Page 49 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’smemories. 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.”
