“I don’t know what happened,” he growled.
“Shall I try?”
He shrugged half-heartedly, and so I climbed into the box of the chariot and took the reins in my hands. As I stood behind the team of horses, adrenaline rushed through me. I flicked the reins and the horses began moving forward, slowly at first, then faster. The box was steady beneath me, and I felt as though the world had slowed. I tugged instinctively on the reins, bracing my weight, and the team turned in a smooth arc. My heart pounded in my chest, light and free. I pulled a bit harder, and the horses responded, moving in a steady circle. The grin that split my face was not a conscious choice.
I snapped the reins and the chariot leapt forward, but I kept my balance. I was one with the wheels, the horses, the world. We danced our way across the field, until at last, the surge of power buoying me began to fade and I remembered my audience.
I climbed down from the chariot, trying to force my cheeks into a more reserved expression. Yudhajit’s face was stony, his shoulders hunched in palpable frustration, and I felt a slight churn of guilt. “You were a good teacher,” I said.
“No, I wasn’t,” he said, and seemed to shake himself. “But you—you were excellent, Kaikeyi!”
I had truly not been expecting such praise “Really?” I asked.
“You’re a natural.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, then gave me a small smile. “Maybe in this, you can teach me.”
So Yudhajit passed on the words of his instructors and memories of how maneuvers were supposed to look while I figured out how to get the horses to actually respond, and in the end, we taught each other together.
We practiced through the harvest and the cooler season, bundling ourselves in coarse woolen cloaks to stay warm. It was cold enough to see our breath, but we knew that in a few months our chariot practice would have to halt for some time. As the air warmed, it came with a warning that rains would not be far behind. The ground would turn to mud, and while horse riding was still permissible, charioteering was not. The mud could break in one moment what craftsmen had labored over for months.
One evening, storm clouds loomed on the horizon and the air was almost damp with moisture. We rode out in silent agreement that this would be our last practice, but when we arrived at our usual place, I saw there was a second chariot already there, with horses.
I looked around, worried we had been found out by some disapproving advisor.
“Stop looking so serious,” Yudhajit said with a laugh. “I brought it out here just before, then rode back to get you.”
“But how?” I asked. “Wouldn’t it be strange if—”
“Nobody asks such questions.” Yudhajit hopped down, face bright with excitement at his own ingenuity, and I bit my tongue. I was questioned all the time by advisors, by the nobility—where was I going? What was I doing? Why was I not elsewhere? This was perhaps the most useful application of the Binding Plane—it was slowly becoming instinct to redirect any unwanted inquiries. I would grasp a bond with my mind, pulling ever so slightly on the rope between us while suggesting, You have important business elsewhere, or Kaikeyi is very responsible and you need not worry. “I thought we could practice against each other.”
I eyed him, skeptical. “There’s no point in two charioteers practicing against each other unless they are carrying warriors.”
I could tell from the way he blinked up at me that he had not thought this fully through. His expression fell slightly, and I immediately felt sorry. He had gone to a lot of effort to surprise me with this. “You know what,” I said. “Maybe we can make it a contest through the forest paths. There’s plenty of obstacles. That would be wonderful practice.”
Yudhajit smiled so widely I could have counted his teeth. “Shall we race to the river?” he asked, excited. There was a small river running several hundred paces away from where we stood at the edge between the forest and the hills. Soon it would be swollen and dangerous, but that was many hours away. I gave him a nod, and he clambered into his chariot, steering the team into place next to mine.
“Ready?” he called.
“Three, two…” I counted, drawing it out and tensing my body.
“One!” Yudhajit shouted, growing impatient. He took off.
I snapped the reins and sent the horses running to catch him. We jostled for room on the path, and he used his narrow lead to block me time and time again. I snarled in frustration, scanning the quickly passing surroundings for an opening.
Yudhajit let out a whoop as I slowed my horses slightly, then turned his head, confused, as I swung my team to the side. The chariot bumped uncomfortably over the uneven trail, giving a groan, but I gripped the reins and spurred the horses onward. They were racing now, the chariot lifting slightly into the air. When we burst back onto the main path, we nearly collided with Yudhajit. My heart leapt into my mouth, but I made myself hold firm, and he, in an equal moment of panic, slowed his team, allowing me to take the lead. He cursed behind me, and I felt his horses nudging my chariot. With a flick of my wrists, I sent the horses weaving along the path so that he could gain no advantage.
The river was in sight. With a whoop of my own, I spurred the horses, slowing only as we reached the edge, their hooves splashing into the shallow water, droplets cooling my flushed skin.
I leapt from my chariot, all decorum forgotten. I threw my arms up and cheered and spun around to find my brother.
Yudhajit climbed down from his chariot and stalked toward me, lips pressed into a line. I held up a conciliatory hand, but before I could ask if he was all right, he tackled me into the river. I shouted, indignant, as the cold water hit my back, the shock setting my teeth chattering. I wondered if this had been a bad idea. I should have let Yudhajit win. But he rolled away, laughing so hard he was nearly crying, and as I caught my breath lying in the shallows, I quickly entered the Binding Plane. Our bright blue bond was calm, undisturbed, and so I turned to look at him. He was on his knees, preparing to stand, and was looking at me with open admiration. “You were incredible!” He offered me a hand up.
“Then why did you throw me into the water?” I asked, shivering slightly.
“You’re too serious all the time,” he said, putting his arm around me. Yudhajit radiated heat. “I wanted to set you off-balance. The look on your face when I threw you in?” He grinned. “Remember, Kaikeyi, never take your eyes off your enemy.” He put on a serious face, but I snickered at his pronouncement, and soon we were both choking with laughter.
“You’re not my enemy,” I told him, elbowing him in the rib cage. “Just my competitor. But we should get back and change before we take ill.” He gave a good-natured groan but willingly followed me home.
“Manthara, I need to practice my swordplay,” I said one evening. The monsoons were well and truly here, and watching the ground become a lake of mud outside the palace was boring me to tears. I itched to move. “Can you help me?”
She laughed slightly. “I know nothing about swordplay.”
“All you need to do is stand and hold a shield,” I said. I could tell she was resistant to the idea, and so I sent a plea in the Binding Plane, Kaikeyi most fervently desires this. It would make her happy. I had learned that such entreaties worked best with Manthara. I worried sometimes that she only humored me because she had to, but then Manthara would, when she thought I was asleep, whisper in my ear how much she loved me, and I would put the thought from my mind.
She hummed, considering. “Stand and hold a shield?” she asked. “I don’t have to use a sword?”
“No,” I said, already turning to find the shield in anticipation of victory.
“All right.” I picked up the wooden circle and turned back to her when she added, “Then you must do something for me.”