Page 93 of Her Soul for a Crown
Anula popped up. “Right. Good.”
“Are you injured?” Reeri asked, eyes fixed on her face, not on the robe half fallen from her shoulder, nor the bare skin blushing pink on her chest.
“Unscathed as a brand-new irrigation tank.” Anula raced across the room. “See you in the archives.”
The door slammed. Reeri collapsed onto the bed, his waist suddenly cold.
***
Reeri flexed his hand.
The urge to touch Anula twitched. It was not from the tether, for she sat mere inches away. It was from the memory of the morning, the feel of her warming his borrowed body, reminding him of sensations long lost. Of the heat of life.
Her smile, her nose burrowing into his side, seared in his mind. It had thrilled down his spine, stolen his breath, and addled his thoughts. He had not even seen anything from where their bodies touched; he had been too wrapped up in the softness of her, the closeness, the press of her curves against him.
Books thudded to the floor, snapping Reeri’s attention to Calu, who sifted quickly through the stack of bound manuscripts on the low table, as if he had more important places to be. He tossed another to the ground.
A throat cleared. Loud and rough.
Sohon stood at the front of the table, dark red mehendhi peeking from under his tunic. The archive was a vast room with three walls of shelves and one of windows. Manuscripts of history, politics, and all else important to the knowledge of Anuradhapurawere bound and preserved here. Sohon’s eyes flashed to the Yakkas and Anula, seated and waiting. “If you cannot respect the books, do not touch them.”
Calu huffed and held up his hands. “I hold nothing but respect.”
Sohon scowled. “These are the books I have written since we arrived, and some that I was able to gather with the former prophet’s help.”
Four sets of eyes flicked to Anula.
She crossed her arms. “What? Prophet Revantha seems just as adept—more so, as he didn’t ordain a village’s death. His reputation is flawless.”
“Therefore, his body is poisonless,” Calu jested, yet his voice was stone. “Let us hope neither changes.”
Reeri did not have a moment to question his brethren’s unusual tone, for a smile tugged on Anula’s lips. A hint of the one this morning. Yet it was not Reeri who had conjured it. He flexed his hand again.
“We must analyze the memories for anything important,” he said, passing her a book, cutting their conversation off.
“It is all important,” Sohon snapped. Clearly, all the Yakkas were in a mood today. “Stories transport us. All art does.”
“I did not mean that.”
“You implied.”
Reeri gripped the edge of a manuscript and amended, “We search for anything pertinent to the relic. Whether that be a story of a treasure seeker or a fabled location.”
The young Yakka grunted, curled himself against the far wall and plucked up a manuscript of his own. The rest of the table followed suit. Reeri opened a tome. It had been centuries since he had peered inside a memory book. He had asked Sohon to explain his work to him, back when Reeri was the only one able to leavehis shrine. Even now, it daunted Reeri to hold the last vestiges of a life in his hands. To not only know of a person’s life, but of their hopes and secrets and pains.
Anil Perera came into this world in the midst of a rainstorm on the floor of his father’s fishing boat and was forever enamored with the sea. Even the Makara, the sea dragon, halted its hunt, recognizing another monster descending from the Heavens.
Monster…from the Heavens. The words scratched along Reeri’s memory.
“Why isn’t Bithul helping?” Anula asked, flipping open her own book.
Reeri tensed. He had not mentioned the task he had given the guard. Yet after their deal, after seeing her soul mirror his, mayhap it was time for secrets to be shared. “He is looking for Nuwan. I do not want him selling more cursed relics.”
“Reading is a silent act,” Sohon hissed.
Calu sneezed. Phlegm spattered, dangling from one nostril. A square kerchief hit his face.
“I will end you,” Sohon promised.
