The day was bright and clear, the sun sparkling like a jewel in the sky. A whisper of icy wind swept down from the mountains, where winter had already claimed the peaks. The executioner's scaffold stood impeccably clean and neat in the middle of the palace courtyard. It was always clean; it was unseemly for any blood to stain an emperor's tool of execution.

The crowds were gathered, their patience short and their eyes eager. Smelling blood, the common people were already growing restless. The palace gates had been opened to them several hours ago, and the men and women had poured in excitedly until there was no room left. Palace executions were a rare and celebrated event for the poor masses who only rarely got to see behind the palace walls. An excited chatter emanated through them and they stirred impatiently, anxious for death and the entertainment, a distraction from their poor, miserable lives.

Youtab stood by Roshani's shoulder, leaning lightly on his silver cane. He wore lavish robes of red and purple, gold and rubies strung from his ears and neck. A garish blue feather stuck up from his turban. Roshani viewed his garb with distaste. He was a man to never be seen in public without such ostentation and riches. Typical of commoners who had risen so high.

Roshani looked down upon the crowds through a screened window, a ripple of satisfaction going through her at the sight. These were her people- people who knew that she was the rightful empress of Sazia and would never dream of opposing that claim. It calmed the restless insecurities that always clawed at the back of her mind, accusing and judging her. She straightened her shoulders.

"When you are ready, your highness," Youtab said to her with a bow. Guards lined up to either side of her, each with spears held tall and eyes staring straight ahead. They had been her father's guards as well, until his death. Now they served her, their new master, without a qualm. She regarded them with a calculating gaze. She couldn't trust these people either. As soon as she was weak they would betray her and support a new leader, just as she'd done to her father.

Shoving aside that gnawing cloud of doubt, Roshani nodded once and led them through the curtains and out onto the scaffold.

The crowd burst into shouts and cheers. Roshani glanced at their faces briefly, smiling and holding up a hand to greet them. Seeing these people in front of her, cheering and toasting her name, brought a warm feeling in her chest. This was how things were meant to be- this was the proof that she was more suited to the throne than either Esfandar or Soraya.

"My people," Roshani called out once the shouting had abated. The shouts of the crowd dulled to a low murmur. "Today is a day of sorrow and regret for the empire. A day of reflection and resilience." The wind rustled the skirts of her dress as she spoke. The sun beat down. "Today, we see the consequences of treachery and corruption. Those who betray their country, the gods shall give them their just punishment."

Roshani gave a small nod. From the side of the scaffold, Homeira appeared, her hands chained together and pulled along by a guard.

She did not look well, despite Roshani having given her comfortable food and lodging befitting her station as third wife of the shah. She looked thin and haggard, her eyes bloodshot. Her black hair was shot through with streaks of gray that Roshani had not noticed before. She seemed to acknowledge the scaffold and the crowds only distantly. Instead, all of her attention was given to Roshani.

A burning hatred filled her eyes, but more than that a burning accusation. Despite everything, Roshani's blood ran cold at the sight.

Betrayer, Homeira seemed to say. This is who you are. A tyrant and a liar.

Roshani quickly looked away. She returned her gaze to the mass of people as Homeira was led to the platform and made to face her audience.

"Homeira of Arzan, third wife to the Shah, princess of the Maersyn, and mother to blood of fire," Roshani said. Her voice was strong and steady, ringing out across the courtyard. "You stand accused of treason against the empire. You conspired with the shah in his corruption and attempted to aid the traitorous rebels Esfandar and Soraya al-Hassan ."

Roshani paused to allow the crowd to begin its jeering and booing. It settled her discomfort somewhat. The people were on her side.

"The sentence for such treason is death," Roshani continued. Homeira was pushed forward by her guard to kneel at the block. She felt to her knees without making any sound, her silence somehow much louder than any shouts or cries. Roshani felt a queasy feeling in her stomach as she watched it. She felt a headache pounding inside of her skull.

Kasra was not here. The baby was tucked away safely in the palace, being doted upon by various maids and servants in the nursery. Roshani wasn't the monster all of her family seemed to believe her to be- she wouldn't kill a mother in front of her child's eyes, even if the child would never remember such an event.

Katayoun's voice rang inside of her ears, refusing to leave her in peace. You were supposed to be different.Her grandmother's voice cracked like a whip. It is too late for you.

Roshani's fists clenched at her sides. No. Katayoun was wrong about her. She was wrong. A rage washed over Roshani like a wave, harsh and unyielding. She blinked and memories of her mother's execution flashed behind her eyelids. Roshani remembered every detail of that day, every moment. Her mother's blood had run down this very scaffold, her beautiful hair tousled by the wind even after her head was no longer attached to her body.

Roshani looked down upon Homeira and made her decision.

"However," Roshani's voice rang out. The crowd's jeering and booing paused in confusion. Roshani pressed on. "The gods are also full of mercy." Youtab stiffened at her side. Homeira froze, though she kept her eyes staring at the ground. "Homeira has the choice to redeem herself if it is the gods' will." Roshani stepped closer to Homeira. At last Homeira looked up from where she knelt. Her gaze was difficult to decipher.

"Homeira of Arzan," Roshani spoke. "Renounce the shah and the wickedness of his ways. Renounce the traitor Esfandar and his unlawful revolt. Renounce your daughter's treason and betrayal. Give me your complete loyalty and acknowledge me as the rightful empress of Sazia." Roshani straightened. "Do this, and you will be shown mercy. Do this, and you will live."

"Your Highness," Youtab hissed, attempting to interject. Roshani turned to him, her eyes burning with unwavering fury. He wisely decided to hold his tongue. Nodding stiffly, he bowed his head a stepped back.

Homeira's hard expression did not change. She did not turn her head to meet Roshani's gaze or give any indication of a change of heart. Roshani's heart beat faster in anticipation of her response. No one would refuse such a generous offer. She would permit Homeira to stay in the palace under house arrest, let her nurse her son and live out the rest of her life in peace and comfort. What woman in her rightful mind could refuse?

But Homeira did not break into tears or begin to gratefully renounce her treason, as Roshani found she so desperately hoped. Instead she thrust out her chest and shook her head once. A refusal.

A rage unlike anything Roshani had ever experienced before bubbled up inside her. This was the thanks she received for showing mercy. This was what came of regret for being forced to turn against family. This was the humiliation of compassion.

"Very well." Roshani's voice was ice. "She has chosen death."

The crowd roared once more with boos and hisses, the peasants' excitement rising again at the prospect of an execution.

Roshani nodded to the executioner. He moved forward silently, like a cougar stalking its prey. He pushed Homeira forward on the block. Then, in one fell swoop, he raised his massive axe and brought it down.

Roshani quashed any lingering feelings of regret stirring inside her. The deed was done. Now there were only two traitors left to kill.