Chapter: 133 Khal Drogo's Banquet (6)
After she had spoken, Daenerys looked as if she wanted to say more. But with a quick glance toward Viserys and Illyrio not far away, she chose to remain silent.
Just as Ian was about to press closer, a wine glass was suddenly thrust before him.
"You have truly awful taste," a voice said. A woman in a red robe had appeared before him, her eyes on the Dornish summer red in his hand. "Compared to the rare vintages of Pentos, what the Dornish drink is little more than horse piss." She offered him her glass. "Try the amber wine of Pentos?"
A player? Poison? The thoughts flashed through Ian's mind instantly.
"No, thank you." He certainly wasn't going to take it. He gave his own cup a slight swirl. "Summer Red is fine. I enjoy the taste."
As he spoke, Ian studied the girl. Beneath her red hood, she had a delicate face, and her amber eyes were sharp and intelligent, seeming to hold a captivating, almost magical power. Brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, half-concealing her small ears and making her slender neck appear exceptionally white.
"I like your taste, too," the red-robed woman said, her lips curving into a smile that made Ian's thoughts drift for a moment.
Was this his lucky day? The thought had barely formed before her next words sent a jolt of shock through him.
"The scent of magic," the red-robed woman added in a low voice.
In that instant, Ian summoned every ounce of his self-control to keep his expression from betraying him.
"Is that so?" he said, managing a half-joking tone while his mind raced, trying to place her. "I'm often told I'm as shrewd as an old crone. From what you say, perhaps some witch has cast a spell on me?"
"Perhaps," the woman in red replied with a noncommittal smile. "In truth, I came to find you because I saw you in the flames."
"The flames?" Ian carefully reined in his emotions. "What did you see?"
This time, however, she only smiled and shook her head. "If you wish to know the answer, come find me at the Red Temple on the mountaintop within three days. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Celia. I am the daughter of the chief red priest of Pentos." She drew out the words 'chief priest,' letting them hang in the air for a moment before finishing her sentence.
Seeing the surprise on Ian's face, Celia's smile turned sly, like a prankster who had just landed the perfect jest.
"By the way," she said, her eyes glinting, "you looked so wary just now. Did you truly suspect I was trying to poison you?" With that, she tipped back the glass she had offered him and drank the wine in a single gulp.
"That wasn't my meaning at all."
"Hmph!" Celia snorted, then turned and quickly made her way over to Prince Hazan's fiancée, Delif Hauket. From the easy way they spoke and laughed together, it was clear they were close.
*Not a player, then?* The daughter of the chief red priest of Pentos was an identity difficult to reconcile with that of a player.
And she had the unmistakable air of an immature young girl… though, of course, that could be an act.
The crucial point was her ability to detect the magical aura about him without him needing to shapeshift. That was a skill only a high-level priest of the Red God should possess… much like how Aunt Mei could perceive that an eagle circling in the sky was, in fact, a man in a beast's shape.
It would not be surprising for a red priestess trained from birth to reach such a level of skill. But for a player to have acquired that many points at this stage of the game was impossible. There were, after all, only so many ways to earn attribute and skill points.
So, should he go?
He had to admit, Celia's words had piqued his interest. The Red Temple on the mountain was, after all, the last known location of the player Gini Taimei.
Ian had long wanted to investigate Gini Taimei's activities further, but he had abandoned that plan when his primary enemy became Ander Poole. He had learned a bloody lesson about not overextending himself, about not being greedy for victory.
Besides that, he was genuinely curious what new prophecies might appear in the flames now that the original course of events had been so altered.
But to go to the Red Temple in person… that seemed unnecessary.
What if Celia truly was a player, or had player forces behind her? Walking into the Red Temple would be like walking into a hunter's snare.
Though the possibility was remote, the potential benefits of such a visit were simply not worth the slightest risk.
His current path was secure. As long as he remained close to the Dragon Mother and cultivated his friendships with Ambassador Olanto and Prince Hazan, he was destined to soar in Slaver's Bay within a year, at most.
By then, neither the player faction that might be backing Celia nor the one connected to Gini Taimei would be in any position to challenge him.
Why should he rush to confront them now, while they were still on even footing?
Tales of heroism were filled with thrilling stories of the few triumphing over the many. But the true game of power was a brutal arithmetic: it was about the many crushing the few, the strong preying on the weak, and overwhelming force leaving no room for chance.
In the end, Ian decided to ignore Celia's invitation. He would simply have the big mouse look into the woman.
If any further clues emerged, he would analyze them then.
With the matter settled in his mind, he turned his gaze back toward Viserys.
Daeron had just completed his oath, and now Prince Hazan and Ambassador Olanto were approaching the would-be king.
"Congratulations on gaining such outstanding and loyal men, Your Majesty," Olanto said, addressing Viserys with the honorific without a moment's hesitation. It was an investment that cost him nothing.
"And you are?" Viserys asked, confused.
"I am Olanto Ranstayn, the ambassador of Braavos to Pentos," he replied, before gesturing to the man beside him. "And this is Prince Hazan Mohalis."
Having made the introductions, Olanto moved toward Illyrio, pulling the Magister aside to speak with him in low tones.
"Congratulations, Your Majesty Viserys," Hazan said, stepping forward. "On behalf of Pentos, I offer you my salutations. To celebrate the great cause of your restoration, I have prepared a generous gift. A servant will deliver it to your manse later."
The deference from both men left Viserys momentarily flattered. In all his years of exile, he had never been afforded such courtesy.
At the same time, he quickly straightened his posture, adopting a kingly air. Everything that had transpired today told him that his station had fundamentally changed.
"I shall remember all friends who showed me kindness in my time of crisis," Viserys declared, lifting his chin slightly in a tone of haughty grace.
"I would be honored," Hazan said with a bow. "Furthermore, I have one more matter in which I must ask for Your Majesty's aid."
"Oh?" Viserys was even more surprised now. He could not imagine what help he, of all people, could possibly offer the Prince of Pentos.
"The Earl of Grafson," Hazan began, using the new title Viserys had bestowed upon Daeron only moments before. It was an empty honor, just like Ian's, tied to the city of Gulltown, but Hazan's use of it was a clear show of sincerity. "He has dedicated a water dancer to you."
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