There was something almost protective in the way she said it, as though she feared that the visitors might see the workload and reconsider their request. Karna noticed it but did not comment. He simply followed her gaze toward the corner of the backyard.
There were indeed two more men working there.
One was separating small stones from a pile of sand.
He picked up handful after handful, examined them briefly and removed every stone he found before pushing the cleaned sand into another pile.
The other was mixing that sand with water, his hands moving steadily through the wet material. He kneaded it, turned it, pressed it down, and worked it again until the mixture began to take on the proper consistency for pottery.
Their clothes were simple, the garments worn by poor Brahmins, and neither wore anything that would suggest wealth or high status. Yet Karna's attention remained fixed on them.
He could not immediately explain why.
Perhaps it was their movements.
The young man separating the stones worked with an intensity that seemed disproportionate to such a simple task. His eyes remained focused on his hands, and there was a certain discipline in every movement. He did not hurry, but neither did he waste effort. The other man was even more interesting. He worked with the clay almost effortlessly, as though his hands had learned the rhythm of physical labour long before they had learned the movements of a potter.
Karna's eyes narrowed slightly.
'There is something familiar here.'
He had felt that sensation before. It was not a matter of recognizing a face. He did not know these men. He had never, as far as he could remember, spoken to them. Yet something about their presence made a small warning rise within him, quiet but unmistakable.
He studied them more carefully.
They appeared to be around twenty or twenty-one years old. Young men. Their bodies were lean beneath their simple clothes, but there was strength in their shoulders and arms that could not be easily hidden. Their forearms carried the firmness of men accustomed to physical exertion. Their posture was controlled. Their movements were balanced.
Karna knew what the bodies of warriors looked like.
He had spent too many years fighting to mistake it.
These were not the bodies of men who had spent their entire lives doing nothing but studying scriptures and performing rituals.
There was strength here, developed through effort and repeated physical activity.
But it was not the kind of strength that came from working a potter's wheel either. Potter's work demanded physical effort, certainly, yet Karna could tell the difference between a craftsman's strength and the strength of someone trained to use his entire body as a weapon.
And then there were the small details.
Their hair was neat. Their beards were properly maintained. Their clothes, though plain and worn, had been arranged carefully. They looked like men who knew how to present themselves despite having very little.
Karna said nothing.
He had learned long ago that curiosity was often more useful when kept silent.
The woman finally reached her husband and called softly, "Dear."
The potter looked up.
His hands remained covered in wet clay as he turned toward them. His eyes first moved to his wife, then to Indraverma, and finally settled on Karna. For a moment, he simply stared. He was probably wondering who these strangers were and why they had come to his home at such a busy time.
"Yes?" he asked.
Karna gave him a polite smile. "Hello. My name is Vasusena, and this is my brother-in-law, Indraverma. We are under the orders of our Maharani to make a special vase."
The potter's hands slowly stopped.
"Maharani?"
The word itself seemed to make him nervous.
His eyes moved toward the pots surrounding him, then back toward Karna.
He looked hesitant, and Karna understood the reason immediately.
A royal order was not the same as an ordinary order. If a common customer disliked a pot, the matter could be settled with an argument or a refund. If a queen disliked something made specifically for her, the consequences could be much more serious. The man did not even know which queen had given the order, and he probably did not dare ask.
Karna watched him struggle to respond.
He almost smiled.
The poor man had suddenly been given a responsibility worth more than his entire workshop.
Before he could say anything, his wife hurriedly explained, "Dear, they are giving us fifteen days to make the vase. You only have to make one. They are willing to pay five gold coins."
The potter stared at her.
"Five gold coins?"
There was genuine disbelief in his voice.
Karna nodded. "Yes. And we will pay more if we are satisfied with your work."
He reached into his clothing and took out a gold coin. The small piece of metal caught the light as he placed it in the potter's hand. The man looked down at it, almost as though he had never held one before.
"Consider this a deposit," Karna said. "Even if you fail in the end, we will not take it back."
The potter looked at him again.
For a few moments he remained silent, his fingers slowly closing around the coin.
Five gold coins.
For a single vase.
The amount was enough to change the mood of the entire household, and Karna could see the calculation already beginning in the man's eyes. He was not merely thinking about the money. He was thinking about the work, the time, the possibility of failure, and the strange fact that someone had come during the busiest period in Kampilya and still offered him fifteen days to complete a single piece.
But Karna's attention had already shifted elsewhere.
The words had carried across the backyard.
Both young men had heard them.
The one kneading the clay briefly looked in their direction. His expression showed mild interest, but nothing more. To him, perhaps, it was simply another royal order during a time when Kampilya was overflowing with visitors. Kings and queens had arrived from across Aryavarta, and artisans throughout the city were being overwhelmed with requests. The presence of royal attendants was therefore not particularly unusual.
The other young man reacted differently.
He was still holding a handful of sand.
His fingers stopped moving.
Slowly, he lifted his head.
His eyes fell upon Karna.
Something changed in his face.
It was subtle at first, almost nothing more than a slight widening of the eyes, but Karna noticed it. The young man stared at him with an intensity that made the noise of the backyard seem to fade for a brief moment. His hand remained suspended over the pile of sand, forgotten.
Karna looked back.
There was that feeling again.
Familiar.
Unexplained.
The young man's lips parted slightly. His gaze moved over Karna's face as though searching for confirmation of something he already knew.
Then, so quietly that it was almost swallowed by the sounds of the potter's workshop, he murmured,
"Karna?"