Page 51 of Her Soul for a Crown

His name on her lips—the sound was more beautiful than any birdsong, more satisfying than any mango; it surpassed any experience he had of life thus far.

For it was not merely hearing his name that roused his shadow, but hearing Anula say his name that stirred his soul.

He watched her now, in fitful sleep—the weight of duty and the lives of her people pulling her under—and wondered why she had said it, what it meant, or if it meant nothing at all.

Yet…she had kissed him—a true kiss, not the press of her lips to inflict poison and pain. And he could not deny he wanted more.

More connection, more time, to see if she was the elusive soul that communed with his. Reeri shook off the thought, for he could not have more .

Not after her prayer to save her family had fallen on his inattentive ears. Not while she was his tether, his soul offering. Not while he kept the full truth of what he would do with that offering to himself. For true communion had no half-truths.

Reeri reached out between them, stopped shy of touching her.

No longer did she curl up at the edge of the bed but centered herself in the middle.

He swallowed hard. She deserved to know the truth of what was coming, of how he might fail her once again.

But if he spoke it, would she recoil from him as she had before?

Worse, would she flee?

***

“You are the damnation of your brethren,” Wessamony seethed. A gleam, red as fire, in his eyes. A curled smile on his lips. “You are the ruination of all my plans for the ascendence of the Second Heavens. You deserve this and more.”

A whip cracked, high and sharp.

It came away with strips of shadow, the edges frayed and dissolving.

Reeri arced the whip back once again, red eyes on the rent shadows of Sohon, Kama, and Calu.

Thunder shook the bed. Reeri jolted awake, sheets clinging with sweat. A crack of lightning lit the expanse of the raja’s chamber, casting dark phantoms about the room.

The fault lies with you, Reeri , they whispered with the storm. Never forget that.

A soft touch trailed over his fingers, and he flinched.

“It’s me,” Anula said softly through the strobing tempest. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She had not seen, her tincture potent and true—able to keep the nightmares from each other, but unable to rid them altogether. Yet she had asked the question she had forever refused. His shadow ached for her arms around him.

Never before had he spoken of a nightmare. Never before her had he shared the visions that stalked him. Never before had he wanted to. Feared to. Dared to.

“Yes.” His voice cracked.

Anula scooted closer, narrowing the distance. Still, too much remained.

“How did it happen? I want the truth.” Golden starlit eyes flicked to his, and she held him firm. “Please.”

The warmth in her voice, in her gaze, was a hook on a fishing line. It caught him swiftly.

“Wessamony gave the Yakkas a fetter to keep us in our shrines,” he began, then left out no horror.

He laid bare his scheme for the Yakkas’ slow freedom.

She had heard as much already; so too had she seen.

Yet those were half-truths. Here, he gave it in full, hoping it gained him a step closer to true communion.

“One day, when we were celebrating Ratti’s successful matchmaking, she was taken.

Women in masks wielded the power to break our bargains, tear our connections, even rip us into the air and send us back to our shrines.

Yet we were many and they were few—fewer still, as the people who paid for curses did not reap the benefit of their enemy’s suffering.

They turned on the Kattadiya, killed almost all of them.

Those remaining called upon the Lord of the Second Heavens at the start of the Maha Equinox, gave evidence, and argued their case.

If he agreed with them, I do not know. I only know of his anger at my finding the loophole.

I had ruined his plans of ascension, embarrassed him in the Heavens.

So he reduced the Yakkas to shadow and pain.

You have seen the rest.” Reeri took a breath.

“It is my fault. Wessamony spoke the truth. And if I fail them again, I will forever be their tormentor. Their pain, my fault for eternity.”

“Is that why you want to kill him, to redeem yourself?” she asked, no hint of sarcasm, no measure of derision.

“No.”

Anula stared through the moonlight, straight to his shadow. Slowly, she brushed a lock of fallen hair from his eyes.

He sighed. “Yes. Yet there is more to it. They deserve freedom.”

“Of course, they do. But it’s not your duty to free them, because you have nothing to redeem yourself for.”

“How can you say that?” he whispered, voice broken. “You know what I did to the humans to unshackle us, how my actions caused our banishment.”

Anula’s hand dropped. The sudden air stung. Another roll of thunder shook the room, and Anula bit her lip and took a deep breath. “It’s my fault my unborn sibling died, my fault Amma burned to ash on a pyre.”

“No.”

“Yes. I refused to listen to her direction. I let go of her hand. I wasted precious time.”

“You were a child.”

“And if I weren’t? Would it be my fault then?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you were not the attacker.”

Anula smiled as if she had won.

Reeri wished she had. “This is different. You know that.”

“Fine.” She raised on an elbow, challenge forever twinkling in her eyes. “Then what about today? Is it my fault those villagers are dead?”

“No.”

“I told you to send the army. I ordered them to walk into an ambush.”

“You did not know.”

Anula leaned close, her eyelashes nearly touching his. “Neither did you.”

Reeri sighed, gaze falling way. “I wish it were that simple.”

Hands cupped his cheeks, forced his chin up. The touch rippled through the tether, and together, they saw it: his fear.

The shadow within recoiled, and if he had his way, so too would he. For he was not worthy of this kindness, this connection, this feeling he dared hope was his soul communing with another. No matter the magnitude of his yearning for it.

Thunder chased his dreams and promised a lengthy storm—the rains before the monsoon that would mark the Maha Equinox.

“You are worthy,” Anula said over the gale. “You were never not.”

“But—”

She went on, refusing to allow him to argue. “Calu, Kama, and Sohon are not senseless, despite what I judged them to be before. They aren’t following you because they know no other way. They are your family. And family always loves, no matter what. You don’t have to earn it.”

A lump rose in Reeri’s throat. “And what about those not family? Must I earn it then?”

Anula stilled. She held on to his cheeks, closed her eyes, and when she reopened them, he felt it more than saw it. Deep within, past the pain and the walls, lived a soul who loved wholeheartedly, devotion intertwined with a fierce protection.

“I forgive you.”

Reeri blanched. “What?”

“I forgive you for that night, for not answering my prayer.”

A ringing started in his ears. He sat up, slowly removing her hands.

“And banishment was not your fault.”

He looked away. “Anula—”

But she gripped all the tighter. Pulled him down and nearly growled, “Wessamony is a liar. He wanted to hurt you, the masked women wanted to hurt you, but you did nothing wrong. They were wrong. I was wrong.”

The words caught his breath.

Everything he had yearned to hear.

“I was wrong about you, Reeri,” she whispered. “You’re everything I thought you weren’t. A caring and, unfortunately, handsome shadow.”

More than he had dared to dream.

A tear dropped. “You are a devastatingly beautiful soul.”

Humidity stoked the air, the scent of jasmine sharp and all-consuming. Reeri’s eyes flicked up and down her form. What would it be like…if he were merely a man and she merely a woman living in the same village? No bargains, no deals, no tinctures.

Anula’s breaths quickened and she leaned closer.

Every fiber of Reeri’s being wanted her to close the gap, to press her lips on his—but this mouth, this body, was not his. “We cannot,” he whispered.

She paused a breath away. “I know.”

He saw it then, as much as he felt it. Another echo, this time their desire.

“Reeri?”

O Heavens, his name on her lips—it drew out a dream, and before he could think better, Reeri cupped her face to show her.

That if he were merely a man and she were merely a woman, he would bring her flowers from the mountaintops: binara and blue water lilies.

She would not put them in vials around her neck.

He would take her to the waterfalls and feed her aluwa by the nightly fires.

He would take her hand as they strolled through the city.

If he were merely a man and she were merely a woman, he would have leaned into her embrace tonight. Laid her softly on the bed. Unwrapped her from her sari. He would have found her shape beneath, would have worshiped it as though she were the Heavenly being in his shrine.

If he were a man and she were a woman, he would kiss the soft space betwixt her shoulder and neck; nip along her delicate collarbone; trail fingers down the length of her curves; journey around her breasts; explore the hidden cave beneath her bush, until her thighs shivered and warmth soaked his fingers.

He would taste his way down her body with teeth and tongue until she sang.

And then he would deliver her to the cosmos.

Reeri lost himself to the fantasy. His heart beat swiftly as he gazed at the woman whose destiny had never held the word merely .

Bee-stung lips parted in a sigh. “Reeri.”

His name sent a flame down his spine, a heat low in his loins. But when they kissed again, it would be his lips upon hers. “Anula.”

They paused, allowing the full force of his dream to settle, to simmer, and then to slip away. Slowly, Anula dropped her hands and pulled out of his embrace, and as the morning sun rose, so too did their shared duty.

The time for dreaming was gone.