Page 3 of Her Soul for a Crown
Soft, sheer fabrics rustled against the interior walls as Anula surged through the concubine estate. Decorative torches and candles hung low, casting the halls in a mellow, shaded light: an eternal dusk or dawn. Smoke curled out of the rooms, a haze washing over the halls. A whisper floated with it. As she passed, Anula glanced inside one of the concubines’ rooms. The girl kneeled on the floor before a colorful depiction of the Second Heavens, flowers in her hands and figurines of shapely beings with devilish heads surrounding her.
“Great Yakkas of Love, hear my prayer, send me to the bosom of my beloved. I will forever worship your names. I offer my favorite flowers, beaded with the tears of my…”
The words scratched along Anula’s arms. She slipped past, lips thin. The Yakkas had long since forgotten this kingdom. Bartering with them wouldn’t change that, just as begging the Divinities wouldn’t.
She swung open her own door before closing it swiftly and crashing back against it, her heart hammering. If she believed in the Yakkas, she’d bargain for a curse upon Nuwan for making her late, for nearly ruining all of her and Auntie Nirma’s plans. If he’d lied, if she was not chosen next… But perhaps the incident with Nuwan was a sign. That she hadn’t studied enough, didn’t know what she was doing. That she wasn’t ready and it’d be best if she had a few more months to—
Red sky. Red hands. Red water.
Look away.
A knock rattled the door.
It reverberated through Anula, shaking down her spine, bringing her back from the brink.
Cursed Yakkas.Of course she was ready.
Anula shook out her arms. Remembering who she was, what had been taken, and all that would fall if she failed, she touched the necklace at her throat and opened the door.
Poison stopped hearts.
And Anula intended to stop many.
2
The lack of wind dismayed Reeri.
So too did the lack of smell, taste, touch. If he closed his shadow eyes, he could nearly sense the sun warming the skin that was not there, the juice of a mango on his lips, the wave of his hair in the midday breeze.
The aether betwixt the Heavens and Earth was a vast, dark nothingness. It was a holding place, a pause, a prison. Two centuries—he had been more than a phantom two centuries ago, with a body and a life.
Reeri shook the memory loose before it cinched tight as a noose. He waited for the shadow offerings to come and envisioned the one he needed. The one the Lord of the Second Heavens wanted. The one that would grant him a body once again.
Moreover, the one that would save all whom Reeri had damned.
A shadow appeared into the nothingness in front of him. A shadow bowl of steaming shadow rice. Reeri pinched the rim betwixt two shadow fingers, the wisps of his edges and the bowl’s twirling and twining together.
Great Blood Yakka, hear my prayer, send a disease of the stomach upon the house of Perera for the anxiety they’ve caused my son. I offer the finest rice of my harvest.
If shadows could grind, Reeri’s teeth would be dust. The humans had become sanguinary as of late, demanding of retribution for the smallest of offenses. Time had matured their temper yet diluted their convictions.
Rice was not a fair exchange for a disease. How was he to demand more for the bargain if they did not already see its true worth?
“For the Heavens’ sakes, Reeri, hurry up.” A voice came from behind him. “Lord Wessamony is furious you are late.”
Reeri scowled over his shoulder. “None of these are right. They will not give him what he wants.”
Calu, one of the three Yakkas condemned to this fate with Reeri, plucked the bowl from his insubstantial fingers and examined it. “What he wants today is options. The Maha Equinox is nigh, and he is anxious to have the relic before then.”
“All the more reason for me to wait for the human who cares enough about their bargain to agree to find it as their elevated offering.”
“There is no finding the relic. We have tried for centuries to no avail. Let us go and get this over with.”
“No.” Reeri snatched the offering back. Too much hinged on this undertaking.
“The No Yakka strikes again.”
If shadows could bristle, Reeri would be full of spikes. “O Heavens, spare me another nickname.”
