Maekar sat in his new office at the East Barracks, behind the same desk that once belonged to Dickon. Spread before him were documents made of heavy parchment detailing the men of the Gold Cloaks.
He frowned. There was little of worth written there—names, birthplaces, and a rough description of appearance. But nothing else. No history of service, no records of past loyalties, no hint on their personalities. And to weed out Daemon's spies, such scraps were useless.
'I need someone who truly knows who these men are,' Maekar thought. His mind went still for a moment, then he murmured to himself, "And I know just the one."
He raised his voice, calling to the guard at the door.
"Enter," Maekar commanded.
The door creaked open. A Gold Cloak stepped inside, his face hidden behind the visor of his helm. He closed the door softly and bowed.
But Maekar knew well—this was no common guardsman. He was an unsullied.
The Gold Cloaks are one of the most compromised guards in the city. Some bent knee to Daemon, some to Otto, others to whichever lord lined their purse. Maekar would not risk being stabbed in the back by men whose true loyalties may lie elsewhere.
After the great raid in the slums, he had folded a handful of Unsullied into the City Watch. Their faces were hidden by helmets, and their tongues were kept silent so that their foreign features went unnoticed. To all others, they were simply Gold Cloaks. To Maekar, they were the shield at his back.
"Go call Grey for me," Maekar said.
The Gold Cloak bowed, and Maekar lowered his gaze back to the documents spread across his desk. The man slipped out, leaving Maekar alone in the silence of the East Barracks office.
For the next ten minutes, Maekar busied himself with the files, separating them by years of service. It was the only useful detail among the scraps of information. Length of service told him much—who had worn the cloak under Daemon's command and who had not. Those who had were far more likely to carry hidden loyalties, far more likely to be spies.
A soft knock broke his focus.
"Enter," Maekar called.
The door creaked open. A Gold Cloak in a visor helm stepped in and knelt on one knee. Slowly, he removed the helmet, revealing the face of Maekar's most trusted servant.
Grey.
Maekar had folded Grey and fifteen of the Unsullied into the City Watch, disguising them behind helms and silence. Their only mission was to remain close—to surround him, shield him from daggers in the dark. The rest of their brothers remained in the shadows, holding their ground in the slums where he had left them.
"How may I serve, master?" Grey asked.
Maekar gave a slow nod. "I need you to find me a person, Grey. Specifically… a woman."
Grey lowered his head further, waiting for more.
Maekar continued, voice even. "She goes by the alias White Worm." He paused, then added, "Her true name is Mysaria."
"She's foreign—you'll know it the moment you see her."
Another beat of silence. "She runs a brothel and works as an information broker."
Maekar stood; the chair scraped loudly as he pushed it back. He walked to the tall window that looked onto the back of the barracks and parts of the city. He sat on the sill and let the wind tussle his hair. He poured himself a glass of juice while Grey remained standing, utterly still and patient.
"At last," Maekar said, "I want her tailed. To know where she is at all times."
Grey inclined his head. "Of course, master."
Maekar fixed him with a stare; Grey's eyes dropped immediately.
"Be careful," Maekar warned. "She's a slippery one. The moment she smells danger, she'll vanish like smoke. This woman is important, Grey. I want her in my grasp."
Grey bowed his head deeply. "I will have our best Unsullied on her tail at all times."
Maekar gave a single nod. "Good. You have until the wedding ends to find her."
"Yes, master," Grey answered without hesitation.
"You may leave," Maekar said, his voice quiet but firm.
Grey withdrew, closing the door behind him, while Maekar remained seated on the window ledge. His thoughts turned dark. 'Mysaria knows the Gold Cloaks better than they know themselves. I wouldn't be surprised if she already has men in their ranks, bought or bent. She spent years among them as Daemon's whore. Once I have her in my grasp, I'll take from her what I need.'
His gaze wandered past the barracks and into the city, where heavy clouds rolled over King's Landing. Soon the rain began to fall, first in a soft drizzle, then in sheets that turned the streets to mud, trying desperately to clean the filth of this city but as always failing miserably. He watched the smallfolk scatter, seeking cover, their frantic movements no different from rats fleeing a sudden flood.
The downpour beat against the stone and against the window frame, and still Maekar did not move. His clothes grew damp as the spray carried through, but he remained, staring into the storm. A distant, shadowed look crept into his eyes, as though he had slipped back into some memory best left buried.
At last, clarity returned to his eyes as they sharpened noticeably. His lips moved in a snarl, his voice barely more than a whisper.
"I hate the rain."
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