The air in their small room at The Drowned Mug was thick with the smell of old secrets and new, dangerous hope. Kaelo sat on the edge of his cot, the rough leather of his axe haft a familiar comfort in his scarred hands. He wasn't sharpening the blade; he was just holding it, the weight of it a grounding presence in a world that had gone mad.
Across the room, Orbelo was hunched over the small, rickety table, his maimed hand resting beside a fresh piece of parchment. With his good hand, he was meticulously copying the contents of the stolen scroll, his brow furrowed in intense concentration. He was no longer the broken, weeping man from the tavern. He was a man with a purpose, and it had given him a spine of steel. Kaelo found him strange, all soft hands and long words, but he couldn't deny the man's mind was a weapon in its own right. A different kind of weapon than an axe, but a weapon nonetheless.
And then there was Jon. Or Corvus, as he now called himself. He stood by the window, a silent, hooded figure staring out at the grey canals of Braavos, his white wolf a pale shadow at his feet. He had been standing there for the better part of an hour, utterly still, seemingly lost in thought. But Kaelo knew better. Jon wasn't lost. He was planning.
Kaelo still didn't understand him. Not really. He had followed this strange, quiet boy from Westeros on a gut feeling, a desperate gamble born in the bloody chaos of a pirate attack. He was rugged, with the hard hands of a fighter and a seriousness that didn't belong on a boy's face. Yet there was an otherworldly beauty to him, a sharpness to his features and a depth in his violet eyes that seemed to belong to another time. Kaelo remembered a quiet night on the deck of the Sea Serpent, a few days after the fight.
They had been alone, the sea calm, the stars a brilliant canopy above them. "What was it like?" Jon had asked, his voice quiet. "The pits." Kaelo had never spoken of it to anyone, but to this strange boy, he had found himself talking, the words spilling out like blood from a fresh wound. He had told him of the fear, the dirt, the desperation. And Jon had just listened, his violet eyes holding an empathy that went beyond simple pity. He had not judged. He had simply understood. That was the moment Kaelo had decided. This was a boy worth following.
He trusted Jon's competence in a way he had never trusted any other man. But he was also, if he was being honest with himself, a little afraid of him.
"It is done," Orbelo said, his voice a dry rasp. He looked up. "Every word, every number. A perfect copy."
Jon turned from the window, "Good," he said, his voice a low, "The time has come to present our terms to the Lady Zarrina."
Kaelo stood, his hand tightening on his axe. "So we go now? The three of us?"
"No," Jon said, the single word sharp and absolute. "I go. Alone."
"Alone?" Kaelo burst out, his voice a mix of disbelief and wounded pride. "That's a courtesan's manse, not a bloody tavern. It's crawling with guards. You need a sword arm. You need me."
"He's right," Orbelo added. "My lady... Zarrina is not a woman to be trifled with. Her guards are the best in the city. To go alone is suicide."
Jon looked at them, his gaze steady, and for a moment, Kaelo felt like a boy being admonished by a veteran commander. "This is not a battle," Jon said, his voice calm,. "It is a negotiation. Your presence, Kaelo, would be seen as a threat, not an asset. My power is the information I hold."
He laid out the plan, his voice a quiet, precise series of commands. It was not a discussion; it was an order.
"Orbelo," he said, turning to the scholar. "You will take your copy of the scroll. There is a money-lender in the Chequy Port, a man named Sylas, who has no love for Magister Borro. You will place the copy in his care, with instructions to deliver it to the Sealord himself if we do not return by midnight. That is our insurance."
Orbelo nodded, a grim understanding on his face
"Kaelo," Jon continued, his eyes locking with his. "You will wait for me in the tavern across from the manse, The Gilded Lily. Stay in the corner. Watch the gate. If I am not out in two hours, or if you hear the sound of an alarm, you are to create a diversion. A fire, a brawl, anything to draw the guards away from the main gate. Then you get Orbelo and you disappear. Understood?"
Kaelo didn't like it. He was a fighter. The idea of waiting in the dark while Jon walked into the snake's pit grated on every instinct he had. But he looked into Jon's violet eyes and saw not the arrogance of a boy, only the focus of someone who already knew how this would end.
"Aye," he grunted. "Understood."
"Good," Jon said. He walked to the door, pulling the hood of his dark tunic up to shadow his face. "It's time to see the lady."
Kaelo watched him go, then turned to Orbelo. "Well? Let's move. The sooner we're in position, the better."
The Gilded Lily was a high-class establishment, the kind of place where the wine was expensive and the patrons spoke in low, conspiratorial murmurs. Kaelo felt immediately out of place, his heavy axe and scarred knuckles a stark contrast to the silks and perfumes around him. He took a small table in the darkest corner, ordered the cheapest ale they had, and settled in to watch the gates of the manse across the canal.
An hour passed. Then another. The moon climbed high in the sky, its pale light shimmering on the black water. Kaelo's leg began to bounce with a nervous, restless energy. Every shadow seemed to hold a threat, every raised voice a potential alarm.
"He should have taken me," he muttered to himself, his hand clenching and unclenching on the haft of his axe.
A figure slipped into the chair opposite him. It was Orbelo, his own task completed. "Any sign?" the scholar asked, his voice a quiet whisper.
"Nothing," Kaelo growled. "The two hours are almost up. This was a mistake. He's a boy, for all his skill. She's a snake. She'll have him in a cell by now."
"You underestimate him," Orbelo said, his tone cool and analytical. "His blade is not the weapon he is using tonight. He is using the scroll. He is using fear. It is a far more effective tool."
"And what if she calls his bluff?" Kaelo shot back. "What then? All the fear in the world won't stop a guard's sword."
"Then our instructions are to create a diversion and flee," Orbelo stated simply.
"Flee?" Kaelo scoffed. "And leave him to die? I'm not a bloody coward."
"No," Orbelo said, his eyes meeting Kaelo's with a surprising intensity. "You are his second-in-command. And you will follow his orders. That is what loyalty is."
Before Kaelo could reply, a shadow detached itself from the deeper darkness of the alley beside the tavern. It was Jon. He simply appeared at their table, as if he had been there all along.
"Well?" Kaelo demanded, his voice a harsh whisper. "What happened?"
Jon sat down, pushing his hood back. His face was pale in the dim light, but his eyes were calm, and they held the glint of victory. "She agreed," he said simply. "To everything."
Orbelo let out a breath he didn't realize he had been holding. Kaelo just stared, a slow, disbelieving grin spreading across his face.
"She's dealing with Tregarro now," Jon continued, his voice all business. "It will be… unpleasant for him." He looked at Orbelo, a flicker of something like a smile in his eyes. "Your name will be cleared. She will make a public declaration tomorrow."
He then turned to Kaelo. "And we will have our payment." He stood, his brief moment of rest over. "Get some sleep. Both of you. We have a busy day tomorrow."
"What are we doing tomorrow?" Kaelo asked, his own exhaustion forgotten, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.
Jon looked at them, the two members of his new, strange pack. "Tomorrow," he said, "we go to the manse to collect our ship and our coin. And then, Orbelo, we pay a visit to the Sealord's palace. It's time you got your justice."