“No,” he said instantly.
“No?” I asked. “They can ease your pain.”
“I don’t want anyone else to know. Besides, I hate training. I hate warfare and anything to do with it. Please, didi, don’t tell them,” he begged. Didi simply meant elder sister. But even though he had used it as a term of endearment, to manipulate me, the word still filled me with warmth. The white cord between us thrummed.
“Have you always hated it?” I asked. “Or is this only because of the pain?”
“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” he said, turning away from me.
“Okay,” I relented. “You really hate it. You can’t abandon it altogether, but perhaps we can tell people you have taken an interest in healing and wish to pursue that. It’s an important profession, and as the fourth-born, you would be allowed that path.”
Ashvin’s eyes widened. “I never thought of that.”
“You’re eleven. I’m sixteen,” I reminded him, and finally gave in to the urge to ruffle his hair. He squirmed away from me, but I did not care, pleased with myself and my solution. “Besides, that’s why I’m here.”
When I received the summons to my father’s private rooms, I assumed it was to discuss Ashvin’s new placement. I silently rehearsed my reasons for the decision as I navigated the halls, and mentally prepared myself to try to use the thin, slippery string between us to bring him around.
But when I pushed open the door, ready for battle, I stopped short in surprise. My father and Yudhajit were seated together at a small table, papers fanned out before them. The high window and the squat flickering lamps placed in the wall niches did nothing to ease the coldness emanating from the room.
“Kaikeyi,” Yudhajit said, smiling at me. It did not reach his eyes.
Dread pooled in my belly. The blue cord that connected Yudhajit and me in the Binding Plane vibrated a warning, and I imagined I could feel the thrum extend into my heart, sending a jolt through my limbs.
“Ah, Kaikeyi, thank you for joining us.” My father did not sound grateful at all and did not lift his gaze from the letters in front of him. “Have a seat.”
I obeyed, perching on a low wooden stool. My father’s spare style did not even extend to his own comfort, although he did use a small footrest. When it became apparent he would not immediately speak, I drew a letter toward me. It was a flowery missive, extolling the virtues of some chieftain’s son. My stomach flipped in awful anticipation as I read about the young man’s skills in hunting and his fairness when adjudicating disputes among the clan. And there it was, right at the end: the honor of your daughter’s hand.
Panic shot through me. I shoved the missive away from me. Only Yudhajit’s quick reflexes stopped it from flying off the table.
Stay calm, he mouthed. I took a deep breath to keep myself from leaning across the table and shaking him. Calm? Father had summoned me here to discuss marriage.
Although I knew in a removed way that I would one day be wed, I could not believe it was happening now. Was I supposed to be eager for this? I felt no desire to take a man as a husband, to share a bed or a life with him. I had always assumed that I had more time to prepare myself—that it would come later, when I was older.
As if reading my thoughts, my father said, “You are already sixteen, and it is time to speak of your marriage, Kaikeyi.” He finally lifted his head to look at me. “I should have arranged it years ago, but I thought your brothers needed you here, in your mother’s place.”
“They still need me,” I protested. My voice sounded high, girlish. “I just helped Ashvin with—”
“But now I’ve realized your influence is making them soft,” he interrupted coldly. “And we cannot postpone the matter of your marriage any longer. Our kingdom needs to make new alliances.”
“Please,” I began, but Yudhajit jerked his head at me and I swallowed my words. Instead, I plucked at the fragile thread between me and my father. I did not apply too much pressure, for fear it would break, even though a large part of me wanted to cut our bond straight in two.
“You bear the name of our kingdom,” my father said. He seemed to soften as the thread between us quivered under my influence. “You are the first of your name and it is your duty to represent Kekaya. We are struggling. We need alliances. And you cannot stay here forever.”
I bowed my head. I knew what small scraps he gave me were poor attempts at manipulation. He did not even care enough to put real effort into it. These pretty words about firsts and duty were only there to make me compliant.