Page 96 of Her Soul for a Crown
“Mayhap that is what hope does.”
“It is not hope. It is happiness.” Calu smirked, but it did not reach his eyes. “Be careful. We still have to cleave her.”
Reeri stood, anxiety prickling anew. “I know.”
“Good.” Calu wiped off the vestiges of his moment of brokenness. “Shall we face our fears then?”
“You first.”
Calu laughed. “Was that a jest?”
“Never.”
“Anula’s soul is already rubbing off on you.” He headed back toward the archives.
Reeri paused. Mayhap she was—all the good parts. The things he must protect. As he must protect his brethren’s second chance at life, their eternal freedom.
He could do both.
He would.
36
The scent of cinnamon tingled Anula’s nose and roused her muscles. She sighed contentedly as she woke.
Reeri, on the other hand, snored softly, his breath blustering a fallen lock of hair. Heat radiated off him. She hadn’t felt a nightly chill since this raja had arrived. His frame took up the bed, feet dangling off the end, and yet he slept deeply, peacefully. A characteristic of either Vatuka or Reeri, but which one? His eyelids quivered. If she opened one now, would it be filled with saffron?
Another snore rippled, sending a twitch through his body, and she saw it, his dream. The light touch of a loved one, the connection of family and friends. An empty ache rattled his chest.
She glanced down—their hands were entwined. His fingertips were stained a light brown from constantly stirring his tea with cinnamon bark while neck-deep in memory books. She wondered if the sweet flavor also spiced his tongue.
Anula noticed how his hand dwarfed hers. She couldn’t help her thumb rubbing a gentle circle over his knuckles. Couldn’tstop herself from doing it again. Were his true hands this rough? Would they scrape if he brushed her lips?
She stilled. That wasn’t what he was dreaming about. He yearned for his friends and family, a craving she knew all too well. The last time she’d held a hand was that night. Hers had been swallowed then, too, by Amma’s as she desperately drew her through the house and the courtyard, away from death. Anula slid her hand from Reeri’s grip and shifted to the edge of the bed.
A groan sounded, longing and homesick, as Reeri stretched awake. “Good morning,” he murmured.
“Not with that breath on my face.” She grimaced, pulling farther away.
He frowned as the bedchamber door opened and a servant rushed in, flushed and bowing, to deliver an urgent missive.
A tongue clucked behind Anula. The blessed gift raejina whispered, “You fear what you want.”
“You have no idea what I fear.”
The artistry sighed. “Oh, darling consort, it is written all over your beautiful face.”
A chill racked Anula. She pulled the pillows high and pressed them against the wood carving, as if she could smother the words.
“Commander Dilshan has returned,” Reeri announced and stood, avoiding her gaze. “He is waiting with the ministers to give a report on the war with Polonnaruwa.”
Anula dropped the pillows. “I’m coming with you.”
“No.”
Anula snorted, already reaching for her necklace, tinctures and poisons flicking through her mind. She wrapped a robe around her waist; justice didn’t need to be served in a sari. But Reeri stepped into her path.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
