Several days after the swayamvara at Hastinapura, the news finally reached Kanipura.
Royal messengers carried it first, then merchants and wandering bards took it up, repeating the story in markets and rest houses until it began to sound like something already half-legend.
Everywhere the same details were told: how Maharaj Karna had once again defeated every king and prince who stood against him, how Princess Dushala had stepped forward and garlanded him before the whole assembly, and how Hastinapura had accepted him as the son-in-law.
Inside the Sun Palace, the reaction was quieter, more personal. The queens had long since grown used to unexpected turns in Karna's life. That did not mean every new one landed lightly.
That afternoon soft light spilled through the carved windows of an inner chamber, carrying the faint scent of sandalwood. Silk curtains stirred in the breeze. Outside, the usual sounds of the palace drifted along the marble corridors.
Dhavani and Mrinalini sat near the open balcony. Dhavani was visibly out of sorts—not furious or heartbroken, just thoroughly sulky. She leaned sideways against a cushion, turning a golden bracelet around her wrist with clear dissatisfaction.
At last she let out a long, dramatic sigh.
"Ugh… another queen."
Mrinalini hid a smile behind her hand.
Dhavani pressed on without restraint. "Every single time our husband leaves the kingdom, he comes back with another woman beside him. At this point, whenever he says he'll return in a few days, I feel like asking whether we should prepare another bridal chamber in advance."
Mrinalini's quiet laughter slipped out before she could stop it.
Dhavani pointed at her at once. "Don't laugh."
Mrinalini shook her head, still amused. "Well… if I remembered correctly, the one who started him down this path was—"
"Yes, yes, I know," Dhavani cut in, half annoyed and half embarrassed. She covered part of her face with her palm. "It was my fault. I was the one who pushed him to think more carefully about detachment, about accepting relationships without clinging too tightly. At the time I was only thinking of myself—trying to make him see that he could marry someone who loved him, someone like me." She clicked her tongue. "Now the universe is using my own words against me."
Mrinalini laughed again, the sound warm between them. After a moment, she tilted her head. "But you never had trouble with Sister Ratnaprabha or Sister Subhadra."
Dhavani's expression shifted. The irritation softened into something more thoughtful. "That was different. Sister Ratnaprabha came into this palace and changed our prosperity. And Subhadra… she's gentle. Soft-hearted. Easy to get along with."
A short silence followed. Then her brows drew together again.
"But this time I might actually have a problem with Dushala."
Mrinalini blinked. "How?"
"Think about it, Sister Mrinalini. She's the princess of Hastinapura," Dhavani said, and the words carried weight. "And I am the princess of Magadha."
Outside, distant temple bells sounded faintly across the city.
"Our kingdoms aren't openly at war but not friends either. More than neutrality, there is a strong dislike between our kingdoms that we don't even trade," she went on more quietly. "One spark is all it would take to start a war. And I have the feeling that spark may eventually rise from this palace itself."
Mrinalini listened in silence. Then, suddenly, she chuckled.
Dhavani frowned. "Why are you laughing now?"
Mrinalini's smile was knowing. "Is that truly the only reason?"
Dhavani stiffened. "What else would there be?"
Mrinalini leaned forward a little. "I don't know. Perhaps you're also worried about sharing Maharaj's time with one more queen. And perhaps…" she continued gently, "you're worried he may favor Hastinapura more now."
Dhavani opened her mouth, then closed it again.
"Before this," Mrinalini said, her voice calm, "Magadha was our greatest political support. Maharaj Jarasandha stood beside him like a mountain. Now Hastinapura is connected to him through marriage—a kingdom just as powerful, just as prosperous. So perhaps the proud princess of Magadha is feeling a little threatened."
Color rose in Dhavani's cheeks. She turned her face toward the balcony like a warrior forced to retreat. "Well… it would be a lie if I said those thoughts never crossed my mind."
Mrinalini's smile softened.
"But they're secondary," Dhavani added quickly, straightening. "And this situation is different."
"How?"
She hesitated. "This is the first woman entering this household through a swayamvara."
That made Mrinalini pause as well. "…That's true."
For a moment, both women sat quietly with the thought.
Karna had married many times.
Yet none of those marriages had truly come about through a traditional public swayamvara. Some had been born of politics in order to maintain peace with Magadha, some of fate, some of war or duty, some of the strange twists destiny seemed endlessly to weave around him. This one was different.
Mrinalini murmured, "Maharaj has married six times now… yet this seventh is the one where he stood openly among kings, competed in public, and accepted the bride before the world. I wonder why he agreed to take part at all."
"Because it is Hastinapura," Dhavani answered at once, a little sourly.
But Mrinalini shook her head. "No. I doubt Maharaj would marry simply because a kingdom is powerful."
Dhavani stayed silent. Deep down she knew Mrinalini was right. Karna was many things, but he had never been a man who bowed to status or power. Someone who openly challenged kingdoms and elders alike would never marry merely for prestige.
Which meant there had to be another reason.
That unanswered thought lingered between them, quiet and unfinished.
Two days later in Hastinapura, the night of Trayodashi settled over the palace with a heavy quiet. Thick clouds hid the moon, and the corridors lay in the dim flicker of oil lamps set along the carved pillars.
Inside the guest chambers given to Maharaj Karna, the air itself felt restless.
Karna slept on the large bed draped in pale silk, but his body was anything but still. Sweat beaded on his forehead. His breathing came uneven. His fingers twitched against the sheets as if reaching for something in the dark.
Then the vision returned—clearer than before.
A vast palace stood beneath a black sky, its walls already swallowed by fire.
The flames rose high and wild, racing across pillars, doors, beams, and curtains with unnatural speed, as if the whole structure had been built only to burn. Wood cracked. Stone groaned. People screamed. The heat felt alive.
Through the blaze he saw six figures—five men and one woman—trapped and barely visible against the orange glow. Their faces were lost in the fire, yet something in him already knew who they were.
This time one detail stood out more sharply than the rest.
The walls were melting.
Not merely blackened or cracking. Melting—like wax under fierce heat, like resin dissolving. Pillars bent. The floor softened. The palace no longer looked like stone but like some deliberate trap designed to liquefy in flame.
"No…!"
Karna woke with a jolt. His eyes snapped open. Heavy breaths tore through his chest while sweat ran down his face and neck. For several moments he simply sat there, steadying himself as the echoes of screaming faded from his ears.
The chamber was dark except for a single oil lamp. Even so, he could almost still smell smoke.
He wiped his forehead and looked down.
"That dream again…"
He closed his eyes and forced himself to hold the vision while awake. The six burning figures returned at once—five men, one woman. His jaw tightened.
"Those six… the Pandu princes and Queen Kunti."
The thought settled heavily. "So my suspicion was true. They are going to die in Varnavata."
The words tasted bitter even spoken aloud. He lowered his head, thinking. Then his eyes narrowed again.
"No. Something is still wrong."
He remembered the melting walls. That detail troubled him more than the fire itself.
"Fire destroying a palace can be understood. But walls melting… that is not natural."
Another thought followed quickly. The residence at Varnavata had been prepared under Duryodhana's arrangements. Karna's brows drew together.
Faulty materials? Or something worse?
The strange vision, the unnatural fire, the melting walls, the timing—all of it began to fit together in uneasy pieces. His breathing slowed as logic and instinct wrestled inside him.
Should he speak to Duryodhana?