Would you trade your soul to save your country?
That’s the question at the heart of Alysha Rameera’s Her Soul for a Crown, a new romantasy novel that takes the figures of Sri Lankan myth as inspiration. Entertainment Weekly has your first look at the cover, as well as an excerpt of the first chapter.
In Her Soul for a Crown, Anula Ramanayake of Anuradhapura is a fierce, orphaned woman with a knack for poisons, seeking revenge against the heartless rajas of her homeland. Anula is tired of seeing her country ravaged by ruthless men waging war, so she decides to take the throne for herself by poisoning her husband after their marriage.
But when a coup disrupts her plans, Anula decides to offer her soul to the Yakkas, cursed gods she’s never believed in, in exchange for the throne. Anula strikes a bargain with the most powerful and dangerous Yakka, Reeri, who has been waiting for the chance to restore his fellow gods to their former glory on Earth. But the deal tethers Reeri and Anula to each other, ensuring they either achieve their goals or die trying. As war wages, Anukla grows closer to Reeri against her better judgment as they both must confront what it means to be a leader.
“I’ve always been fascinated by little-known historical figures, especially those from my own heritage,” Rameera tells EW. “Back in 2019 I came across the story of Anula of Anuradhapura and how she became the first queen regnant in Sri Lanka, and possibly the first in all of Southeast Asia, but the history books only remembered her as a wicked woman who poisoned six husbands to get the throne.”
“Immediately, my hackles rose,” she continues. “Here was a woman who accomplished something only men had been able to, and she’s villainized for it. I thought, ‘What if she poisoned her way onto the throne because the men doing the job were the actual villains?’ As I dove into research I found myself asking the same question about the demons in Sri Lankan mythology, which were seen primarily as insatiable beings of disease and death, so cruel and savage that their leader often had to physically punish them. But, what if they weren’t the villains either? After all, it’s usually those in power who write the history books, and as we have seen (and are seeing now), being in power does not negate one’s ability to be the true villain.”
Rameera turned to her family for the stories that sparked her imagination as she began to shape Her Soul for a Crown. “I sat at my grandparent’s house and listened to stories I never would have known about had I not been looking for details of the island, of its history, its people, and its culture,” she explains. “Writing HSFAC brought me closer to my heritage and my family, so much so that if a character in HSFAC was not from myth or history, I named them after one of my relatives. Ultimately, Anula and Reeri are both driven by rage and a love of their families, and as they act heroically or villainously in pursuit of their goals, they find themselves feeling another type of love, one each of them believed they’d already sacrificed for their ambitions and aren’t willing to let get in the way of their success.”
The book hits shelves on Aug. 12. Check out the cover and read on for an excerpt below.
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Sourcebooks Casablanca
There were so many ways to stop a heart.
This…wasn’t supposed to be one of them.
Anula bent over the dead man. It had started with him clutching his chest, the whites of his eyes flaring, the veins in his neck popping. His skin turned purple and redness burned the corners of his mouth, consuming the puckered pink of his lips until they were ripped raw and festering.
“Help.” The man gasped his last breath, then fell silent with a trickle of blood on his chin.
Anula cursed. The tincture was only supposed to incapacitate. At least, that’s what the book had said.
She hadn’t had many test subjects.
Gooseflesh prickled her skin. What if someone had seen? She checked over her shoulder. The inner-city alley was clear; not a single soul passed by. Mercifully, they were all in the palace, squeezing down corridors and elbowing their way into rooms for a chance with one of the blessed gifts. To hear a statue speak their fortune or to be lost inside a painting for the day.
Anula would walk the palace halls, too, if this man had actually held up his end of their bargain. And if she wasn’t caught with a dead body.
It wasn’t as though Anula walked the streets poisoning every man she came across. As agreed upon, she’d arrived for the rendezvous with coin in hand, gliding into the alley with anticipation skittering up her spine. The noon sun was bright, unfettered by clouds. The Maha season refused to mark its beginning, so the sounds of the irrigation tanks clinked and rattled through the city, promising water amid the drought. Heat laid a heavy hand on Anula, sticking her deepest, darkest red silk sari to her already accentuated curves.
Nuwan had been late. A full thirty minutes had passed before he sauntered in, savoring the dregs of a jar of palm wine. Thirst reached his eyes as he took her in.
“Cursed Yakkas, you’re going to make me late for the guard switch,” she huffed, pulling the pouch from her side and throwing him the coin. “One hundred kahapanas, as promised. Is my name next to be called?”
“Guess you’ll find out soon.” Nuwan opened the bag, checking a metal disc for the royal stamp on one side, two tuskers on the other.
A bulge in his tunic pocket glinted. Anula swiped at it, holding it aloft. It was a green steatite lotus as large as her fist. “A relic? Really, Nuwan, are you so desperate for a wife that you’re spending all your money on trinkets of faith, begging the Divinities of the First Heavens?”
He snatched at it, grasping only air as Anula deftly tripped to the mouth of the alley. “Relics can be weapons, Anula. Is it still faith if you’re not praying but stealing power for yourself?”
“What are you going to do, hit someone over the head with it? Heavenly relics aren’t weapons. They don’t work.”
“There are plenty of people who disagree and are willing to pay any price for one. Give it here.” He reached for it again.
Anula spun out of range once more. “Am I next to be called?”
“Of course, you b—”
“If your endowment is as small as your vocabulary, it’s no wonder you seek the Heavens’ help for a wife.” She tossed him the relic. Right at the hand holding the coins.
They tinged to the ground as he caught the lotus. A sneer pulled his upper lip. “Sleeping with the raja won’t change anything, you know. The court members will never be your friends. Despite the schemes of your auntie, you are what you are: a girl with no title, no lands. Nothing to your name and nothing for a man to gain. Be grateful she was able to make you a concubine.”
Anula’s hand twitched to her jeweled necklace. He had no right to speak to her that way. Even if she were the station climber he suspected, she was the daughter of Don Upali Ramanayake, was the former heiress to the top agricultural farm in the kingdom, to more irrigation tanks than any of the people living in the inner city—
Red sky. Red hands. Red water.
Look away.
Her fingers fell from the jewels, Nuwan’s words buzzing like a mosquito. Friends? What use did she have for friends? First lesson learned, when she’d lost everything, was that there were only two kinds of people in the world: allies and enemies.
Nuwan was dangerously close to becoming the newest on her list of enemies. The ones to be dealt with after today.
“Careful what you say, Nuwan. What would the Heavens think of you?”
“What do they think of you?” His wicked smile sparked. “You didn’t need to make a deal with me to get into a man’s bed. You’re demanding enough attention in those clothes.”
“Attention and invitation are not the same thing. Or have your base instincts not evolved past those of a water buffalo?” She narrowed her eyes, taking a step back.
But Nuwan was quick. He pushed her against the wall, sweat pooling under his tunic. “Let’s see what skills you’ve honed for our blessed raja.”
He hugged her tightly, flexing his chest muscles, his arms and abs, as though they were the way to a woman’s heart. Or much farther south.
This wasn’t part of the deal. Only coin was to be exchanged for her name on the Yakkas-damned list. Peddling desire was meant for another day. Another man.
“No,” Anula asserted.
Nuwan’s fingers didn’t want to listen; neither did his mouth. But Anula knew that some lessons were best learned the hard way. Tripping her fingers along the two-tiered gold necklace at her throat, she swiped a sapphire and ran it across her lips. She grabbed Nuwan’s mouth and kissed.
His surprise hardened against her leg. Until his heart seized, and he pulled away in confusion, body convulsing. He clutched his chest and crumpled to the ground.
Where he should have been paralyzed in pain.
Not dead.
Perhaps she had mixed the ingredients wrong. Or had added too much thel endaru seed. Or perhaps she had used the wrong vial altogether.
Sweeping her dark waves over her shoulder, Anula slid another finger across the necklace at her throat—the one her mother had used to wear. Diamonds and sapphires dripped across her collarbone from a band at mid-neck. Centered on the top tier was the largest gem—the one she’d skipped brushing her fingers against before, for not all the sapphires were mere gems. Some were stoppers, the design concealing small vials of a particularly deadly poison.
The second lesson she’d learned was that though the Age of Usurpers might prize physical prowess, one only needed to be intelligent enough to dance around them. Dominate them. Rule them.
Poison—the craft held an endless array of ways to stop a heart, and if studied well, a myriad of tinctures to incapacitate, dull, and deceive an enemy.
Or it was supposed to.
Dread trickled down her spine. Anula plucked a smaller diamond from the second tier. Those held antidotes. She stroked nimbly over the top; then she stooped to touch Nuwan’s lips. He stayed purple, his breath gone from his lungs, his blood crusting in the corners of his mouth.
She wiped the coating off her lips. The sealant prevented any poison from seeping into her own skin. She’d realized early on that testing her mixtures held a high level of risk. What would have been the point in learning the craft in the first place if she accidentally killed herself?
A bell tolled from the inner-city shrine, tearing Anula’s gaze from Nuwan.
Cursed Yakkas. The guard switch.
She glanced back at the dead man, a knot coiling in her stomach. But it wasn’t as though he were an innocent. Actions mattered more than words, and Nuwan’s were as repugnant as elephant dung.
Perhaps this was a blessing in disguise. Auntie Nirma might even say the Heavens had a hand in it. She steeled herself, forcing the knot to unravel. If it was good enough for Auntie Nirma, it was good enough for her. Quickly, Anula reached down. Dead men had no need for coin or relics. Perhaps she could use both in a future bargain. A hand wrapped around her wrist. Anula screamed.
A coughing, sputtering sound filled the alley. Nuwan wheezed, “You b—b—”
“Nuwan!” Anula clutched her own heart, relief nearly drowning it. She hadn’t botched the tincture after all. The effects were just greater than the book suggested.
“You tried to kill me.” He yanked back the relic. “What kind of woman are you?”
Anula stood, a weight lifted from her shoulders. “A woman with ambition, who isn’t afraid to see things through.” The bells tolled again. “My name better be on that list. Not all poisons come with a remedy.”
She didn’t wait to hear Nuwan’s response. The guards would be switching any moment. And if she wanted to be the next concubine the raja chose to spend the night with, she couldn’t be caught missing.
Straightening out her sari, realigning her gold head chain and bell-drop earrings, bangles clinking as she moved, Anula briskly made her way through the paved streets. The stupas to the south peaked over the gate. The lofty white bulbs with tall spires stood silent, towering over the people, reminding them of their subservience, demanding their prayer and their allegiance to either the First or Second Heavens, or both if one was holy enough. All were things Anula would never give to beings who’d long since forsaken their people.
She headed north, toward the colorfully decorated palace, a bright beacon against the dense green jungle, as exacting as the stupas and calling for its own version of unquestionable faith and loyalty. People filtered in and out, mostly in. Only the wealthiest resided in the inner city, made up the raja’s court, and decided the fate of the kingdom’s people—yet never ventured outside the sixty-foot-tall iron gate to mingle or empathize.
Anula hurried across the courtyard, passing the vast garden that curled around the administrative buildings, and skidded to a stop outside the concubine estate. A female guard stood sentry, where there should have been none. At least, that had been the bargain.
Auntie Nirma’s network of allies ran as deeply as tree roots, spreading from the village of Kekirawa to the palace in Anuradhapura. They knew who inside the administration was for the kingdom and who merely pretended. They’d made deals to choose Anula as a concubine for the raja, giving Anula and her poison a chance to end the Age of Usurpers. With Auntie Nirma at the helm, she couldn’t fail.
Unless she was caught outside.
She picked up a stone and threw it around the corner. It smashed into the wall, alerting the sentry, who drew out a sword and rushed to fight off the fiend who dared threaten the Raja’s Jewels. Never suspecting that one of those Jewels could protect herself better with the jewels at her throat.
Soft, sheer fabrics rustled against the interior walls as Anula surged through the concubine estate. Decorative torches and candles hung low, casting the halls in a mellow, shaded light: an eternal dusk or dawn. Smoke curled out of the rooms, a haze washing over the halls. A whisper floated with it. As she passed, Anula glanced inside one of the concubines’ rooms. The girl kneeled on the floor before a colorful depiction of the Second Heavens, flowers in her hands and figurines of shapely beings with devilish heads surrounding her.
“Great Yakkas of Love, hear my prayer, send me to the bosom of my beloved. I will forever worship your names. I offer my favorite flowers, beaded with the tears of my…”
The words scratched along Anula’s arms. She slipped past, lips thin. The Yakkas had long since forgotten this kingdom. Bartering with them wouldn’t change that, just as begging the Divinities wouldn’t.
She swung open her own door before closing it swiftly and crashing back against it, her heart hammering. If she believed in the Yakkas, she’d bargain for a curse upon Nuwan for making her late, for nearly ruining all of her and Auntie Nirma’s plans. If he’d lied, if she was not chosen next… But perhaps the incident with Nuwan was a sign. That she hadn’t studied enough, didn’t know what she was doing. That she wasn’t ready and it’d be best if she had a few more months to—
Red sky. Red hands. Red water.
Look away.
A knock rattled the door.
It reverberated through Anula, shaking down her spine, bringing her back from the brink.
Cursed Yakkas. Of course she was ready.
Anula shook out her arms. Remembering who she was, what had been taken, and all that would fall if she failed, she touched the necklace at her throat and opened the door.
Poison stopped hearts.
And Anula intended to stop many.
Copyright © 2025 by Alysha Rameera.
#cover #mythologyinspired #romantasy #Soul #Crown