Page 20 of Her Soul for a Crown
No. Greed was a higher master.
The guard stopped outside a tall wooden door that bore a carving of the moon, sun, and a lion bearing a sword. The banner of the Anuradhapura Kingdom.
The raja’s sentries nodded to the concubine guards, the passing off of goods complete. “Make yourself comfortable,” one said. “The raja will attend to you when he is ready.”
The doors swung open, a finger of smoke curling out and around Anula’s ankles. She clenched a fist, took a breath. This was it. All she had studied for, all Auntie Nirma had planned, culminated tonight. She would leave this room in one of two ways: a success or a failure.
Her path leading to a crown or a pyre.
She grasped the corner of her skirt, straightened her shoulders, and stepped inside.
There were plenty of rumors in the kingdom that had no real teeth, but the one about the raja’s chamber was true.
It was a veneration to the Heavens. Each piece of art was either of a Yakka or a Divinity. Mirrors were adorned with small ornamental figurines between the leaves and animals; pillows were embroidered with their likenesses. Every inch was taken by them, even the ceiling. A mural covered the length of it. Yakkas andDivinities crowded the space, leisurely lounging on beds of clouds, emulating the idea of a peaceful, coexistent cosmos. The sun and stars beamed upon their smiling and grimacing faces. No blood marred their relics or hands, no death spoken of, merely caring eyes turned toward Earth.
Whoever painted it must have been blind.
Anula continued her walk through the chamber, each step easing the tension in her muscles. She could do this. She was ready. The scent of sweets and wine wafted from somewhere deeper within, calling her to the moment it would all happen, promising her success. And when she was raejina and this was her room, the art would be the first thing to go.
Especially the paintings. They were by far the most talked about, the gift every child dreamed of experiencing. Who wouldn’t want to leave their reality for something grander? Just a touch and step, and a courtier could walk along a beach or participate in a celebration that was centuries old. It was said that when the gifts had first been given, one could even walk between paintings, through a door that connected them all. The stories of old spoke of how rajas maneuvered through the kingdom this way, entering one painting in the palace shrine and exiting another in a stupa at the edge of a village. It enabled them to protect Anuradhapura.
But one didn’t step from one painting straight into the next. The cosmos lay between. And at some point, people got lost, never to be seen again. So the Divinities had locked the doors and thrown away the key.
Anula paused at a small depiction of a stupa. The bulbous white monument crowned with a spire almost paled in comparison to the tall, intricate statues of the Yakkas that lined its courtyard. She’d heard of the shrine before. It had been one of the venerated places of prayer, until it was destroyed in a battle between usurpers.
Of course, she’d once wished to walk inside a painting, but that was before she’d known the truth of the Heavens. Why would she want to experience an abandoned love?
Eyes transfixed on the traitors within, she leaned in close to better view the one to whom she’d given her last prayer. The Blood Yakka Reeri. Teeth as sharp as a monkey, skin as red as fire. He snarled back at her. No kindness in his eyes, no care. Noth—
Anula tilted off balance, falling forward.
No.She couldn’t let her skin touch any part of the painting. She didn’t want to go inside. Ever. Spinning on her heel, she twirled, using the momentum to fling herself away. Right into a statue.
They tumbled to the floor, but instead of a crash or an echo of broken stone, the statue said, “I’ve never been accosted by one of my Jewels before.”
Anula scoffed. “Don’t call me—”
Her gaze rose, expecting to find a blessed gift. Instead, her eyes met the graying face of the raja.
“Forgive me, my raja,” she said, struggling around her skirt to get off the raja responsible for her parents’ death and let him stand.
Heat flooded her cheeks. She’d known it would be difficult, seeing him alive. But she had taken comfort that he would one day die by her hand, that he would meet justice and answer for the evil he had done.
Watching him breathe now stole any scrap of solace she’d held onto.
Jaw clenched, Anula schooled her features, swallowed the bile rising in her throat. Now was not the time. She must focus.
“There is nothing to forgive. We’ll be in a similar position soon anyway.” His words scraped along her skin. He took her hand. “Come.”
He led her to the center of the chamber, where divans and cushions piled high around a low table. Bottles of palm wine weregracefully set out among incense candles, along with bananas, kiribath, and mangoes. Anula briefly thought of Premala.
“Tell me.” The raja poured them both wine as they sat. “What made you want to serve me?”
“It’s an honor to be a concubine.”
“I was not part of the decision?” He raised a brow and drained his glass. “I’m disappointed.”
Anula’s fingers curled inside the folds of her skirt. Ego was all that this man was. Rings on every finger, a Jewel for every night, the city’s store of palm wine, and rubbing Polonnaruwa’s nose in their ambush defeat every chance he got. That was what his reign had been. Even if he were physically attractive, his heart was so withered, not even pigs would eat it. And yet he expected her towanthim.
