The atmosphere in the Red Keep courtyard was somewhat stifled today.
The smell of medicine in the sickroom was so potent it couldn't dissipate, and on the sickbed lay a once brilliant knight, now a helpless, paralyzed old man.
Ser Willem's longsword and weirwood bow and arrows hung on the wall, but they hadn't been drawn in a long time.
Gazing at the pale face of the patient, Willem Darry, whose eyes were barely open, the doctor's face also grew somber, and then he naturally shook his head.
"My skills are useless here," the Braavosi doctor said. "The gods have reclaimed the flame of this old warrior."
The doctor was still somewhat curious about Viserys's silver-white hair and purple eyes, but he hadn't yet connected him to the Dragon King, simply seeing him as a close relative of the Lysene people.
"Thank you for your kindness," Viserys Targaryen said, placing a silver coin in the doctor's hand.
It was a round iron coin, with a helmeted head engraved on it, seemingly the Titan of Braavos.
Upon seeing the silver coin Viserys offered, the steward's eyes held a greedy glint.
Perhaps knowing that Ser Willem was about to die, this greed became even more unconcealed and brazen.
Rhaenys had taken in the steward's expression; she was a quick-witted child.
Viserys subtly glanced at the steward's face; this man had already sealed his own fate.
If the servants stole their money—Viserys plus the two children—they wouldn't be able to live for long on their meager jewels; they would truly be reduced to begging.
"Thank you. Thank you," the doctor said, his attitude becoming much more amiable after receiving the silver coin.
Braavos, as a free trade city-state, was a commercial city, unlike the feudal lord system of Westeros.
Here, everyone sought wealth and didn't shy away from discussing money; generally, there weren't such strict bloodline restrictions.
Even cheesemongers and butter vendors could ascend to the position of Sealord.
In most free trade city-states, merchants, sailors, and bankers held the highest status.
Fighting was not something wealthy merchants enjoyed; after all, there were always sellswords. If the Dothraki came, they would simply offer a gift.
This was unimaginable in Westeros, where knights and warriors held sway.
The knights of Westeros had always disdained the customs of the free trade city-states; even the wealthiest Lannister family held this view.
"They fight with gold instead of longswords. Money is certainly useful, but wars are still won with iron," Tywin Lannister once remarked about the free trade city-states.
"At this rate of decline, the earliest, the very earliest, will probably be tomorrow noon. You should prepare yourselves; even if he lives, it will be a torment," the doctor whispered, adding a piece of information to Viserys after taking the silver coin.
This was like entering a countdown in a game; all conspiracies and tactics had to be deployed.
By the time Viserys saw the doctor off and entered Willem Darry's room, the Braavosi sun had already completely set.
Whale oil candles burned in Ser Willem Darry's room, illuminating it as brightly as day.
These were luxurious candles, providing better illumination than ordinary ones.
Due to time constraints and a shortage of money, they didn't use scented candles.
The faded Myr rug on the floor of the room further highlighted Viserys's impoverished circumstances.
Rhaenys Targaryen, with tear stains at the corners of her eyes, was leading a bewildered Daenerys as they stood by Ser Willem's bedside. There was a warm yet sickeningly sweet smell here, the scent of herbs.
Ser Willem, with his gray hair and deeply furrowed face, had developed a high fever; his life force was slowly fading away.
"He can only drink watered-down wine or warmed lemonade," Rhaenys said.
When a person becomes weak to a certain extent, they simply don't have the strength to eat solid food.
The steward, the washerwoman, and the cook were all waiting anxiously in the outer room.
They certainly didn't adore the old knight; rather, they feared him.
As soon as this ailing lion on the sickbed died, the servants would immediately steal the coins Ser Willem had hidden by his bedside.
Guarding the sick was a difficult task. Viserys sat in a chair, with Daenerys and Rhaenys, the two little ones, beside him.
Viserys appeared thin, helpless, and sorrowful.
The steward naturally took everything in, feeling increasingly confident that his scheme was flawless.
Time passed minute by minute; waiting was the most agonizing thing.
"Your Grace, you all must be tired. Should the cook bring you some hot soup first?" the steward asked with concern.
Ser Willem Darry's condition had been severe recently, requiring constant care day and night.
So, during this time, Viserys had always intentionally instructed the kitchen to add an extra rich soup of his choosing in the evenings, to ensure the caregivers were well-nourished.
Not only Daenerys and Rhaenys received a share, but all the servants did as well.
Far from being flattered, the servants felt Viserys had lost his bearings, believing this half-grown boy was easy to bully.
"Yes, use the butter mushroom soup I've already chosen. The mushrooms and everything are already in the pot; it can be made directly."
"As you command, Your Grace. You go make it," the steward said to the cook.
"It's so late already," the cook grumbled, biting her lip. This old knight was almost dead; they could just steal things and leave. Why bother serving these brats?
"Hurry up," the steward ordered, then pinched the cook's bottom.
Anyway, they could run away with the money as early as tomorrow, so what harm was there in enduring a little longer?
"Alright then," the cook grumbled as she headed to the kitchen.
"Also, you all drink that butter mushroom soup first. We're not in the mood right now," Viserys said casually.
"How can that be, Your Grace?" the steward said, feigning humility, though he secretly relished the offer.
"You all have worked hard," Viserys said honestly.
"Meow!" One-eared Balerion followed the cook into the kitchen, ensuring everything was foolproof.
Rhaenys moved closer to Viserys. When it truly came time to kill, Viserys felt he was still somewhat nervous.
After all, Viserys's current attributes weren't that high. To be safe, Viserys decided to use the poisonous mushrooms he had already chosen.
Now it was a matter of conscious planning against unawareness; Viserys, through deception and surprise, was faster than the servants.
Viserys's months of studying cooking in the kitchen, experimenting with ingredients, and even his recent deliberate requests for the cook to make soup at night, were all for this final scheme.
Viserys had set up multiple conditions and backgrounds to conceal his true objective.
Silly Daenerys understood nothing; she was too young and not involved in this plot.
Rhaenys traced a line on Viserys's palm, indicating the plan was approved.
"If I don't eat people, people will eat me," Viserys felt his heart beating particularly fast.
They didn't have money for the best cook; this slightly dull-witted cook wouldn't suspect the prepared blood-spot mushrooms.
After all, she was accustomed to the wandering prince's love for gourmet food.
The blood-spot mushrooms were hidden among the prepared white mushrooms and oxtail, delicious yet deadly, carefully selected by Viserys.
As an experienced cook, she skillfully prepared the butter mushroom soup.
After all, this mushroom soup was a basic rich soup.
The fragrant mushroom soup in the brass bowls was a bowl of soup everyone craved on a cold night, incredibly delicious.
"So delicious, so delicious," the steward, washerwoman, cook, and others each had a bowl; the cook never stinted on herself.
The black cat, with its green eyes, watched the feasting servants from a corner. Those people completely ignored the black cat, having grown accustomed to it.
Rhaenys nodded, and Viserys breathed a sigh of relief, ensuring everyone had drunk the mushroom soup.
"Let me... let me taste... the wine," Ser Willem suddenly called out in a broken voice. "My treasured... bottle of wine."
Before his death, Ser Willem requested not the expensive Arbor wine, nor the Dornish Summerwine, but the local wine most beloved by the Riverlanders.
The wine produced in the Riverlands was made from small, sour grapes, barely palatable, and only locals were accustomed to it.
Viserys got up and found the wine Ser Willem had requested in the room. This bottle of wine was used to alleviate homesickness.
Over time, the tart Riverlands wine was almost gone.
Because the Riverlands wine was of such poor quality, it was very difficult to acquire a bottle.
Viserys quickly poured Ser Willem a glass of wine.
"Good... good wine... Thank you, Your Grace. It's so sad, I can't see you, nor can I see my little princess," Ser Willem said intermittently, then fell into a deep slumber again.
"It is indeed good wine," Viserys said, taking a sip himself. The wine was bitter, like tears.
In the living room, the servants who had finished the mushroom soup suddenly all turned pale.
"Clang!" A brass soup bowl fell to the floor.
The steward's face suddenly turned white. He felt his heart racing wildly, thumping, thumping, and his vision began to blur.
The cook clutched her throat, but found she couldn't cough anything out.
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn (Gk31)