Page 32 of Her Soul for a Crown

The shadow ripped out of the raja.

Dark, insubstantial features sharpened into a chin and cheekbones. Saffron eyes flashed open.

A white noise keened as Anula’s skin tore from muscle and bone.

But she’d had no choice. The Blood Yakka had ridiculed her warning, dismissed her challenge.

She had to make him see that she was no mere wife, no Jewel for a raja, and that he didn’t actually care.

He was deluding himself and lying to his patrons.

Choking sounded. Siva—the man, now free of Yakka control—lay on his back, blood strangling his breath. Cursed Yakkas, of course the Blood Yakka was right; she wouldn’t let an innocent die. But he’d goaded her so quickly, she hadn’t had time to check whether her necklace held the antidote.

Ignoring her own stripping flesh, she rushed to him, fingers tripping over sapphires. Tincture, poison, remedy. None of them were right. She swayed on her feet, searching her bedside. But the room tilted. The edges of her vision rippled, and she crashed to the floor.

“Raejina Consort!” Bithul gathered her up and deftly swung her toward another guard. No, not a guard—a palace worker.

“Mighty Heavens,” the man seethed. “Stop this! Can you not see we are—”

He paused as Anula held out the vial. “Help. Siva.”

The fire in the man’s eyes snuffed out. Dismissing the vial, he knelt close to Siva, whispered, and waited.

Siva wheezed, coughing out a prayer. A bargain.

The man pressed a hand on Siva’s mouth. His shoulders lifted from the floor, back arched, as the blood retraced its path.

Slowly and in reverse. With a deep breath, Siva collapsed. Blinked. Breathed.

Relief settling like a balm, Anula glanced at the Blood Yakka, Reeri, who’d heeded her command and saved a human life—as though he actually did care.

***

“Splitting me from a human is too much for their body to take.”

Perched in bed, Anula watched as her blisters healed. The tether sighed in satisfaction, as the Blood Yakka, now Raja Vatuka, held her in his bushy arms.

“Will he be all right?” Anula asked, fingers fidgeting on the wood carving. The blessed gift raejina hid behind her raja. Anula couldn’t blame her. Poisoncraft wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“He remembers nothing,” the Blood Yakka promised. “He is as healthy as the day he was born—now with a new name and new life far from the palace. His bargain saw to that.”

“Is that what you whispered? You told him to make a bargain?”

The Blood Yakka nodded. “I cannot act without one. It disrupts the balance.” His gaze wandered to the painting of the Heavens on the ceiling, a grimace marring his lips. “Thank the Heavens he was lucid enough to pray.”

The chamber filled with heavy silence. Anula heard the unspoken words that hung between. They crawled over scarred tissue, nipped at sensitive skin. If she hadn’t been so focused on her bargain…

“Thank you.” Her voice was small.

The Blood Yakka matched her gaze. “I do not want your thanks.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I do not want that either.”

Anula bit her lip. “It won’t happen again.”

“Do you mean that?” Worry lines wrinkled his forehead. For the first time, Anula wondered who he worried for.

She held his stare. “Yes.”

He searched her, as if trying to read her mind. “I hope so.”

Turning over, he blew out the last candle, leaving Anula alone with her thoughts, her doubts, and her healing skin.

She rolled onto her side, watching the Blood Yakka from the edge of the bed, the chasm wide between them.

He had judged her fairly, and she’d deserved it, but he hadn’t mentioned the other thing—what she had seen when they kissed.

He had liked it.

It was everything he thought a kiss was meant to be, everything he had dreamed of it being.

A sizzle at first, exploding on his tongue and raining down his body.

Every muscle, every bone alight. There was a thirst for more, the hunger deep and aching.

But he also thought it shouldn’t have happened like this, in another’s body.

It should’ve been his breath on her skin, his hands pressed onto her waist, his girth rising to meet her heat. His lips sliding against hers.

Anula softened. How had a centuries-old being never been kissed?

She wondered what it would be like to kiss a Yakka—sharp edges and sharp teeth biting gently, teasing and testing bounds.

Perhaps kissing a shadow would be the same.

She shuddered, her fingers tingling. Desire grew fast and wild, like a fire caught in the jungle.

Close the gap , the tether yearned. Find out , it cooed.

Pull the shadow—not to kill, but to kiss .

To know what his soul tasted like. Perhaps if she touched him just right, touched him gently…

Her fingers stretched across the chasm.

Cursed Yakkas.

Anula yanked her hand back and flipped over, wincing at the tug on her new skin. She’d lost too much blood; it was making her delusional. She pressed her eyes firmly closed and told herself to sleep. Because the shadow that was the Blood Yakka wanted a relic, not a kiss.

As did she.

***

But Anula found herself in Reeri’s mind, staring as a Yakka pressed a kiss onto another’s forehead.

They were tall, edges keen and features wide, similar to the one she’d seen in the last memory-nightmare.

She watched them carefully, a surge of warmth in her chest, as if the Blood Yakka had long awaited this.

They parted, Calu and a female. Then she pressed a kiss on Anula’s cheek.

It tingled and drew her smile. Dark tresses curled down to the female’s waist, swaying in the breeze as she handed them both wrapped gifts.

“From the Indian continent,” she said, her voice melodic. “Minister Advik sought many loves. The tether took us beyond any border a merchant has hailed from.”

“And his wife?” The Blood Yakka’s voice slipped from Anula’s lips. “Did he find his true love?”

Ratti giggled. “Do you think me incompetent? Kama is not the only Lady of Love. The minister’s pleasure saw no bounds. Neither did the woman’s.” She winked. “His new wife will never be displeased with what I taught him.”

Calu waggled his eyebrows, and Anula felt her cheeks heat. “Reeri does not like to hear bed talk; he only wants satisfied patrons.”

“Oh, they are satisfied, tenfold. Shall I tell you how?”

“The gist is enough.” The Blood Yakka huffed and unfolded a bright tunic from its package. “Thank you, Ratti.”

“Only the best for my two favorite brothers.” Ratti swept a curl from Calu’s forehead. “Now, you, have you heeded my advice and made new friends?”

Calu dimmed. “They do not want to know me.”

“Because you have not let them see you.”

“Why do I need friends? I have you and Reeri. That is enough for me.”

Hands on hips, Ratti tutted and turned to the Blood Yakka, but before she spoke, a drumbeat sounded. Ratti clutched her chest.

The gifts dropped to the darkened village floor, and Anula reached out in panic. Fear struck Ratti’s face, and her body flew through the blackened brush. Calu sprinted, Anula on his heels.

Boom.

The drum beat louder.

Boom.

It thrummed in her chest.

“Ohng Hreeng.” A chant rose in the night, reaching for the moon. Men in masks danced in a wide circle. Ratti spiraled above them.

Heavens, what was happening?

Boom.

Ratti’s cries bounced off their chant.

Boom.

It tore her apart. Blood and shadow burst into pieces, falling like sand on the shore.

Boom.

And blowing away on the wind.

Boom.

Her form reassembled on the edge of the village. Calu and Anula caught her in their arms.

“Who would do such a thing?” Calu gasped.

Fear pitched the Blood Yakka’s voice. “Who else have they done it to?” A flash of Yakka faces bottomed out Anula’s stomach. Another flash of villagers’ faces made her gag.

Boom.

“Great Divinities of the First Heavens,” the masked assailants yelled, their voices raised as one. “Save us from all evil. Send your blessed deliverance!”

The earth shook and the Heavens erupted. A shiver racked Anula. A searing pain tore her shadow from her form.

A whip snapped. Cries rained down on marble stone. “The fault is entirely yours.”

Claws thrust the whip into Anula’s hand.

“You shall be the Yakkas’ tormentor.” Lord Wessamony’s horns flared bright. “For eternity.”

The words struck Anula in the chest, blew out her breath.

“Please,” Ratti wept. “Help.”

A tear slid from Anula’s eyes, her hands shaking, trying and failing to stop her arm from arcing back.

And swinging forward.

***

The Blood Yakka screamed.

Anula jolted awake, instinctively reaching out a hand. The Blood Yakka flinched away, a flush on his ears. Her hand snapped back.

“I did not mean to fall asleep,” he murmured, eyeing dark corners as though they hid masked men and whips.

Questions knocked into one another in Anula’s head. “Who were they?”

“It does not matter,” he growled, hackles rising.

She scoffed. “They attacked the Yakkas, and no story of old mentioned men in masks. I think that matters.”

“Why? I thought you did not believe.”

“And I thought you said the old stories only told half-truths. What happened?”

“It does not matter now.” He glanced at the mural on the ceiling, wiped sweat from his brow.

“Yes, it does,” Anula insisted.

“Why?” he snapped.

Because , she wanted to yell. Because what she’d witnessed these past weeks and what she’d experienced over the years didn’t fit together.

She’d only ever seen the selfish side of the Heavens, unable to understand why Amma and Auntie Nirma loved them so.

Because truth mattered as much as justice. It set people free.

“Why did you save Siva?” she asked instead.

“It was the right thing to do.” He answered without pause, as if this was his purpose.

Anula fell silent. This Blood Yakka had nothing in common with the creature from the old stories.

His shadow wasn’t grotesque; high cheekbones and a sharp chin didn’t drip with the endless need for blood and death and decay.

He rushed to rescue those in peril, herself included. Not once, but thrice.

She’d thought it was out of fear of losing his tether and being banished once more to the aether without finishing his business, but he’d worked hurriedly for Siva and held her soothingly.

And that worry she’d seen in his eyes… She was right; it wasn’t for himself.

She’d felt that same fear in the memory-nightmare.

Fear for the Yakkas.

Fear for the people.

The Blood Yakka ran a shaky hand through his hair as the space between his brows puckered. If the stories of old were half-truths, if Auntie Nirma’s faith was true, did that mean that the Yakkas actually cared?

The Blood Yakka expelled an unsteady breath. Anula’s eyes flicked to his lips.

But if he cared, why hadn’t Amma been saved?

Rain pattered the windows, storm clouds erasing the light of the moon, plunging the bedchamber into darkness.

“What about the night market?”

“Wh-what?” Anula stuttered, pulled from the precipice that was Amma’s final night.

“Last I was here, secrets tended to be sold in the night markets. Do you think we could find the relic there?”

A coldness swept through her. He’d changed the subject. He didn’t want to tell her about masked men and why he cared for everyone except—

“Yes,” she said, shaking the thought off.

The night market was a perfect place for relics to exchange hands, real or false.

Spreading from corners of the outer city, it clogged the streets from dusk to dawn.

Vendors sold food, as usual, but also concubines by the hour, drinks that turned reality to dreams, and goods stolen from other lands.

If the palace or the Heavens disapproved, it would be of high demand in the night market.

Wasn’t that where Nuwan had intended to take his relic?

Perhaps there they’d find the Bone Blade or the one Anula sought to use.

“That’s a perfect place to look. I should’ve thought of it myself. ”

“Good.” The Blood Yakka stood and paced the room to the rhythm of the rain. “Let us go tomorrow, before another nightmare befalls us.”

His hands shook at his sides, as they had in the nightmare.

“It wasn’t your fault, was it?” The words slipped from her mouth before she could catch them. “Something else happened.”

The Blood Yakka stilled. He didn’t meet her gaze.

“Sleep, Anula. I will stay awake to keep the dreams at bay,” he whispered, as if he truly cared.