Page 223 of A King's Oath

“Mama, can we make him our friend?”

Ava smiled into the rearview, like she had a weapon up her arsenal — “Of course we can. But first we have to ask them what is their name, what do they do, where do they live?”

She thought that would deter him?

“Hi,” he twisted his hand back between the seats, palm up — “I am Samarth Sinh Solanki. I am 34 years old. I am a polo player and I live in a beautiful city called Nawanagar in India. It is by the sea and has some very, very old temples. Very big too. There are also lots of horses and lakes.”

Ava was struck silent. And a loud clap on his palm made her flinch.

“I am Brahmi Scindia and I am 7 years old. I will turn 8 on October 7th and go to Cours Élémentaire 1. I live in Noire Valley and go to Paris for summer break and Delhi for winter break.”

“Delighted to make your acquaintance, Brahmi.”

“I like your name. It’s my favouritest season.”

A full-blown laugh erupted from inside him.

“Thank you, Brahmi, but my name is Samarth. It means competent.”

“What’s that, Samarth?”

“Umm… somebody who…”

“We do not call elders by their names,” Ava thundered.

“Sorry… uncle Samarth…”

“Sam,” he cut her off, not about to have his own daughter call him uncle. “My field name is Sam. Do you know that?”

“What’s a field name?”

“It’s a name you may get when you start playing polo matches. Mine is Sam.”

“I like Sam.”

“Then I like it too.”

Ava’s eyes glanced sideways at him, something familiar from decades ago playing between them.

“What will my field name be, Sam?”

“Brahmi, you cannot call elders by their name.”

“But if she is calling me by my nickname? Or title? Sam is my title on the field,” he argued.

“You know my pony’s name is Chloe?” His little master of subject changes struck again. She was his saviour where her mother’s ire was concerned.

“Is it? My pony’s name is Moti.”

The indicator tick of the car signalled him to the resort’s gate and Samarth felt the shift in Brahmi’s mood. From joyful and excited she went downright giddy. Even before their car had stopped she was working to break free of her car seat and reach for her protective gear.

“Easy, baby, wait,” Ava parked the car. Samarth got out and reached the door before she could, opening it for her. She gave him a look before getting her daughter out. Then, very patiently and very gracefully, she fastened her knee guards, elbow guards and finally the helmet. Brahmi dutifully tipped her chin as Ava did her chin straps, reminding him of another ritual from back in time. For eight years he had done his helmet buckle on his own.

“Ready!” Brahmi pumped her fist in the air close to his stomach and he focused on her. Her helmet was snug down on her forehead. He tipped it until it kept the edge from shadowing her eyes.

“You look better than ready,” he held his hand up. She chucked it. Then grabbed her tiny mallet and swung it. It wasn’t the best swing he had seen but she looked like a princess doing it. An equestrian princess like she was.

A whistle echoed and Ava patted her back — “Go run. Monsieur Alain is starting.”

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