“You looked sad,” he said instead. “I wanted to check on you. Is it what happened with the rakshasa?”
“No, I said I’m fine.” There was no way for me to explain to Yudhajit what was truly wrong. How could he understand what it was like to be ignored?
But Yudhajit wouldn’t leave. I felt a flicker of annoyance that he would not let me have this solitude until he said, “Do you miss her? Mother? Last time we came here, she was with us. I miss her too.”
I blinked at him, surprised at the sudden show of emotion. “I suppose,” I said, though I hadn’t been thinking of my mother at all.
He put a hand on my shoulder, his warm touch chasing away some of the abandonment I felt. “It will be all right.”
“I know that,” I said, pulling away and swatting at him.
He laughed for a moment, then grew serious. “Do you want to rejoin the others?”
I shook my head. “You go on, though.”
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked. He seemed sincere, and all of a sudden I remembered there was something I wanted from him.
“There is,” I said.
“Whatever it is, I’ll do it,” he said immediately.
I looked behind him, to where the ceremony was well underway. “You need to go now. But when we return to the palace, if you remember your promise, I’ll tell you.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE DAY AFTER WE returned to Kekaya, I made my request to Yudhajit.
“Why are you so intent on this anyway?” he asked, but I noticed he did not say no. “You will never have need of it.”
“Father and the soldiers were able to bring down a rakshasa with their training,” I said. “If it had caught us, you would have stood more of a chance than I. I want to be able to protect myself.”
He stayed silent, observing my face, so I added, “It won’t hurt you at all to train me. Haven’t you heard the masters say that teaching a skill helps perfect it? So in that regard, you will be improving too.”
And that was all it took. The rakshasa had left us both shaken, and perhaps Yudhajit felt the need to protect me. It seemed I didn’t need the Binding Plane all the time.
He refused to do it anywhere we might be found out, so we took our horses into the fields, riding beyond the view of prying eyes.
As soon as we dismounted, I went immediately to his saddlebag, eager to see what weapons he had chosen for our first lesson. My hands itched to hold a bow, for I found archery most elegant, but perhaps wooden staffs would be more practical—more like what might be found in a forest.
It was empty.
“What—”
“The instructors at the palace do not give us weapons for years,” he said.
“Years?” I asked, incredulity coloring my voice.
He laughed. “I will not make you wait that long. But I think maybe it would be helpful to show you some forms first. Without that, you may as well ride home and ask Manthara to help you practice your embroidery.”
I scowled at that but watched him intently as he moved slowly through a series of stretches and exercises. As he repeated the motions, I began to follow along, relishing the stretch and pull of my muscles, the solid ground beneath my feet, the brush of wind against my braids.
I had always thought myself fit, racing around with my brothers and riding as I did. But by the end of it, I could barely mount my horse. My whole body trembled.
“Does it always feel this way?” I asked him.
“What way?” he said. I did not answer, too tired and frustrated with my own abilities. “What way?” he asked again.
“Nothing,” I muttered. But I vowed that my weakness would not last. I would master these forms and prove to Yudhajit I could handle weapons.
Every day I practiced the forms alone in my room. Each time left me drenched in sticky sweat, but I pushed through, celebrating every small victory.
Only Manthara knew of my determination to succeed in this—even with Yudhajit, I feigned a certain amount of casualness, for I sensed that there was a danger in letting him know the depth of my longing to prove myself worthy. But Manthara sometimes observed me struggling to balance on my hands or hold a lunge as she tidied my room. Once, she asked, “Why do you do this, when you have so many other things to spend your time on?”
“Why shouldn’t I?” I responded, panting with the effort. I dropped to the ground, brushed stray hair from my eyes, and turned to face Manthara, whose expression was pinched. I had been rather rude. “I’m sorry,” I added. “I just…” I could not articulate it, this need to learn. Manthara eyed me intently.