Page 16 of Her Soul for a Crown

The candles snuffed out in a breeze.

All except one. The door slammed shut, and wind swirled around Anula’s feet, tinkling the bells on the edge of her sari, whipping her hair across her face. Pulse quickening, Anula took a step back. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come. Perhaps this wasn’t the way.

Smoke swirled, thickening and thrumming into a form. A face more shadow than cloud floated before her. Dark, insubstantial features sharpened into a chin, cheekbones. If it had been a statue or a human, she would’ve called it handsome.

Saffron eyes flashed open.

Anula stepped back, breath caught between lungs and throat.

“Daughter of Earth.” The shadow spoke, deep and wispy, there and yet far away. “Your prayer has been heard. What request do you seek?”

Its features pulsed, shifting slightly. A chill prickled her skin. The shadow was no statue, no man, those eyes not truly eyes at all. It could never be handsome.

Because it was a Yakka.

The knowing settled deep. But this was wrong. Yakkas were not shadows. They weren’t ever seen, not since they’d walked the Earth centuries ago. Amma would have told her if she’d seen them, Auntie Nirma, too, if only to prove they’d been right.

Which begged the question: “Why are you here?”

The shadow cocked its head. “I am the Blood Yakka, Reeri, answering the offering of a soul. Unless you are not the offerer.”

The faint sound of singing sneaked under the door. It skittered up Anula’s arms. The usurper was celebrating. “Yes, I made the offering. But…”

“You distrust me,” the shadow finished her sentence solemnly.

“Devils aren’t known for being trustworthy. How do I know you’re who you say you are?”

Anula’s veins throbbed. She glanced at her mehendhi-covered hands. Blue-green ridges rose through her skin as her blood rushed below the surface. A wave of adrenaline spiked her senses and sent her heart crashing against her ribs.

And then it released. The undertow retreated, withdrew, and stars twinkled at the edges of her sight as the force stole her footing. She collapsed to the cold floor, heart tripping over a beat. Once, twice, three times, until it finally settled again.

“Trust me now?” the shadow asked.

“Absolutely not.”

The shadow was surely the Blood Yakka. But appearing now—seizing the blood in her veins—meant one thing: It could always have done that. It could have answered that night. But it had chosen not to.

“Do you rescind your bargain?” the shadow asked, tendrils flicking like a jungle cat’s tail.

Anula picked herself off the floor, heart hammering and mind racing.

They had been right, Amma and Auntie Nirma.

The Yakkas still existed. They still listened.

They still, on occasion, answered. And like a human drunk on power, they acted only when it benefited them.

Was this the deity she wanted to bargain her soul with?

Trust to not deceive or trick her? Perhaps she’d be better off with a Divinity. Perhaps—

A chorus of celebration slipped under the door. Chora Naga would make the announcement soon, showing himself to the people of the outer city. News would spread fast of the new raja. Little time was left.

Look away.

Trustworthy or not, she’d already chosen her path.

“No,” she asserted, chin high. “I want the throne of Anuradhapura, to be the first raejina, from this day forward until the anniversary of my fiftieth birth year.”

“How specific.”

“I leave nothing to chance.” Or make the same mistake twice. She’d trusted this Yakka once before; she would not again.

“Neither do I.” The shadow swirled around her. “Let us agree on new terms. You will have the throne of Anuradhapura, after your soul tethers us to Earth to tend to unfinished business.”

“Tether? Us?” She didn’t know which word sounded worse.

“Four Yakkas for the price of a crown.”

She scoffed. “To tend to unfinished business… Is that your polite way of saying you have more people you want to kill? I know why you were banished. And I wouldn’t be much of a raejina if I willingly put people in danger.”

“No human shall die, that I promise you.” The shadow rippled, its voice dropping low. “Stories are told from the victors’ view. It does not mean that they are true.”

What in the cursed Yakkas’ names did that mean? The smoke swirled around Anula’s thighs, up her hips and waist, circling tighter.

“Do we have a bargain?” the shadow asked.

The chanting grew louder, heavier, knocking against the walls of the corridor, banging against the door, beating out a rhythm. Chora Naga. Chora Naga. Chora Naga.

Like a war drum.

Chora Naga.

Prophet Ayaan.

Commander Dilshan.

The Yakka had said it wouldn’t kill. No usurper could say that. What was the harm, then?

“Yes,” Anula breathed and thrust out her hand. “A soul for a crown.”

The shadow’s saffron eyes flashed. Wind kicked up Anula’s sari, whipped her hair around her face. A tendril snaked out of the shadow, stretching and swelling. It covered Anula’s palm, a cold wisp wrapping around her wrist, twining through her fingers.

“I accept your offering.”

Pain prickled her fingertips. It seared through her palm, over the bones of her hand, around her wrist, and up her forearm. Anula hissed as smoke rose from her skin. Veins burned and blood boiled. She opened her mouth to scream at the shadow, but—

It receded, slowly sinking into her skin. The smoke cleared, and where Anula’s wedding mehendhi had once curled and swirled, a new design bloomed. Red and dark as blood.

Anula glanced up, questions racing along her tongue, but the Blood Yakka had vanished. The whipping wind caught her skirt as it tumbled through the room, knocking over candles and slamming open the doors. It blew down the hall and out into the palace.

Where the singing abruptly cut off.

And a great cry erupted.