“Same.”
I sit down with my shoulders against the bars, and the boy mimics me. We sit like that for a long time—him finishing his bread, me berating myself for not being a better sister, a better person.
“What’s your name?” I ask him finally.
“Kavi,” he says. Kavi. Mani. They aren’t so different. My throat aches.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Marinda.”
I look over at my tray and the porridge still sitting there untouched. I can’t fit the bowl between the bars, but we could pass the spoon back and forth. “Are you still hungry?” I ask. “I have some porridge.”
“Nah,” Kavi says. “I’m okay. But I feel like I should give you something in return for the bread.”
I laugh. “And what could you possibly have to give me?”
He turns and looks at me earnestly. “I could give you some wisdom.”
My blood runs cold and I scoot away from the bars. “I know you,” I say. “I saw you on Gali Street.” He was the boy selling wisdom, the boy Mani thought could give us hope.
“I saw you too,” he says. He shakes his head sadly. “But it looks like you didn’t listen to me.” The hair on the back of my neck prickles to life.
“Stop,” I say. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“You shared your bread with me,” he says. “That tells me a lot. And you love your brother. That tells me something too.”
And I kill people. What does that say about me, you strange little child?
“You really look like you could use some wisdom,” Kavi says.
“Stop talking,” I say. “Just leave me alone.” I don’t know what it is about this boy that unsettles me so much.
He just shrugs. “Let me know if you change your mind.”
I snatch the blanket from the floor and retreat to the far side of my cell, where I lie down and pull the blanket over my head. Water continues to drip from the ceiling, so I have to smash myself against the wall to stay dry. It’s an uncomfortable position, but not as uncomfortable as being turned inside out by a little boy who talks too much.
I attempt to sleep away the rest of the day, and from what little I can see, most of the other prisoners do the same. There isn’t anything else to pass the time.
The guards don’t return with another meal until evening, and by then I’m famished. It’s a different man distributing trays this time, and when he approaches my cell, I try asking about Mani again. But I get even less of a response than before. He acts as if he can’t hear me, and when I repeat my question, he begins humming and moves along to the next prisoner.
I curl up in the corner and start on my dinner—a thick stew, a mug of water and two small loaves of bread. I can hear Kavi in the next cell loudly slurping his stew, and again I’m forcefully reminded of Mani. With every bite I grow more unsettled. I was unkind earlier. To a child. I don’t know what it is about Kavi that makes my stomach churn. Maybe it’s the culture he comes from—the fortune-telling and snake charming. It ruined my life, and maybe I’m taking it out on a little boy because I can’t reach the Naga.
I stand up and move to where Kavi sits with his back against the bars. “I have some extra bread,” I tell him.
He glances up. “But you didn’t eat breakfast.”
I smile at him. “I’ll be fine. I don’t eat that much.”
He shrugs and takes the bread. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” I take a deep breath and force the next words out. “What is the wisdom you wanted to share? Maybe I need it after all.”
“Really?” he asks, and the hopefulness in his voice sends a pang through me.
“Really.”
Kavi closes his eyes and his whole face relaxes. He sits like that for several minutes and then snaps his eyes open. “It’s better when I write it down,” he says apologetically. “But here it is: Suspicion is the only defense against betrayal.”
I roll my eyes. “That’s exactly the same thing you told me last time.”
“Is it?”
I laugh. “Yes, it is.” I can’t believe I let Kavi get to me. He really is just an innocent child pretending to be grown up. “Let me guess. You tell the same thing to all of your customers?”
“No,” he says indignantly. “Of course not.”
“No? Then tell me. What does it mean?”
Kavi purses his lips. “Usually I don’t know,” he says. “But this time I have a pretty good idea.”
“And what is that?”
“Well, I think it means that the guards should be more suspicious of little boys with sticky fingers.” He pulls a key from his pocket and shakes it at me. “And then they would avoid being betrayed.”
I gasp. “Is that—”
“Shh!” Kavi holds a finger to his lips. “Yes, it is.”