Page 23 of Her Soul for a Crown

He is here for you. To give you a pleasure from the Heavens. To make you feel the cosmos explode into being between your legs.

Anula’s fingers tingled, as did a particular soft spot beneath her sari. The image of the shadow and its sharp features buried between her thighs. Her fingers entwined in wisps of shadow hair, guiding him—

Cursed Yakkas , what was she thinking?

No, it wasn’t her, it was the damned headboard putting thoughts into her mind. Though his shadow was objectively handsome, it didn’t change the fact that he was not truly her husband. He wasn’t trustworthy. He didn’t give her the feeling of safety or home. He did not care for her.

Beyond that, Anula knew the position she was in.

She had chosen a life devoid of a true marriage, in which a single thought sparked the pooling of desires, a smoldering stare struck a thirst that could only be quenched by touch.

She’d let go of that dream years ago. She shouldn’t be subjected to its taunting now.

She shook out her hands as she marched through the inner city.

The beat of Bithul’s cane quickly caught up.

If Thaththa knew what ideas the blessed gifts put into one’s heads—she cut that thought off, too.

She ignored the ache of it, how it had doubled this morning, the first without her auntie.

She chewed the blessed gifts’ words and spat them out in the dirt.

The Blood Yakka was not here for her. The quiver of the tether below her heart proved that as it tugged at her, like the reins of a horse, pulling her toward the stupa, toward the Yakkas, demanding she stay by his side.

He craved power and worship. The tether was merely a way to force it.

No, the Yakka was here on a delusional search for a lost relic.

As though he could do what centuries of treasure seekers couldn’t.

Even if he did find it, what would he do with it?

He wasn’t human. Could cutting the Hand of Death do anything for him?

Perhaps that was a moot point. Most relics bought and bartered were counterfeit, like the one Nuwan owned.

Whatever the Blood Yakka found would probably do nothing, which didn’t bode well for Anula.

Unless finding a false relic caused him to see the futility in his search and made him leave. But if it didn’t, would he continue?

Justice had waited long enough. Auntie Nirma had chosen this time for Anula to act. Said she was prepared, ready. That it was time to strike and strike hard.

The tether shuddered again as Anula inched farther away. She clenched a fist against it. The Blood Yakka could have the prophet, for a while longer. But the rest of the list would answer justice’s call.

Now.

The jewels on her fan earrings and the bangles along her arms jangled as she strode purposefully through the courtyard toward the administration building, Bithul forever at her heels.

As ministers and courtiers streamed in and out of the palace, typical of any day, a group of women paused as she passed. Sharp eyes took in Anula’s darkened mehendhi; sharper tongues clucked at her tight sari. They bowed in shallow respect.

“The statues do not speak of her reign,” one whispered. “Come, let’s not waste our time with one whose fortune will fall.”

They flitted away as Anula took the stairs.

Clay pots lined the walkway, bright blue hues darkening to black with each step.

If she were a true believer, the woman’s words might instill fear.

She’d wonder at her future, at the outcome of Auntie Nirma’s plans.

But if the statues could foresee the lives of rulers, then usurpers wouldn’t be a problem.

Clearly, the blessed gifts were not all they were rumored to be.

The doors opened, and Anula brushed the gossip off her shoulders, trampling it on her way inside.

Auntie Nirma’s allies had mapped out these rooms, explaining who met where and when.

Information the first ruling raejina would need.

She knew exactly which door to aim for, what she might encounter on her way.

First were the guards. Though they bowed fealty, their gazes lingered curiously on her curves, suspiciously at her appearance.

This was not known as a place for women.

Yet all apprehension vanished when they noticed the iron rhythm behind her.

The sight of Bithul drew straight backs.

Anula tucked the information away for later.

She arrived at the largest set of wooden doors, and a guard looked questioningly down at her. The tether jerked, a warning of her distance. She yanked back on it, a horse gaining its head. The Blood Yakka had admitted he didn’t know everything about the tether. Perhaps she could control it.

Holding it firmly in place, she smiled sweetly. “I’m here to speak with the board of ministers. Please announce me.”

The guard blanched. “Raejina Consort, they’re in a closed meeting.”

“Please announce me,” Anula repeated, sure to keep the gentleness in her features. A soft word did more to move a cow, as the palace cook had said.

“The ministers don’t like to be interrupted.”

“I’m not interested in what they like.”

He flicked helpless eyes to Bithul. Whatever signal Bithul gave jolted the guard into action. He slipped inside the room.

Anula gazed over her shoulder. “Interesting.”

Bithul merely grunted.

“Apologies, my raejina consort.” The guard returned. “The ministers are indisposed. They can’t allow an audience right now.”

“Allow?” Anula’s smile fell. “I didn’t ask for permission.”

She might be stopped by a Yakka, but not by a guard. Not now. Throwing an elbow, she rushed the door and flung it open.

“Raejina—” Bithul caught the guard as he sank, one arm reaching for her. It was too late.

“Ministers!” she shouted, entering the wide, open room. Latticed windows cast seven men in broken light. “How kind of you to receive me on such short notice.”

They shifted and puffed. Naina Wijetunga, the chief minister, stood. Her words hung in the air, a challenge and a charge. Bithul rushed in, but Naina raised a hand.

“Raejina Consort.” His husky voice was displeased. “What a surprise to see you here .”

Inflection weighed heavy on his last word.

Anula sauntered closer, eyeing the men around him.

A hand glided along her necklace, but she knew nothing there would help.

Though the seeds for the persuasion tincture could be found in the Pleasure Gardens, the rest of the ingredients hailed only from Kekirawa.

Auntie Nirma was supposed to bring seedlings to plant, but if she had, Anula never received them.

She’d have to do this without poisoncraft, her new title her only aid.

An itch began at her wrist. “I won’t take up too much of your time. I only wanted to bring something to your attention.”

“Your mere presence takes up our time, dear.” Naina took off his glasses. “We do not hold court for wives.”

A murmur of agreement flowed down the table.

Anula laughed unamusingly. “I’m no mere wife.”

“Yet you are neither the raja nor a minister. We have a great duty to Anuradhapura, which is why we are selective in our meetings. If we met with every person who wished to bring something to our attention, the kingdom would fall to chaos.”

Anula’s nostrils flared. The itch traveled up her arm. “Even if a mere wife had information about a corrupt and traitorous minister?”

Six pairs of eyes widened.

“Would you not want to learn about the man who wields his power wrongly over the people of the kingdom that you are bound to protect? A tax collector who demands double pay, in order to pocket a profit, and sells those who come up short into indentured servitude? Would you meet with a wife then?” Irritation skittered along her arms, burrowed deep.

Or was that the tether? She ignored it and pressed on.

Anuradhapura’s chief tax collector had come to Auntie Nirma’s awareness years ago.

His was the fourth name on their list. “If our chief tax collector was using the sale of servants to also sell secrets to the Polonnaruwa Kingdom, would you meet then?”

The men ruffled.

“Where is your evidence?” one squawked.

“Yes, has another man witnessed any of this?” another crowed.

“Plenty have,” Anula said. “They’re all in chains or starving in their homes.”

“A reputable man,” Naina sighed. “If not, then there is no foundation in your accusations. We do not take our duty lightly and therefore do not listen to courtly gossip.”

Pain pierced her skin like a needle. Anula hissed and scratched at her arms, but forced her focus on the ministers choosing to turn a blind eye. “You’re meant to keep the kingdom running peacefully, to ensure the laws are kept by everyone . To protect the people from traitors.”

“And you”—Naina slammed a fist—“are meant to be seen and not heard, Raejina Consort .”

Anula’s lip curled. “Careful, I may take offense to that, and the raja may hear of it.”

“Take what you will, but take it to heed. Your position is not here; it carries no weight. I don’t doubt the raja will agree.

Women have no place in running a kingdom.

If you feel so strongly, by all means, speak such gossip to the raja.

That’s a wife’s right. But wife to us, you are not.

Please allow us to continue our work and rest assured that we know how. As you inevitably know yours.”

Anula flushed at the implication.

Naina raised a hand toward the door. It was a dismissal. A dressing down.

Heat crackled along her arms, and the tether yanked. Anula stumbled, swallowing a gasp. The skin beneath her bangles splintered, like sun-dried dirt. A corner curled and flaked, a drop of red leaked out.

Cursed Yakkas.

Gritting her teeth, Anula stared up at the men. She couldn’t let them see this, see her weak or wounded. For their eyes filled with truth as quickly as an irrigation tank in the monsoon rains.

They would never listen to a concubine, a woman, a wife. Not even the raja’s.

The fact that Naina dared speak to her in such a tone spoke volumes of how consorts had been treated in the past, how they were seen, how they were valued. Naina feared no repercussion because there wouldn’t be any, had never been any. They cared only for position, and hers was not on the throne.

Yet.

She spun to the door, anger vibrating through her veins, flaming against her heart. Or was that the tether again?

“Our conversation won’t be forgotten,” she promised.

Nor would it be forgiven.

The door clanged closed, and Anula collapsed to the floor.

“Raejina Consort?” Bithul’s voice sounded far away.

Finally, she let her breath rattle, her heart hammer.

Fingers shook as she tore the bangles off.

Brittle skin crumbled. She tried to hold the pieces together, tried to hold back the tears, but panic rose as the tether jerked and jabbed and fishtailed.

Strips of her skin peeled off, hurtled through air, and snapped toward the Blood Yakka.

Anula screamed as darkness pulled her under.