Bharata shrugged. “Whatever duties he feels I’ll be best suited for. I suppose I could become an advisor on his Mantri Parishad. But he will not have much need for help.”
“I suppose not,” I murmured. I could not tell if this was a manipulation or Bharata’s true feelings. Either way, it saddened me to hear that Bharata had given up on that ambition he had confessed to me on a different trip to Kekaya, of being best at something, of being a good raja. Bharata too had become unfamiliar to me, more Rama’s brother and less my child.
With every passing day, my heart drummed a stronger rhythm against my ribs. Time is running out. Time is running out. Above us, the moon grew fatter and fatter, until only a sliver remained darkened, and the next morning the city of Kekaya came into view.
A breathless Yudhajit met us at the gates.
“Not a moment too soon,” he said. He grabbed my hand and pulled me through the palace as though we were children. Bharata followed.
“Is he truly that poorly?” I gasped out, tripping on legs gone numb. He strode on without answering, guiding us through twisting corridors until we arrived at a plain wooden door.
Raja Ashwapati lay in a small bedchamber, propped up on several pillows. His face was ashen, his whole frame diminished. Ashvin stood at his bedside. He looked up at our appearance and gave me a tiny smile.
“Kaikeyi is here, Father,” he said in a low voice.
“Kaikeyi?” My father’s lips barely moved when he spoke. His voice was a whisper, a mere remnant of his grand courtroom manner. I almost pitied him.
“I am here, Father.” I stepped into the dim room and approached his bedside, my son and Yudhajit close behind. “It has been a long time.”
“Yes, yes.” His hand lifted and he limply motioned me closer. I leaned in to hear him.
“You were a good daughter,” he rasped out. “You performed your duty to your kingdom well, and soon our blood will sit on the throne of Kosala. I am proud of you, Kaikeyi.”
“Thank you, Father.” His praise confused me. Although I did not want it, although I told myself I did not care what he thought, his words also warmed me. Instinct brought me to the Binding Plane, where I discovered a thicker-than-expected lustrous white bond connecting us, somehow bright against the dull surroundings. I felt ashamed at the bloom of joy under my skin.
“How are you?” I asked foolishly, wishing to change the subject.
“Dying.” He produced a coughing laugh. “Soon, I hope.”
I bowed my head.
“It is my time and I am ready. Do not be alarmed. But, Kaikeyi, I need to tell you something.” His hand found my arm, and he gripped it with all his feeble strength.
I looked up at Yudhajit, but he appeared equally bewildered.
“Your mother,” he whispered, and I pulled back in alarm. How did he know? I would not apologize for seeing her, not even to comfort a dying man. He mouthed something else, but from my distance I could not hear it. I sat on the edge of his bed and gingerly put my ear next to his mouth. “It was my fault.”
I must have misheard. But no: “My fault,” he repeated.
I studied his face, the way the skin appeared paper-thin and worn dry. His eyes were damp. I had never seen him cry—could barely even conceive of it—but here I was. Guilt had done this. For a moment I remained there, paralyzed. But perhaps I could ease his pain. I lowered my lips to his ear. “She is alive, and happy. I have seen her.”
He turned his head slightly toward me. “You have?”
“Yes.” I pushed the hint of happiness through our bond, then looked up at the others. My eyes alighted on Bharata. “This is your grandson,” I said, beckoning him forward. “My son.”
Bharata brought his hands together and bowed his head. “It is an honor to meet you.”
Ashwapati’s eyes lit up, a faint gleam of what he had once been briefly visible. “He is a fine boy.”
“Yes, he is.” Pride and grief squeezed my chest.
“Take my hand, child,” my father instructed Bharata. Bharata took the wizened hand in both of his own.
My father sighed and went limp against his bed. Alarmed, I looked around, but Ashvin shook his head. “He has lapsed into sleep again. This happens more and more frequently.” He stepped around me and placed two fingers under my father’s chin. “His pulse grows weaker.”
Yudhajit put an arm around my shoulders, and we stood together in silence. Even Bharata managed to stay still as we kept vigil. Raja Ashwapati’s breaths rattled in his throat, so slowly they encompassed five or six of mine at a time, until at last, his chest rose no more.
Ashvin checked once again for the beat of his blood but found none.
Yudhajit placed his hand over our father’s eyes and said a short prayer, and so my father died.
I am not ashamed to say that my father’s death had little impact on me. He was old, and there was no love between us. But watching him die took a toll on all of us, dimming our lives by a fraction. Our little party ate a subdued meal in Yudhajit’s private rooms, and afterward I went straight to bed, changing into a shift and lying down alone. I stared at the ceiling for over an hour, unable even to close my eyes, lest strange and frightening nightmares carry me away.
Then a knock sounded on my door. Not just any knock, but a pattern. Three beats, with an emphasis on the third.
He rapped it again, a bit louder this time, probably intending to wake me. I slipped out of bed and tapped out my corresponding signal. A soft laugh came from beyond, and I opened the door, letting Yudhajit in.
“What is it?” I asked.
He reached out to hug me, holding me tight. “Nothing. I missed you.”
“You came to my room because you missed me?” I led him back to the bed and sat on it, cross-legged. After a moment of hesitation, he joined me there.
“Obviously not.”
“Then? Out with it.” I poked him in the side.
He scratched the back of his neck and looked past me toward the wall, and our blue bond jumped. I braced myself for bad news. “I wrote in my letter that we had much to discuss,” he said at last.
“Yes,” I agreed. “And we do have much to discuss. I have news for you as well.” I wanted to tell him about our mother. It might anger him to know that she had a new family, a new life without us, but he deserved the chance to go see her, or send for her.
“Well, let me tell you what I wish to discuss first. Do you remember Dasharath’s promise? The one you extracted before you agreed to marry him?”
I nodded. “Of course. I made him swear that my son, were I to have one, would be heir to the throne. But things changed. I released him from that oath.”
“It was not yours to release,” Yudhajit said gently. “Raja Dasharath swore that oath to our father, not you, for our father was the one to give you away in marriage.”
His words came to me as if from a great distance, and I struggled to understand them.
If I could have believed that the gods took a special interest in my life, I would have thought they were the reason for my misfortune. What other reason could there be that over and over again my family brought me this strife? How could he be saying this to me now, after all that had happened?
“Father is dead,” I said carefully, “so that no longer matters.”
“News reached us of Rama’s impending coronation.” Yudhajit looked down at his lap, oblivious to my pain. “Father heard of it and grew very angry. He made me promise that I would ensure Bharata took the throne. I made a vow. To the gods.”
And it seemed once again, my wishes held no weight. It was almost incomprehensible that my desires should matter so little, and yet I was ashamed at my surprise. Had I really believed that things had changed? Years and years of work, to have a voice, to be respected, but my brother would still honor the words of men over my will.
“Why would you promise such a thing?” I asked, tugging at the sheets in agitation.
“It makes a mockery of our kingdom to let such an important oath be broken so publicly and easily. I cannot let that stand.”