The negotiations failed precisely as Eddard had predicted, leaving no room for surprise, only the bitter taste of impending blood.
"The Wise Masters of Yunkai are resolute," the Green Grace said, setting down her glass of chilled fruit juice and adjusting her shimmering silk veil. Her voice was a practiced melody of sorrow. "They say all the gold in Essos cannot ransom the hostages. They demand the immediate release of the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq and his full restoration to the throne."
Barristan Selmy's brow furrowed beneath his silver-and-gold helm. "We will release him the moment he can prove he was not the hand behind the poisoned locusts. Until then, Meereen is governed by a council of the Queen's loyalists. We have reserved a seat for you, Your Holiness; your wisdom is the city's greatest asset."
"Lord Hand," the Green Grace replied, her eyes narrowing behind the silk. "If you truly valued my wisdom, you would see that the peace we painstakingly built is a candle in a hurricane. Death already rides the Pale Mare through our streets, and your dragons... they take what they wish. The Pyramids of Zhak and Hazkar are smoking tombs. Their masters are now beggars."
"And the murders," Barristan added sternly. "Hundreds of the 'Free Folk' have been butchered by the Harpy's sons in the last three days."
"Which is why Hizdahr must be released," she countered. "He is the only one who can stop the knives."
Eddard Karstark leaned back, a sneer clearly visible on his hairless face. "Releasing him is a cowards' compromise. You're trading a slow death for a fast one."
The Green Grace turned her gaze to him. "Lord Eddard, this is a matter of Ghiscari law. It has nothing to do with a King from the West."
"Nothing to do with me?" Eddard's laugh was a cold, sharp sound. "The Harpy's mark is painted in the blood of my men. Three of my guards were ambushed by a dozen of your 'sons' while trying to buy supplies. If they hadn't been veterans who know how to gut a rat in the dark, they'd be cooling on your flagstones. Do you think Rhaegal burned the Hazkar Pyramid by accident?"
"Are you admitting," the Green Grace gasped, "that you command the dragons to burn the innocent?"
"No," Eddard grinned, his grey-blue eyes flashing with a ruthless light. "I am saying that dragons are creatures of fire and truth. They fly high. They see the filth. Perhaps Rhaegal saw the assassins crawling out of the Hazkar's basement and decided to purify the nest. And I think... if the slandering and the murdering continues, Viserion might find the Uhlez or the Pahl Pyramids equally offensive tonight. It is merely my speculation, of course."
The Green Grace swallowed hard, the soul-shaking intensity of the "Winter Wizard" silencing her. She turned back to Barristan, her voice trembling. "Yunkai demands dragon blood, Ser Barristan. Only the death of the monsters can buy the lives of your hostages."
Barristan pursed his lips. He had known this was coming.
"Even your Queen... the Mother of Dragons," the Green Grace whispered, shedding well-timed tears. "We all saw her burn in the pit. She is dead. Let her children follow her into the shadow."
Barristan opened his mouth to argue, but the doors to the terrace were flung open. Jorah Mormont stormed in, shoving aside the servants.
"The trebuchets are moving!" the Great Bear roared. "All six 'Dragonbreakers' are being winched into position!"
"Retaliation," the Green Grace whispered, standing up.
"Meereen's walls are thick," Barristan said, his voice regaining its steel. "They can throw stones for two years and we will still be here. If they want war, let it come."
"It's not stones, Ser Barristan," Eddard interrupted, his eyes fixed on the distant Yunkish lines. "Look at the trajectory. Those aren't boulders. They're soft. They're wet."
The Green Grace's voice was full of genuine terror. "The Pale Mare. They are throwing the diseased dead into the city."
"Martial law," Eddard commanded, not waiting for Barristan. "Immediately. No one on the streets for three days. Every corpse thrown over the wall is to be burned where it lands with pitch and oil. If we don't end this battle in forty-eight hours, the plague will do the Yunkai'i's work for them."
Barristan turned to his attendants. "Assemble the commanders! We march at dawn!"
Outside the city, in the camp of the Windblown, the atmosphere was one of calculated betrayal.
The Ragged Prince, an old man whose silver-grey hair matched his ash-colored armor, sat in a chair draped with his "tattered" cloak - a mosaic of silks taken from fallen enemies. He looked at Quentyn Martell with a gaze of profound disappointment.
"Prince Frog," the old mercenary sighed. "I gave you my best men. I gave you the chance to be a hero. You bring me nothing but failure and a thin-blooded excuse."
"The dragons did not recognize me," Quentyn admitted, his face flushed with shame. "But I have brought you another path. An alliance."
"An alliance with a ghost Queen and a Westerosi sorcerer?" The Ragged Prince stood, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "You promised me Pentos, boy! My father's city! My inheritance!"
"And you can have it," Ser Gerris Drinkwater interjected, stepping forward. "Lord Eddard Karstark has tamed the white dragon. He is the master of the West and the Regent of the Trident. He and Ser Barristan have promised: rescue the hostages, turn your blades on Yunkai, and Pentos will be yours. Eddard Karstark will provide the fleet to take it."
The Ragged Prince paused, his interest piqued. "The man who punched a dragon? He promises me a city?"
"The Karstarks are Northmen," Quentyn said. "They are of the blood of Eddard Stark. Their honor is their life."
The Ragged Prince turned to one of his captains, a man with Northern features named Lucifer Long. "Lucifer, you claim Northern kin. Is this true? Is a Karstark's word worth a kingdom?"
Lucifer Long nodded solemnly. "In the North, a lord's word is iron. If Eddard Karstark says he will give you Pentos, he will burn the city to the ground before he breaks that promise."
"Good," the Ragged Prince grinned, clapping his hands. "Then we plan. Bloodbeard wants a slaughter, and the Wise Masters want a throne. We will give them both. Caggo, Denzo, get the 'Books' to track the prison wagons. We rescue the hostages tonight, and tomorrow... we see if the 'Winter Wizard' can truly bring the fire."
Beyond the tent, the Dragonbreaker catapult groaned, launching another diseased corpse into the night sky over Meereen. The war had begun.
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