"Rhaenyra! Guest right!" Rhaenys cried out.
"He ate our bread and salt!"
"I do not care!" Rhaenyra's eyes were red, tears finally welling up. "He brought my sons' skulls to humiliate me!"
"He is waiting for your sword!" Rhaenys held her gaze. "Aemond sent this wretch, and the point is for you to kill him where he stands! If you kill him, by tomorrow all of Westeros will say: Rhaenyra Targaryen violates guest right! What then? The North supports you now. But if you strike with that sword, all will turn against you."
Rhaenyra seemed to have her spine pulled out. The sword slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. She knelt again, lifting the child's skull. Tears fell upon the pale bone.
Kermit stood frozen. His face was pale, cold sweat dripping from his brow, but he did not move. The smile remained at the corner of his mouth, though it had become somewhat strained.
"Princess Rhaenys. A wise move."
Rhaenys did not look at him. She went to Rhaenyra, knelt, and gently removed the two skulls from her hands, placing them back in the black iron chest. Rhaenyra's hands hung in the air. Her eyes were unfocused, empty as the Dead Sea.
"Take Her Grace away."
Two handmaidens stepped forward and supported Rhaenyra's arms. Rhaenyra did not resist. She was like a body whose soul had been drained, led by the handmaidens step by step toward the rear corridor. When she reached the door, she stopped.
She did not turn back.
"Kermit."
"Yes."
"Return and tell Aemond Targaryen." Her voice was soft. "Blood debt shall be repaid with blood."
Kermit bowed slightly. "I will deliver the message."
Rhaenyra disappeared behind the door. Only silence remained in the hall.
Corlys rose, his shoulders trembling slightly. Rhaenys stood by the black iron chest, looking down at the two sleeping skulls.
"Jacaerys," she whispered. "Joffrey."
She knelt and reached out very gently, like a grandmother stroking a sleeping grandchild's face.
"Grandmother is sorry for you..."
She did not finish. There were hundreds in the hall, and no one dared make a sound.
Kermit stood quietly and asked cautiously, "Princess Rhaenys? May I take my leave?"
Rhaenys did not look at him. "Go. Everyone withdraw."
The commanders and knights filed out. The envoy Kermit turned and left, his two attendants hurrying after him. Their leather boots echoed on the black stone, the sound growing fainter and fainter. Soon after, the doors of the hall slowly closed.
Rhaenys still stood motionless, looking at the two chests.
Corlys came to her. "A letter has come from Rook's Rest."
Rhaenys looked up.
Corlys drew a scroll from his robes and unrolled it. "Lord Staunton. He says the Crabclaw Peninsula supports us. The Greens will soon send troops."
Rhaenys took the letter and scanned it quickly. Her brow grew more furrowed.
"Rook's Rest requests reinforcements," she said. "House Staunton is the only Crownlands vassal openly supporting Rhaenyra. If we do not aid them..."
"If we do not aid them, our supporters in the North and the Vale will think we cannot even hold the one loyal lord at our doorstep," Corlys said.
"But if we do aid them..." He did not finish.
Rhaenys completed the thought. "If we aid them, perhaps that is what Aemond is waiting for."
She set the letter aside. "Rook's Rest is bait. He wants to fish."
Corlys was silent.
Rhaenys looked out the window. Storm clouds had descended; lightning flashed and thunder rolled. A heavy rain was coming.
"But we cannot refuse to go," Rhaenys said. "Lord Staunton staked his life on us. He refused to bow to Aegon, refused to send hostages." She paused. "If we fail him, no one in Westeros will trust our word again."
Corlys looked at her. "You have decided."
Rhaenys did not answer. She simply watched the sky growing darker. After a long time:
"My Meleys is faster than Vhagar. Sunfyre's wounds have not healed, and Aegon cannot ride with a broken leg. The only dragons Aemond can deploy are Vhagar and Lothron." She smiled. "Vhagar fought Bronze Fury at Dragonstone and was grievously wounded. A dragon can heal itself, but such wounds require at least a year. I intend to kill Aemond on the old dragon's back before Vhagar heals. This is our best chance."
Corlys seized her wrist. "No. Rhaenys. No."
Rhaenys looked at her husband's hand. That hand had once commanded the greatest fleet in the Seven Kingdoms. That hand had once awkwardly held a newborn's head when she gave birth to Laenor. That hand was now covered with age spots, knuckles thick, veins raised. It trembled.
"I lost Laenor," Corlys said. "I lost Laena. I lost Jacaerys, Lucerys, Joffrey. I lost High Tide, the foundation of centuries." He looked at her—the woman he had loved his whole life. "Rhaenys, I cannot lose you too."
Rhaenys placed her hand over his and patted it gently. "Corlys, you will not lose me."
Corlys did not answer. He simply held her wrist.
Princess Rhaenys sighed. "My Red Queen Meleys is the fastest dragon. No matter how fierce Vhagar is, she cannot catch the Red Queen. I will only harass her, not engage directly. If I see an opportunity, I will have Meleys take a bite at Aemond. Lothron is only three years old; even if he has grown to fifteen meters, I am not afraid."
She raised her head and met his eyes. "Besides, I will join forces with Daemon in this battle. Aemond will surely die. I will return. I promise you."
Corlys looked at her. This face he had looked at for so many years. When she was fifteen, at a ball at Harrenhal, he had first met her. He was more than twenty years her senior then. She had worn a long silver-red gown, her dark hair styled in a Valyrian braid. She had been proud, the "Queen Who Never Was." And he had been merely a lord, just returned from voyages in the East, full of ambition and fire.
"You have never lied to me," Corlys said. "You have kept every promise you made. This time, please, do not lie to me."
Rhaenys squeezed his hand. "I will not lie to you."
She turned her head and commanded the Valyrian attendant beside her. "Send a raven to Prince Daemon. Tell him to return to Dragonstone at once. Also, send word to Tyrosh to bring Sara and Silverwing back to Dragonstone."
The attendant took the order and left.
Corlys was silent a long time. "What of the black-haired girl? Nettles. She has tamed Sheepstealer."
Rhaenys shook her head. "That girl does not want to kill. If she comes, she will only hold you back. Let her stay in Tyrosh."
Corlys did not argue. He murmured, "Then... the first battle will be the decisive battle. The outcome will be decided there."
The sea wind blew from the east, salty and damp, thick with the oppressive heat of the coming storm.
---
Dragonstone harbor. A small craft set sail.
Kermit stood at the ship's rail, looking back at the black dragon castle gradually disappearing. His face remained calm. But the fingers gripping the railing were white.
Kermit remembered Prince Aemond's words before he left.
"Are you afraid to die?"
He had knelt before the prince, his heart pounding. "...I am afraid."
Aemond had looked at him. Those violet eyes were so calm they did not seem alive.
"Fear is right. You are afraid, but you will do it. That is enough."
Kermit closed his eyes.
He remembered that moment. Prince Aemond had personally wiped both skulls clean with a white silk cloth. Slowly, carefully. As if cleaning something very precious. The prince had placed Jacaerys's skull gently into the chest. He had said quietly:
"Those who touch my family... leave an impression."
Kermit, kneeling, had dared not answer.
Aemond closed the lid.
"Send these to Rhaenyra. Tell Rhaenyra I return them to her for burial. Tell her this is my final mercy."
Now, standing at the bow of the ship, Kermit chewed over the words. Final mercy.
He remembered Aemond's expression when he said it. Very calm. Not arrogance, not boasting. But something he dared not name. Instinct told him: that man seemed like a true dragon trapped in flesh. Violence. Madness. Death.
The sea wind howled. The hull shook violently. Kermit held fast to the railing. Behind him, the silhouette of Dragonstone grew ever more indistinct. Ahead, the direction of King's Landing was still invisible.
Prince Aemond had plucked him from the mud of Flea Bottom, given him a family name, made him a soldier, then his own messenger of death. Only this prince gave men of common birth such chances. He had completed this extremely dangerous mission.
Now he just wanted to return alive.