Page 47 of Her Soul for a Crown

Dilshan slammed his hands on the table. The teapot rattled. “I do not appreciate being called in front of a consort and scolded. I am not a child.”

Anula pursed her lips. “Ah, you mean that you don’t care to hear from a wife. Not even the wife responsible for Ayaan’s death? Ayaan, your one-time ally, who died spilling all your secrets?”

Dilshan paled to the gray color of his hair. “I was told Ayaan died of natural causes.”

“Poison.” Anula nodded. “Yes, very natural. Made from the flowers in the gardens.”

The commander shifted.

“Sit,” Anula commanded.

He grimaced but slowly lowered. “He told you about Eppawala.” It was not a question.

Anula’s hand shook, the desire to strike him stronger than her tea. “You admit it, then? You admit to serving my village, my family, as a sacrifice? Allowing them to be killed and having their blood on your hands?”

“It was a long time ago. Sanctioned by my raja and the Heavens.”

“You don’t believe that. You were in it for rank.”

He scoffed. “And?”

Anula blanched. “You have no regrets? You didn’t even get what you were promised.”

“Deals come and go.” He shrugged. “That’s how you win the war of life. It doesn’t matter who knows what now. It’s been too long. Besides, three rajas later and I have a new bargain.”

“Wessamony won’t save you now.”

“Not with the Heavens. They’re not as reliable as a man.” Dilshan smiled. It was worse than his frown. “Or a prince.”

“Anuradhapura doesn’t have any princes.” Unless he’d found a bastard. Those, Anula was sure, there were plenty of.

Dilshan leaned back. “My parents died by another’s hand when I was a baby. My title afforded me only so much. I learned quickly that one must fight for their right to have what they want, including staying alive. Don’t you agree?”

“No.” Anula’s grip on her cup tightened. “I don’t.”

“Too bad. You’re doing a marvelous job at it, Anula Ramanayake.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Yes, I know who you are.” He leaned forward, toothy and proud.

“I know you’re the sole survivor of Eppawala.

Nirma made it known. Let me fear the day you wore a crown.

But here we are, and I’m still more powerful than you, on the cusp of being more powerful than your raja.

I fear no one, much less you. You’ll learn soon enough, Anula—I’m always on the winning side. ”

Anula’s pulse rushed, her minding swirling. “Anuradhapura is winning the war.”

Commander Dilshan laughed without a smile.

“The missives say we are, yet who dictates what is written?” He pointed to himself.

“Have you been out there? Has any raja in a decade? No. The only fight they have in them is for entrance to the palace. Energy only to indulge in concubines and blessed gifts. Yet I have been out there. Every cursed day. I own this war. And the three villages on the edge of our border.”

“Own them?”

“My new bargain. The prince of Polonnaruwa and I have an understanding. I give him Anuradhapura, and he grants me land and a title of the highest caste.”

The words slithered around Anula’s throat, down her spine, and flicked the knife at her hip. “What about the people? Don’t they get a say?”

“Any who didn’t agree to new leadership were killed. It’s all Polonnaruwan territory now.”

Anula narrowed her eyes. “You admit to the deaths of my family and now to so many more. Why? I could have the raja burn you.”

“Have you ever seen hope gutter from a person’s eyes? It’s more satisfying than this tea. My only regret is that it is you with whom I drink, not Nirma.”

Anula’s jaw worked as she realized this man had been on Auntie Nirma’s list of enemies long before Anula chose her path.

And though Auntie Nirma might have been wrong about a great many things, justice was not one of them.

Men who shed blood and never thought twice about it did not deserve mercy.

The people they ruled did not deserve them.

“Then I suppose I better work for my right to stay alive. Perhaps we can come to an agreement.”

His crooked smile sent a shiver down her spine. “I will build my own concubine estate.”

“I might have the experience you’re after.”

“No, thanks. I don’t eat table scraps.” Dilshan reached for both their teacups, swapping them before draining one. “You’re just like Nirma. You think you’re so clever. You forget I have twenty years’ experience on you. You’d be wise to learn from me.”

He stood and turned to leave, only to pause and clutch at his chest, hands and feet unmoving. Paralyzed in pain.

It was the tincture she’d given to Nuwan, remixed and working as intended.

“Oh, but I already have, Dilshan.” Anula stood, walked around the table, the knife bumping with each step, and clapped him on the shoulder.

He wheezed, turning purple. “Never celebrate a victory until all your enemies are dead. Otherwise, they could spring from the bushes and catch you by surprise.”

She pushed him to the ground, where he coughed and choked.

The sharp blade had a lion’s head on the hilt. A blessed gift known for helping a raja hunt. It was said to be able to take down a lion with one slice. To skin them clean with one slash.

The commander didn’t care for anyone but himself. Anula plunged the blade, cutting open his chest as smoothly as if it were a mango. She dug her hand deep inside and pulled out the thing he never used.

A heart.

She watched it expand and contract, waiting for the moment she would feel different. The moment all the years of study and scheming would pay off. The moment her shoulders would lift from the weight of her family’s deaths.

Seconds ticked by. But the feeling never came.

***

“Here,” she said, dropping the heart in Kama’s hands. The Yakka lit up and flitted away, a giggle peeling through the administration halls.

“Tell the raja to send troops to the villages of Maradankadawala, Palugaswewa, and Habraana. Polonnaruwa has taken them.”

Bithul frowned, swallowed hard. “He—”

“Was not a good man.” She leveled a stare.

He nodded, grave and resigned. “Then you focused on the most important thing, and your justice was served.”

Was it?

A breeze chilled the blood on her hands.

Dilshan’s death didn’t bring back Amma or Thaththa. It didn’t make that night less horrific or more bearable. Anula would save only some in the villages. It wouldn’t bring back those already taken. What, then, was the point of Auntie Nirma’s justice? Or Anula’s path to the throne?

Her voice hollowed out. “I am here to change things for the betterment of Anuradhapura.”

But was she truly changing anything or simply begetting more death?