Page 25 of Her Soul for a Crown

“A vast farm shall you inherit,” the statue warbled to a courtier, front and center of the surrounding group. “It shall hold more numerous irrigation reservoirs than all the villages combined, produce more—”

The words buzzed around Anula, a mosquito in the heat of day. Its bite brought the memory of home, of lush paddy fields and full market days, of familiar faces and the long-forgotten cadence of her parents’ voices. She swatted at them, turned from the blessed gift, and left the gallery.

Courtiers lingered near the door, sending sidelong glances and lowering to whispers.

In the last week, the Blood Yakka and his adviser had revisited both the palace and inner-city shrines, spending their days in meditation, while Anula tested the bounds of the cage she’d made for herself.

She rounded a corner where a set of wives sat at tea.

The kettle whistled a tune, its steam swirling around their placid faces, as if they, too, were deep in meditation.

Lightly touching her mehendhi marking, she ensured the pulse beneath it was hers and not the tether’s anger as she inched farther away from the Yakkas.

Two things were clear: the ministers wouldn’t heed her words, and the Yakkas were on a wild elephant chase.

The only good to have come from the past few days was the memory-nightmare.

Not the sharing of it, but what it reminded her of.

Anula pressed a hand to her necklace. She had her poisoncraft, and not all the names on her list needed to be dealt with through the ministers.

Some didn’t deserve a trial before judgment.

Prophet Ayaan, for one. The only thing standing in her way was the tether.

Though Anula was willing to do almost anything for Auntie Nirma’s plan and to honor her dead, being flayed alive wasn’t one of them.

Being touched by the Blood Yakka wasn’t either.

It wasn’t as though it had hurt. The raja’s palms were rough at first, but then there was a spark, and they cooled like a soft mist during a long drought.

Tender and sweet and satisfying. She shivered at what was surely a trap to give the Yakka what he truly wanted: unquestioning faith and adoration.

Well, he couldn’t have hers.

The tether stretched taut as Anula made her way down the hall to the other end of the palace. Each step grew labored as the lead tugged her back, but the marking stayed intact. She pushed on, so close to her destination.

“To whom do you think the spiders pray?” a woman asked. She crouched on all fours, head sideways against the floor, poking at a black insect.

A young man huffed. “Does it matter? Knock again. He said to come by today.”

The wife and son of the raja’s adviser, or so they’d used to be, stood outside the prophet’s door.

Abruptly, Anula’s steps lightened, and a twang vibrated through the tether as it fastened tight onto the two Yakkas before her.

She cocked her head. Perhaps the Blood Yakka had been wrong.

It wasn’t him she needed to be close to; it was any of them. And if that was true—

“Hello, Anula,” the Yakka on the floor said, picking the spider up to examine closer. She plucked one of its legs. “Do you think it screams out to the cosmos, to a spider-being in the sky?”

Anula blanched. The Yakkas’ wide round eyes were curious and rimmed with unshed tears.

“Mayhap it thinks of its lover or its children, or life itself and all it had yet to attain. What do you think it wants?” She spun, jerking the spider into the boy’s face, toppling over a pile of books in her haste.

“Kama!” he snapped. “The books!”

They splayed across the floor, one skittering to a stop at Anula’s feet. A name was emblazoned on the front.

“Apologies.” Kama placed the spider gently on the floor, ignoring the books and the boy glaring at her. She turned to Anula. “Oftentimes, pain is necessary to reveal one’s true desire.”

“Is that why you continue to be a pain in my side?” the boy asked.

“Of course not.” Kama laughed, a trill as sweet as aluwa. It shuddered through Anula. “Your wants are only too easy to see, Sohon. Anula’s however…what is it that you want?”

She pressed her lips together. Amma had taught her about the Yakkas of Lust and Memory, told her the stories of old. Not just of love and remembrance, but of hearts sick with longing and bodies half eaten in graves.

Balance, they called it.

Sohon huffed. “Obviously she wants to see the prophet, as she is at his door, same as us.”

“But why?” Kama leaned into Anula, wide eyes searching, as though she could venture into her soul.

Perhaps she could. Hearts were under her rule.

“Sohon has transcribed a memory book of the prophet’s dearly departed brother.

His entrails were so decayed, Sohon choked on his spleen, nearly missing ten years of the man’s memories.

The prophet offered his journal of visions as payment, plus another, unknown book for his trouble. ”

“You are scaring her.”

“I’m not scared,” Anula snapped. Was that bile crusted at the corner of his mouth or crumbs from a cake?

Sohon flashed his teeth. “Your body language suggests otherwise.”

Anula shifted. Could they feel the uneasiness sinking into her bones? Was it the tether? It didn’t itch, and it hadn’t pulled since she’d found them. “I’m just on a walk.”

“Away from Reeri, after you nearly cleaved your soul?” Kama tilted her head. “I think not. You are more intelligent than that. The nightmare proved it.”

Anula paled. “How did you—”

A rap sounded on the door. Sohon sighed deeply, banging louder.

Kama inched closer, as if Anula were the insect on the ground.

“Has Reeri not explained that you are our tether, too? Though you bargained with him, we are the Yakkas you agreed to tether. You are the ox tied to a cart, and we the carts tied behind the first. A caravan, if you wish. When you hit a bump in the road, we all feel it.”

Anula bit back a groan. Though it was nice to hear a reasonable explanation, it took away any comfort she had left. “Does that mean I’ll see your nightmares, too?”

“I do not know,” Kama said. “Mayhap you see only the first cart.”

A silver lining, finally. “And the tether? It hasn’t itched since I saw you.”

If she only had to stay near one of the four, perhaps her cage wasn’t as small as she’d thought.

Kama smiled, crooked and unsettling. “Continue your walk, Anula. That is what you want, is it not? Go on. You have survived the worst once before. What is another try, if in the end you get what you desire?”

Anula fell rigid, an ache knocking at her heart, a want prickling beneath her sari. “I’m merely a wife, Yakka. My wants lie back in bed and think of the kingdom.”

She turned swiftly and left.

But she was not listening to the Yakka’s instruction.

She’d already been testing the tether’s boundaries.

And it wasn’t as though she could mete out justice to Prophet Ayaan with two Yakkas lingering around.

Abandoning her second attempt, she picked up her skirt and flew out the palace doors.

A guard who wasn’t Bithul nipped at her heels, the houses of the inner city her new goal.

If her theory was correct, if she could position the Yakkas just so, she could move freely throughout the city.

An itch flared as she passed a group of courtiers.

Scraping a hand along the mehendhi, Anula pushed forward.

The tether fluttered against her ribs. One, two, three steps—pain seared her arms. She clenched her jaw and took a step back, then another, until only the pull remained.

Cursed Yakkas, she hadn’t even made it to the concubine estate. Heat burned her face. This was futile.

Nothing worth wanting is had easily, girl.

Anula touched her necklace. She couldn’t give up. Waiting could take weeks, years even. She doubted the Divinities made the relic easy for a Yakka to find.

What, then, was there to do? What would Auntie Nirma have done?

Pray, but that’s what had gotten Anula into this mess.

Beg? Never. She’d rather confront problems head-on, grasp them by the throat, and squeeze.

Auntie Nirma would’ve told her to find her enemy’s enemy, ally with them, or else threaten the enemy’s most valued asset, regardless of—

Anula’s pulse quickened. All she had to do was threaten the relic. But the Blood Yakka knew what constrained her, knew she wouldn’t be able to search past him. The only way a threat would work was if she had an ally. Someone who could seek faster and farther.

She could go to the kitchens, but Premala’s peculiar behavior left her more of a question mark than anything. That left only one. Anula spun to her guard. “Where is Bithul?”

***

The answer was training. Not with other guards, nor for his own benefit. Bithul stood in the center of the military training yard, close to the palace. The itch of the tether disappeared as Anula watched the sweat-glistened guard disarm a young man in less than a minute.

The soldier fell, but instead of cutting him shallowly to teach him a lesson, Bithul reached a hand down and lifted the man up.

“You have much skill with the sword. It’s your footwork that needs practice.

Remember that you want to be lithe, like a jungle cat.

If your enemy can’t catch you, they can’t harm you. ”

“Yes, sir,” the young man said, bowing deep. “I’ll practice harder. Next time, then, it’ll be you in the dirt with ankles about your neck.”

A tense moment pulsed, then Bithul laughed. “Would you like to bet a month’s salary on it?”

“Two months. Plus a bottle of palm wine.”

“That sure, are you, Shahan?”

“Sure enough that you’re getting old.”