The skiff crested another wave and crashed back down, making Winter whinny nervously. She did not appreciate the rocking or salt spray. Like Lyanna, Winter was at sea for the first time.
Lyanna sympathized with her loyal steed. She did not find the small boat comfortable either. Not the cramped space, nor the way each wave slapped the hull like a reminder of their smallness.
And yet, the sea in front of her felt liberating. A wide expanse lay ahead, and it came with a freedom she had never felt before.
Lyanna rubbed Winter's neck to calm her, then let her gaze sweep over the other passengers. Elia lay bundled in blankets beside her, pale and silent, her breath shallow with pain and shock. Rhaenys huddled close, the kitten in her lap like a living charm against nightmares. Balerion's black fur was damp with spray; he glared at the world as if it had personally offended him.
Two princesses, a horse, and a kitten walk into a boat, Lyanna thought, and a laugh tried to rise in her throat. It came out crooked, half a sob, half a joke.
Serin glanced back from the tiller. He was a lean man with sun-browned skin and the easy balance of someone raised around boats. A strip of green cloth was tied around his wrist, the only ornament he wore. "If you start laughing like that again," he said, calm as driftwood, "I'll assume you've started drinking seawater."
"It's a fine joke," Lyanna muttered.
"What is."
"A princess, a horse, and a kitten," Lyanna said. She nodded toward Elia, then Winter, then the cat. "Tell me that isn't the start of a song."
Rhaenys blinked up at her, eyes too large in her thin face. "Can I have a song," she asked, small.
Lyanna's heart twisted. "Later," she promised. "When we're somewhere safe."
Serin's mouth twitched at one corner. "We sailors learn many a shanty to pass the time," he said. "But these are dangerous waters, and sound carries."
He shifted his grip and let the skiff angle slightly, chasing wind instead of fighting it. Lyanna watched his hands. It was fascinating how he handled the boat, almost like a conversation with the water below.
"This is your first time at sea," Serin said after a moment.
Lyanna lifted her chin. "Is it that obvious?"
"You look at the horizon like you expect it to change," he said, then jerked his head toward the line where sea met sky. "Watch it anyway to steady the stomach. That's your first lesson."
Lyanna squinted. The horizon was a hard edge, indifferent. It didn't care who died in King's Landing. It didn't care who wore crowns. It simply existed.
"What am I meant to see?" she asked.
"Clouds. Birds. Ships. The way waves darken when wind starts to gather teeth." Serin nodded toward the small cloth tied near the bow, a scrap of sail that helped more than it should have. "The secret to sailing is to ride wind the way you ride a horse. You don't command it. You bargain with it."
Lyanna's gaze flicked back to Winter, and she gave the horse a scratch behind the ears. "You don't know the half of it. Winter here has some strong opinions. Especially regarding apples."
Serin laughed quietly. "Horses always do. Even the good ones."
Lyanna leaned closer, eager despite everything. "How do you know where you're going," she asked. "If you can't see any land to reference?"
Serin tapped his temple. "Memory. Knowing the currents. Sun when it's out. Stars when it isn't." He lifted his chin toward the sky. "And when none of that helps, you follow where the sea wants you to go and pray you will like the destination."
Lyanna should have found that unsettling. Instead, it thrilled her. Open water meant open possibilities. No walls. No betrothals.
Behind her, Elia stirred. Her eyes opened, unfocused at first, then sharpening as she took in the water around them. The smell of smoke was gone now. That alone seemed to make her look less haunted, even if the tremor in her hands remained.
"Are we safe," Elia whispered.
Lyanna swallowed. "Not yet."
Rhaenys pressed her face into Elia's side, kitten tucked under her chin. Elia's arm curled around her daughter with fierce gentleness, as if holding tight could erase what they had left behind.
Lyanna looked away quickly. She was proud that she defied fate and saved them. Oswell Whent had been a good man though, and she knew his life had been the cost. She comforted herself with the knowledge that it was what he wanted. Ser Whent had always tried to shield Lyanna, and she wanted to honor his legacy by keeping the dragon children safe if she could.
They sailed for hours. The skiff rose and fell. Spray salted Lyanna's lips until her tongue felt rough. Her hair dried stiff in the wind. She kept asking Serin questions. She learned the names of simple things—tiller, bowline, lee side—as if naming them made them less strange.
It was late afternoon when Serin stiffened. Lyanna saw it at the same moment. An irregular shape against the horizon. Not a cloud, or land. Sails.
"Stay low," Serin said, voice suddenly all business. "And keep the horse calm if you can."
Winter snorted, as if insulted by the suggestion she was a troublemaker.
The sails grew larger. They belonged to a royal galley, lean and fast, cutting across their path. Its hull was painted the sea-green of House Velaryon, though salt and weather had dulled it. Men moved along the deck in practiced rhythm.
Then Lyanna saw the figure at the prow. A boy, no more than two and ten.
He stood too straight, too still, wearing an oversized cloak that was cut like a lord's. His hair was pale silver-gold, and the wind tugged at it like it wanted to pull him back into childhood. Beside him stood another boy, younger, with the same sea-dragon look to him and a more restless stance, as if his bones had not learned patience yet.
They were surrounded by old men with scarred hands and hard eyes. Grizzled sailors who looked like they had chewed salt their whole lives.
A horn sounded. The war galley slowed, and a voice carried across the water.
"Skiff," the boy called. His tone was steady, but Lyanna could hear the strain under it, the practiced attempt at authority. "Heave to and declare yourselves."
Serin shipped the oars and let the skiff drift. "Careful," he murmured. "Velaryon captains aren't known for modesty."
Lyanna rose anyway. The wind tugged at her cloak. The sea rocked under her feet, but she took a deep breath to steady herself.
"We are refugees," Lyanna called back.
The older boy's eyes narrowed. "Refugees from where."
Elia pushed herself up with a hiss of pain. Lyanna moved at once to support her, but Elia straightened on her own, regal even wrapped in blankets.
"From King's Landing," Elia said, voice thin but clear. "I am Elia Targaryen, Princess of Dorne and wife to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen."
The ship went very quiet. Lyanna saw the navy men glance at one another. Some gripped spears, but most looked relieved, as if they had just found something they feared they'd lost.
"I am Monford Velaryon," the boy captain said, and his voice cracked on the name as if he was reminding himself who he had to be. "Heir to Driftmark. Captain of this patrol."
The younger boy shifted beside him, eyes bright. "Aurane Waters," he added quickly, as if he did not want to be forgotten.
Elia's gaze held the older boy. "The capital has fallen," she said. "My husband is dead. The Lannisters betrayed the city. My children and I were attacked …" Her voice faltered. She tightened her arm around Rhaenys. "We are all that escaped the sack."
Monford swallowed. "My father," he said. The words came out too fast. "Lord Lucerys. Have you seen him?"
Lyanna felt her throat tighten. She remembered Maegor's Holdfast, the snide voice, the wildfire plot, the fight where Ser Darry died.
"He fell defending the way to Maegor's Holdfast," Lyanna said. She chose each word carefully. Sharing the truth, but not all of it. "I don't know if he lives."
Monford's face went bloodless. For a heartbeat he looked ten again. Then his jaw set with stubborn, childish determination.
"To the city," he said, turning to his sailors. "We must rescue or ransom father at once."
An old greybeard stepped close, murmuring into Aurane's ear instead of Monford's. The younger boy's eyes flicked, then he leaned toward his brother and spoke, loud enough to carry.
"Calm down, Monford," Aurane said. "We should go to Dragonstone first."
Monford glared at him. "Our father—"
"Aerys sent ravens," Aurane said, voice quick with the strange confidence of a child repeating grown men. "He named Viserys heir after Prince Rhaegar fell. Called his dragonblood the most pure. We should seek His Grace's guidance on how to rescue Father. And he would want us to secure the princess first."
Elia made a sound like she had been struck. Her face tightened with fury and hurt, sharp enough that Lyanna felt it like heat.
"That madman," Elia whispered. "Even from the grave he spites my children."
Lyanna slipped her arm around Elia's shoulders, steadying her. "Breathe," she murmured. "He cannot hurt you anymore."
Elia's eyes glistened, but she nodded once, swallowing the pain down with dignity.
Monford stared at them, caught between duty and desire, between a father he wanted and a realm that demanded obedience. He looked again at his sailors. Velaryon men who had followed Lucerys. Men who now followed his son.
Monford's shoulders lifted with one slow breath. "We will escort you," he said at last, voice steadier now. "To Dragonstone. His Grace must be informed of recent events. Then, we will make plans to get my father back."
Serin dipped his head in respect. "A wise choice, my lord."
Monford's gaze returned to Elia, then to Lyanna. "Stay close to our lee," he ordered. "The waters turn rough near the rocks."
Lyanna nodded, feeling something loosen in her chest. Not safety yet. But direction.
As the Velaryon ship turned, its sea-green sails filling with wind, the skiff followed in its wake like a smaller creature taking shelter beneath a larger one.
Lyanna sat back down beside Elia and Rhaenys, salt wind on her face, and watched open water stretch ahead.