Page 73 of Her Soul for a Crown

The soft patter of rain carried on the monsoon wind.

It drowned the fires and refilled the irrigation reservoirs.

It breezed through the terrace doors, tousling Anula’s curls.

She hunched in the corner of the throne room, the place least destroyed, as survivors clustered inside. Eyes closed, she took a deep breath.

Anuradhapura was safe.

For once, no names marched through her mind.

There was no longer a mantra, no longer a promise.

She had fulfilled it. A new age had come, and her people were safe.

They had done it together, Heavens and Earth.

Her shoulders sagged with a long sigh. They had all answered Anuradhapura’s cry for help—her cry—even when it had been silent.

A throat cleared, and Anula’s eyes snapped open.

Commander Bithul and Shahan met her in the corner.

If she were a betting woman, she’d put all the raja’s money on the younger one becoming first general.

She was about to say so when Premala and Fate closed the small circle.

It surprised Anula that no one else recognized the Divinity, that none from the Kattadiya caves mentioned they were here.

Perhaps it was more difficult to see the Heavens on Earth than it was to imagine them far away.

Anula stood, a lightness to her shoulders despite the aching bones. “What will you do now?”

Fate raised their brows. “I shall return.”

“To your place in the First Heavens?” Bithul asked, forever starry-eyed and faithful.

“Why should I do that?” Fate frowned. “I left for a reason.”

“You mean you were cast out,” Premala said, more question than statement.

Fate leveled a heavy gaze. “Do not listen to all you hear.”

Anula cocked her head. “Does that mean Wessamony didn’t convince you to use your power on Destiny?”

“I chose to leave, as I chose to hide the Bone Blade, so that none of the corrupted power spreading through the Heavens could touch me or you. So they could not destroy one another again.”

The light in Bithul’s eyes wavered. “But the stories of old—”

“Are only half-truths,” Anula breathed, echoing Reeri’s favored phrase. Bithul met her gaze.

“Anula.” Fate called her to attention. “However you act next, know that a blood oath is owed.”

“To you?” She glanced at her bare arms.

“To the Divinities,” they corrected. “Now that your bargain with the Blood Yakka has ended, your oath belongs to them.”

Anula’s eyes flicked to Premala, the new guruthuma.

Premala stretched out an arm and squeezed a promise into her hand.

They turned to ask the Divinity more, yet Fate had vanished.

Before she could react, Anula was shoved to the side.

The crowd ruffled and squawked, growing loud. Two men suddenly threw fists.

“Stop!” Bithul commanded, his voice rising above the noise. Shahan rushed forward, splitting the men apart.

“Why is everyone squawking like bulbuls?” Anula snapped, walking into the center of the hall, the crush separating for her.

“Who’s the raja?” the larger of the men spat, pulling from Shahan’s grip.

“What?”

“We are without a ruler,” the other man said. “We need a raja.”

“Perhaps there is a son of one of the rajas past.” A woman spoke out.

“Of course there are,” an older one scoffed. “But they are bastards now. Their lineage stopped mattering when their fathers failed to keep the crown.”

An argument lifted across the room. Villager and minister quarreled over bloodlines and feats of strength.

The Age of Usurpers had always favored physical prowess, but that Age had ended, a new one begun.

They couldn’t act as they had before, or else nothing would change.

It was time the people’s lives mattered. It was time their voices were heard.

Anula stepped onto the dais. “We should choose. A man shouldn’t be able to claim the throne because he won a battle. Didn’t we just do that? Then we should choose our ruler. All of us. Together.”

Surprise cleared the crowd’s anger, dissolving the argument.

Anula grasped at her chance. “Each of us will have a voice. Consider who you’d want to rule—”

“I choose you.” A voice boomed. The crowd turned. Bithul stood straight and unblinking, looking at Anula. “I choose you to take the throne.”

“Me too!” Premala said.

Sandani smiled. “I stand behind Anula, too.”

The crowd stilled. Wind blew through the room, kicking up sarongs and saris and the words of guards, villagers, Kattadiya, and ministers as they each raised their voice.

For her.

Anula shook her head. “I am no raja.”

“No,” Shahan agreed. He glanced at his commander, then back up to her. He stepped toward the dais and kneeled. “You are Anula of Anuradhapura. You bled for the kingdom, instead of bleeding it dry. We choose you.”

The rustling of clothes came first; then knees bent and every head bowed.

Only Bithul stood, unwavering, forever faithful. “Do you accept, Raejina?”