“Have I ever been angry with you?”
He shrugged, exaggerated enough for me to see. Even now he was considerate. “When I go along with Bharata’s plans.”
I laughed. “They’re Bharata’s plans?”
“You didn’t know?” he asked, all anger seemingly forgotten. “Bharata comes up with the ideas, and he claims the riskiest parts for himself. Shatrugna does all the rest.”
“Shatrugna does the smartest tasks,” I corrected teasingly. “That’s why I thought he came up with all their nonsense.”
“We always thought you only pretended not to know. Because Bharata is your son.” Once again, his voice was matter-of-fact.
“What?” I asked, shocked. “No. You are all my sons.”
“You believe that?” When I met his gaze, his light eyes were dark with emotion. He looked so much like Dasharath had the first time I met him in my father’s palace.
“Yes. Because it’s true.”
“I see,” he said, and his voice trembled ever so slightly.
“I’m not angry with you, Lakshmana. I promise. I’m angry at myself for letting you think that.”
“It’s not that important,” he said.
“I get to decide what I find important,” I told him. “And I think that you are important, you and all your brothers equally.”
He snorted, amused. “Rama is yuvraja. He is the most important. There’s no need to hide that truth. We are happy for him.”
It was a noble sentiment, if misguided, and I needed to respond with care. “My brother, your uncle Yudhajit, was the crown prince of Kekaya. I loved him and was happy for him. But that did not mean that I thought he was better than me at everything we tried, or that I deferred to him in every matter. And back then I was just a girl, considered a burden on my family.”
Lakshmana sighed, loud enough that I could hear it over the horses and the wind. “Rama is… something more than us. I cannot explain it, but I know it is my duty to support him, to follow him. I have no problem with this,” he added hastily.
“Don’t say such things about yourself,” I insisted, knowing he would not heed my words.
It did not matter, though, for I had nearly half a year of time away from home to forge a stronger connection with my son and try to change his perspective.
“Why are we going to Sripura?” Lakshmana asked the next day. I enjoyed riding with him—he was quiet enough that I could concentrate on the feel of horseback, the rhythm that reminded me of my childhood, but willing to talk when the hours felt long and the scenery grew dull.
“I have heard rumors of new forces at work past the borders of Southern Kosala, whispers about some sort of beast interfering with our trade caravans. I volunteered to go alone, but your father thought it best I have protection. And I knew I could trust you.” There was no need for him to know that I had first suggested Rama as a companion, and even less reason for him to know that his father and I thought these threats quite serious.
“Rama would have been the better choice. My skills with a bow and a sword are acceptable, but he would have protected you far better. I was there when he slew the rakshasas.”
I wanted to reach out and shake him, jolt this inferiority out of his skull, for it sounded to my estimation that Lakshmana had done plenty. But horseback and propriety prevented me from doing so.
“I trust you. You will not give up our secrets for any reason, you will be reliable and loyal, and I have seen your work on the training field. You are more than capable of protecting yourself, and me should it come to that.”
Lakshmana frowned. “This is a long journey. Rama might need me at home,” he said.
“Really?” It was time to test their bond. I entered the Binding Plane. “If Rama is so capable, why would he not be able to do without you for the span of a few moons?”
The blue bond flared into existence immediately. “Why do you hate Rama?” Lakshmana asked coldly.
I focused my energy on the otherworldly chain. It fought back, and I surrendered control of movement to my horse and instincts so I could give this task my full attention. As I pressed, the bond shuddered, dimming an infinitesimal amount. I swayed, clutching at the reins and leaning forward to steady myself.
That small task had sapped all of my strength.
Lakshmana was staring at me, expression defiant, waiting for a response. “I do not hate Rama,” I said, voice rasping as though I had not had water all day.
His expression changed, first to bewilderment and then to mortification. “I know you don’t, Ma. I’m sorry.”