I emerged into the waning day.
Alone, I took one last ride on my favorite horse, a powerful gray mare who would not be making the journey southeast with me. When I reached the hilltop where Yudhajit and I had raced so many times, I watched the sun sink slowly away. From this height, I could just barely make out the stables. And if I closed my eyes, my heart remembered the feel of running through the grounds with my brothers, of sparring with Yudhajit and lying in the grasses talking for hours. I wished I could capture the feeling somehow, etch it into my bones so I would have it always.
That night, I lay in my near-empty room and stared up at the ceiling.
It occurred to me, as it often did while I waited for sleep to take me, that maybe the gods had marked me for my mother’s sins. Sons could not be held responsible for maternal sins, but daughters? My mother had told me to remember Ahalya’s lesson. Nothing protected me.
I was surprised to feel hot tears pricking my eyes. I blinked them away, helplessly infuriated. My mother should have been here. I needed her comfort and guidance. Manthara had helped me through my first moon cycle, and more recently had explained the mechanics of the acts Dasharath would expect from me, but she had never actually been married. If Manthara had done such things herself, she could never say, and so I could not ask her my real questions. But perhaps I could have asked my mother: Did you feel the same disinterest contemplating such matters as I did?
For when I thought about the acts Manthara described, or when I studied the illustrations in some of the more well-hidden recesses of the library, I felt only indifference. I had heard serving girls talk in whispers and giggles about men they found charming, or how it felt to steal a covert kiss with their betrothed. I thought of Dasharath and searched for the same desire within myself, but nothing ever emerged.
The faintest of knocks sounded against my door, disturbing me from my thoughts. I held my breath, wondering if perhaps I had imagined it. But the knock came again. I slid out of bed, padded to the door, raised my hand, and then hesitated.
In all likelihood, Yudhajit stood on the other side. We had a secret signal. I would tap it out—four beats, a pause, four beats, then he would tap out a pattern of three beats with an emphasis on the last. But I did not know if I wanted to face Yudhajit right now.
Maybe he had come to apologize. Maybe I still had a chance to leave him on good terms. I rapped out the pattern, and he immediately knocked his reply. I opened the door a crack. He stepped inside and closed the door behind him.
I crossed my arms, trying my best to keep my face impassive.
“Why are you here?”
“It’s the night before your wedding!”
“It’s the night before a wedding you pushed me into,” I reminded him coldly. “This night is your fault.”
“Kaikeyi, you can’t hold this against me.”
“I can and I will. It may not have been by your hand, but your silent agreement is just as bad. Had you stood with me as you promised, the both of us might have changed Father’s mind.”
Yudhajit frowned. “I thought perhaps the past few weeks would have cleared your head. I prayed to the goddesses that you might realize your folly. But no. Do you really think either of us, or even both of us together, could have changed his mind? I was being reasonable. As you should’ve been.”
Taking two steps back, moving as far away from Yudhajit as possible, I slipped into the Binding Plane. Once again, our diminished bond vibrated with angry energy, but today I was beyond caring. He had not come to apologize. He had not even bothered to see it through my eyes. “You think he is more reasonable than I am?”
“No! I mean, yes. But, Kaikeyi, think. You’re leaving. Whether now or later, you were always going to go away, to leave me. I have to live with Father, stay in his graces. You can’t understand. When he asked me if I thought Dasharath was a good match, I encouraged it. For you. He is a good man. He will take care of you.”
“You encouraged it?” There was a familiar coldness in my voice, a tone that belonged not to me but to my father.
“I thought it was your best choice,” he said quietly.
“But I didn’t choose. You chose! That’s not a choice.”
“You’re not the only person in this palace.”
I groaned in disgust. “You sold me for what? A few peaceful months with Father?”
“This is all going wrong,” he said. He sighed and moved to sit on my bed, but I stood in his way. He hung his head. “I came here to make things right. Before you left.”