Manthara had deftly created her own circle of servants from which she gathered information for me, and for this I was grateful. “You believe the raja will allow me to be his charioteer?”
“I believe that you could convince him.”
I closed my eyes and allowed myself for a moment to imagine it. Standing at the front of a war chariot, steering Dasharath out of danger, creating opportunities for him to destroy his enemies. I was an excellent charioteer. Even Yudhajit had said so, and he did not give out praise lightly. We had honed my gift with years of practice. I could feel the slap of the reins in my hands, hear the rhythm of the wheels against the ground…
A soft bump against the door startled me out of my reverie. Manthara had vanished to secure something or the other from my bedroom, so I opened it myself.
Radnyi Sumitra. I forced myself to smile and gesture her in.
“How are you?” she asked. She had not come to see me in months, but unlike Kaushalya, she at least gave me a kind smile or word in court.
“I’m well, and you?” I resisted the urge to fidget with my dress.
“I just came by to wish you a safe and blessed trip,” she said, staring at my feet. I squinted at her, surprised she already knew. She looked up at me and gave me a small smile. “It wasn’t hard to guess. You seem suited for it.”
“Suited for it?” I echoed blankly.
Her face fell slightly. “Well, I suppose I have never been north, but from what I’ve heard—” She took a deep breath to stop the torrent of words and then started again. “I wanted to wish you well. For your trip. It is very kind of you to accompany Dasharath.”
“I—thank you?” I stuttered.
“I’ve never gone myself,” she continued with a shudder. “It is too much for me. Kaushalya used to go, but she felt it was…” Sumitra trailed off, but I could guess at what she meant to say. Beneath her. Not ladylike. Unrefined.
My cheeks grew hot. I considered shoving her, as I used to do to my brothers, or making a snide remark. But instead, I remembered my evenings practicing with Manthara for welcoming guests in Kekaya. Sumitra could give me veiled insults, and I would prove to her that I could receive them with a smile. “I am glad to be of help,” I said instead. “Thank you for the kind wishes.”
We reached the fields of battle within a week. The Indra Mountains loomed over us, rising up beyond the vast plains of rippling yellow grass, stark and foreboding against the pale skies. Sambarasura and Dasharath had agreed to fight here, in the flatlands, one army against the other for supremacy. I did not see much value in communicating intentions so clearly, but my people were considered half-barbaric in the western kingdoms for our war methods, so I did not voice such apprehensions to anybody.
The only company I had on the long trip was a young handmaiden named Asha. She had a round, cheerful face and wore her hair in two thick, oiled braids down her back. Ordinarily, Asha was in the service of Radnyi Kaushalya, but the raja had requested her presence for me.
I worried Asha might hate me, as Kaushalya obviously did, but to my surprise she did not seem to. Each night, she arranged my hair and dabbed at my face, and although I hated it, she made me look more lovely than I ever had, her clever fingers coaxing my hair to fall just so. And each day the leaf-green braid between us thickened with a new strand.
Before my nights with Dasharath, I had evenings, when the soldiers set up camp and Dasharath busied himself with his advisors, discussing strategy. Recalling my rides with Yudhajit, I used this time to slip away in the twilight gloom and visit the Master of Horses.
Ashwasen was a grizzled man who had once been the charioteer to Dasharath’s father. His long brown hair was streaked through with gray and though he walked with stiffness and spoke with a certain gruffness, Dasharath still found him indispensable.
The first night, I told him I simply wished to spend time with the horses. “They remind me of home,” I said, and as I did, I took a brush from one of the servants and began tending to a large brown stallion.
He observed me for a moment, arms crossed. “It’s dirty work,” he said at last.
“I don’t mind,” I murmured, and truly I didn’t. Standing here, one hand rubbing the horse’s warm flank as the other gently worked, was the most like myself I had felt in some time.
“Hmm.”
“You have done a fine job caring for them,” I said. “My father’s own would not be treated better.”
At this, his face softened slightly. He walked away, but as he did a friendly brown thread materialized between us in the Binding Plane. The next day, he offered me a ride on one of the smaller horses, a dappled gray mare, and I accepted eagerly. Our bond thickened without my even noticing it, so that when I checked it on the third evening, it had developed into a supple wood-like bow. One of my first true connections in Ayodhya.