Page 113 of Her Soul for a Crown
Footsteps echoed down the hall. Anula’s heart choked. She wasn’t ready to see Reeri again and face the onslaught of want. The passion he sparked raged rather than burned. If her and Auntie Nirma’s determination were a fire, this was an inferno: all-consuming and all-powerful. It made sense now, why her parents had touched so much throughout the day.
The sound became louder, pulling her from her thoughts and stealing her breath. It rounded the corner—with Bithul’s face. Anula sighed, slumping against the wall and fanning herself witha hand as sweat streaked down her sides.
“Apologies, my raejina consort, I’ve had the windows opened since the storm, but the heat won’t improve until the wind returns,” Bithul said, moisture beading along his brows as he mistook the reason for Anula’s perspiration.
A heavy blanket of humidity had descended on the heels of the rain, a sure sign a monsoon would make landfall soon. Another marker of the Maha season, of the equinox and Lord Wessamony’s return.
One day.
One day was all that they had left, and she had tried to kiss a Yakka. She still wanted to.
Anula shook out her hands. “Let’s hope it breaks before the festival tomorrow, or else the city will smell like it’s been fried in elephant dung.”
Bithul grunted, his anxiety as obvious as his sweat stains. “We’ve emptied the palace, which was not as easy to do as it is to say. With the Festival of the Cosmos looming, half the kingdom is trying to speak with a blessed gift. Are you ready to meet with the others and begin the search?”
“Almost,” Anula said softly. Seeing her guard brought up everything from the other day. How she’d acted, how she’d failed. How she didn’t want to anymore.
Bithul began, “Is there something I can—”
“You were right,” she said, pride trickling sourly down her throat. She swallowed. “We all have a choice to make, about what’s most important.”
“What did you decide?”
“Same as you: people. The ones who are alive, not the dead.”
Bithul’s shoulders softened. “Then you may be our greatest raejina yet.”
Anula scoffed. “Perhaps I’ll be the greatest farmer’s wifeinstead.”
“You no longer want the crown?”
Anula pushed off the wall, glanced at the portraits of rulers past, at consorts and wives and the court that surrounded them. Paintings of villages with their harvesters and seamstresses. Fishermen on stilts in shallow waters, far from the reach of the Makara. “I don’t know what my path is anymore.”
Bithul nodded. “When your heart is right, the path becomes clearer, easier to face.”
“Smoother?”
“Heavens no. But you do become stronger.”
A moment passed, heavy but not burdened, as if Anula had found someone to share the weight. Perhaps she had found more than an ally.
They entered the throne room to the sounds of panic.
“My books!” Sohon shouted, one arm reaching for the servants carrying out stacks of manuscripts.
“Since your memory books are no longer required,” Reeri said, “I thought it was time they were bound and safely sent to their final destinations, or properly cataloged in the archives for those books that no longer have a home.”
Sohon paused in midair, gaping at Reeri. They all did.
Reeri’s brow furrowed. “Is this not what you wish for your books, Sohon?”
“Yes,” he said incredulously. “Thank you.”
Calu rubbed his face. “Who are you, and what has brought on the No Yakka’s demise?”
Kama giggled, threw a knowing smirk at Anula. “One’s heart opens in many ways, when one unlocks the door.”
Anula felt herself flush.
