KINGSLAYER

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It was as if he had struck her. She needed the Kalingi decimated, she needed the war slaves released to their homes, she needed an ally against her father. Ermalai had made himself invaluable to her. How had she dug herself such a deep grave?

Her gaze found the iron gates once again as she struggled to be alright with her decision. Well, there was no decision, really. She had to do it. Her Godfire, her ships, and her firearms were still being developed; she had to buy time for them to be ready for the battlefield.

"Very well then," she decided in a murmur. When she breathed in, she could already smell the smoke.

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The sky was already gray. Hopefully it would not rain until the spectacle was over. Jaylah stood high over the scene on the front courtyard of a temple to Sargon. Dozens of black pyres stood stark against the backdrop of the horrified onlookers. Jaylah had purposely chosen a main street. Soldiers were holding them back from helping the people tied to the posts, most of which were screaming and flailing. Their voices were muffled by the utter stillness in Jaylah's mind.

She watched as some of the crowd fought against her soldiers. You cannot stop me, she told them with her eyes, though they were too far down. Let me do this and it will be over.

If any one of them made a threat on her life, she would kill them. It did not matter if the attempt was warranted. She was so far past letting herself fall under the swift blade of justice now. No matter how bad she got, she was going to live. And she was bringing as many of them as she could to the other side with her.

Everything was set. The guilty were all tied so high off the ground that their legs would break if they somehow got free. Every person was watching.

Ermalai learned forward to whisper in her ear, "Go give them hell."

And she began to descend down the curve of the left staircase. The condemned went temporarily out of view, but their shouts never ceased. Her ears were tearing apart with them. They begged for help, for another chance, for redemption. They spat insults at her, knowing she was coming, and slandered her name using every slur they could think of.

Hearing them cry so pitifully while pretending to keep their dignity about them made a surge of hatred tinge her vision red. They had thought she was stupid enough to not have a plan so they took matters into their own hands. They had not listened to her. They had brought this upon themselves.

But then she was handed a lit firestick, which seemed to pass hands so loudly as the world held its breath. And saw the very first one to die was a girl who could not have been older than sixteen. Silent tears ran down her face, and she tightened her lips. They trembled anyway. Black hair, bronze skin, sharp eyes. Jaylah nearly fell to her knees. She hated that girl, she pitied her and lamented her and wished she had not failed her.

The girl did not flinch even as she dropped the flame to the pyre and lit her ablaze.

Jaylah allowed herself a second to watch the poor girl's pretty hair burn to nothing. It was so easy to just erase her. A bit of pain and then it was as if that wretched, courageous girl had never existed.

She moved on.

The second was a thin man with a head that looked too large for his body. He had likely starved someone in his life. Blood glistened on his mouth as he screamed, "You were supposed to save us! Now all you have done is ensure that we will all go down with you. Your own peoples' blood is on your hands, you loveless cunt!"

Holding his gaze, Jaylah lowered the torch without hesitation. She did not bother to watch him burn.

The next one was an old man who was praying intensely under his breath. Beads of sweat rolled down his grimy face. She lit him up.