Page 14 of Her Soul for a Crown
There was a table, chair, and small bookshelf in the office. It was not nearly as grand as Thaththa’s had been. Then again, Uncle Manoj hadn’t been as important a man. In the corner sat a tall stand displaying a figurine of a being with saffron eyes, holding a sword in one hand and a human head in the other, blood smeared across his chest. Amma had included the same statue in her shrine. The Blood Yakka, Reeri, leader of all the Yakkas, the most cruel and powerful.
Anula flicked the statue over.
Only Eppawala was meant to burn.
Commander Dilshan’s words skittered up her arms and burrowed at the base of her spine. Auntie Nirma might speak of enemies, but it was Anula’s life that had been destroyed by them. Silence had been the answer to her prayers, and a deep ache that shook her chest every morning she woke alone. She would not make the same mistake twice.
Shifting her attention, she poked around the shelf, feeling for hidden knobs or handles. The titles of the books were dry reports on wildlife in the jungles, plants growing around the area and in the Pleasure Gardens of the palace. Perhaps Uncle Manoj had been a plant farmer. Anula stepped to the far side of the shelf and paused as the board underfoot creaked. She leaned her weight and it creaked again.
Finally.
Falling to her hands and knees, she pried it open. Perhaps there was a staircase beneath. Or—
A dusty brown leather journal in the tiniest cubbyhole.
She opened it and frowned.
It was a drawing of a plant with an arrow pointing to the seeds.Thel Endaruwas written at the very top. The name of the plant, perhaps. Below it was a set of paragraphs, and beneath them, scrawled in Uncle Manoj’s script, were the wordssteep in tea for quiet death.
Anula nearly choked. What in the cursed Yakkas’ names was this? She flipped to the next page and the next, but all had the same format. At the top was a name—like kaneru—a detailed illustration of the plant or flower, followed by a few paragraphs describing how to forage and brew. Finally, always in Uncle’s writing, were directions to hide the poison in plain sight.
Mix in palm wine to incapacitate.
Simmer in curry for slow, painful death.
But on the last page was a question:Skin-to-skin contact without self-poisoning?
Anula slammed the book shut and raced out the door with it. The mystery of Auntie Nirma’s allies and enemies, the secret room, her wealth, was solved.
The book landed on her auntie’s table with a bang. Dust mushroomed, settling onto the egg hoppers. “You’re an assassin, aren’t you? Just as Uncle Manoj was.”
Auntie Nirma pursed her lips, shaking off her hopper. Though she’d stayed up into the late hours of the night with her latest gathering, she looked none the worse for wear. Her deep-green sari clung softly. Her wide eyes calm. “What in the Heavens’ names are you on about, girl? And why aren’t you at the table? Sit. Eat.”
“No,” Anula snapped. “This is how you have power, why you have allies and enemies, isn’t it?”
Auntie Nirma dropped her food. “And what if it is? What are you going to do about it?”
Anula crossed her arms. “It’s not right, killing people.”
“No, it’s not. Unless they deserve it. Unless the Heavens will it.”
Anula blanched. “You think the Heavens tell you who to kill?”
“Not exactly. But they do allow things to fall into place. Their favor and bargains make pathways for us to walk.”
Anula wrinkled her nose. “Why would they do that?”
“Some call it karma, or the cosmos’s plan—Fate.” Auntie Nirma picked up her tea, blew on the steam. “Do you know why I took you in?”
“Because you have no children.”
Auntie Nirma smirked. “Being childless was my choice, not Fate’s. I chose to bring you here because I believe the Heavens opened a pathway for you.”
“Me?”
“You survived when no one else did.”
A flash of orange flame, of red-soaked earth and rivers of blood down Thaththa’s—
