Page 40 of Her Soul for a Crown
Anula kicked the sheet until she was free and stood. “I saw the Yakkas, only they didn’t look like that.” She pointed to the painting on the ceiling. “And the people called me by your name. And it felt…real. Not like a dream but like—”
“A memory.”
“Yes,” she heaved, heart racing as if she were running from a jungle cat. Perhaps she should be. That wolfish grin, those unnatural eyes…
The Yakka sank back. “O Heavens.”
“What?”
He sighed. “They are soured memories that haunt me when at rest. I call them memory-nightmares.”
Anxiety tripped Anula’s pulse. She shook out her hands. “Are you saying I witnessed your dream?”
The Yakka’s brows knit together. “I suppose it makes sense. Our souls are tethered, and what is a tether if not a connection?”
“Why would you create a tether like that?” Anula seethed. The sound of the ear dropping, wet and heavy, echoed in her mind.
“I did not,” the Yakka said. “A tether is an aspect of the cosmos. Strictly speaking, I never tethered before. The intricacies are a…working theory.”
“Then how do you know that we have to stay close to each other?”
“Another Yakka once tethered. Ratti told me how distance hurt the human. But that is all she mentioned. Had I known about the memories, I would have warned you.”
“Not only must I have permanent mehendhi that itches and threatens me, now I have to share your nightmares, too? Do you even need to sleep?”
“Heavenly bodies must rest. It is similar but not as deep as sleep. However, every earthly body, including mine now, demands true sleep.”
Gritting her teeth, Anula stepped before the nearest mirror. “How is any of this balance?”
For the first time, she allowed herself to examine the design that snaked up her arms. It began at her fingertips. Nets and spirals led to vines and leaves, lotus flowers bloomed across her hands, and two mirrored mandalas marked her palms, one the face of a lion, the other an elephant. The same as the one etched on the Blood Yakka’s chest. A chill swept over her neck.
Paisley motifs and florals flowed into tendril patterns up her wrists, her arms, her elbows. Elements of gems and jewelry andstars hid within. It didn’t end there. Delicate anklets adorned her feet, netting on her toes. She shifted to see the pattern more closely, her sleep robe slipping off one side. A burgundy tendril slithered across her shoulder.
Anula twisted in the mirror and dropped her robe. She caught the flicker of admiration in the Yakka’s eyes before he had the sense to close them. It was only a moment, but he still smoldered the way Thaththa had with Amma, the way a husband would a wife, the way she had dreamed of—Anula shook the thought away. He was not her dream, but her curse. His mark dripped down her spine. At the top bloomed a water lily, with vines and leaves and florals cascading from her shoulder blades, gems dropping to points like earrings at the middle of her back.
Cursed Yakkas.What would Auntie Nirma have said?
“It all goes away when the bargain is complete,” the Yakka said.
“Which is when?” she seethed, pulling the robe back on.
“Soon,” he urged, eyes still closed.
“Then what? You leave my kingdom with my soul?” She hadn’t meant to ask, hadn’t meant to care, but with every surprise this Yakka had given her, perhaps she should know.
He was quiet for a moment. “All soul offerings ascend to the Second Heavens upon death, for Lord Wessamony to do with as he pleases.”
The coolness of the necklace registered before Anula realized her hand had flown to it. She didn’t know which was worse, spending the afterlife with the Lord of the Second Heavens or spending the foreseeable future with the Blood Yakka—the one who had stolen her throne, then blocked her from marking off a name from her list, and now forced her to see his nightmares. To see things that didn’t exist.
The answer wasn’t difficult. The Yakkas had been banished,not tortured. And if the people loved him so, like his memory suggested, then why had they turned on him? Why call for his Lord’s help if he was saving them? Because he wasn’t. Like all the usurpers before him, he saw himself as a savior, a hero to the people. But all he brought was death. All he was, was a slaughterer.
“I did not mean to scare you,” the Yakka said, eyes still closed. “We are in this bargain together, and I will protect you.”
Pink sunlight rose through latticed windows as she leveled an ember gaze. “If you wanted to protect me, you would leave. You’re the only threat here.”
The Yakka’s eyes flashed open. Hurt sparked, but only for a moment, the mask of Chora Naga falling so quickly, Anula questioned whether it had been there at all. “Mayhap you are right. I suppose I should take advantage of the early start today.”
“Music to my ears.”
