The door swung open to reveal Sumitra, tears running down her face and dripping from her chin.
“Kaushalya! He is—” She broke off when she spotted me. “Why have you brought her here?” The venom in her voice cut straight through me. “Don’t you dare cry now about what you have done,” Sumitra hissed. “How dare you?”
“Peace, Sumitra,” Kaushalya said. “She is still his wife. She loves him just as we do.”
“She is nothing like us.” Sumitra looked me up and down. “She is a rakshasa in the clothes of a radnyi. I never thought I would need to tell you to be more cautious and less forgiving, Kaushalya.”
The sob escaped me. “Sumitra, I beg of you—”
“Do not speak to me,” she said, leaning away as though I was diseased.
That particular act of cruelty brought me back to reality. The events in the throne room had given me hope that perhaps she did not hate me, but sometime between yesterday and now our bond had dissolved into nothingness. She blamed me for Lakshmana’s departure, a near-unforgivable loss, and perhaps I could appeal to that. “Do you not think I grieve to see our sons leave? Please, you have to understand why—”
“You grieve for nothing,” she snapped. “Your son is still here.”
I could tell I would not get another word of explanation, and my heart sank. Was Sumitra to be lost to me forever?
“He is in his room,” Sumitra said to Kaushalya, gesturing her in. I stepped inside after them, although Sumitra scowled at me. “The healers are with him, but they say we should not go in, as it might disturb his rest. He had another fit a few minutes ago, and though it was shorter, they say it may have caused further damage to his mind.”
“Oh, gods.” Kaushalya pressed a hand to her forehead. “Do they know what caused it?”
“Stress, they say. Though they have yet to rule out otherworldly causes—demonic influence, perhaps?” She glared at me pointedly.
“Kaikeyi is not a rakshasa, and she had nothing to do with this,” Kaushalya said firmly. “You might be upset at her, but please, do not push so far. And as you well know, we do not have time for this foolishness. Kaikeyi, do you wish to see him briefly? I am sure we can go in for a moment.”
I nodded, thankful for Kaushalya’s steady presence beside me. How many people would I lose when this was all over?
We slipped off our shoes and tiptoed into the room. Four healers stood around the bed, one at Dasharath’s head checking his temperature and color, one examining Dasharath’s arm, one gently pressing on Dasharath’s stomach, and one at Dasharath’s feet, mixing together some plants with a small mortar and pestle. It reminded me of the scene around his battlefield bedside all those years ago—I felt the same panic, the same guilt. But this time I was not his savior. I was his ruin.
“Radnyi,” the healer at Dasharath’s stomach whispered. “You should not be here.” I thought he had addressed me, for I was so used to my role as the radnyi that people consulted with. I began speaking, but Kaushalya cut me off. “We just wished to see him.”
I received a look of skepticism from the healer, and he responded to Kaushalya only. “His hold on this life is tenuous. Any disturbance might break that. We need to work.”
“I understand,” she whispered, but did not move, studying our husband. I watched her for a moment before transferring my attention to him as well. There was a yellow stain at the corner of his mouth, and his whole face was so pale it looked nearly white, except for the high spots of red on his cheeks. He was still, far stiller than in sleep, and yet his limbs appeared strangely rigid.
“Please, Radnyi. Give us time to work,” the healer said.
This time we followed his orders and left the room. Sumitra was still waiting when we shut the door.
“How is he?” she asked Kaushalya desperately.
“Unchanged. I am sure if we all pray, he will recover.”
I pressed my lips into a line, for I knew prayer would not help. If at all, the gods might further punish Dasharath for acquiescing to my demands. Sumitra, it seemed, noticed my expression. “I cannot be in a room with her anymore,” Sumitra said. “She spent years gaining our confidence only to destroy the kingdom. She is the reason Lakshmana is gone.”
“Your son decided to go of his own free will,” I said, because Lakshmana would not have wanted Sumitra thinking such things. “I will not blame him for wanting to do what is right, even if his mother cannot see it.”