Daenerys held the Harpy's Finger and slowly turned to face the silent black formation.
The Unsullied still held their spears raised, their points aimed at the now-empty scorched earth.
Even though Daenerys had just burned their former masters alive with dragonfire before their eyes, they remained silent, spears raised, utterly motionless.
Until new orders came, they would make no unnecessary movements.
Daenerys studied the vacant eyes behind their visors. After a moment of silence, she raised the short whip in her hand again.
"Lower your spears."
The Unsullied drew back their spears in unison and held them upright at their sides.
"Form ranks where you stand."
The black formation moved again, rearranging itself into its original ranks with perfect precision. Dust rose and settled, and nearly ten thousand Unsullied stood silently in place, waiting for the next command.
But Daenerys gave no new command.
She lowered her head and glanced at the exquisite short whip in her hand-a black dragonbone handle, a Harpy carved from gold, and nine dangling strips of black leather.
This object, which symbolized Astapor's supreme authority over the Unsullied, now rested in her hand.
She looked up at the dragonfire still burning nearby. The bones of the Good Masters crackled within it, and flames licked the blackened earth, radiating searing waves of heat.
Then she flung it away.
The short whip traced an arc through the air and landed squarely in the dragonfire.
The black dragonbone handle swiftly whitened and cracked in the fierce flames. The golden Harpy melted and warped, and the nine leather strips curled and shrank. In moments, the flames swallowed it whole, reducing it to ash that mingled indistinguishably with the slave masters' remains.
Missandei stood to one side, her pupils trembling slightly as she watched.
That short whip-that symbol of power