‘Fine, I’ll come,’ Satyabhama suddenly decided, making Krishna wonder if he had made a strategic blunder. It was a lot easier offering help when you know the other person will certainly refuse it. But his godsluck was clearly taking a break. She threw him a measuring look. ‘And you are also taking Storm with you to Syamantaka.’

Krishna was not deterred. ‘My Lady, there is no need for an escort. I am sure you have other ways of punishing Storm for shooting you in the chest.’

Just then, Satyaki came back, panting. He looked worried about setting foot in the chariot since Satyabhama was in it, but he took his chances upon seeing the reins in Dahanu’s hands. ‘The barkeep has been given due instructions, My Lady,’ he informed Satyabhama.

‘See,’ Krishna murmured, a twinkle in his eyes, ‘Satyaki here is so efficient. He’ll guard me.’

Satyabhama turned suddenly, her knife a blur in the air as it faintly scratched Krishna’s right cheek, drawing blood. ‘Satyaki is too slow. You are taking Storm with you.’

‘I see you made your point,’ Krishna said, wiping the blood from his cheek.

‘About time you had a scar,’ she winked as she lightly stepped over the guard to where the charioteer sat and took the reins from him.

As Satyabhama whipped the horses, Satyaki closed his eyes in silent prayer and the denizens of Mathura prepared to flee her path. Krishna leaned back, dabbing the cut, wondering who to choose as a husband for the powerful Princess of Panchal. Decisions. Decisions.

I

It was late at night and a persistent rain had fallen all evening. Stars glittered like sword-points overhead. The pools of water by the road shone silver in the moonlight, as if reflecting back memories of the day that had sauntered past. In Rajgrih, unsavoury humans went about their nocturnal professions: thieves thieved, night guards whistled, whores moaned, assassins killed, and the Unni Ehtral priests danced and maimed in bizarre rituals.

‘We’ve got to get him off the streets as soon as possible, Lady Rasha,’ Shishupal said. ‘I cannot believe he was so foolish as to venture into the Valka camp for a rematch! Always a sore loser, my little brother. And what if he wins, eh? Next thing you know he’ll be knocking on the Emperor’s door demanding his boon that very moment.’

Lady Rasha merely smiled mysteriously as the carriage lurched over the rutted road. It was she who had brought word to him that Dantavakra, having got drunk in a tavern, had stormed off to challenge the winner to a re-match. Bloody idiot. But Shishupal expected no better, not when Lady Rasha informed him Dantavakra had been nursing his wounds, physical and emotional, with Kalyavan of all people.

‘How could Your Ladyship possibly imagine it was a good idea for those two to meet?’

‘Shalya was tired, and Kalyavan needed a city guide. They are both young warriors. Kalyavan is a most gifted swordsman. Could teach Dantavakra a trick or two.’