Page 48 of Her Soul for a Crown
“An argument about a traitor. But they wouldn’t listen.” She glared at him. “I don’t wear the crown.”
Reeri narrowed his eyes. “Why did you try?”
Mayhap they were a threat to her or to her desired reign.
Anula snorted. “You have your business, I have mine.”
Yet there had been a list of deaths. A need to avenge. It made no sense.
“You better find that blade quickly,” she hissed. “I refuse to stay at your side forever.”
Reeri caught her scorn and flung it back. “Finally, a point on which we agree.”
***
All was blood.
Long ago Reeri had nightmares, yet never like this. Never a village in torment, soaked to the earth in death, its people scattered and scourged. A pyre rose above him. His eyes ascended the wood to dirt-smeared feet and torn legs, to blood dripping from—
“Look away,” a voice whispered.
Reeri blinked. He was in a dark underground room, warm candlelight welcoming, the scent of determination invigorating. A sharp woman stacked books in his arms. “Vengeance is not important, Anula. Justice is. And that you are a different leader than all those usurpers before you.”
He blinked again. The room was filled with women. Books and maps were strewn across tables, the same sharp woman at the head.
“This is why you survived.” She leaned forward, her hand notquite touching his face, a softness about her eyes. It made his chest ache. “You are more than family to me, girl. You are everything. You are our future.”
He blinked again. The village was different, bathed in sunlight save for the darkened alley where the sharp woman cowered, cornered by a tall man. He pressed a finger into her bosom. “Stop your meddling, or I will ensure that you and every woman in your little circle sees the noose.”
Rage swirled swift. Reeri’s hand flew to his own neck.
He blinked again.
Darkness veiled all but the man. Cinnamon and palm wine drifted on his breath. He leaned close to Reeri, touching places soft and supple. Grabbing, groaning, crashing lips upon his. Disgust soured Reeri’s stomach, but he held firm, conviction swelling, and when he pulled back—victory. Veins bulging, the man’s face purpled as frothing foam choked him, and he convulsed to the floor.
“Look away,” the voice cooed again.
Reeri sat bolt upright. Sweat clung his tunic to his chest.
“Cursed Yakkas,” Anula spat. “You saw that, too, didn’t you?”
A shudder coursed through him. He touched his mouth, gaze scraping to Anula.
She had killed a man with her lips.
In protection of the sharp woman and those of her circle. In protection of others. He need not wonder why—the sharp woman had told him: Anula had survived, and justice was her duty. The bitterness and ire, the impatience and ambition, the poisoncraft—it all made sense now. Anula had experienced a horror, felt the weight of retribution. His shadow shifted.
They were not dissimilar.
Anula drew a hand through her hair. He did not have to touchher to know the emotion she felt. It had simmered through the nightmare. Fear.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Reeri asked gently, wondering why she had not turned to the Heavens, as so many did in times of grief and great pressure.
“No.” The word cut the night. Anula ripped off the sheets and jumped from the bed. “No, I don’t.”
The door slammed shut behind her.
19
