The guard studied me while I drank. “You saw it, did you not?”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“We cannot offer you protection. But you may enter for now,” the guard said, gesturing us forward as the gate opened. “Devi Kekaya lives in the Noble Quarter, by the palace. Ask a guard to point out her dwelling.”
He beckoned me close. “If you venture anywhere else in the city, we will know,” he said, and then slapped the back of my horse, sending me jerking ahead.
“What was that?” Lakshmana demanded as soon as we were out of earshot. “Does your mother really live here?”
I gave a sharp nod, hoping to forestall further questioning.
The streets around us were swept clean. Low, squat mud-and-straw dwellings lined the roads, the structures reflecting away some of the southern heat. There were few people outside, and those who we saw seemed wary, hurrying about their business. As we got closer to the city center, the Noble Quarter came into view. The dwellings sprawled out, with graceful arches of stone and brick, small gardens, and groves of mango trees.
But I could not appreciate the sight, for every moment I remained on my horse felt interminable. When I dismounted, stiff as though I had been sitting for days, pain coursed through me. I stumbled. Lakshmana hurried to my side and held my elbow carefully as we walked toward the guard posted on the corner.
“I am looking for Kekaya,” I whispered.
The guard pointed to one of the dwellings. “You can find her there.”
Lakshmana and I walked slowly. With every step, my burns throbbed, and my head pounded.
“Ma?” Lakshmana asked. “Would you like me to carry you?” I shook my head, and he seemed to understand. “I am sure she will be happy to see you, after so long a time.”
“Yes,” I said, for I could not manage more words.
A man stepped forward from the gatehouse, dressed in a stiffly pressed white tunic. My mother had done well for herself. “What is your business?”
“I am here to see Kekaya,” I said, groping blindly for the mix of haughty and kind that usually served me so well. I failed utterly, my words slurring together as though I had imbibed too much wine.
“Minister Kekaya,” he corrected, turning up his nose. “Many people come to see her. Her time is both precious and limited.”
I snorted before I could stop myself. “Well, that’s nothing new,” I muttered under my breath.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m her daughter,” I said, enunciating more clearly.
The man looked me up and down. “That you are not.”
“Excuse me?”
“You are most certainly not Devi Meena.” He looked past me. “Ah, Minister, my apologies.”
I turned in a jerky movement. There before me was my mother.
It reminded me of entering the Binding Plane, a veil of age overlaying a face I recognized well. Her hair had grayed and thinned slightly, but her uplifted chin and steely eyes had not changed.
She was dressed ornately, in a style unfamiliar to me, with a robe of deep blue, richly embroidered with silver flowers, elegantly draped over her white and silver silk sari. I felt like a child again, scruffy, unimpressive, intimidated by her cool grace. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, and only a pitiful croak came out.
“This woman came here asking to see you, Minister. She claimed she was your daughter. I was about to send her away.” My mother lifted a hand, a gesture so familiar to me that my throat ached. The man stopped talking at once.
“Kaikeyi?” she whispered. I pressed my lips together and managed a shaky bob of the head.
Her face crumpled, and in that moment, she was transformed from the mother I had known into the mother I had wished for. She looked confused, bereft, loving. I used to pray she would show any one of those emotions to me, and now I had all of them and I simply wanted to cry. She reached toward me with weathered hands and I flinched away. The world spun, arms caught me, and that was the last thing I knew.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
MY BONES ACHED. I blinked against heavy eyelids to find an unfamiliar room. But my hands and throat felt pleasantly cool.
“Kaikeyi? Kaikeyi! You’re awake.” And there was my mother again, looking over me as I lay in bed. I had to choke back a wild laugh at this wonder.
“How long?” I asked instead. It no longer hurt to talk.
“A full day has passed.”
“And you… have been here?”
I watched my mother’s face flit through several emotions as though she was picking a story, and I entered the Binding Plane. A slender chain of purple connected us. “I just sent your son away to bathe,” she said truthfully. “A healer has attended to your burns, and they are much better already. Lakshmana explained how you came to have them. We have gotten very skilled at treating such injuries here.”
I had so many questions. “How did you recognize me?”
My mother’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “You are my daughter.”
“You barely looked at me as a child. How can you recognize me as an adult?” I asked. I hated that my voice sounded young, a petulant whine.
“I have seen a painting of you,” she said, leaning forward to brush my hair from my face. “I know I was not a good mother to you and your brothers. I was unhappy at court, and you deserved better. But it broke my heart when I realized I would never see you again.”
There was a lump in my throat, blocking my words. And anyway, what was there to say? She had done what she had done, and neither of us could go back.
Her expression fell slightly at my silence, but her fingers continued to card through my hair. “I am very happy to see you,” she said. “But I know you did not simply come to visit. Would you like to tell me why you are here?”
The question was a relief, allowing me to push aside emotion in favor of business. “I am here to speak to the governor of Janasthana,” I improvised. “Our traders have complained of various harassments, and we wished to come to an agreement about dealing with those threats. I volunteered.”
“A party of two?” She pursed her lips.
“It is a long journey. I did not wish to take others from their homes unnecessarily. And I did not realize the severity of the problems when we left. Clearly.”
She crossed her arms, radiating skepticism. “As you say. Well, it will be difficult for you to speak with the governor.”
“Why is that?” I asked, pushing myself upright.
“He won’t be arriving from Lanka for another week.”
“Lanka?” I asked, completely bewildered. Surely she could not be referring to—
“Ravana is the governor of Janasthana,” my mother said with a tight smile.
“When did he become governor?” This news had not reached Ayodhya.
“Not long ago. He was on his way here when he heard tell of the evil lurking in our forest. Raja Danda and his son were killed in a fire shortly before his arrival, and we were trapped in the city, besieged by all manner of foul creatures. His soldiers helped drive them away and build a wall, and he decided to stay. To protect us.”
The magnitude of our ignorance in Ayodhya astounded me. Shishir had truly duped us. But I still did not understand why the asura had tried to take a city, or set his sights on Ayodhya. “And how will Ravana return so quickly?” I asked. The journey from Lanka to Janasthana took moons, not weeks.
“He has a flying chariot,” my mother said. “It sounds fantastical, but the man is nothing if not brilliant, and he has somehow managed it.”
“I knew he would.” I couldn’t help but smile slightly. He had needed inspiration when we last talked about it, a lifetime ago. Perhaps his grief had fueled him toward this greatness.