One page has an illustration of a village being destroyed. Flames curl up the sides of buildings, and smoke hangs thick in the air. But what catches my eye is the source of the inferno: it’s an enormous snake with fire bursting from its mouth. And the villagers are staring at it in slack-jawed horror.
I close the book. I really should get to work. I slide the volume onto the top shelf where Japa keeps the items for collectors and turn to the rest of the stack.
Shelving is one of my favorite tasks. Japa isn’t fussy about speed, so I take my time admiring the books, caressing their soft leather covers with my fingertips, flipping through pages, falling in love before I slide each volume onto the shelf, snug between friends. Slowly the gaps fill in and my pile begins to shrink. I’m so absorbed that I startle a little when someone pushes the door open and the noise from the street spills into the bookshop.
I shake my head, disoriented. The sun is high in the sky now and I must have been here for hours, though it feels like it has been only moments. Mani is curled on his side, eyes closed, a book splayed across the bridge of his nose.
A boy a year or two older than me stands at the entrance surveying the shop like he can’t quite remember why he’s here. He’s tall and broad with arms shaped like a workhand’s and inky black hair that falls across his forehead in waves. He glances over and I realize I’ve been staring. My cheeks flame. I should be offering to help—Japa isn’t paying me to stare at the customers. I start toward him, my mouth already forming a question, when Japa calls out, “Deven, how are you, my boy?” I snap my mouth closed, disappointed and relieved in equal measure. Deven. The name rolls around my mind as he follows Japa into the storeroom.
Mani yawns behind me and I realize that I am still standing in the same spot, staring at the door. I press my hands through my hair at the temples. I can’t seem to hold on to time today. Mani stretches his arms out in front of him and arches his back like a cat. He has a page-shaped line across the left half of his face.
“I fell asleep,” he says.
“I can see that.” I flop down beside him. “Boring book?”
He looks at me as if I’ve just suggested we have mud for dinner. “No,” he says. “It has pirates.” He waits a beat. “I just got really sleepy.”
I run my fingers through his thick hair. “A nap was probably good for you,” I tell him. And it’s true. His cheeks have more color and his breath is coming with less effort.
“Can we stay longer?” He clutches the book to his chest like he’s afraid I’m going to pry it from him.
I laugh. “Yes,” I say. “I’m not quite finished.” Mani flashes me a grin and leans against the wall, book propped on his knees. I return to the shelves, though my gaze keeps wandering to the storeroom entrance. I can’t help wondering what Japa and his visitor are talking about that is taking so long. Is Deven family? Is he Japa’s grandson? I can’t remember ever seeing him here before, but then again, I’m not here that often.
I try to get reabsorbed in my project, but it’s too late. The spell has been broken and my mind is jumpy and distracted.
The last few books are cradled in the crook of my arm when Japa comes back from the storeroom with Deven at his heels. “Marinda,” he says, “you’ve done so much.” This is generous, considering he must know I could have finished hours ago—that he has been paying me to browse through novels. “I want you to meet my young friend Deven.” Questions pool at the tip of my tongue. How do they know each other? And for how long? How can they be friends with such a large age difference? But I have been trained to swallow my questions, so I smile instead.
“Nice to meet you,” Deven says, moving toward me. I step backward without thinking and then cringe. It’s a mistake to let my discomfort show so easily, and I try to cover with a light laugh that comes out more like a bark. Deven gives a half smile, just one side of his mouth lifting a bit like he’s not sure what to think of me. Then he tries again, leaning to kiss each side of my face. This time I am more adept at subtly twisting my neck, making sure his lips land far from mine. I find myself longing for one of the cultures west of Sundari where people greet each other with extended hands—what a luxury to have the length of two whole arms between you. Or even better, one of the kingdoms where greetings come in the form of nods and bows and there is no touching at all.
“The pleasure is all mine,” I say, though now it sounds like a lie. Deven smiles—a real one with both sides of his mouth—and I stop breathing for a moment. My face feels hot all over and I’m relieved when I feel Mani’s hand on my elbow.
“Ah,” says Japa, “this is Marinda’s brother, Mani.”
Deven kneels down to Mani’s height. “What book do you have there?” Mani doesn’t answer but twists his wrists so that the cover is facing out. “That’s one of my favorites,” Deven tells him.