I slept at the dockside inn with one eye open that first night in Oldtown, waiting for Malora and her Hightower goons to burst down my door for whatever perceived deception I had unknowingly pulled on her.
Tired and paranoid, I moved my things to the Fair Winds the very next day, and slept on the ship for my final night in the city as well.
Still shaken, the lads did not stray far from me either. The twins had spent the near two hours Malora had kept them at the inn thinking they'd brought ruination to myself and my cause, as well as contemplating their own possible deaths. All for some stupid quest for Qyburn's whereabouts.
Instead of using my most loyal, favored men, I needed to come up with more disposable spies. At the very least, spies that wouldn't cause me to weep should I lose them in the field.
Jace's report on that end was nothing exciting. Qyburn was still a relatively known maester in the Citadel at this point, famed for his efforts and knowledge in the healing arts, with some whispering that he was aiming to take Ebrose's spot as Archmaester.
I knew that, barring some unforeseen circumstance, such would not come to pass.
Qyburn would be exiled in disgrace, his maester's chains stripped, and he would end up somewhere in the east, joining up with the scum-of-the-earth mercenary group known as the Brave Companions.
It would be a massive boon to get a skilled healer like him in my camp. I might even be able to skip sending my boys to the Citadel for medicine if I was able to draft him.
Granted, he would likely only stay loyal to me if I allowed him to further his learning through his more unsavory experiments, but I figured I could keep him occupied with even my most off-the-top modern knowledge about medicine. Germ theory itself should buy me a few years.
On the final day before we left, I went down to some of the better shops by the harbor to buy presents—a hunting leather satchel for Lord Selywn, a new riding crop for Mother, a silver sewing kit for Arianne, and a bolt of fine linen for Alysanne.
They were the kind of gifts that would've cost me triple if I'd bought them at Dawnrest, considering how few merchants stopped by our port compared to the second largest city in Westeros.
I had only brought some five hundred gold dragons with me for the trip, the rest of the coin from the tournament was going back to Tarth with my father and our party. Safest that way, and less tempting for me should I find something to spend on. I needed all the money I could save for the next phase of my plans.
I spent the rest of my town in Oldtown locked in the captain's quarters, staring at my trunk as if it would burst into cursed Valyrian flames and burn the world with it. Neither women nor money had ever tempted me as much as the promise of what I hid in that trunk.
That night, I couldn't contain my curiosity any longer and took out the tall black candle from underneath my clothes.
I stared at it in the half-darkness of my room, with only the silvery light of the moon illuminating its sleek dragonglass body. Fear. Excitement. Greed. I didn't know what I felt the most while looking at the glass candle.
The stories said the ancient Valyrians could see across great distances through it, or slip inside men's dreams and give them visions, and even talk with each other from opposite ends of their great empire.
Was that what Malora meant when she said we would speak later? Did she have another with her she could use to communicate with me? Did they come in pairs and could only be used with its bonded candle? Just how did I use it?
I had so many questions, and like a hydra, each of them only served to sprout two more whenever I thought I had an answer.
Still, even after we set sail, I took the glass candle out every night upon retiring to my quarters, just to see that it was still there, that it was real. And once, only once, after we had crossed the Redwyne Straits and we could see a glimpse of the Dornish Desert like a hazy mirage to the north during the day, did the candle lit up for me.
In the flames, which brightened up my dark room like a miniature sun, I saw two ships, their hulls covered in shadows, floating in a dark sea. Then the vision was gone as quickly as it came.
I stood stunned for a moment, eyes wide, heart thumping madly. When the flames were completely snuffed out, a small cackle burst out of me.
Our ships. I couldn't quite make out the details of the ships in the gloom, but surely, that had been the Fair Winds and the Western Will, Ser Gerion's carrack. Only I had seen them from above, like I had warged into a hawk's mind and flew over our position.
Magic.
It was real. I knew it was, of course, given my knowledge of the world and Arianne's revelation, but seeing it with your own eyes, right in front of you, was something else. Scary and exhilarating all at once.
I tried again every night after that with no results.
xxx
We hugged the southern Dornish coast for several days after that. Hellgate Hall first, then Salt Shore, then Planky Town. Never stopping for long, just enough to take on fresh water, barter for fruit that hadn't gone soft in the hold, or wait out the occasional squall when the wind turned ugly. Storms in the Summer Sea came fast and loud, but they rarely lingered. Once they passed, the sea settled as if nothing had happened.
We passed Sunspear at evenfall some two weeks after leaving Oldtown.
I stood at the rail as we did, watching the city slide by in the amber light of the setting sun. The Sandship rose from a ridge like something half imagined, all sweeping curves and pale stone, its long hull-shaped base catching the glow of dusk. Flanking it, two towers loomed in the Rhoynish fashion. One was tall and sharp as a spear, the other squat like a drum with a domed top, both backlit so perfectly it looked as though the sun itself had chosen to rest there for the night.
It was striking. Strange. Entirely unlike the castles of the Stormlands. Like the Hightower, seeing something so alien lit a fire in me.
It made me want to see the Wall, climb the Giant's Lance and catch the Eyrie as the sun rose in the east, stand beneath the shadow of Volantis' black walls. What would Valyria look like?
The captain knew these waters well. Jarak barely altered course as we slipped past the harbor mouth, confident and unhurried. The sea was calm, the air warm, and with no reason to put in at port, we sailed on through the night.
I slept lightly, as I always did since the Mad Maid had given me the priceless black candle. But at first light, I was already on deck with Grey, Jack, and Jace, running them through drills before the rest of the crew had properly shaken off their sleep.
The deck was cool beneath our boots, damp with morning spray. We were midway through a sword rotation when the shout came.
"Ships ahead!"
The voice carried across the water. It hadn't come from our deck, but from the Lannister carrack sailing ahead of us, faint and echoey from the distance.
I turned at once, striding for the rail and scanning the horizon. I saw them quickly enough. From the northeast, shapes were emerging, dark hulls slipping out from behind the broken rock of one of the Stepstones' smaller islands.
My jaw tightened as they came into view. Two ships, coming out of nowhere from some hidden cove with a course that would intercept us. The sea was calm. The sky clear. I could see no other vessel along this stretch of ocean. It told me everything I needed to know.
This wasn't a Greyjoy ship sailing back to its home port. They were cutting west hard, and unless they planned to ram their prows against an empty stretch of Dornish coast, they were planning to pay us a visit.
As I watched, they started to separate, each aiming to pursue their chosen targets. The largest one, a mid-sized galley, sped across the water toward the Western Will. The other, a sleek longship fashioned slightly different from the Ironborn ones, made a beeline our way.
Jack followed my gaze. "That's not good," he muttered.
Jace and Grey stood behind us, fists tightening in concern. The rest of the crew on the deck came along. Jarak, his officers, Devan—the young man I had bumped into on the morning of the last longship scare. Despite the breeze, it felt as if the air in our ship had been sucked away.
I turned to them, gaze firm despite the knot tightening in my stomach. It was my ship the pirates were coming to attack. And inside my ship, even if only for this trip, these men were my responsibility.
"Arm up," I told them, forcing my voice to be steady. "We'll be putting our drills to the test soon enough."
xxx
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