around her mouth have deepened.

“That’s just as well,” I tell her. “Because unless you have Mani’s breathing treatment, you aren’t coming in.”

“After I deliver my message,” she says. “After you follow Gopal’s instructions.”

“No,” I say. “Now.”

“Marinda,” she says, a warning in her voice. “Don’t start. Not today.”

Rage shoots through me at her offhand tone, as if I’m four years old and we’re discussing whether or not I need a bath. I take a step toward her and she stumbles backward. “Let me explain how this works. I’m not doing anything until Mani is better. Gopal can come here and kill me himself, but I’m not moving until Mani gets that medication.”

Gita bites her lip. “I’m not supposed to give it to him until you’ve completed the assignment.”

I put my hand on her chest and give her a little shove. “Then run back and tell Gopal you couldn’t convince me. I’m sure he’ll thank you for following his instructions so dutifully.”

A hint of fear skitters through her eyes. “Very well,” she says. “But then you must promise to listen to me.”

I step away from the door so she can come inside. Right now I will say anything to get relief for Mani. “I promise.”

I pace as we wait for the water to boil. When it begins to bubble, Gita drops the medication into the pot and then retreats to the far side of the flat. I scoop Mani into my arms and hold him over the burbling water, a blanket tented over both of our heads. The bitter steam fills the small space and Mani stirs to life, his head turning toward the pot like a flower reaching for the sunlight. My heart tumbles forward. He’s going to live. I hold him in my arms until the pot boils dry, and by the time I finally lay him down on the bed, my muscles are screaming. Gita stands in the doorway with her hand over her nose and mouth to block the smell.