“You did well,” said Ashwasen.
I did not turn around to meet his eyes. “The raja almost died.”
“But he did not. And the battle was won.” I said nothing, and after a moment he continued, “I have seen many charioteers in my time. You are not the most skilled I have ever seen, but you are certainly the most determined. I doubt any other would have brought him back alive.”
At this I did spin around. The Master of Horses was smiling at me, and I felt hot tears rush into my eyes. I blinked rapidly before they could spill. “Thank you,” I whispered.
“Take as long as you need,” he said. “I find they are quite calming.”
But I did not feel calm. As I pet the horses, tears began falling down my cheeks, until I pressed my face into the side of the chestnut horse and wept. I cried not just for Dasharath, but for the men I had killed, and for the horror I had seen. Battle was nothing like the glorious martial exercise I had thought it would be. My hands shook as I stroked the horse’s mane, whispering praise to it just to calm myself.
Once the adrenaline of battle had faded, I had been left with only despair. I had been wrong, I saw now, to think war glorious. Nothing could be further from glory, from righteousness. I knew that I would never go back to battle, never seek out war.
Eventually, the storm passed. I felt spent, and I suddenly craved company. I returned to my tent, where Asha sat waiting for me.
“How are you, Radnyi?” she asked, setting aside her needlework. If she noticed my swollen eyes, she made no comment.
“Fine,” I said. “I just wish to sit with you for a time.”
At this she gave me a smile. “You are very kind. And not at all what I expected. The radnyis, sometimes they—” She stopped talking and stared down at her needle and thread.
“Sometimes they what?” I asked.
“Well, they are very close. Radnyi Kaushalya and Radnyi Sumitra. And they wonder why you don’t seek them out.” Asha did not meet my eyes.
“Why would I seek them out?” This conversation, however awkward, was so much better than being alone with my thoughts. “I am an intruder in their home.”
“The raja has the right to take as many wives as he pleases,” Asha said, looking up with surprise. “They do not begrudge him this.”
“Then why have they never sought me out?” I added a gentle push for information along the emerald strand of our bond.
Asha furrowed her brow but gave in as my magic bumped lightly against her sternum. “They have sent you several invitations to join them, for private meals, walks in the gardens. You have ignored them all.”
“I have done no such thing,” I insisted. But as she spoke, I remembered Manthara telling me that she had received several missives. In my fog of unhappiness, I had ignored her, unwilling to read their words after I had humiliated myself before them. “Oh.”
“Oh?” Asha repeated.
“I suppose I may not have properly… opened them.”
Asha snickered, then covered her mouth in horror. “I did not mean any offense, my lady.”
“None taken. I suppose it is somewhat amusing that a radnyi could be so incompetent,” I said wryly.
Asha looked at me with appraising eyes. “And here everyone has been wondering whether you are shy or superior.”
“Instead, I am simply a fool,” I said with a small smile.
Asha giggled, and soon we were both laughing with abandon.
Of course, that was the moment Virendra arrived at the tent. The Minister of War pushed open the flap and ducked inside, looking strange and out of place. I sat up straight. Asha became quiet, suddenly busy with her needle, but by his expression, he had witnessed our moment of levity and disapproved.
“Raja Dasharath has requested your presence, Radnyi,” he intoned after a few uncomfortable seconds.
I rose immediately and strode from the tent, keeping my back straight, wanting to mask my apprehension from Virendra, who stayed a disconcerting two paces behind me. After all, I had no reason to be nervous. Dasharath, unconscious as he had been, would have no reason to question my story.
But perhaps he would be angry, or embarrassed that I had been the one to save him.
“Go on,” Virendra said when we arrived. “He’s waiting for you.”
“Why does he want to speak with me?” I asked, spinning around to face him in an attempt to stall for time. I carefully plucked the small string between us.
Virendra pressed his lips together. “I imagine he simply wants to be with his wife. He is in pain and has dealt with important affairs of the state all day.” It did not feel like a lie.