Page 24 of Her Soul for a Crown
The pair split quickly, cheeks flushing, Premala’s the brightest.
“Ah.” Anula smiled, grateful for the distraction. “So this was who you met in the gardens.”
The other maid shrieked and fled, a flower dropping to the ground.
“U-um,” Premala stammered, rooted in place. “Sure. I mean yes—she had the mangoes—” She broke off and bowed so deeply, she nearly tumbled over.
Anula wondered if she was even capable of not acting suspicious. As for the other maid, perhaps she was part of it, their embrace a farce to cover the trade of information. Though it hadn’t looked false.
“Please, my raejina—my almost raejina, don’t tell.”
“Calm down.” Anula waved her off and plucked the flower. Pink nelum. She handed it to Premala, whose face matched the color perfectly. “Just don’t lie to me next time.”
“Next time?” she squealed.
“I seem to have a knack for catching you doing things you aren’t supposed to be doing,” Anula said, heading into the kitchen. “Eventually, I’ll want the truth. That’s how secrets work between friends.”
“Friends?” The squeal came again.
Allies. Unless the truth of Premala landed her on the wrong list. But Anula couldn’t explain that. The girl would probably start hyperventilating.
“Would you make me tea? I didn’t sleep a wink last night. And I believe there’s a big event happening in my life soon. Don’t want to look peaky.”
Premala bit her lip, dancing on her tiptoes to the kettle. “Yes, um, but…I’m new, and…my family isn’t well-known. My father’s a fisherman and—”
“Is that why you came here, to send money back home?” Anula’s attention caught.
“Um, partly,” Premala said, setting the water to boil and readying the tea leaves. “Though my father hates to accept it.”
“Why?”
“He says it’s not right, a daughter having to feed the family when he’s perfectly able. If it weren’t for the Polonnaruwans, he wouldn’t need help. But they’ve taken over our village, and they tax every fisherman, every morning.”
Anula pressed a hand to her necklace. “They’ve occupied your home?”
Premala’s head hung low. “Eighty percent of his catch, that’s the tax. He barely has any left to eat, let alone trade. He only complies for the sake of my brothers and sister. I don’t know what they’d do to them otherwise.”
Heat rose quickly in Anula, burning up the fear that had tried to tangle in her veins. This was why she was here, why she risked songs and pyres. People shouldn’t have to choose between starving and being killed. Or worse, turned traitor.
Anula paused. Plenty had chosen the third option; Auntie Nirma wrote their names on lists, sent missives with updates. Would she find Premala’s one day?
“So, you see,” Premala said, “I’m the lowest of the caste. We can’t be friends.”
“Do I look like I care about caste?”
Premala’s doe eyes took her in. “You look like you’re about to become the raejina. So yes.”
An ember of tension flickered to life. “Well, I don’t. I do care about tea. And a fish bun, if you have any. Mangoes work, too.” She winked.
“Does the raja like your jests?”
Anula raised a brow.
“Forgive me!” Premala spun back to the kettle, knocking over not one but two platters of rice and curry.
She wasn’t a thief, and from the looks of it, she wasn’t trained to be a maid either. Who was she?
“What are you doing?” A voice rang out. “I told you to bring the food to the palace. Great Divinities, what have you done? No, don’t spill that!”
