Mani did feel better every time he ate them. I think of all the grapes and pears I’ve forced on him over the past week, assuming that it was more fruit in general that he needed instead of realizing that what Deven had offered was special. The irony slams into me—finding a cure when it’s too late, when I’ve already lost Mani.
“You’ve been trying to help him all along,” I say. A wave of affection washes over me. Deven still cares about Mani, even though he despises me. I’ve been wrong about so many things that it feels good to be right about this one.
“What kind of a person would I be if I didn’t?”
There’s so much I want to say to him—about how he is exactly as good as I suspected and about how I’m not quite as bad as he thinks—but I can’t find the words for any of it. And right now it doesn’t matter. The most important thing is finding Mani.
“Now it’s time for you to start talking,” I say. “Why would your father need to spend years perfecting an antidote to snake venom?”
Instead of answering, Deven steers us into a tiny passageway between two buildings, and at first I think he’s stopping to give us some privacy so that he can answer my question. But then he pulls a key from his pocket. “We’re here.”
I’m not sure where here is, since we’re surrounded by walls on three sides.
Deven rests one hand against the side of the building as he slides the key into a small opening, and I watch wide-eyed as a door-shaped portion of the wall swings inward. I throw him a questioning look, but he just puts a hand on the small of my back and pushes me forward. I step into a small flat not that different from the one I shared with Mani. Three freshly made beds are pressed against one wall, and a table is wedged into a corner. Several chairs are scattered throughout the room. It looks more lived in than Deven’s house, but not by much.
“Where are we?” I ask.
Deven sits heavily on the side of one of the beds. “It’s a safe house,” he tells me.
“I can’t stay here,” I tell him. “You have to tell me what you know and then I have to find Mani.” I move toward the door, but Deven catches my hand.
“We’ll talk,” he says. “And we’ll find him. But why don’t you go clean up first?”
I look down at the front of my sari, soaked with Japa’s blood. It’s all over my hands, arms and elbows—red streaks, little pieces of Japa. Now that some time has passed, the sight of it makes me want to gag, but there’s nothing in my stomach. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything. I can’t imagine ever wanting to eat again. Deven stands up and rests a hand on my shoulder.
“There’s a shower in the back,” he says. “And we keep extra clothes here. I’ll find something in your size.”
I look at him blankly. I have so many questions, but a shower isn’t such a bad idea. I numbly follow Deven to the washroom and accept the towel he gives me. “I’ll be right out here,” he says. I nod and close the door. I turn the shower all the way to hot and climb in still fully dressed. The scalding water flows over me, sending rivulets of red swirling around my ankles. Blood is caked under my fingernails, and my hair is stiff with it. When the water finally runs clear, I turn down the heat and strip off my wet clothes. Then I stand under the water and scrub my skin until it’s raw.
Deven has slipped a stack of clean clothes inside the door—a black linen tunic with matching black pants. Simple and comfortable. I towel off, dress quickly and wrap the towel around my dripping hair. I scoop up my wet sandals and return to the main room of the flat. Deven is sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He looks up when he hears my footsteps and I’m startled to see that his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen. I’ve been so focused on myself, on Mani, that I didn’t think about how hard it would be for Deven to hear about Japa’s death—Deven knew him longer than I did, loved him more.
“I’m so sorry,” I say.
He just nods. I wish I could wrap my arms around him, to try to comfort him, but we both know that this is my fault. If I hadn’t left Mani behind…if I hadn’t gone to Japa in the first place. Every decision I make turns ugly. If Deven hated me before, I can’t imagine what he feels now. I sit on the bed farthest from Deven and tuck my legs underneath me.
“I wish I didn’t have to ask,” I say. “But can you tell me more about why the Naga want to kill you? It might give me some idea why this mission is so important to them. Or where they would take Mani.”
“Shouldn’t you know why they want me dead? You’re the one who works for them.”
“They’ve never given me much detail. I only found out about the Naga this morning.”
Deven slams his fist against his thigh. “Stop it, Marinda. I can’t help you if you keep lying to me.”
“It’s the truth,” I shoot back. “Gopal—my handler—always told me I worked for the Raja.”