Or so he had thought. The terrace where the feast was being held was as big as a battlefield, but made to look even larger by the great mirrors which enclosed three sides of the space. A multitude of candles flickered and waved on the tables, their soft light falling on the golden-ware, glittering on the jewels of the guests, men and women alike, was reflected back from the mirrors, as if the stars themselves had fallen down.

It was absurdly magnificent, of course. A score of the Riverlands’ finest musicians played soulful tunes, and the music mingled seamlessly with the swell of satisfied chatter. Both of which had stopped abruptly when Jarasandh had come face to face with Krishna. Shishupal had been behind Jarasandh, so he had seen the way his hands had curled into fists. They might have been asked to leave their weapons at the entrance, but Jarasandh had never needed weapons to do his killing. Come to think of it, Jarasandh had actually smiled for the first time that day when he had threatened to burn Krishna alive for he had viewed the revels all week with the cheer of a mortician.

Jarasandh had not planned to attend the pre-wedding festivities, but it turned out that even here, in the midst of a swayamvar, the War did not stop, for Shalya had found another ally for the Emperor. ‘Shishupal, I am tired and Lord Shalya is taking his time,’ the Emperor declared. ‘Go and see what they are up to. Make sure I have the beasts in my army by dawn.’

Shishupal frowned as if he had been asked to solve an unsolvable paradox. But what choice did he have? ‘Aye, Your Grace,’ he said, looking across at the familiar figures of Shalya, and that brat Kalyavan, standing beside the one they called Bhagadatt, clad in black robes that did nothing to mute the shine of his grey skin. Shishupal had seen Rakshasas before. He had a squire who had Rakshasa blood, but it appeared the Eastern Rakshasas were born in a different barn. The red pupils of Bhagadatt’s eyes made Lady Rasha look meek. Shishupal took a deep breath and went to join the conversation.

‘I know the crimes he has committed against my father…’ Bhagadatt stopped to briefly acknowledge Shishupal, who returned the nod. ‘…but we all know my father was not the sanest of men. Anger and folly often walk arm in arm. My duty lies in serving the people. And I swore in the peace agreement not to retaliate against Mathura on the battlefield. I do not mean to be forsworn. I sympathize with the Emperor, but all I can give, Lord Shalya, is my sympathy.’ His voice was cold, without emotion.