Page 49 of Her Soul for a Crown

Silence pressed heavily against the Kattadiya caves, the darkness a shroud to the evil Anula knew lurked within. Flickering light cast the Divinities’ statues to dancing, like gravestones come alive in the night.

Wiping the sweat from her palms, she hailed Guruthuma Thilini and followed her to Premala.

She tried not to think of the rawness of her hands, how she had scrubbed the blood from them until she couldn’t tell what was hers and what wasn’t.

Though it had eventually washed away, the anxiety had not.

It tremored now, just below the placid tether.

Kama had loved her beating heart enough to agree to go to the gardens again, asking no questions and telling no secrets.

Before opening the door, Anula took a deep, steadying breath. This wouldn’t be her last visit. Since she couldn’t break the blood oath or command them to stop, she had to postpone the tovil, or what she and the Yakkas wanted would slip from her grasp.

Anula pushed into the room and smirked. “I see we’re practicing the gentle touch today.”

The pair of girls blew apart, traces of their embrace pink along their swollen lips.

“Anula,” Premala squeaked, tripping over a double-sided drum and crashing to the floor. “I—I didn’t think you’d come back.”

The other girl, dressed in a maid’s sari, gently picked her up.

Anula shut the door, a plan forming. “You asked me to trust you.”

Premala bit her lip. “I didn’t think you would.”

“Why?”

“You—you’re the raejina consort, and I’m…no one.”

The other girl clucked her tongue.

“Is that what your guruthuma tells you?” Anula asked.

Premala pulled away from the girl, turned to the wall of masks, and fumbled as she reached for a new one, with longer teeth and wider eyes. “You both know what I mean. I’m only a fisherman’s daughter, an acolyte.”

“You’re more than that,” the other girl said.

Premala flushed, nearly dropping the mask.

“Let’s practice,” the girl said. “Prove to Guruthuma Hashini what I’ve always seen.”

Premala hurriedly tied the mask over her face.

It didn’t hide the red of her neck, nor the longing gaze they shared, as if the distance between them were as vast as the Makara-infested ocean.

An ache caught in Anula’s chest. She coughed it out.

“Do I need a formal invitation to be introduced to your mango girl?”

“Mango girl?”

“Oh,” Premala squealed.

Anula cocked her head. “Didn’t you tell her how I saved you from being locked outside the concubine estate all night, mango-less?”

“I saved you, too,” Premala murmured.

Anula turned to the girl who now settled on the stone floor with the drum on her lap. “What’s your name?”

“Sandani.” She bowed her head slightly. “It’s an honor to meet you.”

“And you.”

Sandani smiled. It was kind and genuine, yet sturdy, as though she knew a thing or two about how to survive in the world, how to bide time and bend rules. The same smile Auntie Nirma would give.

“We should practice now,” Premala said, her voice pitching.

Anula ignored her. “How did you meet?”

Premala cut in before Sandani answered. “We really must practice.”

“Why?” Anula asked sarcastically. “Is the tovil that hard, or are you that unskilled?”

“No,” Premala said, less a statement and more a question.

Anula sighed, heavy and exaggerated. “Does it usually take the Kattadiya this long to prepare?”

“No, but it’s new and vastly more important.”

“Why were you chosen for this, and not someone more adept?”

“I—I am.”

“Then why is it taking so long?”

“Because…”

“Perhaps I should ask the guruthuma for a replacement.”

“You brought back the Yakkas!” Premala snapped. “You can’t blame me for needing more time.”

Anula’s brows shot high. Perhaps the girl had a backbone after all. Now she needed only to see the truth of the Kattadiya, and Anula could pull her out. Perhaps make her a real ally. Before the tovil was called to be performed.

Premala bowed, the edge of the mask clanking to the floor. “Apologies, my—I didn’t mean to yell. It’s only—I haven’t slept.”

“We’ve been extremely busy,” Sandani explained.

“The nights are long and the bargainers many. The crowd that has gathered in the city for the Festival of the Cosmos is larger than any in history. The fear of the Polonnaruwan war is high, and more people are making bargains. Guruthuma Hashini tasked us with stopping the bargains before they’re made, meaning we spend day and night seeking out bargainers, just as they say their prayers. The stupas are overrun.”

“You’re stopping bargains from being made?” Anula asked. “I thought your task was to break the bad ones.”

“They’re all bad. Stopping them before they start is a kindness. Besides, we need to stop them only while the Yakkas still live. Once Premala performs the new ceremony—”

“They’ll be dead.” Anula’s voice turned dusty and dry. “But aren’t you going against the purpose of the festival? The entirety of the Heavens is to be honored, not only the First.”

“Just because it’s tradition doesn’t make it right,” Premala said, the words rolling off her tongue as if she’d chewed them, swallowed them, regurgitated them. “People have been blinded, Anula. The Second Heavens do not love us as the Divinities do.”

Reeri’s hand flashed in Anula’s mind. His gentle touch, his kind words, the meeting he’d set up with Dilshan because he saw what was in her heart.

No, the Yakkas did not care as Fate or Destiny or Fortune. That was not a half-truth. They cared more.

Sandani reached out, skimmed her fingers along Premala’s arm. Anula jerked her chin. “If the First Heavens love you so much, why must the two of you hide?”

Sandani’s hand stilled.

“Why are you doing this?” Premala asked, voice small.

“Doing what?”

“I know you’re dedicated to the people of this kingdom, Anula, but you’re making it difficult.”

“Making what difficult?”

“To continue being on your side.”

“Since when have you been on my side? You’ve made it clear that you are a Kattadiya, and that I must be, too, thanks to a blood oath I wasn’t aware I took.

You’re the one who has lied to me for an underground sect trying to kill beings of the Heavens, while actually killing people who make bargains.

A sect that tells you that you are nothing, that you must prove your worth, that won’t accept you for who you are even if you do prove them wrong.

And you blame me? Why are the two of you even here? ”

Sandani sat straighter. “It’s my birthright. My mother, her mother, her mother before her, and so on for centuries have been Kattadiya. And Premala has been given the chance to carry on her stepmother’s tradition.”

Anula scoffed. “Didn’t you say that tradition isn’t always right?”

“It isn’t always wrong either,” Sandani argued.

“You can’t have it both ways.”

“Yes, you can.”

Anula rolled her eyes. “This chance then, is it me? Is that why I, the person who brought back the Yakkas, is being taken care of by an acolyte instead of the guruthuma?”

Sandani shook her head. “Not at first.”

Premala shushed her, sliding the mask off her face.

“What was it at first?”

“Nothing, it’s not important,” Premala rushed to say. “Please, can we practice? It’s getting late.”

“Does it have to do with why you’re in the palace kitchens?”

“Anula.”

“Is that how you met? You both have the same task?”

“All acolytes spend time in the palace,” Sandani said. Premala glared at her.

“I would ask why, but it seems futile.”

“It is,” Premala said, slamming the mask on her face once more. She let out a soft yip. “Now, please, let’s practice.”

“I thought we were friends.”

Premala grabbed Anula’s arm. She was stronger than she looked. “Lie down. I’ve got the new dolla to place around you.”

Anula dug in her heels. “Why won’t you tell me why you’re in the palace?”

“Why won’t you let me do my duty?”

“Why won’t you explain?”

“ For prayer’s sake , Anula! Please! The guruthuma will be here soon to check on our progress.”

Sandani’s eyes flicked to the door. Anxiety clammed Premala’s hands, sweat slick on Anula’s arms.

“You’re both frightened of her.” It was not a question.

Faces of the women in Auntie Nirma’s network flashed.

Their loyalty tied to the facts of poverty and abuse, their dream of a future where they didn’t bleed, didn’t bruise, didn’t cower.

Where they could live the dream of love.

Anula lowered her voice, her hand drifting up.

It paused for moment in the air, then landed softly on Premala’s shoulder. “You don’t have to stay. Come with me.”

“No,” Premala snapped. “The First Heavens created us, chose us, blessed us, and tasked us to protect the people from the influence of the Yakkas!”

Anula pulled Premala close. “That doesn’t mean—”

Bright white pain flared, bending Anula over. Blinded, she hit the floor, as though a fire-heated blade cut her in half.

Premala snapped back. “What’s happening?”

Anula cried out. The mehendhi on her arms shattered, pieces flying into the air only to dive back into her flesh, knitting itself together. Again and again. Blood oozed and vanished, flowed and disappeared.

Kama. Had she moved? But why? She knew what would happen if the tether stretched too far.

“Anula?”

The tether screamed, unlike anything before. It wasn’t a rope or a bridle tugging tight. It writhed one moment, as if cut in two, and wrenched taut the next, as if it’d only ever been one. Back and forth. Gone and there and gone again.

“Something’s wrong.” Anula gritted her teeth, then tripped as she was suddenly in a court, nails tearing shadow, her stomach souring—but when she blinked, she was back in the cave.

A cold emptiness flooded her. No, not her. It coursed down the tether and crashed against her heart, but it came from Reeri, agony swelling, cresting. Cursed blessings, what was happening to him?

A sob broke her lips. Sandani rushed forward, yanking Premala away. Anula could only imagine what they thought. Probably a clear example of the influence of the Yakkas and the evil they bestowed.

“I have to check on the raja.” Anula took an agonizing step toward the door. And then another. And another. Her skin flayed and knit. Drops of blood trailed behind her.

“I was right,” Premala gasped. “The raja is of one of those possessed by the Yakkas.”

Anula stumbled but refused to fall. “I have to check on him.”

“Why? He’s a Yakka. He doesn’t need you.”

“Yes, he does.”

The knowing settled deep. She swung the door open.

“Look what he’s doing to you! The Yakkas don’t care about you, Anula. It’s a lie. Don’t be fooled into caring for him.”

Anula’s heart skipped a beat. Fear drove her steps now, as it had before—when Auntie Nirma collapsed with a spear in her chest; when Thaththa choked on liquefied bowels; when Amma lit up like a fire at a festival.

“Too late,” Anula mumbled. She’d vowed to never be fooled by the Heavens again, yet her feet carried her swiftly to the palace.

A fool once again.

***

“Reeri!” Anula shouted, skidding onto her knees. He lay in the center of the bed, sweat-slicked and pale, as if he’d been sick for days.

“The palace,” he rasped, eyes fluttering.

“Are you all right?” Anula’s hands wavered over Reeri’s body.

Kama had not been in the gardens when she’d emerged from the caves.

Calu and Sohon were nowhere in sight as she ran through the halls.

She flung open the bedchamber doors, and Reeri sat up, only to crash back against the pillows. Her breath had stalled.

Pink nelum, kaneru, thel endaru—Anula’s fingers tripped over sapphires, unsure which could help. He had no wounds; there was no blood. Even the tether had steadied. But her heart ached with fear and dread and guilt and shame.

“Here,” Reeri rasped again. She couldn’t hear the rest.

“What?” Anula leaned closer, smelled cinnamon and death. “What happened?”

Reeri forced himself up, frightened like a child in the night. “If I fail—”

Anula shushed him. He wasn’t making sense. Had it been a nightmare? Perhaps it was a bad reaction to her tincture. She reached up and brushed a stray hair from his sticky forehead. “You aren’t going to fail.”

He grabbed her wrist, held her hand at his cheek. “What if I do?”

The touch was warm, sizzling up her arms. His deep brown eyes blazed. A shadow shuddered just beneath. The real Reeri. The truth in the lie.

“You won’t,” she said, taking his other hand.

“But—”

“I will make sure of it.”

Reeri let out a breath, tension ebbing away, and folded into a heap. His head dropped on her shoulder. Anula slipped her hands from his, wrapping her arms around him, and squeezed tight.

She closed her eyes as his cinnamon scent enveloped her, caressed her, and taking a deep breath in, she let her head fall onto his. Let her chin feel the tingle of his hair, let her lips find his forehead, find the tops of his cheekbones and the tip of his nose.

And then she let her lips find the fullness of his and gently brush against them.