CHAPTER XV
A Thorn and a ThunderclapIt was a pleasant enough morning, if one ignored the company.
Lady Valaena sat beneath the awning of Claw Isle's eastern terrace, a small breeze catching at the hem of her sleeve. The ocean glinted in the distance. The air was laced with orange blossom, sea salt, and powdered sugar from the tray of honeycakes she'd had prepared… her favorites. She would've enjoyed one, had the presence of her guests not turned her stomach into knots.
"Oh, you must give me the recipe," Larissa Velaryon was purring. She reached daintily for another honeyed cake, fingertips dusting with sugar, smile sweet enough to sour milk. "They're simply decadent. No wonder the silks cling to you so tightly, cousin."
Allara laughed softly into her sleeve. It was the third veiled insult of the hour, and they'd only just finished the fruit course.
Breathe, Val. Breathe.
A bolt through her not-so-pretty face would bring her joy...but kinslaying at a luncheon was not something her son could smooth over, no matter how much gold filled the Celtigar vaults now.
"Sugar does that to a woman," she replied calmly, though her eyes said otherwise. "Perhaps you ought to try a second."
Allara laughed too hard at that. Like a bird wheezing. She clutched her goblet, wine-stained lips curved up like she'd heard the cleverest jape in the Free Cities.
"Oh, Valaena," she said, tucking a dark curl behind her ear. "You always were the witty one."
Witty? Is that what she called it now?
Valaena had once shoved Allara down a staircase at Driftmark. She'd cried, of course-deserved it too. And now here she was, years later, back with teary eyes, some trinket around her neck, and fluttering lashes aimed at her son.
Gods, her hands itched.
But no… She was a Celtigar- Lady of Claw Isle and Caspian's mother.
She would not stain his name with temper. Not again.
Valaena smiled thinly and poured more wine.
Claw Isle gleamed beneath the morning sun, its new districts unfolding in clean-cut lines from the central keep: the Claw Market, the Anvil Quarter, the Book Circle, even the still-barren Perfume Ward… promised to house artisans and spice-mixers from Lys by year's end. How? She didn't know, but she knew better than to ask. Then there were the reworked docks, the upgraded battlements, and the guard patrols in crisp iron-and-red livery.
Driftmark could never. Oldtown certainly hadn't.
She'd overseen half of it with her own hands...smoothing tempers, balancing ledgers, managing trade caravans and timber shipments, feeding the momentum her son had sparked. Every tile laid, every crab-named street corner… Caspian had dreamt it, and she had dragged it into the realm of the real. Well, that...and Renwald sweating off every stone he'd gained feasting on their much earned success.
But the only thing her dear cousin Larissa saw were the iron statues in the gardens.
"I must ask," Larissa said, pointing a jeweled finger toward the courtyard, "what exactly are those? The... figures that look like the Titan of Braavos had an accident with a smith. They're everywhere."
"Statues," Valaena replied, too pleasantly. "Caspian's design. Each one honors a fallen craftsman from the early rebuilding."
"Charming," Larissa drawled. "Though I must say, they look rather like squashed Titans. Or bent signposts. I couldn't tell if they were guarding the garden or losing an argument with it."
Valaena's hand tightened around her goblet.
Allara chimed in, helpful as ever. "I think they're meant to look that way. Very modern. Very... artistic."
"They do seem out of place," Larissa added. "All those pumpkins and vines. And the hedges shaped like spiders? Quaint."
They were crabs, actually. Caspian had commissioned them himself. Topiary crabs. Each with a pun for a name.
Crabbastian. Clawdia. Sir Scuttle.
Gods, he was a fool. A brilliant one.
"They amuse the children," Valaena said. "And the dogs."
Allara snorted. "Perhaps they're just... foreign?"
"Yes," Valaena said. "Modern. That would explain why your understanding falls short."
She sipped her watered wine. Let the insult land. Let them chew on it like gristle.
The silence stretched… sjust briefly, before Larissa recovered with a bright, icy smile.
"Of course, my dear. We all know how progressive Caspian is. Opening his archery contest to the smallfolk, naming districts after... crustaceans. And giving command of a city patrol to the boy who won it? Truly, your son is changing the world."
"Not a boy," Valaena murmured. "Not anymore."
She watched them sip and nibble, glancing around like cats eyeing a room they meant to own. Lucerys's raven clearly hadn't pierced that thick skull of hers. Or perhaps it was just a performance… mummery had always been one of her better talents.
They were here to ask a favor. Not the other way around.
The Celtigars were no longer the forgotten Valyrian house. Claw Isle gleamed. The docks bustled. The name carried weight again. It was the Velaryons who came smiling like beggars in silk.
Monford had behaved, at least. The boy had inherited Lucerys's manners, thank the Seven. He'd kissed her hand, asked after her hounds, even complimented the new glass murals...without sounding like a sycophant. Valaena liked him.
Lucerys, at least, she could tolerate. They had been close once...before the marriage, before Larissa batted her lashes and stole the match out from under her. Valaena had been promised to him, or so the old men thought. But the old men had been wrong.
He'd wanted her once. Everyone had expected she would become Lady Velaryon. But Larissa had slithered in first...all dimples and wine-stained lips. A mess, that whole affair. And yet, Lucerys had the sense to remember where the power sat now. She still liked him. Even after that.
It didn't matter. She'd married a Celtigar. And had Caspian.
And her boy had given them all reason to choke on their old alliances.
"Such a shame he never wed young," Allara offered suddenly, swirling her drink. "Lucerys was rather fond of the idea once, wasn't he? Thought your father and he might join bloodlines again?"
And there it was...the root of it. The reason these two bitches had come all the way from Driftmark, simpering behind silk veils and sweetened wine. They saw what Caspian had become. What Claw Isle had become. And now that the blood and building was done, they wanted a piece of it.
Too late.
Valaena blinked, long and slow. "Yes. Until Larissa here bedded him first, cousin."
Allara paled, just a touch. Larissa's smile vanished.
"I do hope Monford is enjoying his stay," Valaena added mildly. "He's a bright boy. Curious. Perhaps he'll grow into something more than a reflection of his mother."
A sharp breath from Larissa. But still, no open fight. Not here. Not with the gardens full of guards, servants, and whispering wind.
"But it is time, would you not say?" she managed. "To let go of such petty grievances and join the lines once again?"
"Oh, immensely," Allara said sweetly. "It's so lovely to see old blood enjoying the fruits of new labor."
The gall of this bitch...to speak as if they were a cadet branch. Even the gods would understand if Valaena slipped on the robe of a Silent Sister and buried her right here.
She had half a mind to do just that when Monford came bounding up the terrace steps, cheeks flushed.
"Auntie, you should see the harbor! They've got nets long as the pier...and men hauling them in like they're catching krakens!"
Valaena smiled for real this time. "Have they now? Then perhaps I should go and see for myself."
She stood with practiced ease, brushing crumbs from her skirts.
"Will you be joining me, Larissa?" she asked lightly. "You've always had an appreciation for established holdings."
The silence behind her tasted better than the cake ever had.
Eventually, the sound of silk on stone reached her ears...footsteps falling in behind her. Then another pair. Allara, of course, never far from Larissa's elbow.
When Larissa came up beside her, it wasn't with a retort. Just quiet. Composed. A long exhale of tension neither acknowledged.
Allara fell into rhythm as they moved toward the lower gardens, where sun and sea met in a shimmer of gold and salt. They passed under the archway and into the eastern grove, the path curving past windflowers and crab-shaped hedges. The air was thick with lemon balm, sea spray, and the slow heat rising off the stone.
Somewhere ahead, Monford's voice rang out...high, bright, unbothered.
He tore through the garden like a windblown pageboy, chasing a blur of wings with a stick in one hand and a half-crushed daisy crown clinging to his curls. His shrieks of joy sliced clean through the formality like a sword through silk.
"All that energy," Allara said, half-laughing. "I'm winded just watching him."
Valaena smirked. "Perhaps we should pit him against the scorpions next."
Even Larissa laughed...light, unguarded. She'd removed her gloves and now trailed a fingertip along the rim of a marble basin, posture relaxed in a way Valaena hadn't seen in years.
"He reminds me of Lucerys at that age," she said. "Always chasing things he couldn't quite catch."
"And crashing into the things he should've avoided," Valaena added dryly.
Larissa chuckled with a tight smile. "That too."
They strolled slowly through the hedges, skirts brushing against crab-shaped topiary, the path warmed beneath their feet. A butterfly landed briefly on Allara's shoulder, and she made a small delighted sound before it flitted off.
"Lady Flutterfin the Brave!" Monford shouted. "She's come back!"
Valaena couldn't help but smile. "Be careful," she called. "She doesn't like to be chased."
"Then I'll walk!" he declared...before promptly sprinting after it again.
He darted into view between two hedgerows, chasing a flash of orange-and-blue wings. A butterfly. He flailed his arms dramatically as he pursued it, crown of crushed daisies half-falling from his curls.
"Come back here, Lady Flapwing!" he shouted. "You haven't been knighted yet!"
Valaena exhaled through her nose. Not a laugh but close.
Allara allowed herself a small chuckle. "What's that now...his third title for the same insect?"
"Fourth," Larissa murmured, brushing a stray curl from her cheek. "She's been Lady Gossamer, Queen Flitter, and Princess Peppaflight. We're due for a baroness, I think."
Valaena said nothing. Her hands were folded neatly before her, but her gaze lingered on the boy. Not for the first time, she thought of Caspian at that age...though Caspian had been quieter. Sharper, even then. But still full of wild notions and big names for little things.
"To be that young again," she said with a laugh. "I need a nap just watching him run."
Monford stumbled over the edge of a flowerbed, recovered with a flourish, and shouted, "Did you see that? I nearly caught her!"
He crashed into Valaena's skirts and looked up, eyes wide.
"Auntie! Auntie! I almost caught her!"
"She let you almost catch her," Valaena said, crouching. "She was being kind."
Monford grinned. "I'll name her Lady Kindwing then!"
"Lady Kindwing," Valaena repeated, brushing a leaf from his hair. "A worthy name."
He beamed a smile brighter than sunshine.
"Your son had that same look," Larissa said softly.
Valaena didn't answer. Not yet.
They walked on, following the gravel path around the reflecting pool. The gardens were green and humming, bees lazing from bloom to bloom. Crabbastian's topiary claw had been freshly trimmed. The nameplate below it...etched in Caspian's own hand...gleamed in the sun.
"I'd forgotten how much space there is here," Larissa said, voice light. "Driftmark feels smaller every year."
"All the gold and none of the room," Allara offered.
"Claw Isle had little of either," Valaena replied. "Once."
They rounded a bend, passing under a low arch of woven vines. Somewhere ahead, Monford shrieked with delight.
The silence between the women wasn't tense now…just present. Larissa looked to the sky, shielding her eyes with her hand.
"Do you remember," she began, cautious, "the orchard behind Driftmark's west wall? Before the storm took it?"
Valaena didn't respond right away.
"I remember," she said finally. "We used to sneak almond rolls from the kitchens and eat them under the fig trees."
"And pelt boys with fallen fruit."
"Only if they deserved it."
"They usually did."
A breath and a glance. Not a truce, but a pause in the war.
"He reminds me of those days," Larissa said, nodding toward Monford. "Before all this."
"This?" Valaena echoed.
"Politics… you know the posturing- The weight of names."
"We were born into those weights," Valaena said. "It just took time to feel them."
Allara trailed a step behind now, content to listen. The garden had grown quieter save for the distant crash of sea on stone and the ever-present giggle of the boy up ahead.
"I envied you, you know," Larissa said suddenly.
Valaena blinked.
"Back then," she continued. "You were always so sure of yourself. So angry. So loud. I used to think: gods, I wish I could be like that. Just once. Just... fearless."
Valaena arched a brow. "You hid it well. The envy."
"Did I?" Larissa smiled faintly. "I thought I made it obvious."
"No," Valaena said. "You made other things obvious."
They both laughed… sharply at first, then softer. It wasn't peace but it wasn't venom either.
They came upon Monford crouched near the reflecting pool, watching the same old butterfly rest on a blade of grass. He looked up with wide eyes.
"Auntie! I've given her a title! She's Lady Kindwing the Gentle now. She trusts me."
"Careful with gentle things," Valaena said, crouching beside him. "They bruise easily."
Monford nodded, solemn. "I won't scare her."
"She'll leave eventually," she added. "That's what butterflies do."
"She'll come back."
She didn't correct him.
Larissa knelt beside them. "He's a good boy."
"He's a boy," Valaena said. "Whether he becomes something good is still to be seen."
They stood again and began walking. The path bent toward the lemon grove, where the shade grew cooler and the scent heavier. The guards lingered at a respectful distance, their armor… mirror shining in the sunlight.
For the first time that day, Valaena felt the tension ease of her shoulders, the deep breath felt sweeter now- thought perhaps the future didn't have to be a battlefield. Perhaps old wounds could become scars and fade away if kept closed.
Perhaps.
The bell rang.
A low, solemn clang from the watchtower.
Valaena stopped walking.
Another bell followed.
From the walls above came shouting. Urgent. Distant. Growing closer.
"Ships!"
"Red sails!"
"Dragon… black, not royal!"
The wind shifted, sharp with salt and noise.
Larissa stepped closer to Monford, hand instinctively brushing the back of his neck. "What was that-?"
The third bell rang.
And peace, as always, shattered.
Another voice shouted- no, cried! "It's a black dragon… no, no, not the fuckin' Blackfyre!"
The garden stilled.
Monford froze mid-chase, his flower crown slipping askew. Larissa's hand clamped onto his shoulder. Allara turned to the horizon like she'd seen a ghost. Moments ago, they'd been laughing about butterflies… now the world had drawn steel.
Guards thundered down the steps from the watchtower, iron boots pounding the stone like drumbeats, echoing off marble and vinework.
Ser Willem broke through first, armor half worn and half fastened "My lady," he said, breath tight, "Incoming sails, Blackfyre colors… Five ships, closing fast!"
"Where are the patrols?" Valaena asked.
"No contact. Either intercepted… or were evaded."
That shouldn't have been possible. Caspian's patrols were layered...nothing should have slipped through unnoticed. And yet there they were: red sails, black dragons, nearly at Claw Isle's teeth.
"How close?"
"Fifteen minutes. We're readying the scorpions."
"Do it," Valaena ordered. Then turned. "Get the guests inside."
"I'm not going anywhere," Larissa snapped, clutching Monford.
"You will if I say so," Valaena shot back, eyes narrowing. "This isn't a Lysene pleasure barge."
Monford looked up at her, confused and afraid. "Auntie… are we being attacked?"
Valaena crouched, her tone softening just enough. "Yes… But we're ready. Stay close to your mother- keep her safe, won't you?" She reached out and gave his curls a quick, reassuring ruffle.
She stood. "Ready the dispensers."
Ser Willem fumbled with his helmet, sweat sheening at his temple. "My lady, we need to move you inside as well."
"Not yet," she said.
"Then at least move them," he said, nodding toward the others. He raised a hand, and his men moved at once.
"Lady Larissa," one of the guards said firmly, "we'll escort you and your son to the keep."
Larissa hesitated, staring out at the black sails, knuckles white around Monford's sleeve.
"Go," Valaena ordered, calmer now but just as sharp. "Take the boy!"
Monford hesitated. "Will we be okay?"
She knelt briefly, met his eyes. "We'll hold. You'll be safe. Go now."
The guards closed in around them...Larissa, Allara, and Monford...forming a protective ring as they began to pull back toward the hall.
Then a bolt screamed through the air.
It struck stone just ahead of them, shattering a column in a spray of debris. The retreat halted.
Screams.
Monford ducked. Larissa turned her back, shielding him.
The guards reshuffled instantly, shields raised against the broken debris, surrounding them all in a tight formation.
No one moved now.
It seemed they were staying here… at least for the moment, with the scorpions locked… with eyes fixed on the sea.
"Evaded," Valaena spat, coughing. " THEY DARE- Get the men ready by the dispensers…now!"
"They already are, my lady."
She nodded once. "Good. You're in command now aren't you, ser? For Ser Jaremy's in King's Landing with my son."
"Make them pay."
Willem gave a short bow, then turned to the signalmen. "Raise flags. Scorpions to full draw."
Men streamed toward the ramparts, ropes pulled taut, bolts gleaming in the sun.
Larissa stepped forward, her voice rough from the dust same as hers. "They...those are Blackfyre sails? Are you certain?"
Valaena didn't even glance at her. "Unless someone else has taken to painting black dragons on red linen."
Monford looked up at her, trying not to look scared. "Auntie… are they coming to hurt us?"
"No," she said, softening just enough. "They'll find no welcome here."
Allara twisted a lock of hair around her fingers. "Shouldn't we go inside...?"
Her voice caught. She glanced back at the shattered staircase, stone still crumbling where a bolt had struck moments ago.
She said nothing else.
Ser Willem raised a gauntlet. "Form up."
Two guards stepped in beside Valaena, shields raised. Four more moved to surround Larissa, Allara, and the boy, guiding them back toward the hall.
They moved, slowly. Allara looked over her shoulder. "They won't breach the walls, will they?"
"No," Valaena said, already turning to face the sea. "But I want to know what they think they're doing."
The battlements...Caspian's pride...bristled in readiness. Fresh-painted stone lined with new scorpions fresh from the reach, and beneath the cobblestone… sat the reinforced chamber, rigged with obsidian and red-stone, the dispensers capable of loosing thunder like artillery with just the pull of a lever.
Her son called it a cannon, she called it madness.
She stepped onto the outer ring where wind tore at her sleeves.
And there they were.
Five sleek hulls, fast-built and low to the water. Not galleys...raiders. The kind meant for speed and sharp strikes. Red sails fluttered above them, a black dragon…the three headed fuck- snarling in the wind.
The Blackfyre banner.
Caspian had warned her of whispers...Blackfyre sympathizers stirring again in the Stepstones, talk of exiled captains flying old colors. But this… this was bold.
She narrowed her eyes. The ships weren't sailing in a battle line not that she knew much of battle but even she could tell that they weren't spreading to encircle. They advanced in a loose cluster, zigzagging erratically… almost posturing.
"Signal the engineers!" Ser Willem barked. "Do not fire without leave."
"Yes, ser!"
Valaena stepped closer to the edge. Her guards followed without a word.
On the nearest ship, she saw movement...figures scrambling to load, adjusting sails, ducking behind the bulwarks, but Claw Keep's scorpions were already aligned. She heard the tightening of winches, the strain of cables. One wrong twitch and the bolts would fly.
"Loosen one," she said. "With a high arc. Make them blink… the sitting ducks- when it tears through their sails."
Ser Willem relayed the command. A moment later, the snap of release cracked through the air.
The bolt flew like a shadow...arcing, gleaming...then slammed into the mast of the lead ship. A splintering crack followed. A clean, brutal hit.
Cheers rose from the terraces.
But the ships didn't fire back.
They didn't veer to flank. No counter-volley. No raised flag. Just… silence.
And movement.
Figures scurried across the decks again, like ants unsure where their queen had gone.
"What are they doing?" Allara murmured just behind her. She hadn't gone far, after all.
"Panicking," Larissa guessed, voice thin. "Or pretending to."
Another bolt loosed from the scorpions, this time without anyone even noticing. It sailed just over the watchtower near her, missing by a width and a whisper. The gust it dragged in its wake brushed her cheek, sharp as a slap. Just a little lower, and it would've…
BOOM!
Came the thunder.
It didn't roll like a storm. It cracked...sudden and absolute...as if the sky itself had split open.
Monford yelped and ducked behind Larissa's skirts. Even the guards flinched.
Allara shrieked and dropped into a crouch behind a hedge. Larissa wrapped her arms around her son, shielding him, eyes wide with terror.
Even Willem and the seasoned guards...flinched.
The sound had come from the dispensers.
One of Caspian's cannons...massive, humming faintly with a dying red glow...had fired.
Allara gasped. "What in the Seven's name was that?"
Valaena looked from the weapon her son had built to the wreckage in the water ... the ship that had nearly killed her. It was gone now, blasted apart mid-charge. The same bolt that missed her by inches had come from that deck. Now its blackened ribs bobbed in the surf like broken teeth… all that fury reduced to driftwood and smoke.
She couldn't help it...she laughed.
"Trade secret," she said, echoing Caspian's favorite phrase.
Larissa and Allara stared at her like she'd lost her mind, as if she were some cackling Valyrian witch. But Valaena only smiled wider, understanding now why her son always said it with that maddening... no! endearing... smirk of his.
Another roll of thunder followed...softer this time, more distant. Like something massive had stirred and gone quiet again.
Then the ships turned.
No retaliation. No charge. Not even a single boarding attempt.
They caught the wind and fled, sails straining as they pulled away from Claw Isle like hounds broken from the chase.
A murmur rippled through the guards. Then a few clapped. And then...
Cheering.
"We drove them off!" "Didn't even need to fire twice!" "They fear the Red Crab!"
But Valaena didn't cheer.
She watched the last sail slip behind the bay's edge.
Too clean. Too easy.
Something was off for even after blowing one to splinters, the entire engagement made no sense. Yes...no one outside Claw Isle knew that such weapons even existed. Of course they turned tail and ran. What else could they do, faced with something that sounded like the wrath of the Storm God made real?
But still...
They'd made it this far. Fired first… dared launch bolts at her keep.
Valaena's voice was low. "Where were the patrols?"
No one answered. Then Ser Willem stepped beside her.
"My lady… this felt wrong."
"It was wrong," she said.
She watched the sea long after the threat had gone. Her jaw set. Her eyes sharp.
Ships don't breach patrol range without being seen. Raiders don't launch bolts and flee after a warning shot. Skirmishes don't end like that...just a few bolts exchanged, a single ship destroyed, and nothing else.
Why even come here, of all places… and with what? Five ships?
She exhaled, slow and bitter. The salt stung in the back of her throat and the sea tasted of smoke and questions.
Was this Caspian's doing? It can't be…
And if so...
What game was her son playing?