Page 11 of Her Soul for a Crown

A wail stretched into the nothingness of the aether.

It would be a cry, if shadows could shed tears.

Reeri dropped his latest shadow offering and coiled around Kama. “Are you all right?”

She wiped the depthless sockets of her eyes, stared at the dryness of her shadow hands. “Just checking.”

Reeri frowned and shifted away from her, catching another offering. He had no time for Kama’s dramatics.

She appeared an inch from his face. “Do you think I should cry? That the humans want for me to despond over them and the intercession I cannot provide against unrequited love?”

“I think they should try harder to find the relic if they care about their star-crossed love,” Reeri said. That was what he would do, if he had found the one with whom his soul communed. But that was another facet of life he had been denied.

He leaned away from Kama to scan the new offering. He searched the words but found no footing. He tossed it on top of the ever-growing pile floating languidly about his lower form. The tower mocked him. It sneered at his scheme.

“What about you, Sohon?” Kama flitted across the nothingness, poked the shadow curled around himself. “Do you pity the dead whose loved ones refused to work harder for one of your memory books?”

Sohon’s shadows writhed, a serpent ready to strike. “I do not pity the dead. They do not have to deal with you.”

“Such callous Yakkas.” Kama tutted.

“Says the Yakka responsible for heartbreak,” Calu said, his shadows swirling as he came near.

Kama stuck out a twirling black tongue. “I care greatly for heartbreak. It is dark and beautiful and so sharply bitter, one cannot help but feel alive. It is a gift.”

Reeri snorted. “You sound like him .”

“Should I not? We are made in his image.”

The lip of Reeri’s shadow curled. Indeed, they were made in Wessamony’s image, to do Wessamony’s bidding, to ensure Wessamony’s ascendance. It was not grace that preserved Reeri and the others. It was not mercy that had driven their Lord to offer atonement. It was greed.

Wessamony knew exactly what he was doing when he chose the four of them. The Yakkas of the heart, mind, memory, and blood. For what bargains were made out of passion? Those that brought heartache, insanity, torment, and pain.

Those that promised revenge.

Desiring its bittersweet taste, offerers used to agree to any term and feat. Yet even humans recognized a lost cause eventually.

Wessamony had taken a page from Reeri’s book: for a bargain to be complete, the offerer must also seek the Bone Blade relic.

In the beginning, they only needed to uncover information.

Wessamony descended twice a year, on the Maha and Yala Equinox, and investigated himself, distrusting that a human would find such power and readily hand it over.

Yet, as the decades gathered and no dagger was found, the parameters changed.

Information was not good enough; they must bring proof.

When that too failed him, he demanded they search. Find but not touch the relic.

Many humans attempted it. Many humans did not survive.

Decades piled into a century, and on the cusp of two, the humans’ wariness won out.

Nearly a year had gone by since Calu found the last willing offerer.

The number of rejected bargains far outweighed the accepted.

It was a wonder anyone continued to pray at all, leaving Wessamony with nothing save his fear.

“What are you brooding about over there, No Yakka?” Calu asked.

“I do not brood.” Reeri grimaced.

“‘Brooding’ is your middle name.”

“That makes no—”

“He is stacking offerings,” Kama interrupted. “Mayhap to smother himself with.”

“Why is it that the Yakka of Lust is so preoccupied with death?” Reeri asked.

“He is deflecting.” Sohon unraveled from his tight coil and joined the others. “He is hiding something.”

“I am not.”

“What is it?” Calu asked, craning his shadow neck to see the offering in Reeri’s hand.

“The same as always, I am doing as Wessamony commanded.”

“But you are happy about it.”

“What?”

“I can see it in your eyes.”

“We have no eyes.”

“It is a plan!” Kama shouted. “He looked the same when he figured out a way for us all to leave the shrines.”

A fevered smile widened across Calu’s face. “ Finally. What is my part?”

Reeri’s shadows attempted to bristle. No one had a part. Reeri would act alone, suffer any consequences alone. “I plan nothing. Find your own offerings, or Wessamony will have all our souls.”

“That is precisely why I need a part.” Calu bent forward, leveled his empty gaze at Reeri. A flicker started at his chin. “You feel it, too, do you not? It is time to escape the prison.”

If shadows had pulses, Reeri’s would trip.

“And set the captives free.” Kama chuckled darkly.

“Tell us, Reeri.” Sohon’s edges roiled. “We are ready.”

No , Reeri wanted to say. He had involved the others once before, and look where it had ended. He could not bear to damn them further, could not bear more blood on his hands.

For if this failed, if he did not truly rid the Second Heavens of Wessamony, Wessamony would rid them of Reeri. And all who followed him.

“You do not have a choice,” Calu said, snatching another offering. He proffered it to Reeri. “We are in this together, whether you want us to be or not. So tell us the plan.”

Reeri glanced at each of their phantom faces, the trust swirling inside.

He did not deserve it.

But he could earn it.

Redemption for him, freedom for all.

Snatching the shadow from Calu, Reeri said, “First, we need an offering Wessamony cannot ignore.”