In the palace corridor with her tray, the clip of her shoes hitting the tiled floor beat a pleasing rhythm. She was tall and she was proud and when she walked it was other people who parted for her and not she who scurried out of their path. She did what she did not for pettiness, but because it was what was necessary.
When a dog turned rabid you slit its throat.
Yet a cold rage brewed in her as the qarqada stewed in its poison broth. Not a fatal dose, no. Just enough to eat at him from the inside. Just enough to consume him, day by day, to waste his muscle to the bone the way he had tried to whittle his wife and his children and his counselors to slim spindles he could crush inside his hands.
Just enough to let it be vengeance.
Sharing another quote from my political epic fantasy, The Wings of Ashtaroth!
This part was a lot of fun to write--lots of delicious emotional/character stuff on the go. D :
Available here!:
books2read.com/b/49dn8Y
steve-westenra.itch.io/the-wings-of...
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