When I stayed silent, he sighed. “These are the proposals we have received so far. Once we make it publicly known that you are ready, more will arrive—”
“I want a swayamvara,” I said immediately, then clapped a hand over my mouth. I had interrupted my father. For all my newfound sense of self-worth, I was still his daughter. I had broken every rule of decorum and protocol.
Anger clouded my father’s features. “Don’t you—”
“It’s a good idea,” Yudhajit said hastily. Gratitude flooded through me. I could rely on him blindly, without even going to the Binding Plane. “A swayamvara will bring attention to Kekaya. Such a contest for a woman’s hand is only hosted by great kingdoms, and it can secure our place among them. And Kaikeyi will be able to pick a match among the best contestants, so she will not have to marry a man she has never met. Everyone will be happy.”
I prayed for the possibility, however remote, that our father’s love for Yudhajit might distract him from his anger, convince him of this plan. Yudhajit’s hands were clasped, knuckles turning white. I realized he was praying too. The gods never listened to me, but perhaps they would bend for my brother. My father stared at Yudhajit for a long minute, and I held myself as still as possible, hoping to escape attention.
Finally, Raja Ashwapati nodded. “You make intelligent points, Yudhajit. You have a fine head on your shoulders.”
“Thank you, Father,” Yudhajit said. My father flapped a hand toward me, and I rose, thus dismissed from the preparations for my own engagement.
Yudhajit said little, leading us out past the hilly fields and into the cool forest. Unlike the densely wooded land south of Kekaya, the growth here was sparse and the brush presented little obstacle. There was no large game to be found among the trees, so hardly anyone ventured out here, giving us near total privacy. The only sounds were the thin cries of birds. For the first time, I wondered what it was they were saying.
I went to remove the weapons from his saddlebag, but he shook his head.
“Come sit,” he said. I sat beside him on the slightly damp earth, leaning against rough bark and drawing my knees close to my chest. I took several slow breaths, enjoying the sharper scent of the air here. Yudhajit was silent, which was unusual. Just when I entered the Plane intending to suggest that he speak, he gave a small sigh.
“It will be a contest of strength,” Yudhajit told me, turning so that his shoulder was against the trunk and he was facing me.
I groaned at his admission, but in truth I had not expected any less. Cleverness or charity were not much prized in a kingdom such as ours. Besides, while a swayamvara supposedly allowed a bride to pick among her suitors after they showed their skills in competition, in reality the bride’s father always made clear which options were truly suitable.
But it was still better than having no choice at all. “How long do I have?”
“One year.”
“Don’t jest,” I said. “How bad is it, really? A moon? A fortnight? Be honest.”
“I am being honest. I convinced him that one year was the best option, that it would give us time to arrange a truly spectacular contest and ensure that the most powerful princes accepted our invitation. The young prince of Gandhara will certainly come—they have been seeking an alliance with us for some time. The Kambojas should send a delegation. Even Kosala might come.”
Yudhajit took my hand, traced the lines of my palm with a finger. As young children, we had pretended to be soothsayers, reading each other’s palms and mapping ludicrous futures. In hindsight, the stories he created for me were nowhere near absurd enough to describe the catastrophe of my life, but I had no way of knowing it then.
“A year,” I breathed, nearly unable to comprehend the words. The litany of kingdoms, all powerful and important potential allies, did not excite me nearly as much as the gift that was time.
“And a choice—or at least more than you would have had,” Yudhajit said. My heart surged and I tackled him into the dirt, embracing him.
“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, you are my favorite brother.”
“Obviously,” Yudhajit scoffed. “Who else would it be? Shantanu?”
“Ashvin,” I said, rolling off to lie next to him in the dirt. “Ashvin is next.”
“Of course. Our strangest brother.”
“And who is your favorite brother?” I guessed, “Mohan?”
“You’re my favorite,” he said, sitting up and brushing himself off.