Page 76 of Her Soul for a Crown
Calu whistled low. “Glad I will not be here to see her ire after her soul is cleaved. Mayhap she should not have the throne; she may be worse than any usurper.”
The thought nipped at Reeri. “That was the bargain. It cannot be broken.”
She had chosen this, he reminded himself as the tetherstretched. He had chosen this, too. For his brethren.
There was so much blood on his hands.
He only required one drop more, given freely.
He would rend her soul into pieces, yet leave her with a crown. She would understand. They were not dissimilar. There was no cost too high for their people.
Why, then, did it not feel right?
29
The Bone Blade was small, barely the length of a hand, its hilt smooth and alabaster as an elephant tusk, the edge a sharp iron.
Anula flipped it over. If she didn’t know better, she’d say it was a mere knife, something given to a child before they were old enough to wield a sword. Perhaps that was exactly what it was. She grimaced at the thought and the knowledge that this relic, or whatever it may be, was only the first step on an innumerable list.
Even now, after they’d witnessed each other’s pasts, the Blood Yakka didn’t trust her with the truth. She had begun to believe him, to listen to the things he had said. How could she not? She’d seen the masks, heard the chant, watched as a mark of Calu’s curse was torn from a man. She understood the stories of old were half-truths. Not in the way she’d always thought, but in the same way Anuradhapura’s history was glazed with a false veneer. Usurpers had a knack for burying shameful facts.
The stories of old warned of the bloodthirsty Yakkas, who cared for the people in a balanced way. One couldn’t have blessing without curses. One couldn’t know happiness without firstknowing pain. She saw it now, the web the stories of old spun. She saw the truth of the Blood Yakka. His care, his hurt, his burden, and his obligation to his people, just as he had seen hers.
So why not tell her the truth? Maybe the answer entangled with her other question: Why hadn’t Amma been saved?
Perhaps the Blood Yakka simply didn’t care for Anula.
Maybe because of her unfaithfulness or her jests. Either way, he didn’t trust her. He kept her off his allies list.
It stung, but she brushed it away. What was done was done. If he didn’t want her to know the truth of his business or how long it would take to complete her bargain, so be it. Thank the cursed Heavens for the Kattadiya and the missive they’d slipped behind Nuwan’s, requesting she meet them today. Bargain or no bargain, Anula would have her throne.
“The blade is not merely one bone,” Kama said, sidestepping a group of travelers.
“What?” Anula asked, skirting around another. The outer city was packed elbow to elbow, even thirteen days from the festival. With the war waging heavier than ever and usurpers taking control every other week, it was no wonder the people of Anuradhapura poured in. They arrived ready to pay homage to the saviors of their family, to beg and barter for that safety to remain.
“The bones were gifted by Fate’s devotees,” Bithul answered. “The stories of old say fifty men and women gave their lives, a bone taken from each. Leg and arm, head and chest, crushed and melded together. A sacrifice of life to stop death.”
“I wonder at their demise,” Kama said, eyes wistful. “Mayhap that very blade plunged into their hearts. Would that not be fitting? Love imbuing it from tip to tail.”
Anula recoiled, handing the relic to Bithul as they entered the inner city. “Give it to the Blood Yakka.”
“Do you not want to?” he asked, stars twinkling in his eyes ashe slid a soft finger over the bone. Anula imagined he was one of those faithful counting down the days to the festival, his home full of offerings, his face turned to the sky.
“I want for him to complete our bargain.” She paused at the edge of the Pleasure Gardens. At least Nuwan hadn’t put up a fight. Eyes as large as a banana leaf, he snatched the blessed gift, nearly throwing the blade to the ground. What a way to treat a sacred relic. But perhaps that was all the sign she’d needed. She pressed a hand to her skirt, feeling the crinkle of Premala’s missive. “I have other things to attend to until then.”
“I will go with you.”
Anula lifted a brow. “You want to bathe with me? The courtiers would love that. Their handsome, sweat-slicked guard—”
“I’ll give this to the raja”—Bithul blushed—“and send in your ladies.”
“No, I want to be alone. Didn’t you ever need time to yourself when your dream of being commander was stolen from you?”
Bithul stiffened, darkness hooding his eyes. He knew what it was to desire something so close, yet so far. That specific ache of wanting, when all signs pointed to it never being attained. “Of course, my raejina consort.”
“Did you ever try to find another way?” Anula peered at the gardens, where the missive told her to go.
“My being commander is not important,” he said, brows furrowing, gaze alight. “The training of our young soldiers and the building of their confidence is what matters. Else they won’t return from the battlefield and the commander will have no one to lead.”
