Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(55)

Deven clears his throat. The Raja looks up and his face registers surprise and then delight. He breaks into a wide grin.

“Deven,” he says affectionately. “How wonderful to see you.” Deven is smiling too.

“Hello, Father.”





The word takes a moment to register. Father. But when it does, dread chokes my throat.

Deven lied to me. Just like Gopal and Gita and Iyla lied to me. Just like I lied to Deven. Well, he didn’t lie exactly—he never told me that he wasn’t the son of the Raja. But it has the same effect. Why wouldn’t he tell me this?

Deven turns toward me, and he must see the distress on my face, because his eyes go soft. He circles my wrist with his fingers and pulls me forward. “It’s okay,” he says. But it isn’t. If Deven is a prince, then his brother—the one I killed—is a prince too. And that makes me an assassin and a traitor.

“Father, this is Marinda,” Deven says. “Marinda, this is my father.” His introduction is casual, as if I’m the girl next door and his father is a merchant. My heart is beating so loudly that I’m afraid the entire room can hear it.

“Nice to meet you, Your Highness,” I say when I’ve finally found my manners.

The Raja smiles warmly at me. “It’s always nice to meet a friend of Deven’s,” he says. I flinch at this and hope that he doesn’t notice. I’ve dreamed about meeting the Raja for years. But that’s when I thought I worked for him. When I thought he’d be pleased with all I’d done. Now I’m resisting the urge to run.

“We came to ask a favor,” Deven says. “Marinda’s younger brother has been taken by the Naga. We were hoping you could help us find them.”

The Raja’s face hardens. He shakes his head. “Is there no limit to what these swine will do?”

At the mention of Mani, the pressure in my chest grows. There are no windows in the throne room, but the moon must have risen by now. And it will be fuller than last night. We’re running out of time.

The Raja sees my face, and his angry expression melts away. “How old is your brother?”

I killed your son, I think as I look into his kind eyes. “He’s seven.” He flies to his feet so quickly that I worry his throne will tumble off its dais. The two advisers in the room raise their eyebrows but don’t move.

“Seven?” His face is scarlet, and his lips are moving but no sound is coming out. He takes a deep breath and then steps down to join us. “What would they want with a little boy?” He says it more to himself than to me, like he doesn’t expect an answer. Which is fortunate because I’m not sure I can speak. I just stare dumbly at him. Now that he is closer, I can see the resemblance to Deven. The Raja has deep creases around his eyes in the same places Deven’s eyes crinkle when he laughs. The two of them are nearly the same height, and their eyes are the same rich brown color. And I’ve betrayed them both.

“I’m so sorry,” the Raja says. It startles me for a moment that he should be apologizing to me when…I killed your son. But then I realize he’s only expressing sympathy.

Deven puts a reassuring hand on my back. “Can you help?” he asks his father.

“I think so, yes,” the Raja says. He glances at one of his advisers. “Will you please inform Hitesh that I need to see him immediately?”

“Certainly, Your Majesty,” the adviser says, then leaves the room.

Deven leans toward me and whispers, “Hitesh is the head of Sundari intelligence.”

The Raja turns toward us. “Deven, why don’t you take your friend to the Blue Room, where you’ll both be more comfortable? I’ll meet you there shortly.”

Panic beats inside my chest like a caged bird. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to hear every word from Sundari intelligence and not have it filtered through someone else. I want to find Mani now. But I don’t have that option. I’m not bold enough to argue with the Raja, and Deven already has his hand on my elbow, ready to lead me away.

“Thank you, Father,” he says.

The Raja leans forward and kisses him on his right cheek and then his left. “You’re welcome.”

We leave the throne room and I numbly let Deven lead me down the corridor and around the corner to yet another set of double doors. They open into a large sitting room decorated in dozens of shades of blue. The room is aptly named.

“Are you okay?” Deven asks as we sink onto a cerulean sofa. The question strikes me as absurd. Of course I’m not okay. My brother is missing, and my only hope for finding him lies with people I’ve unwittingly betrayed. And Deven lied to me—misled me at least—but I can’t say that. It would be the height of hypocrisy after our history. I want to say it, though. Badly.

“I’m fine,” I say instead.

He touches my knee. “Are you sure?” I stare at my hands and refuse to meet his gaze. “I wanted to tell you,” he says. “So many times. But no one knows who I really am. It’s the only way to help the cause. No one would tell me anything if they knew.”

“So you pose as—as what? A bookshop delivery boy with a rich father?”

“Marinda.” The way he says my name—halfway between a plea and a rebuke—almost does me in. It’s tender and familiar and not at all the way he would speak to me if he knew the truth—that there aren’t dozens of vish kanya, like he thinks. Only me. I press my fingers to my temples. A headache is building behind my eyes, and my stomach feels unsettled. I need to get to Mani. My chest aches with it.