Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(54)
Deven returns from the washroom. “All yours,” he says. I smile wanly and head to the back of the flat. My fingers are stiff and it takes me longer than usual to change. My throat aches, but I have no tears. I am hollowed out.
I return to the main room and climb into one of the empty beds, the one farthest from Deven. “Good night,” I say over my shoulder.
“Night.”
I curl up on my side and close my eyes, but it’s a long time before sleep claims me.
The next day brings more walking. We traipse through bigger cities and smaller towns, and Deven always seems to know which route will give us the most privacy. Silence hangs heavily between us—my worry about Mani is all-encompassing, and if it leaves my mind even for an instant, Deven’s brother is there to make sure I don’t have a moment of peace. I haven’t made eye contact with Deven all day, but he doesn’t seem to notice. He’s lost in thought too. We walk for hours, and by the time we reach the outskirts of Colapi City, my feet are screaming for relief.
“Not much farther,” Deven says. He reaches for my hand as we climb a small hill. When we get to the top, the palace comes into view for the first time. I pull in a sharp breath. It’s the most spectacular thing I’ve ever seen. Colapi Mahal is vast—at least four stories high and the size of a small village. The facade is smooth gray granite broken up by hundreds of windows. Towers on all sides of the palace soar high into the air and are topped with bulbous red domes and golden finials. The main entrance has a grand arch flanked by two smaller ones. It’s breathtaking. I glance over at Deven and see that he is watching me with a small smile playing on his lips, like he built the palace himself.
“What do you think?” he asks.
“I’ve never seen anything like it.” This answer seems to please him. We stand together for a few moments in companionable silence. The sun is low in the sky and bathing the palace in soft pink light. It’s so beautiful it’s hard to look away.
“We probably should get going,” Deven says a few minutes later. “We still have about an hour to walk.”
I groan. “That long?”
“It looks deceptively close, doesn’t it?” Everything in my life is deceptively close. Especially Deven.
As we walk, we pass small clusters of bungalows. Deven explains that they are occupied by the workers who serve at the palace and their families. Some of them are outside, pulling weeds from gardens, sweeping wide porches, chatting and laughing with neighbors. But as we pass, they fall silent, whispering to each other and pointing at us. It doesn’t faze Deven in the least; he doesn’t even break stride. But I feel like I’ve been turned inside out, and I wish I had a wrap to pull tightly around myself, or even better, something to shield my face.
The walk to the front of the palace feels like a day instead of an hour, and by the time we get there, my nerves are jumpy. A wide path paved in white stones leads to the grand arches, and it is flanked on either side by dozens of palace guards. They wear red tunics with black linen pants, and their hair is styled identically—slicked away from the forehead and braided in the back. Swords hang at their hips.
My heart jumps into my throat. I hope Deven’s connections at the palace are as good as he claims. I’m tired and I have no desire to be on the misunderstood end of a sword.
“What now?” I ask Deven.
“Just follow my lead,” he answers.
We start down the path and the guards don’t move. They continue to stare straight ahead, as if we pose no threat at all. Either the Raja’s soldiers are completely inept or Deven has been here many times before.
We pass through the grand arches and come to an enormous set of golden double doors inlaid with silver-etched birds. Two guards standing on either side of the doors pull them open and Deven nods his thanks. He puts a hand on the small of my back and guides me forward, down a white marble staircase that opens up into a huge octagonal pavilion. I thought the outside of the palace was spectacular, but it doesn’t even compare to the beauty of this room. Pale green fluted columns rise to support golden scalloped arches that soar all the way to the domed stained-glass ceiling. I look down and see that the floor is just as stunning—white marble inlaid with semiprecious stones.
My boots are filthy.
“Should we be here?” I ask, and then startle at how loud my voice sounds in such a cavernous space. But there’s no one to hear me. The palace seems utterly empty.
“We have as much right to be here as anyone,” Deven says. “Follow me.” He leads me around several corners, twisting and turning so often that I lose track of whether we’re heading east or west. Finally we end up in a long walkway lined with ornately gilded columns and Gothic vaulted ceilings. The floor is gleaming hardwood and I flinch at the click of my boots with every step.
At the end of the walkway are huge, intricately carved rosewood doors. Guards are positioned on either side and they show no alarm at our approach. When we reach the doors, one of the guards dips his head slightly. “Master Deven,” he says as he swings the door open. I shoot Deven a questioning look, but he’s not watching me. He’s completely focused on the person on the other side of the door. The Raja sits in the middle of the room on a golden throne. He wears a deep-blue tunic and a white crown. He doesn’t notice us right away because his head is dipped toward what appears to be one of his advisers. They are deep in conversation.