Poison's Kiss (Poison's Kiss #1)(69)

And so I decide to take Iyla to the first place I ever glimpsed what a different kind of life might look like. The first place I ever felt hope. I take her to the waterfall. The air is cooler than it was when Deven and I hiked here so long ago, and the trees are alive with hues of orange and red. I rub my arms for warmth.

“How much farther?” Iyla asks.

“I think we’re close,” I tell her. “Last time I came from the opposite direction, so I’m not exactly sure….” Just then we round a bend and there it is, every bit as beautiful as I remember.

Iyla and I sit on a grassy area near the edge of the water. This time it’s too cold to lie back with the sun in our faces, so we pull our knees to our chests to stay warm and I tell Iyla the legend of the waterfall. When I get to the end, where the maiden and the prince are in love but never see each other again because they are both too stubborn, Iyla sighs.

“It’s so sad,” she says.

When Deven told the story, I didn’t think it was sad. I thought it was romantic. But now I agree with Iyla. I think it’s the saddest story I’ve ever heard, and I’m not sure why I liked it so much. We sit in silence for a while, and I wonder if I’ll ever see Deven again. And I wonder if that’s what Iyla is wondering too.



I’m dozing on the sofa after our hike when I hear a knock.

“No more sweets!” Iyla shouts from the other room. Because we both know that is what awaits us on the other side of the door—a widow with jalebi or sandesh or sweet flour dumplings. I get up from the couch and stretch. I’m still rubbing my eyes when I swing the door open. And then my heart leaps in my chest.

It’s Deven.

And he’s brought Mani.

First I squeal. And then I cry. I gather Mani into my arms and hold him close to me. He’s crying too, and then he’s laughing, and I can’t imagine how we must sound to the neighbors. It’s not until I let go of him that I see it: his left arm is missing below the elbow. Mani sees me notice and I can feel him studying my face, measuring my reaction. I smile. “I’m so glad you’re all right.”

He smiles back shyly, but there’s something guarded in his expression that wasn’t there before and it’s a splinter in my heart. “I’m getting used to it,” he says, lifting up what’s left of his arm. “I can do lots of stuff I couldn’t do a few weeks ago.”

My eyes are teary. “I’m sure you can, monkey.” I ruffle his hair. His complexion looks better than it has in a year. His cheeks are rosy and his breathing is effortless, just like breathing is supposed to be. “You look so healthy.” I pull him to me for another hug. “I missed you.”

Deven clears his throat. “I’m sorry it took so long,” he says. “He was pretty sick for a while there.”

Mani makes a face. “Deven made me eat maraka fruit at every meal. He even told the cook to add it to my bread.”

My eyes flick up to Deven. “Thank you,” I mouth. He nods.

Iyla steps into the room, and for an awkward moment no one says anything. It’s Mani who moves first, who circles his good arm around her waist and wraps her in a hug. My heart swells at his compassion. He had to have seen her in the circle that night in the cave, and even before that he was never very fond of her. I wonder if he sees her differently now that he’s witnessed the worst I have to offer. Iyla stiffens at first, and then a sob rips from her, a scratchy, feral thing that sounds like it’s been waiting years to escape. She hugs him back, her whole body shaking with sobs. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen her cry. “I’m sorry, Mani. I’m so, so sorry,” she says.

“I know,” Mani tells her.

I prepare a thick stew for dinner, and we eat and talk. Mani tells us about his recovery and about all the new friends he’s made at the palace. Iyla and I fill the boys in on the village and our never-ending supply of dessert. Finally Mani’s eyelids start to droop, and so I take him upstairs and tuck him into bed. His eyes are closed before I make it to the door.

When I get back to the kitchen, Iyla has already gone to bed. And just like that, Deven and I are alone. He stands up and wraps his arms around my waist. “I missed you,” he says. And I missed him too, but there’s a lie between us and I can’t pretend there isn’t. I put a hand against his chest and gently push him away.

“There’s something I need to tell you.”

He bites the corner of his lip. “Okay…”

I hold out my hand. “Come and sit on the sofa with me.” He slides his palm against mine and I try to memorize the feel of it, the warmth of his skin, the shape of his fingers. He sits on one side of the sofa and I sit on the other. I tuck my legs underneath me and stare at my hands while I try to find the words.

“What’s wrong?” he asks.

I gaze at his face for a moment before I answer. I want to see him one more time when he looks like this—all boyish and kind—before hate twists his features. And then I gather my courage and clear my throat. “Kadru—she’s the woman who made me a visha kanya—she told me something the last time I visited her that I think you should know.” His eyebrows pull together, but he just waits for me to continue. I wipe my palms on my thighs. I nearly tell him that I’m the only visha kanya, but the words stick in my throat. It’s dangerous information to risk the Raja discovering, that he could have stripped the Nagaraja of his biggest advantage just by killing me.