Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(38)

Two fat tears slip from the corners of his eyes and I brush them away with my thumbs. Then I remember that I probably shouldn’t be touching his face at all, and I let my hands fall into my lap.

“It is true,” Mani says. “She told me once.”

A little shock of panic goes through me. “What? What did she say?”

Mani’s face crumples, and it takes him a few seconds to compose himself enough to speak. “She said that I wasn’t really your brother. That I was just some random kid Gopal picked up off the street to ruin your life and that because of me you’d both have to work for him forever.” He scrubs at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to ruin your life.”

My mouth falls open. “Oh, Mani.” I pull him to me and cradle his head against my shoulder. “Iyla’s a fool. You didn’t ruin my life. You saved it.”

And as I hold him, I realize it’s true. Taking care of Mani—loving him—is the only thing that has held the darkness at bay. Iyla thinks he makes me weak, but he doesn’t. He makes me human.

Mani gulps in breaths between sobs. I rock him back and forth. “And, Mani?”

“Yeah?”

“In a choice between you and Iyla, you win every time. Got it?”

He pulls away and looks me in the eye. “I know that. We’re still together, aren’t we?”

I give him a smile instead of an answer. Because if I’m the one making him sick, it’s going to be harder and harder to keep it that way.

Suddenly I have a realization that knocks the breath from me: Gopal knows what’s wrong with Mani. He must. If Deven knows what vish bimari looks like, Gopal knows too. How the venom works on the body is something he’s studied his whole life. It has fascinated him, consumed him.

So why wouldn’t he tell me that I’m hurting Mani by being with him? Why would he let me believe that Mani’s lungs are damaged? But the answer is obvious—if he told me, I would find another home for Mani, and then Gopal wouldn’t be able to use him to control me. He’s letting Mani die so I don’t run.

But what if it’s even worse?

I race downstairs to Iyla’s kitchen and fling open her cabinets until I find a clay pot. I fill it with water, and my fingers shake as I set it over the heat. Mani stands on the stairs watching me.

“Marinda, what’s wrong?” he says, and I realize I’ve stuffed my knuckles in my mouth.

“Just give me a moment,” I tell him. I keep my gaze fastened on the pot, and when it begins to steam, I pull the vial of venom from my pocket and let a single drop fall into the water. The smell that fills Iyla’s flat is as familiar as it is repulsive. I throw my hand over my mouth. Gopal hasn’t been giving Mani breathing treatments.

He’s been poisoning him.

And he doesn’t give him a drop at a time like I’ve given Deven. Gopal puts venom into the water by the spoonful. I squeeze my eyes shut. I should have known better. I should have trusted my gut when the treatments didn’t work right away, but Mani nearly died when Gopal refused to give him the medication. It was the only thing that ever made him feel better.

Mani hops off the stairs and launches himself at me. “You got my medicine,” he says, and the joy in his voice is unmistakable. “How did you do it?” He steps up to the pot, closes his eyes and breathes in the vapors like he’s savoring the smell of chocolate.

It reminds me of a man we used to see in the marketplace when I was young. He was always either smoking poppy straws or shaking violently and begging for coins. Gita told me that he was addicted to the opium plant and that he’d smoked it so often that his body betrayed him by demanding the very thing that was killing him.

Mani has that same look on his face—like he’s inhaling salvation.

Rage wells in my chest and I snatch the pot from the heat and fling it across the room. It slams into the wall in a spray of water and shattered clay.

We had an unspoken agreement when Gopal pulled Mani from the river—my compliance for my brother’s safety. It was the only thing that kept me inside the nightmare Gopal had created. And this entire time Gopal has been killing Mani slowly right in front of me. My stomach turns. He made me beg him to poison Mani, made me fall on my knees and plead.

I yank open Iyla’s drawers and find a sharp knife to slip in my waistband under my sari.

“Marinda?” Mani says, his voice full of fear.

“We have to go,” I tell him. Late-afternoon sun streams through the window. Gita is supposed to meet us back at the flat at sundown, just a handful of hours from now. We have only a small window of opportunity to escape. I won’t be Gopal’s puppet anymore. Saving Deven is no longer enough. There will always be a next boy and then a next. But I won’t be the one to kill them. I don’t care how necessary the Raja thinks the deaths are.

“Are you strong enough for another walk?” I ask.

“I think so,” Mani says. “Where are we going?”

“Back to the flat for supplies,” I tell him. “And then we’re going to leave.”

“Forever?”

The hope in his voice sends a spasm of pain through me, and I’m determined not to fail him this time. “Forever,” I say.

We take a different way back to the flat than usual, and I stop frequently to duck into doorways and wait before continuing on. I’m nearly certain we haven’t been followed, but Gopal has surprised me before. I touch the knife at my waist—this time if he’s one step ahead of us, I’m prepared.