Within the courtyard, hemmed in by towering walls that seemed steeped in dried blood, Baelon and Helaena rested upon a cushioned stone bench.
Helaena sat upright, her legs folded neatly beneath her, a thin-bound book cradled in her hands, which she read in steady silence.
Baelon, on the other hand, lay sprawled along the bench beside her, his head resting comfortably in her lap.
From time to time, her fingers drifted through his silver hair absent-mindedly.
Before them, at the heart of the courtyard, stood a headless statue of a Ghiscari warrior. Time and weather had worn its features smooth.
Above, several fig and olive trees spread their branches wide, their leaves whispering softly as the desert wind passed through them.
"It's been a year since we arrived…" Helaena murmured at last. Her gaze drifted from the page to Baelon's face, studying his resting expression. "Can you tell me when we'll be able to leave?"
Baelon cracked one eye open, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You seem more eager to leave here than Asshai," he teased.
Helaena hummed softly, not denying it. "We did not stay in Asshai for long, and it was a… unique experience." Her voice trailed off. "Astapor, however…"
She did not finish the thought.
Baelon followed her gaze and saw the disgust shadowing her features. He understood it all too well. Living here for so many months had been no small ordeal for her.
Every walk through Astapor's streets confronted her with the same sights…living corpses shuffling past, their eyes empty, bodies scarred and spirits broken.
People who breathed and moved, yet were no different from corpses.
Baelon mused that these people were the closest living things to the Wights of legend.
Still, every time Helaena saw them, she wanted to help. To do something, anything, that might spare them from such a fate.
"It's not all bad," Baelon said gently. He shifted, sitting up and stretching lazily. "Hasn't your company done rather well during our stay? You've saved quite a few people."
Yes. Company.
Over the past year, they had exchanged the dusty set of Golden Dragons they carried from earlier travels, turning them into working capital.
With it, Baelon had established an escort company, offering protection to merchant caravans travelling the dangerous roads between cities.
Bandits and Dothraki alike proved little trouble when he could scout routes from the sky prior to the escort.
Of course, this would be done without the employer's knowledge. To them, they would simply remark on their good luck.
And the men who worked under him?
For that, he could only thank Helaena.
Using their initial funds and a portion of the income Baelon earned, she had begun quietly buying highly skilled slaves before freeing them.
Others would then reach out to Helaena to hire these men for a small cost, often for a few weeks and other times several moons.
The freed slaves never resisted. For them, this was all they could ask for: legitimate employment.
And, the employers were even less likely to back out of the deal.
After all, not everyone in Astapor had access to skilled craftsmen, sailors, or warriors at a moment's notice.
Skilled men were, after all, rather expensive to buy, even considering how much the slave trade thrived.
Still, did she profit from it?
No.
But because of her efforts, the pair now commanded the loyalty of hundreds of warriors, cooks, artisans, sailors, men and women whose value far exceeded their numbers.
"Perhaps," Helaena sighed, closing the book and setting it aside. "But I can only help so many. There are hundreds of thousands here, Baelon. Lives filled with suffering and dread alone." Her voice softened. "I just feel… helpless."
An arm slipped around her shoulders, drawing her gently closer. Baelon held her without a word for a moment.
"We will leave very soon," he said quietly. "I cannot help them all. But I will give them a chance. A chance to be free."
Helaena smiled faintly and hummed in response, nestling closer into his embrace.
Baelon could not help but notice how clingy she had grown in recent years.
'But…' He mused, 'it doesn't seem so bad now, does it?'
He could not say why, only that her closeness always seemed to lift his spirits. In moments like this, he almost wished time itself would stop.
Alas, it seemed the gods did not favour him today.
"Lord Baelon. Lady Helaena."
The voice drew them both from their thoughts. Standing at the courtyard entrance was a middle-aged woman, her figure slight and unassuming.
She bore the features of a Lhazareen, her expression gentle despite the lines of hardship etched into her face.
She was one of those they had rescued from the Dothraki a year prior. With her village destroyed and her home too distant to return to, she, like many others, had chosen to remain with them.
"Maela?" Baelon looked to her. "Is something the matter?"
Over the past year, he had grown fluent enough in Bastard Valyrian to converse easily with those under his care.
"It's… Rhevos," Maela answered softly. "He said there's been progress with… that."
Baelon's eyes lit up at once. Rhevos was an old man whom Helaena had bought for the first batch of her business.
Where Maela was a normal woman captured from her village, Rhevos was once employed by the Myrish as captain of a merchant vessel.
He had been entrusted with a very different task than Maela, who oversaw the household.
A very different task.
He glanced down at Helaena, still tucked against him and shook his head helplessly. "It seems we have business to attend to, sister."
Helaena reluctantly let go, rising with him as they followed Maela. Even then, she did not quite release him, linking her arm through his as they walked.
***
Within the solar of their home, Baelon and Helaena sat upon a low, cushioned stone bench set against the wall.
The chamber reflected Astapor's austerity, thick red-brick walls and narrow slitted windows fitted with carved lattice screens.
Braziers of blackened bronze smouldered quietly at the corners of the room, filling the air with a faint scent of incense and oil.
Before them stood the man they had summoned.
"Your Lordships." Rhevos bowed deeply before speaking. "The Good Masters have grown suspicious of Lady Helaena's actions. They believe it to be the work of a foreign power attempting to consolidate influence within Astapor."
Hearing this, Baelon almost rolled his eyes. 'It's been a year, and only now do they realise the market for highly skilled slaves has all but disappeared.'
After all, why spend money to buy a slave when you can hire one for a fraction of the price from Helaena?
"And how long before these Good Masters deign to act?" Baelon asked.
Rhevos hesitated. "They are divided among themselves, my lord… but I believe they will move within a moon."
Silence settled over the solar.
Baelon lowered his head in thought, then looked up again with a scoff. "They see a threat, yet cannot stop squabbling long enough to face it. Typical."
A quiet laugh escaped him. "Truly… ridiculous." His expression hardened. "It matters little now. We act immediately. Have the men confirmed the locations of the treasuries?"
Rhevos nodded. "Yes. It was not difficult. The Good Masters are so convinced of their own inviolability that they have turned their wealth into a display in their pyramids rather than a safeguard."
"Good." Baelon smiled faintly. "And Silvo?"
"He returned earlier today, my lord. From the last escort."
Silvo was a freed slave who, like Maela, was captured by the Dothraki.
His skill with the blade allowed Baelon to entrust him with most routine escorts, especially now that their forces had grown considerably.
Furthermore, Silvo and the men under him would be essential to what came next.
"How many have agreed to leave with us?" Helaena asked softly. "Among those we freed… how many wish to follow?"
Rhevos' stern composure cracked, a warm smile spreading across his face as he turned to her. "My lady, not a single one hesitated."
Helaena's eyes widened. "B-but they have work here," she said quickly. "Stable work. Fair pay. They needn't follow us."
"My lady," Rhevos said gently, "you gave them more than work."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "You spoke to them as people. You listened to them. You trusted them with responsibility instead of chains. For many, it was the first time they were looked upon with respect rather than ownership."
His gaze softened. "And, you gave them hope and not the fleeting kind either. By your kindness, they learned how to stand as free men and women, and in doing so, they found something they could never have here without you."
Baelon reached for Helaena's hand, clasping her palm and rubbing it gently.
She turned to him, still confused, but he only smiled back at her.
'She does not even realise how extraordinary she is…' Baelon thought.
He was certain of it. Of all the people he might meet in this world or any other, he would never again find a soul as gentle and as quietly powerful as Helaena's.
"Regardless," Baelon said at last, "the Day of the Unsullied will be when we act."
His words settled heavily within the solar.
The Day of the Unsullied.
It was a festival…of sorts. Though Baelon would be far more inclined to consider it, the Good Masters of showcasing their greatest merchandise: The Unsullied.
In the Plaza of Pride, the Unsullied will march in formation, perform various drills and even be subjected to tortures in which they would have to remain in complete silence.
It was hoped their discipline and prowess would appeal to the gathered merchants and foreigners on the day of the festival.
Baelon turned his gaze toward Rhevos.
"Tell me about the ports," he said calmly. "I want to know who controls the docks, which harbourmasters can be bought, and how many ships can be readied without drawing notice."
Rhevos straightened, the years of seafaring instinctively returning to him. "Astapor's harbour is divided into two piers," he began. "The outer docks handle foreign merchants, Volantene, Qartheen, and the occasional Myrish trader. On the Day of the Unsullied, traffic will grow. Buyers will arrive in droves, and the Masters encourage it. Coin binds them. Greed blinds them."
Baelon nodded once, already piecing it together.
"The inner docks," Rhevos continued, "are reserved for city use, grain shipments, slave transports, arms. Normally guarded well. On festival days, however, many of the Unsullied are reassigned to ceremonial duty. Thus, patrols grow thin as orders become…inconsistent."
Helaena's fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the bench.
"And the ships?" She asked quietly.
Rhevos smiled faintly. "Several captains owe us favours. Others owe coin. With the right signals, we could have vessels ready to sail before the Good Masters even realise something is amiss."
Baelon exhaled, a slow breath.
"Good," he said. "Then we move while their eyes are fixed on their own pride…on marching lines and polished spears, on the illusion of control they've spent centuries worshipping."
He leaned back, the corner of his mouth lifting in a humourless smile.
"They celebrate the Unsullied as symbols of absolute order," Baelon murmured. "It seems fitting that on that very day, Astapor learns how fragile that order truly is."
Silence followed.
Within the confines of that crimson-stoned solar, beneath banners that glorified chains and conquest, a conspiracy was woven.
One that would not be remembered as a rebellion. But as the day Astapor bled itself dry, too enthralled by its own spectacle to notice the knife already at its throat.