“Oh?” Yudhajit asked lazily, rolling to lie in a patch of sunlight.
“The outlying villages all perform animal sacrifice, including Sakala,” I explained. “It’s one of the few customs that Father has allowed them to keep, even after the sages declared the practice to be barbaric and contrary to the wishes of the gods. The village must not have realized that the new split of the Chandrabagha River runs right to them. Perhaps when they sacrificed their animals, some of the blood ran into the flooded river, offending Vishnu, as the sages had warned.”
The color drained from Yudhajit’s face. I understood his fear. Vishnu was among the most powerful gods. In his immortal form, he could turn fields to ash with only a thought. Just as the gods regularly answered the prayers of the pious, so too did they often visit destruction on those who they deemed immoral.
“What is Father to do about it, then?” Yudhajit had only recently been allowed into the Mantri Parishad. He often told me of their discussions, and we tried to find ways for him to prove himself to the others.
“Pray to Vishnu?” I phrased my words as a question, for I did not actually know the answer. “Perhaps if the people of Sakala make an elaborate offering, or—they could hold a Yagna! It would likely bankrupt the village, but that would surely appease Vishnu.”
Yudhajit hummed thoughtfully, then threw a loose fistful of dirt at me. I supposed that meant thank you.
The thick, royal blue rope between us was so full and solid it seemed nearly made of metal. I could sense my brother plain as sunlight. It was difficult for Yudhajit to admit that I had a talent for matters of governance. To him, the throne was merely another tiresome responsibility. He knew well how to navigate the court and create spectacles but hated the intricacies that kept the kingdom running, the ones that I navigated as easily as I did the Binding Plane. Yudhajit liked to make fun of me for it, teasing me for how enthusiastically I threw myself into studies of history and administration.
“Ashvin is falling behind, have you noticed?” Yudhajit interrupted my daydreaming.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows. He had spoken quite casually, but this was not a casual matter. “Falling behind? In what?”
“Mostly his physical studies. He used to be a decent archer, but now he’s merely passable, and he’s not progressing at all in swordplay or riding.”
“I hadn’t noticed,” I said, dismayed. I was rarely allowed out onto the practice field where my brothers trained. And Ashvin was the quietest of my brothers and least likely to complain.
“You don’t have to notice everything on your own.” Yudhajit sat upright so he could face me. “That’s why you have me. Should I talk to him?”
Ashvin had come down with a fever two moons ago and complained of pain so great that two servants carried him down to the deepest cellar and submerged him in the coolest bath they could draw. He had seemed to recover—but perhaps he hadn’t, not fully. “I think it might be better if I speak to him,” I said.
“If you insist.” Yudhajit glanced up at the sky, noting the position of the sun. “Kaikeyi! We should go.”
I collected and wrapped the spears and secured them to Yudhajit’s horse. Despite my protests and attempts to kick him, he lifted me up onto mine, then mounted his in an easy motion.
“Race you back?” he asked.
“That’s not fair, I have to let you win. Nobody can catch me riding at such an unladylike speed.”
“I’ll race you to the top of the first hill then,” he said, smiling at me. I knew that smile worked wonders on all the court ladies, but I merely rolled my eyes.
“What will you give me if I win?” I asked.
“My undying love and affection?”
I snorted and spurred my horse. “I already have that!” I shouted over my shoulder as Yudhajit cursed at me.
My brothers adored me. But, now that Yudhajit had mentioned it, it occurred to me that Ashvin had not chosen to spend much time with me since his illness. I lingered by the stables, thinking I might speak to him after his riding practice, but was told he had missed it entirely. So I went instead to his rooms, and found him reclined on his cot, reading.
“What?” he asked sullenly when I entered the room. Out of all my brothers besides Yudhajit, Ashvin usually looked the most like me. But his small nose and tapered chin had become sunken over the past few months, giving him a sickly appearance that his shoulder-length curtain of black hair could not hide. Ashvin acted nothing like how I would have behaved had I had the privilege of being a boy, but then again, most boys knew nothing of their incredible luck. Instead of immersing himself in his weapons training or speaking his mind when invited to by my father, he always tried to shrink into the shadows and avoided the outdoors and the training fields whenever he could.
“How are your riding lessons going?” I kept my voice deliberately light and didn’t look at him, instead moving to the paper window. He would wilt under too much attention.
“Fine.”
“And your swordplay? How is it progressing?” I pressed.
“Fine.”
“That’s not what I’ve heard,” I said gently, lowering myself to the edge of his bed.
He shrunk away from me ever so slightly.
“I think I will be dismissing your instructor. Clearly he is not doing a good job.”
“No!” Ashvin protested, showing more emotion than he had for our whole conversation.
I hid a smile. “No? We cannot have you falling behind.”
“It’s not his fault,” Ashvin whispered, almost to himself. I stayed silent, waiting and—
“I can’t do it.”
“Do what?” I asked.
He hung his head, and I clenched my fingers to stop myself from stroking his hair. It would only embarrass him. Instead, I found our bond, a strong white sinew, and sent him the lightest of suggestions. Tell me.
Ashvin sighed. “Ride. Or hold a sword properly. My elbows and my knees—” He stopped.
“Take your time,” I said.
Ashvin shifted slightly. “They hurt. Ever since I got sick, they hurt all the time and even more when I’m in the practice yard.”
“I see.” At last I turned toward Ashvin. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought it would get better,” he said. The admission clearly bothered him. “What’s wrong with me?”
“I don’t know.” To Ashvin, false vows were worse than worrisome truths. He hated the usual childhood promise that everything will be fine. “But I will speak to the healers. This is a side effect of some of the worst fevers; you are not alone. I think they have herbs and exercises that have helped others. They can help you.”
“No,” he said instantly.
“No?” I asked. “They can ease your pain.”
“I don’t want anyone else to know. Besides, I hate training. I hate warfare and anything to do with it. Please, didi, don’t tell them,” he begged. Didi simply meant elder sister. But even though he had used it as a term of endearment, to manipulate me, the word still filled me with warmth. The white cord between us thrummed.
“Have you always hated it?” I asked. “Or is this only because of the pain?”
“Don’t act like I’m stupid,” he said, turning away from me.
“Okay,” I relented. “You really hate it. You can’t abandon it altogether, but perhaps we can tell people you have taken an interest in healing and wish to pursue that. It’s an important profession, and as the fourth-born, you would be allowed that path.”
Ashvin’s eyes widened. “I never thought of that.”
“You’re eleven. I’m sixteen,” I reminded him, and finally gave in to the urge to ruffle his hair. He squirmed away from me, but I did not care, pleased with myself and my solution. “Besides, that’s why I’m here.”