Page 26 of Her Soul for a Crown
The air caught between Anula’s throat and lungs. With her focus solely on not retching at the sight of the raja, she’d forgotten she’d see the prophet. The half-graying, half-balding head of the second man she intended to kill stood before her for the first time. A long white beard reached to his chest, to a pendant of gold and rubies.
“We thank the Heavenly realms for their protection over the years, continued watchfulness, and a future of ten strong seeds.”
His voice scraped up Anula’s back, nipping at her neck. He was so near. All she had to do was touch her necklace once and two names would meet justice. Three if the commander was here, too. Her eyes flashed over Mahakuli Mahatissa’s shoulder. Was Commander Dilshan watching in the safety of the crowd, hiding as though he were in the jungle? But her gaze only found Auntie Nirma, the woman who’d finished raising her. She dipped her head in encouragement.
Anula’s heart squeezed. It shouldn’t be Auntie Nirma.
Amma and Thaththa should be there, dipping their heads and smiling wide. Not the ministers or the courtiers or the prophet or the raja. It shouldn’t have been in the palace or with a raja. A simple village ceremony, with simple silks and simple observance, and a man whose touch made her feel safe and at home. That’s what should have been. What could have been.
Yet it wasn’t.
As if hearing her thoughts, Auntie Nirma smiled, cunning and clever, a reminder that she had let go of that dream to take hold of a better one. Anula nodded in return. She was focused, ready. A weapon honed. She didn’t need the Heavens’ pathway or answers to prayers. Years of hard study would bring Anula their dream of justice.
Auntie Nirma’s face fell suddenly. The women around her murmured, shifting, gazes cutting to the side. One leaned down to whisper in her ear. Her mouth popped open, wide eyes locking on Anula.
The blast of a bullhorn hammered through the throne room.
The doors opened with a clang, and the royal army flooded in. “The gates have been breached! Protect the raja!”
Chaos broke out.
It started with screams—a familiar sound raking down Anula’s bones. She shuddered as ministers and administration, courtiers and concubines fled. They surged toward the open doors, bottlenecking, throwing one another to the ground—no lives but their own mattered. In seconds, their turmoil swallowed the emerald-green sari.
“Auntie!” Anula’s heart lurched. She surged forward, only to be pulled back, a firm hand on her arm.
“Keep her safe,” Mahakuli Mahatissa commanded the soldiers surrounding them. “Is it Polonnaruwa?”
“No, sir,” the soldier answered, taking Anula from him. “An enemy from within.”
“Usurper,” the raja seethed. He pulled a sword from another soldier’s side and dove into the fray. As if a hero.
Anula squirmed, but the soldier held her tight. “We must leave.”
“Absolutely not.”
War cries. Foot soldiers. The beat of a drum.
A nightmare,hernightmare. Men trampled over courtiers, breaking up the throng by throwing people against the wall. They beat iron swords against their chest plates, anger and triumph on their faces, bloodlust in their eyes. The banner of Anuradhapura flew high.
Usurper on the move. Allied with palace traitors and Polonnaruwa Kingdom. Must hurry.
Auntie Nirma’s information had been right. And Anula had not been fast enough. The royal soldiers streamed to meet the usurper’s army. Iron clashed with iron. Blood sprayed across the pristine marble floor.
Red sky. Red hands. Re—
Panic crushed the air in Anula’s lungs. She searched over the heads of the soldiers, past prone, bleeding bodies, but the emerald sari was nowhere in sight.Good. She must have escaped.She wassmall, nimble, sharp. Perhaps she was halfway through the palace, safe.
“Raja Mahakuli Mahatissa,” a man called out above the noise, sword raised over his head. The usurper, no doubt. “Face me and prove your worth, or die by the hand of a greater man!”
The sea of fighting parted, and the raja stepped forward, swinging his sword.
“No!” Anula burst free of the soldier, reaching for the raja. With Auntie Nirma safe, it was up to her to salvage their plan. If the raja died—
He surged. “This ismykingdom!”
Then he tripped.
Sprawled.
