“You believe that’s all it takes?” she asked.
“It’s a great honor,” I insisted.
“Would you be honored to sit in the hall of your enemy after you were defeated by their hands?”
I bit my lip. “I suppose not.” It sounded rather humiliating.
I searched my mind for what else might be required. “He should be seated close to my father. And… perhaps the kitchens could prepare foods from the north? His people are almost from the mountains. We can serve mutton as a show of respect.”
Manthara nodded. “That is one way.” She lifted the shield once more, but now I was curious.
“What other ways are there?”
She raised an eyebrow at me. “I thought you knew everything.” At my frustrated glare, she smiled slightly and continued, “We should ensure his chamber is comfortable and laid out in the fashion he is used to. Uncomfortable beds make for uncomfortable men. He should be served immediately after the king, before all others. He should be well attended, with a servant within shouting range at all times. And he has a friend in the court—do you know who that might be?” I shook my head. “Devi Tara is his sister, although she left his lands when she married Arya Karthik many years ago. We should make sure that she is seated near to him and treated as an important figure, so he knows his family is taken care of and respected.”
“How do you know all this?” I asked, swordplay entirely forgotten.
“Because I listen. You should know all this too. Raise your weapon, Kaikeyi. We will practice until you are ready.”
CHAPTER SIX
AS MANTHARA HAD INTENDED all along, my practice sessions with her changed me. Once I learned how to use information gathered around the palace, I wished to do it.
Over the years, trips to the kitchen to steal a snack became hours-long visits. I would mention to the head cook, “I believe my father intends to host a wedding at the palace next month.”
“We have not been told yet,” he said. He was a tall, willowy man who was unfailingly kind to everyone working below him. I wondered how he managed to still run such a competent kitchen.
“I know, I just heard it from Devi Megha.” Despite my long-ago evasion of her sewing lessons, my old tutor had warmed to me over time. “I wanted to tell you first, to be sure you had enough notice.”
“Whose wedding?” he asked.
“The chief of Singapura’s son is to marry Devi Megha’s niece.” The marriage had been arranged over ten years ago when the son was still quite young, but the chief had recently begun making noise that he was unhappy with his grant of land and wanted more. My father had offered him a great celebration in the capital to avoid conflict breaking out. The kingdom was constantly engaged in a balancing act, keeping the men who governed its towns and villages happy without allowing them to come into dispute with one another. Of course, I did not say any of this to the cook. “I do not know how many people will be in attendance, but I believe it will be an outdoor celebration, monsoons willing.”
I came back the next week, bearing information from Megha. “Her niece prefers milk sweets,” I said. “And the chief has a sensitive stomach.”
The cook frowned. “I can prepare a separate dish for him.”
The point of this wedding was to soothe the chief’s ambitions. It seemed to me that singling him out would make him feel weak, embarrassed. “Perhaps it might be easiest to prepare all the dishes with milder spices instead?”
He clucked his tongue. “A bland dinner will be savored by no one.”
I found the grass-green bond between us, gave it a soothing touch. You can do this, I encouraged him. Out loud I said, “It will be a challenge, but you have never failed to impress before.”
His expression became thoughtful. “I suppose I could. Do you know if he is simply sensitive to chili heat, or other foods as well? What about oil?”
“I will find out for you,” I said, giving him a sunny smile, and watched our bond grow stronger before my eyes.
Over those same several weeks, I began readying the guest wing of the palace for heavy use. I took a survey of the rooms with Manthara and another servant, Shilpa.
The palace’s dark stone structure, with its high windows and narrow corridors, did not seem restrictive to me. But I had heard that to some, the rooms felt chilly and unfriendly, and so with my father’s complete ignorance of my activities at my disposal, I set about righting it. Despite their occasional usage, some of the furniture and linens had not been changed in years, and so I spoke to the head tailor, requesting brighter, lighter materials to soften the stone rooms and make them just slightly more hospitable.