A Handful of Dust

Her two brothers killed each other outside the gates, on opposite sides of a war that nearly ended the city. One has been buried with honors. The other has been left on the plain for the dogs and the birds, and the new king has made it law: anyone who covers that body dies.

The law is not madness. Thebes has just come out of a siege, and the difference between a loyal death and a traitor's death has to mean something or the next brother with an army will not hesitate.

Her sister has already said no, and said it reasonably: they are two women with no soldiers, their family has suffered enough, and dying achieves nothing except one more corpse.

Burial does not require much. A handful of dust scattered over the body is the whole rite. It is enough to satisfy the gods, and it is enough to be executed for.

The plain is empty. It is not guarded well. She could walk out there tonight.