Yudhajit was dead. The Kekayan army had been massacred.
I screamed then, a sound that had been building inside me for hours, days, weeks. I had not allowed myself to feel it, this all-consuming rage and grief, but now I was overwhelmed with it. This was all I was.
I could vaguely tell that the soldiers were surrounding me, shouting orders, but I did not care. I screamed until the breath in me was gone and I was empty.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I AWOKE THE NEXT morning in a spacious tent, the air fresh and sweet, to see Kaushalya sitting at my bedside.
“I am so sorry,” she said the moment my eyes opened. “Kaikeyi. I am so very sorry.”
I opened my mouth but only a croak came out, and Kaushalya brought me a steel cup filled with water.
“Yudhajit still loved me,” I said, for that was my first thought upon waking. He had tried to save me. “I tried to save him.”
“You could not have done anything more.” She took my cold hand with her warm one. “I should have stopped them. I tried—”
“You did your best,” I told her. “I know you did.” I let the shroud of gray fall over the world so I could reassure her in the Binding Plane too, then tumbled out of it when the memory of the washed-out tent resurfaced. The night before was coming back in flashes, along with the raw edges of the grief-pain. “Did the whole camp burn down? Or did Bharata send someone back for the… for the…？” I couldn’t force the word body out of my mouth.
Kaushalya shook her head. “You’ll have to ask him, but I don’t think so. I’m so sorry.”
My mind repeated the facts to me, numb. Yudhajit was dead. The Kekayan army was slaughtered. Bharata had watched his uncle die, and in the harsh reality of the morning probably blamed my presence there for what had happened.
I recalled my promise that I would never interfere again and wished I had taken such a vow sooner.
“Thank you for sitting with me,” I whispered. “But I would like to be alone.”
Kaushalya smoothed my hair back with her fingers. “All right. There are some clothes in the corner when you are ready to rise,” she said. “If you need something, ask any of the guards. I will see you soon.”
My eyes pricked with tears at this kindness, for I did not deserve it. Did she not understand that I was the architect of all this misery? I watched her leave and then let my body go limp in the pallet, imagining Yudhajit’s final moments. He had seemed at peace, but it was a brutal, early, unnecessary end. And even when I had known what was coming, I failed to stop it. I wondered, when the story reached whichever brother of mine was set to assume the throne, whether any survivor would mention my name. Radnyi Kaikeyi was there, they might say. An omen of death and destruction.
Or perhaps they would just blame Bharata. After all, it was his unwillingness to assume the throne that had led to this pain. Now he was truly without family. His father was dead, two of his brothers gone, and his third brother had murdered his beloved uncle.
I realized, with a sudden panic, that here in this tent Bharata could find me. I could not face him, not after everything that had happened. I could not receive his condemnation again, for it would break what little was left of me. This fear gave me the energy I needed to lift myself up and change my clothes. There was likely a guard posted at the front of my tent, so I slipped out through the back.
I had not thought through my next steps, only that I could not face my child, but now my path seemed evident. I crept along the woods that bordered the tent, searching for what I needed, until finally I spotted a horse tied to a tree. It was unbelievably good luck, but I did not stop to question it. A bit of fortune after an eternity of poor luck left little impression. A stupid soldier had evidently left his mount unattended, and that was all. I untied it and slowly led it several steps into the trees so that no one could startle at my sudden movements.
Then I mounted the animal and began to ride. I would go home, where Asha and Manthara would draw me a bath and I could lie in bed undisturbed for the rest of my days. Only secluded was I no longer a danger to everyone I loved.
But even riding could not erase the images from my head.
Yudhajit, eyes staring at the top of the tent, unmoving.
Shatrugna, knocked to the floor by his own brother.
Bharata, tears streaking down his face.
Lakshmana, pale with fever.
Sita, sleepless shadows under her eyes.
Rama, just after I had slapped him all those years ago.
Everyone I cared for, I hurt. Every time I tried to help, I made things worse. Why had I bothered to seek out Yudhajit? There had been a moment, lying in bed, when I had thought to stay in Ayodhya. By going, all I had done was to make his final moments more worried, more frenzied. Perhaps without the distraction of my presence, Yudhajit would have been able to fight back more effectively. He was the better, more experienced warrior. It must have been me who killed him.