“Why are you here, then?”
“To warn you,” I said. “You and your men are in danger.”
Yudhajit raised one eyebrow. “What is this, Kaikeyi? What game are you playing?”
“I’m not playing any game. Shatrugna and Bharata—”
“You sat next to me and convinced me that you would ensure Bharata became king. And then to discover your own son hates you so much that he renounced the throne?” Yudhajit shook his head, unseeing or uncaring that every one of his words was a thorn in my heart. “So have you come here hoping to regain favor in Kekaya? It will not happen.”
“No,” I said firmly, trying not to let my growing frustration show. I took a step forward and grabbed his arm, tugging him around to look at me. “I am trying to keep you alive.”
Yudhajit met my eyes, his expression growing serious as he scanned my face. I thought, for a second, he might actually hear me out, but then he laughed slightly and extricated himself from my grasp. “So you think I am such a weak and feeble warrior that your soft people will defeat me?”
“It’s not going to be a battle,” I said, and I was about to explain the rest when a soldier burst into the tent. He stopped short at the sight of me, his glance darting from me to Yudhajit, and I realized this young man had no idea who I was. He probably thought Yudhajit and I were—
“Radnyi Kaikeyi of Kosala.” Yudhajit’s words tumbled out of him like we were children again, caught doing something mischievous. “What is it?”
The soldier seemed to remember his purpose then, because he straightened and yelped, “A messenger came from your brother, Prince Rahul. He said it was urgent and he needs a response right away.”
“All right.” Yudhajit was already dressing himself, strapping on his sword, and I knew my opportunity was slipping away.
“Yudhajit, please—” I began, but he cut me off with a sharp nod.
“Stay here. I am going to have one of my men guard you so you cannot cause any trouble. We can discuss this later.” And with that he was gone.
I gave him several minutes’ lead, then attempted to sneak out the back way. I was greeted by a guard who immediately stood in my path. So Yudhajit had been thorough. “Where are you going?” he asked.
I thought quickly. “I tied my horse not far from here, and I need to tend to him.” I could see the conflict play out on the guard’s face, for we would never allow our horses to suffer in Kekaya.
At last he said, “Very well, let’s go.” It was the only reasonable thing for him to do, but still I was disappointed. As we walked to the clearing, I tried to make small talk with him, attempting to create a bond between us. By the time we reached my horse and belongings, I had succeeded in spinning only the smallest thread, nowhere near what I needed to successfully manipulate my release—if I was even able to stomach using the Plane.
As I untied my horse, I considered whether I should make an escape. But what use was that? If I injured this man, Yudhajit would never listen to me. And if I ran, then I could not warn him. Resigned, I returned to the camp. The guard brought me food and water, and I sat in Yudhajit’s tent cross-legged, waiting.
My thoughts drifted to Sita. I wondered how she fared, what the exile had brought her. She was strong, but I worried about her now knowing she would be trapped between Ravana and Rama, caught in their great war. But I was also tired, weary to my bones. I closed my eyes with Sita on my mind—
And opened them at a familiar river.
“Sri Sarasvati,” I whispered. I looked down to find my feet submerged in the earth, and almost smiled at the sight. This, at least, felt familiar. “I have need of your divine wisdom.”
Ask. The voice came from the river, from the cool mist and the dark trees and the damp soil. It came from inside my head.
“How fares Sita?”
We will protect her, the voice said. It was not quite a response, and yet it revealed everything. I had been right to worry. The goddess thought she needed protection.
“You admit it,” I said. “That Rama was wrong in the way he acted toward her.”
Yes. It was a matter-of-fact statement, spoken in her thousand voices. But how else would she speak? The divine could not understand doubt or embarrassment or shame.
A strangled chuckle rang in the dream clearing, and it took me a moment to realize it was coming from my mouth. I wanted to weep, I wanted to attack the river with my bare hands, I wanted to scream for an eternity. But the gods were untouchable. I could not make them understand, for cruelty was human and they were not.