Page 140 of Her Soul for a Crown
“Save them,” Bithul commanded. “They don’t know what they’re doing!”
Trading swords for fists and fabric torn from their clothes, Bithul and the guards separated and bound those under Wessamony’s curse.
Anula pressed on, using the chance he bought her to finally close the distance to Reeri. His fear welled, not for himself but for her. An itch started at her fingertips. An urge that wasn’t from the tether. It was stronger. With every step it grew, the yearning to touch him, hold his hand, cup his face, tear the sword from his neck, and kiss the wound better.
“Anula!” he shouted and winced.
A sharp pain nicked across Anula’s back. She stumbled, turning. Eyes wide and full of anger, Guruthuma Hashini hefted a discarded sword.
“As I said”—she readied to strike again—“I care not who you are, Anula. You will not be the demise of us all.”
She slashed, and Anula shifted, the tip of the blade barely missing her chest.
“Like you were the demise of Premala.”
The words cut Anula’s heart, sharp as any blade. “No. I—I didn’t—”
“Am I mistaken, or is that her blood on your hand?” Hashini thrashed again and missed.
The blood burned on Anula’s skin, evidence of her fault, but she hadn’t meant to. Not Premala, the girl who’d made her desire friendship, not allyship. Her control had been stolen, her mind poisoned by—Anula stilled.
“Premala died because ofyou,” she said, dodging another strike. “You threw Sandani in front of you. You were willing to sacrifice another to save yourself! Premala wasn’t.”
“I did no such thing,” Hashini yelled, catching the edge of Anula’s shoulder. “Faith has no place for selfish power.”
“No,” Anula said, grabbing a jagged stone, readying for the next blow. “But this was never about faith.”
Seething, Hashini lunged. Anula let her, feinting to one side as she had seen Bithul do in training. She spun around Hashini, unclasped her necklace, and wrapped it about the guruthuma’s neck. Pulling tight, gold bit flesh, and she slammed the stone into the sapphires.
Every vial shattered. Shards cut into Hashini’s throat, tinctures and poisons seeping out fast. The remedies diluted one another. The poisons did not.
“I don’t care who you are, Hashini,” Anula said, for Uncle Manoj’s journal always said these things were best served with something. Truth, perhaps, this time. “I will not allow your faith to poison any more of my people.”
The woman fell, mouth wide in a gargled scream, the sword clattering to the floor. The whites of her eyes flared; the veins in her neck popped. Her skin turned purple, and redness burned the corners of her lips, consuming the puckered pink until they were ripped raw and festering with pustules. They spread and grew fast, covering mouth and nose and eyes. Until Hashini choked for air, blind and helpless, crumpling to the ground.
The relic clanged and rolled away, skittering into the midst of the fray.
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Reeri held his breath, dared not to swallow against the cold, sharp iron, lest the Great Sword took one more bite out of his neck, ended the life he possessed and sent him far from Anula.
At least she was safe, with the guruthuma disarmed and dying, yet the relic—
For the thousandth time, Wessamony snapped his fingers, blue flame scorching his twisted horns. A smile curled on his lips as he sensed his power, gathered it up, and poured it out on the remaining humans. Any who were not already safely bound stiffened, eyes clouding, lips pulling back, the violence of nature taking hold. All the while, the sound of sharpened iron skittered across stone.
They kicked the relic away as they raced toward Fate. The Divinity turned and lifted a hand, creating another pit betwixt them. Without hesitation, Wessamony’s army fell inside. He snarled. Fate wasted no time, arcing their arm up and out. A bolt of lightning careened toward the dark Lord.
“Enough of this!” Wessamony boomed, baring his teeth and flicking his wrist.
The Golden Sword flew on the Lord’s command. Reeri finally let out his breath, and the Yakkas crashed to the floor. Throat leaking, he watched as the sword rushed before Wessamony, the lightning striking the sharp gold and bouncing off, exploding instead into the wall. Rock rolled down, pulverizing the stairs and striking more than one person.
Reeri’s heart skipped a beat. Was ithisperson? A plume of dust filled the room. He squinted and coughed, the dust stinging his wound, strangling his sight as he searched for Anula. Fate flicked their tail, breaking the cloud apart, and there, he caught her eyes.
Anula paused, and for a moment, it was just them. The cacophony of battle disappeared into a mere vibration. Only relief echoed at each other’s safety, and desire sang. To touch, to hold, to run away. It caught in her lungs and stole his breath. O Heavens, if he could live in this moment for all eternity. If only—yet they both knew that if they wanted that chance, a future and a life, they must get the relic.
Anula’s lips thinned, and she nodded before tearing her gaze away. She pivoted, scrambling to find the blade. The maelstrom crashed around Reeri, centering him back in the fight, his goal now refocused. He wanted that chance, and he would not let it slip by. A glint on the west wall caught his eye. Heavenslight. He moved before he thought.
Jostled in the fray, he fell, knocking loose a rock. It spun into the Bone Blade and sent it twirling over the edge of the new pit. Reeri reached out, the wound on his neck tearing—
