Page 24 of Her Soul for a Crown

The inner-city shrine had been as devoid of Divinity relics as it had been people. Reeri searched and searched again, until frustration needled so sharply that he could barely focus.

It was not until he stepped foot into the palace, the court’s attention clinging to his every footstep, that he realized his chest was stinging.

The pain quivered once before quaking through skin and bone, striking as fast and bright as lightning.

Reeri canted forward and caught himself on a warbling statue.

His shadow shuddered, threatening to rupture. The tether was quickly fraying.

“Are you all right?” Calu reached for Reeri but stumbled as a pulse beat through him, too. “Anula.”

“Where is she?” Reeri hissed, clutching his chest.

Ratti said the tether would harm her, mar her, far more than it would him. He was the honey, and she was the bee. She needed to be near, lest she become susceptible to wounds that might render her soul offering void.

“Raja?” Courtiers narrowed in, curiosity and worry lining their faces. Calu waved them off.

“Call for the healer!” Bithul’s voice rang through the palace hall. He lumbered toward the raja’s chamber, a limp raejina consort in his arms. Blood left a macabre trail behind them.

“Mighty Heavens,” Calu cursed.

The courtiers flapped and flittered. Reeri’s soul tugged forward, the tether calling. Pushing off the statue, he ran swiftly after Anula.

The bed was soaked, the blessed gifts cooing over the wounded raejina consort.

“Avenge her!” the raja shouted at Reeri.

“Comfort her!” the raejina scolded.

Yet all Reeri could do was stare. Covered in darkest red, he could not see where sari ended and blood began. His mouth dried. He had not meant for this. She was only to learn the consequence, feel the first bite of pain and return. What had been so important she withstood…all this?

“I don’t know what happened, my raja,” Bithul said, hands flailing, legs shaking, cane forgotten elsewhere. “One moment she was arguing with the board of ministers; the next she collapsed. I didn’t see an attacker, let alone an attack, but suddenly there was blood and her skin—”

“It is not your fault.” Reeri shoved away the questions. Anula required healing. And for that, he must touch her.

Not grasp or hold or pull away, as he had in the painting.

This required time.

“Guard the door, Bithul. Let no one in.” Reeri’s hands flexed, his heart beat swiftly, and he was nearly certain it had nothing to do with the tether.

“What about the—”

“No one,” Reeri repeated, palms hovering over Anula’s wretched arms. They were shredded, as if a jungle cat had clawed her. Fissures ran from shoulders to fingers, festering and darkening with death.

“Then I shall pray.”

As the doors closed, Reeri’s stomach fluttered.

He eyed the sapphires she might grab upon waking under his touch.

Yet if he did nothing, she would surely die.

Taking a breath, he lowered his hand, pressing into the soft give of her wounds, her flesh like pulped mango.

A warmth sparked beneath his fingers, seeping from him to her.

Anula breathed sharply, chest rising high and slowly back down as the seconds turned to minutes.

Each inhale knitted her skin together—first the smooth bronzed tones, then the dark mehendhi marking—polishing her long arms and her delicate fingers.

Color returned to her cheeks, and her breathing evened.

A peace washed through him as the Heavens’ healing returned her to life.

He stared at her bee-stung lips. He could have for hours, but a sudden flash of faces and thoughts swept through his mind—the crown two lengths too far for her to grasp, frowning ministers looming overhead, a list of names, of deaths, the need to avenge—

Anula jolted. “Thrice-cursed Yakkas, what was that?”

Reeri’s hands flew off her. “I had no choice. You were dying.”

“It flayed me!” she screamed, checking herself. “It tore off my skin!”

“Consequences,” Reeri said, shifting. “I told you, when you venture too far away, the tether will try to snap you back. It demands proximity. Even if it can only have one piece of you at a time.”

Her gaze was riotous. “You were in my head.”

So she had seen that, too. “I did not mean to be. I only meant to heal you. If you had been conscious, I would have asked permission.”

“To see inside my head?”

“No.” A flush warmed his neck. “To…touch you.”

“Cursed Yakkas.” She rubbed at her arms, looked away. “What have I done to deserve this punishment?”

Reeri’s brows gathered. “Bithul said you were arguing with the board. What argument was so important you chose to endure this?”

The flash of ministers came to mind.

“An argument about a traitor. But they wouldn’t listen.” She glared at him. “I don’t wear the crown.”

Reeri narrowed his eyes. “Why did you try?”

Mayhap they were a threat to her or to her desired reign.

Anula snorted. “You have your business, I have mine.”

Yet there had been a list of deaths. A need to avenge. It made no sense.

“You better find that blade quickly,” she hissed. “I refuse to stay at your side forever.”

Reeri caught her scorn and flung it back. “Finally, a point on which we agree.”

***

All was blood.

Long ago Reeri had nightmares, yet never like this. Never a village in torment, soaked to the earth in death, its people scattered and scourged. A pyre rose above him. His eyes ascended the wood to dirt-smeared feet and torn legs, to blood dripping from—

“Look away,” a voice whispered.

Reeri blinked. He was in a dark underground room, warm candlelight welcoming, the scent of determination invigorating. A sharp woman stacked books in his arms. “Vengeance is not important, Anula. Justice is. And that you are a different leader than all those usurpers before you.”

He blinked again. The room was filled with women. Books and maps were strewn across tables, the same sharp woman at the head.

“This is why you survived.” She leaned forward, her hand not quite touching his face, a softness about her eyes. It made his chest ache. “You are more than family to me, girl. You are everything. You are our future.”

He blinked again. The village was different, bathed in sunlight save for the darkened alley where the sharp woman cowered, cornered by a tall man. He pressed a finger into her bosom. “Stop your meddling, or I will ensure that you and every woman in your little circle sees the noose.”

Rage swirled swift. Reeri’s hand flew to his own neck.

He blinked again.

Darkness veiled all but the man. Cinnamon and palm wine drifted on his breath.

He leaned close to Reeri, touching places soft and supple.

Grabbing, groaning, crashing lips upon his.

Disgust soured Reeri’s stomach, but he held firm, conviction swelling, and when he pulled back—victory.

Veins bulging, the man’s face purpled as frothing foam choked him, and he convulsed to the floor.

“Look away,” the voice cooed again.

Reeri sat bolt upright. Sweat clung his tunic to his chest.

“Cursed Yakkas,” Anula spat. “You saw that, too, didn’t you?”

A shudder coursed through him. He touched his mouth, gaze scraping to Anula.

She had killed a man with her lips.

In protection of the sharp woman and those of her circle.

In protection of others. He need not wonder why—the sharp woman had told him: Anula had survived, and justice was her duty.

The bitterness and ire, the impatience and ambition, the poisoncraft—it all made sense now.

Anula had experienced a horror, felt the weight of retribution. His shadow shifted.

They were not dissimilar.

Anula drew a hand through her hair. He did not have to touch her to know the emotion she felt. It had simmered through the nightmare. Fear.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Reeri asked gently, wondering why she had not turned to the Heavens, as so many did in times of grief and great pressure.

“No.” The word cut the night. Anula ripped off the sheets and jumped from the bed. “No, I don’t.”

The door slammed shut behind her.