Page 7 of Her Soul for a Crown
The last word skittered up Anula’s arm, raising the flesh in its wake. The servants took no notice, gently lifting one arm each, and began their cleansing. The oils were first, working her into a lather. One for cleaning and scrubbing, another for purging and flushing, and yet another for purifying and rejuvenating.
“It’s time you prayed with us,” the younger woman said, delicately leaning Anula until she floated on her back.
She would have snorted again but didn’t want to risk either of them trying to comfort her. She didn’t need comfort. And she didn’t need prayer.
Even more ridiculous than offering bargains to the Yakkas, who were said to have been banished and executed centuries ago, was soliciting favor from the ancient Divinities. There was no reasoning to why the Heavens were split in two, other than to give people the option of either bartering or begging.
At least in the Yakka tradition, people could come as themselves, offering what they had. The Divinities demanded purity, perfection, and unquestionable faith that if a person was good enough, they would receive what they’d asked for. But more often than not, prayers went unanswered. The faithful said it was the fault of the person, that they were not worthy, that they must pray more, repent more, build more stupas with white bulbs that loomed over the city, tithe a portion of their meager earnings to the expansion of the structure, of the faith. Then perhaps, one day, one of their prayers would be met with gracious favor.
Who would love such deities?
It was all lies, anyway. Stories of old. The reason people’s prayers went unanswered was not lack of perfection or weak trade. It was because the sky, the stars, and everything beyond was empty. Centuries ago, the Heavens imbued artistic objectswith their powers, dropped them into a palace only the wealthiest families or most violent usurpers had a chance of entering, then left Anuradhapura to its own devices. They didn’t listen to prayers, much less grant them.
Anula knew that better than anyone.
She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Prophet Ayaan. Commander Dilshan. Raja Mahakuli Mahatissa. The first names on her list. She repeated them like a mantra, the closest she’d get to a prayer ever again. The names tingled the back of her neck. A promise whispered in the night.
The time for retribution had come.
Time for change had, too.
Anula came to deliver the justice they thought they’d evaded. Unfortunately for them, she’d survived that awful night.
***
It felt like a hundred years ago, Anula’s first life. The truth was it’d only been twelve. Twelve years since she’d been home, since she’d prayed, since that night she had slid her amma’s necklace onto her throat.
She wasn’t supposed to; Amma had forever said she didn’t pay enough attention to be trusted with it. That she’d need to be older, calmer, wiser before the sapphires would be passed down to her, perhaps after she was betrothed.
But that night, she figured what Amma didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her.
Anula didn’t have much time. Thaththa was already at the table, expectantly awaiting his wife and daughter. The soft light of dusk and an evening breeze floated through the open windows in Amma’s room, casting Anula in a golden hue as she studied herself in the mirror.
The two-tier jewelry was so large on her, she had to tilt her chin high for it to fit. She didn’t mind. She twirled in her sari, this way and that, watching the sparkle of the diamonds reflect in her eyes, stars against the dark night sky. As if she were from the Heavens themselves, touched by the Divinities Thaththa worshiped or the Yakkas to whom Amma always prayed.
“It’s beautiful on you, darling.”
Anula whirled. “Amma, I was just—”
“I know.” Amma smiled, the expression small and delicate, just like her. The opposite of Anula. “You can wear it, but only for tonight.”
“Really?” Perhaps Anula didn’t have to wait to be small and delicate and mature, too.
Amma rubbed her rounded belly, then took Anula’s hand and led her out the door. “Tonight is special. We’re celebrating Thaththa’s invitation to the palace.”
“The raja finally called him?”
“More than that.” Thaththa’s voice swam with pride as they entered the dining area. A wide smile spread beneath his gray beard and creased the corners of his eyes. “I’m to receive a position on the board of ministers. It’s all happening, my loves.”
Amma leaned over him, cupping his cheek in her hand. He grazed his fingers down her arm and across her belly. A touch to say hello, a touch to sayI’m proud, a touch to sayI love you. A language Anula had deciphered years ago. Though they kissed often, it was the contact in between that spoke the loudest. She saw how Amma softened into his hugs, how Thaththa’s shoulders relaxed under her hand, even after ten years of marriage, after welcoming one child and burying three, after droughts and floods and wildly prosperous seasons. They were each other’s comfort, their safe place, their home.
They were a solid foundation on which Anula’s life couldn’tbe shaken, and a dream on which she built visions of her own future.
“I’m so happy for you, Thaththa!” Anula hugged him tightly, the scent of fresh cinnamon tickling her nose. He’d been dreaming of this day for years, of being Minister Don Upali Ramanayake. Their estate was the largest in Eppawala, boasting more land and larger irrigation reservoirs than even the rice farms closer to the palace. It produced twice the harvest in the Maha season—the hardest season—than any other farm for five years running, feeding the entire city of Anuradhapura. He always credited his workers and ensured they were treated fairly, housed, and fed. He was a hero, to her and so many more. And finally, after two usurpers, a raja had recognized it.
To celebrate, Thaththa and Amma handed Anula her first taste of palm wine. Bittersweetness puckered her lips, and she sneezed, but Anula ignored it. She couldn’t stop imagining what life as a minister’s family might hold, how she and her new sister or brother would be welcomed into the palace, the in-between. “Will you walk inside a painting, like they say you can?”
Thaththa chuckled. “Of course. It will be by the Divinities’ choosing that I become a minister. That means they also choose me to enjoy the Divine gifts of their love.”
