Page 125 of Her Soul for a Crown
She dropped to the floor as the relic shone bright with heavenslight, rang clear and soft with heavensong. It vibrated through the room, quaking Anula’s bones, filling her lungs.
“It is beautiful,” Kama breathed.
“It’s—it’s—” Bithul stammered.
“Real,” Reeri said, touching it gently. “I can see what fate it has in store.”
“What’s that?” Anula asked, meeting his gaze. Saffron flickered.
“Freedom for all.”
Hope swelled in Anula’s chest, swam through the room, and crested in each Yakka’s heart—
Boom.
It crashed to the floor as the chamber door flew open. Not with the beats and chants of the Kattadiya—
“For Polonnaruwa!”
—but with the cries of war.
Part Four
45
The palace halls welcomed them with the all too familiar high-pitched horror of Anula’s people. Gooseflesh prickled her skin.
“Reeri,” she breathed, stashing the blade in a hidden pocket, as she, the Yakkas, and Bithul were marched to the throne room.
The usually pristine floors were slick and painted red as half the palace guards took orders from the Polonnaruwans and felled their one-time brothers in arms. The courtiers’ cries pealed from the inner city, shaking the latticed windows, as they fled in every direction only to be caught by soldiers beating iron swords against chest plates, triumph on their faces, bloodlust in their eyes.
Look away.
Anula’s mouth dried. “Reeri.”
“It will be all right,” he said, voice tight. Dread trickled between his words, dripped down Anula’s spine.
Dying orange light streaked across a range of storm clouds as the invaders pushed Anula and the others onto the throne room terrace. Heat pressed a heavy hand, and thunder roiled a threat as day turned to night.
“I hereby take this land for Polonnaruwa,” a man with a spiked crown proclaimed over the chaos of the inner city. “For the prince they killed and for my father, Raja Nihal!”
With a flick of his sword, the banner of Anuradhapura cut in two, crumpling to the blood-soaked ground, where her kingdom’s outnumbered army lay dead or dying—Dilshan’s true influence on the war. Anula flinched. The cheer of at least two hundred enemy soldiers skittered up her arms and coiled a hand around her throat.
Boom.
It squeezed tight as a drumbeat of war echoed from her memory, bringing forth elephants trampling the palace gate and stupas standing silent.
Boom.
It squeezed tighter still, fixing her eyes on the rising smoke of burning homes, the crimson glow of her nightmares.
Red sky, red dirt.
“Reeri,” she choked.
“It will be all right. I am here.” He reached for her, only to be wrenched away by the soldier behind him. Anula’s breath strangled in her throat. This wasn’t supposed to happen. The Maha Equinox was the threat, with Wessamony’s descent approaching as fast as the rising moon and the Kattadiya breathing down her neck. Polonnaruwa wasn’t meant to attack and slaughter again.
“Anula.” Reeri’s voice was far away. “Look at me.”
