Page 27 of Her Soul for a Crown
The crown bounced away as he laid bare his neck.
Only for a moment—yet plenty of time for a usurper. They were great at one thing and one thing only: taking the heads of rajas.
Blood squirted from Mahakuli Mahatissa’s throat, gushing over his murderer like a waterfall. A dark mass of flesh flew through the air, thumped against the throne room floor, and rolled toward Anula’s feet.
She looked into the dead eyes of the raja’s crownless head. “Thrice-cursed Yakkas.”
There was a beat, a sound of rushing wind and waves between her ears. A memory of another man, dead at her feet. She shook it away, refocused. She couldn’t become a dead raja’s wife. She’d have to—
“How dare you, Chora Naga.” A voice yelled above the cacophony of fighting.
No. She was supposed to be out of the palace.
The usurper laughed, meeting the fuming gaze of an old woman in an emerald-green sari. “Hello, Nirma.”
Anula blanched. They knew each other.
“We had a deal,” Auntie Nirma said. “You would stand down, and in time, Anula would make you raja.”
Lie.The thought flew through her mind as she recovered. Auntie Nirma’s missive had said Chora Naga was in league with Polonnaruwa. This deal must have been part of her second plan. The one they’d implement for the rival kingdom, once justice was served here. It was surely a ploy.
A failed ploy.
“I got tired of waiting,” Chora Naga yelled. “Besides, the kingdom can’t be ruled by some woman.”
The spear flew from Chora Naga’s arm, sang in the air. The crunch of bone echoed as it cleaved Auntie Nirma’s chest, ribs splintering.
The world tilted.
“Anuradhapura is mine!” Chora Naga screamed. War cries pulsed in Anula’s ears.
“Auntie?” she breathed, tripping to the prone body on the floor. “Auntie? Speak to me.”
Blood bloomed, like a rose among thorns. Like—
Red sky. Red hands. Red water.
Look away.
“Anula, I—I,” she sputtered, hand fluttering at jagged bone.
“I’m here,” Anula choked. “It’s going to be fine.”
Keranu. Hemlock. Thel endaru. She mentally raced through the poisons and tinctures in her necklace. Which one would sustain Auntie Nirma long enough to escape? To find help, medicine and cloth and thread and—
“Yakkas,” Auntie Nirma wheezed. A feeble hand lifted, aiming to cup Anula’s face. It fell before arrival.
“What?”
But Auntie Nirma didn’t respond. Blood stained her teeth. A coldness hardened her eyes. Anula’s lungs seized.
She knew that look. Saw it in every face she’d ever loved, every face she’d ever lost. It haunted her dreams, hounded her thoughts. And even when her vision filled and swam with tears, she could not unsee it.
It was the only thing left for her when all else was torn away.
10
The room swam in and out of focus.
