“Congratulations on another job well done.” I pushed as much venom into my voice as I could. Yudhajit flinched. Good. “What you did is unforgivable. You will perform the rites at my wedding tomorrow and then we need never see each other again.”
“Please, Kaikeyi, I didn’t mean—” The thread between us shook with such emotion it was almost a blur. I tried to catch it with my mind, to still it somehow and force Yudhajit to see reason, but it slipped through my uncoordinated grasps.
“Leave, Yudhajit. This time, I mean it. I cannot wait until the moment we never have to see each other again.”
“I did what I thought was best.” He reached for my hand, squeezing it. I yanked it away.
“Go, now. I’ll be someone else’s problem soon enough.”
“I do love you,” he said sadly. “You’ll always be my sister.”
As though from far away, I heard myself say those poisoned words: “You are no brother of mine.” Without my conscious thought, the idea passed through our dark blue connection, a black disease speeding its way toward my brother’s chest with the force of a piercing arrow.
My aim struck true. The bond between us shattered, falling in a rain of blue pieces only I could see as Yudhajit fled my room.
CHAPTER EIGHT
THERE ARE THOSE WHO would blame Manthara for what I did, claim that she forced me to take her to Ayodhya and manipulated me from there. But my choices were my own, and to pull Manthara’s name down with mine would be quite simply cruel. Because without Manthara’s continued presence by my side, I would never have ridden off to battle or saved the king, and Kosala would have fallen, heirless, into the depths of time.
My first impression of Ayodhya was one of beauty. The sight of the palace and the grounds completely arrested me. A lush expanse of greenery sprawled to the edges of the walls, dotted with gracefully curving paths, framed by a rich profusion of flowers. Their fragrance perfumed the air, rose and jasmine mingling into a gentle and welcoming scent. It was a marked change from the tall grasses and simple, unadorned lawns of Kekaya. Before me, the palace rose upward, constructed out of light gray stone that glinted here and there in the light as though infused with gems. It was crowned by a curved dome that pointed toward the sky, proclaiming Ayodhya’s power for all to see.
And the size—the grounds stretched outward, extending like an unfurled flower. A series of delicate open arches surrounded the interior of the palace, lending the structure depth. I took a few steps closer and was able to make out intricate carvings above the arches, patterns of intertwined stars and moons. Above the arches, I could see large windows covered in paper that must have let in much light during the day. Now I could understand why others had found my old home, with its dull stone and stark decoration, dark and foreboding. Just the sight of this place lightened my spirits.
“Do you like it?” Dasharath asked, smiling at me.
I nodded eagerly. “It’s incredible.”
I followed behind him in a daze, reveling in the tapestry-covered halls. In Kekaya, the fashion had been black figures patterned against a single color, when tapestries were hung at all. But here, it was all I could do not to stop and stare at each of the colorful scenes laid out in the weavings before me.
One was done in such vibrant hues of blue and green that I had to pause to look more closely. It was an image of a great fish pulling a boat, and I recognized the story of Matsya and Manu. Manu was a young man, a chief of a tribe, when he discovered a small fish in his drinking water—Matsya. Manu was a kind man, and when Matsya spoke of his fear of being eaten by bigger fish, Manu offered his protection. When the fish grew large enough to be safe, Manu released Matsya into a river. Before he left, Matsya instructed Manu to build a boat and board it on an appointed day. No sooner had Manu finished the boat and ushered his family onto it than a great flood swept through the land, destroying all in its path. But Matsya returned to Manu, carrying him to the safety of the Indra Mountains until the waters had receded. There, Matsya revealed his true form—for he was no ordinary fish, but an avatar of Lord Vishnu come to earth, and he was rewarding Manu for his kindness. It was fitting to see this tapestry here, for legend tells that when Manu descended from the mountains, he founded the first city of men—Ayodhya.
“It’s one of my favorite stories,” Dasharath said, coming to stand beside me. “The story of our city.”
“I used to love it as a child.” I suddenly wished to tell him about the library cellar, about sitting in the flickering light with my mother and reading through scrolls, but I found myself unable to share this piece of me. Still, our golden bond seemed to sparkle a bit more brightly.