Pentos had only one Prince—but forty Governors. Nearly all the wealth and property in Pentos was under their control.
The war between Braavos and Pentos years ago had supposedly started over Pentos's use of slaves.
Of course, that was merely a pretext on Braavos's part.
The real reason was a land dispute over the Andal Plains.
After all, if Braavos truly saw itself as a liberator of slaves, then instead of going after distant Valyria or Slaver's Bay, it should've turned its attention toward the Kingdom of the Three Daughters.
After losing the war, Pentos publicly gave up the use of slaves.
But in reality, they simply shifted tactics—burdening so-called "freemen" with crushing debt.
These debts, with their endlessly compounding interest, reduced the freemen to little more than slaves in another name.
The old master–slave relationship had simply been replaced by creditor–debtor.
In recent years, people had even begun openly buying and using slaves once more.
"You idiot! This tea is scalding hot—are you trying to kill me!?"
A corpulent governor, with chestnut-brown hair and a belly swollen like he was with child, hurled the tea in his servant's face.
Then, with a vicious glare, he smashed the teacup on the servant's head.
Blood streamed down the servant's brow.
In truth, the tea had been no hotter than usual. The governor simply needed an excuse to vent.
Inside the grand hall of the Prince's Palace in Pentos, a heavy atmosphere hung in the air.
Servants walked on eggshells, careful even with their breathing.
Those assigned to carry tea and water quietly wished they were Braavosi water dancers—then they wouldn't make a sound.
The governors—who controlled far more than 100% of Pentos's wealth, if such a thing were possible—looked like men who had lost a fortune.
Which, in fact, they had.
The gold they had paid to hire the Cat Company likely now rested in Viserys's coffers.
The armor and weapons they had supplied to the local bandits and their agents had been lost in vain.
They had long depended on those very bandits to control over a hundred thousand Andals, forcing them to supply grain at bargain prices.
Though small in unit, the profits added up over time.
Now, at least half of those Andals were likely to submit to Viserys and become loyal subjects of House Targaryen.
As for the remaining half—they wouldn't last long either.
Even if the governors wanted to protect what was left, the cost would be enormous.
They would need to vomit up every drop of "flesh and blood" they had drained from the Andals—and even that might not suffice.
Worse still, they had no idea what had happened to Redbeard.
If Redbeard exposed their involvement, Viserys would have every reason to cut off Pentos's trade routes...After all, Pentos relied on a Valyrian road that ran between Pentos and Gohor.
The merchant-governors of Pentos used this road to reach the Rhoyne River and extend their influence along both its banks.
And so, when another one of Illyrio's ill-fated ideas backfired, he became the scapegoat for the entire room.
Their angry accusations and insults echoed throughout the great hall.
"Illyrio! If House Targaryen cuts our trade routes, it'll be your fault!"
"Damn right! You spent our treasury's gold like it was your own!"
"…!"
Illyrio watched them all with a cold, shadowed stare. It was as if he were remembering what it felt like to be an assassin again.
Back when Varys was still alive, Illyrio had used inside information from King Aerys to make these men rich.
Now that his source had dried up, they showed him no courtesy at all.
Illyrio was deeply displeased.
Despite being one of the wealthiest governors in Pentos, he had never managed to acquire real power.
That was why he found himself in such a weak position today.
Just then, one of the elder governors of Pentos leaned forward after hearing a whisper from a servant and announced loudly:
"Gentlemen, the Prince of Dorne—Oberyn—has arrived."
Though the great hall was packed with governors, only seven or eight of them were truly qualified to meet with someone of Oberyn's rank.
Those in attendance were all "real power" governors.
Some controlled the courts. Others controlled the treasury—or even the army. Thus, the so-called "general assembly" became a "private council."
Oberyn and the top governors retired to an elegantly decorated chamber.
Coal braziers glowed within, radiating a cozy warmth.
The handmaids attending the room were stunningly beautiful, with seductive curves and alluring voices. It was hard not to want to toy with them.
Oberyn was pleased—very pleased.
Compared to his last visit to Pentos, when he had come to help the Targaryens find a relocation site, the governors were far more enthusiastic this time.
As the guest of honor, Oberyn was surrounded and flattered by all.
Such was the difference between needing a favor—and being needed.
Meanwhile, poor Audro, who had come as a mere figurehead, couldn't help but look at Oberyn with a touch of envy.
They both bore the title of prince—but the difference between them was stark.
Thank the gods Viserys won that war, Oberyn thought to himself, smiling.
"Your Highness, your arrival was so sudden. We were caught off guard. Please don't take offense," said the elder governor respectfully.
"This is just fine. I'm quite satisfied. Much better than…"
"Better than what?" another governor asked.
"Better than Gohor, by far!" Oberyn replied with a grin.
In truth, he had wanted to say, "You're far more welcoming than last time." But the merchant-governors had no reason to doubt him.
Viserys, even with his royal title, still lived in a tent.
He had instructed Oberyn to hide the fact that he already knew the mercenaries had been sent by Pentos.
Now that he understood the setup in Gohor—where the Andals were backed by Pentos and the Rhoynar by Braavos—he intended to play a clever game.
The plan was simple: the "Fox's Share."
He would keep the power balance between both sides unstable.
That way, each side would strive to gain his favor—and offer more to ensure their enemies didn't gain ground.
So long as their bribes were sufficient, Viserys was more than willing to be their weapon.
When the time came, he would swallow Gohor whole.
This time, Oberyn's mission was to secure supplies from Pentos—for free.
The moment the governors learned that Viserys's next campaign would target the Rhoynar of the Gohor region, they became invigorated.
But none of the men in this chamber were fools.
"Why isn't His Majesty Viserys continuing to conquer the remaining Andals?" Illyrio asked, eyes narrowing.
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