Page 3 of Her Soul for a Crown
Anula hunched over a wide table, scribbling across a long, narrow piece of paper.
The knock at the door hadn’t been her calling; it had been a missive from Auntie Nirma. To the naked eye, it was a loving letter from her only family member, but once held to candle flame, the true message revealed itself.
Usurper on the move. Allied with palace traitors and Polonnaruwa Kingdom. Must hurry. New names: Tissa Bandara, Nihal Kumara, Deepal Dissanayake.
Hand racing, Anula copied it down, tucked her list into a seam of her sari, and burned the missive. The edges curled in on themselves, darkened, and dissolved. Her anxiety did not.
Her list—Auntie Nirma’s list—could only come into play after Anula met with the raja.
After she wooed him. After she married him.
A concubine couldn’t rid the palace of corrupt ministers or traitors to the Anuradhapura Kingdom.
A concubine was lucky to spend her days in the estate, or else be freed to marry before she was old and gray and barren.
There was no justice system for concubines, women, or the poor of the kingdom.
They had no voice, and so a concubine could not wield political power.
But a raejina could.
The first raejina of Anuradhapura.
Another knock sounded at the door. This time Anula’s heart didn’t race; her pulse didn’t spike. There was no time to waste, to second-guess. A usurper was on her heels.
***
The smell of jasmine and rose wafted around Anula’s sari, tingling in her nose. Steam billowed and swirled from the Kuttam Pokuna bathhouse, softening her shoulders and easing the tension from her muscles as two servants undressed her.
“Tonight will be your ceremonial cleansing to prepare your body for service to the raja,” the elder said, initiating the ritual hundreds, if not thousands, of concubines had undergone.
“You’ll spend tomorrow in your room, preparing your mind for service to the raja.
Prayer to both Heavens begins now, to prepare your soul for service to the raja. ”
Anula knew the servant’s name, knew the date she’d begun working in the concubine estate, knew what her allegiance was to the kingdom, even knew she had a birthmark behind her right ear.
Auntie Nirma was nothing if not thorough.
But this servant was not an ally. And though not an enemy, Anula had no time for those who didn’t fall into either group. Idle chitchat wouldn’t rectify the wounds brought on by the Age of Usurpers. According to Auntie Nirma, that was Anula’s purpose. The reason she lived while so many others—
No. There was no point thinking of them.
The two servants whispered blessings as they stripped Anula bare, the night air sending a chill along her spine.
Between the palace and the gardens stood four granite statues of conches and crabs marking the corners of the long, languid pool.
Bottles of perfumes and oils lined one side; candles flickered on the other.
“Forgive her all transgressions, infinitely wise and powerful Divinities,” the younger servant said, leading Anula to the edge of the water. “We pray mercy and favor upon her life. Make her a blessing to the raja.”
Anula snorted. If the Divinities knew of her plan for the great raja and his corrupt followers, they most assuredly would not bless it. Retribution tended to be a Yakka endeavor.
“Are you well?” the older servant asked. She reached out to cup Anula’s face. “If you are overcome with emotion, I can bring you a kerchief. It is all right to feel—”
“I’m fine.” Before the touch settled on her cheek, Anula pulled away and took the first step down into the bathing pool.
The water cooled her sun-warmed skin and anxiety-riddled veins.
A large, colorfully painted fish glimmered from the floor.
The Makara, the sea dragon known for feasting on fishermen, slipped beneath her feet.
Rising starlight danced on its scales, giving the impression of movement, as if it were swimming from one end to the other.
Anula blinked.
It was swimming from one end to the other. Gliding across the stone floor, the sea dragon shimmered not with moonlight or starlight but with—
“Heavenly blessing,” Anula whispered. Her eyes flicked to the servants. “So the tales are true? The palace is filled with blessed gifts?”
“Why would they be false?” The younger woman cocked her head. “The Heavens do not lie. The palace is the in-between, a place created and endowed with objects blessed with their powers so that we may experience and know their love.”
The last word skittered up Anula’s arm, raising the flesh in its wake.
The servants took no notice, gently lifting one arm each, and began their cleansing.
The oils were first, working her into a lather.
One for cleaning and scrubbing, another for purging and flushing, and yet another for purifying and rejuvenating.
“It’s time you prayed with us,” the younger woman said, delicately leaning Anula until she floated on her back.
She would have snorted again but didn’t want to risk either of them trying to comfort her. She didn’t need comfort. And she didn’t need prayer.
Even more ridiculous than offering bargains to the Yakkas, who were said to have been banished and executed centuries ago, was soliciting favor from the ancient Divinities.
There was no reasoning to why the Heavens were split in two, other than to give people the option of either bartering or begging.
At least in the Yakka tradition, people could come as themselves, offering what they had.
The Divinities demanded purity, perfection, and unquestionable faith that if a person was good enough, they would receive what they’d asked for.
But more often than not, prayers went unanswered.
The faithful said it was the fault of the person, that they were not worthy, that they must pray more, repent more, build more stupas with white bulbs that loomed over the city, tithe a portion of their meager earnings to the expansion of the structure, of the faith.
Then perhaps, one day, one of their prayers would be met with gracious favor.
Who would love such deities?
It was all lies, anyway. Stories of old.
The reason people’s prayers went unanswered was not lack of perfection or weak trade.
It was because the sky, the stars, and everything beyond was empty.
Centuries ago, the Heavens imbued artistic objects with their powers, dropped them into a palace only the wealthiest families or most violent usurpers had a chance of entering, then left Anuradhapura to its own devices.
They didn’t listen to prayers, much less grant them.
Anula knew that better than anyone.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Prophet Ayaan. Commander Dilshan. Raja Mahakuli Mahatissa. The first names on her list. She repeated them like a mantra, the closest she’d get to a prayer ever again. The names tingled the back of her neck. A promise whispered in the night.
The time for retribution had come.
Time for change had, too.
Anula came to deliver the justice they thought they’d evaded. Unfortunately for them, she’d survived that awful night.
***
It felt like a hundred years ago, Anula’s first life. The truth was it’d only been twelve. Twelve years since she’d been home, since she’d prayed, since that night she had slid her amma’s necklace onto her throat.
She wasn’t supposed to; Amma had forever said she didn’t pay enough attention to be trusted with it. That she’d need to be older, calmer, wiser before the sapphires would be passed down to her, perhaps after she was betrothed.
But that night, she figured what Amma didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Anula didn’t have much time. Thaththa was already at the table, expectantly awaiting his wife and daughter. The soft light of dusk and an evening breeze floated through the open windows in Amma’s room, casting Anula in a golden hue as she studied herself in the mirror.
The two-tier jewelry was so large on her, she had to tilt her chin high for it to fit.
She didn’t mind. She twirled in her sari, this way and that, watching the sparkle of the diamonds reflect in her eyes, stars against the dark night sky.
As if she were from the Heavens themselves, touched by the Divinities Thaththa worshiped or the Yakkas to whom Amma always prayed.
“It’s beautiful on you, darling.”
Anula whirled. “Amma, I was just—”
“I know.” Amma smiled, the expression small and delicate, just like her. The opposite of Anula. “You can wear it, but only for tonight.”
“Really?” Perhaps Anula didn’t have to wait to be small and delicate and mature, too.
Amma rubbed her rounded belly, then took Anula’s hand and led her out the door. “Tonight is special. We’re celebrating Thaththa’s invitation to the palace.”
“The raja finally called him?”
“More than that.” Thaththa’s voice swam with pride as they entered the dining area. A wide smile spread beneath his gray beard and creased the corners of his eyes. “I’m to receive a position on the board of ministers. It’s all happening, my loves.”
Amma leaned over him, cupping his cheek in her hand.
He grazed his fingers down her arm and across her belly.
A touch to say hello, a touch to say I’m proud , a touch to say I love you .
A language Anula had deciphered years ago.
Though they kissed often, it was the contact in between that spoke the loudest. She saw how Amma softened into his hugs, how Thaththa’s shoulders relaxed under her hand, even after ten years of marriage, after welcoming one child and burying three, after droughts and floods and wildly prosperous seasons.
They were each other’s comfort, their safe place, their home.
They were a solid foundation on which Anula’s life couldn’t be shaken, and a dream on which she built visions of her own future.