But the mantis moves in paths he can never understand. For when, with the aid of some liquid courage, Karna had finally walked up to Prakar Mardin, the man had not needed convincing. He was apparently satisfied with the bribe Shakuni had offered. Nothing could have surprised Karna more. His warrior instinct warned him to be wary. Nevertheless, he had been content to let the matter rest and be happy that the rest of the voyage would pass by without any awkward incident.

Or so he thought till he met Kala. He had stood no chance before her greyish blue eyes, her dark skin, her lean-muscled arms, her firm breasts, her way with words; that she did not care about the Resht mark on his neck. She had taught him the ways of the bed, making Karna eager to please her in turn. He loved her raw smell, and the way her red hair curled behind her ears. He was fond of her long-callused hands. She let him lick her fingers, and he’d made up a funny tale about every one of them to keep her laughing. He had never made any woman laugh before. Come to think of it, the last week had been an initiation for him into manhood. Though he did wish she would stop calling him Lamb.

But the passing of the days made him sorrowful. He knew that with every lingering kiss, every touch of their flesh, they gave each other shards of their hearts they’d never see again. Kala did say women from the South had a different way of doing things, but surely the sharing of bodies was a sacred act everywhere? He liked being with her. Maybe, if he had not adopted his brother’s son, if he wasn’t indebted to Duryodhan, if he did not have promises to fulfil... maybe then he could have done right by Kala. Perhaps he still could. The thought continued to nag at him.

‘Kala,’ he began, struggling to speak out loud the words that were hovering on the tip of his tongue. All he had to do was ask her to marry him. You can do it. You can! Do it! Kala looked at him with an amused expression. ‘I never noticed them before,’ Karna said, suddenly losing his nerve, pointing to the caricatures drawn on the ceiling. Coward.

‘Uhm, what about them?’

‘The ceiling,’ he said again. ‘There are pirates drawn on it...I think. The paint has chipped so I cannot be sure. I never noticed them before.’ Of course, he had not noticed them. The way he had focussed on pleasing her, a unicorn might have peered through the cracks and he’d never have noticed it.

‘Yes, pirates,’ she said disinterestedly. ‘Kalingans.’