The courtyard below the inner ward was bright with crisp morning sun when they finally spilled out of the maester's tower.
Jace had spent the last two hours watching Baela and Rhaena across the ink-stained oak table while Maester Gerardys droned on about the Valyrian Freehold. The girls had arrived nearly half an hour late—escorted all the way to the heavy tower door by Daemon himself, their dark curls wind-tangled, cheeks flushed bright from the salt air, and the sharp bite of dragon-smoke clinging to their riding leathers. All through the lesson, Baela had barely kept still on her bench, swallowing back grins every time Rhaena glanced her way, while Jace and Luke sat restless in the stuffy, parchment-smelling room.
The instant Gerardys closed his ledger and dismissed them, Jace didn't even wait to wipe his nib. He followed the girls down the winding stone steps into the open air, Luke trailing at his elbow and little Joffrey—who had spent the morning smudging charcoal over a slate in the corner—scampering right behind them.
"Alright," Jace said as soon as the heavy oak door swung shut behind them. "Out with it. Why did Father walk you up?"
Baela spun around on the bottom step, still looking wind-burned and electric against the dark obsidian walls. She couldn't hold it in another second. "She banked so hard over the breakers I thought Rhaena was going to slide straight out of the chains."
"I didn't slide," Rhaena protested, grinning too wide to sound offended.
Joffrey skidded to a halt on the cobbles, clutching his slate to his chest, eyes huge. "You flew on Syrax?"
"No, it couldn't be Syrax," Jace said, his voice dropping the lightness as he looked from Baela to Rhaena. "Whose dragon?"
Baela paused, her chest still rising fast, realizing half a heartbeat too late that she'd slipped.
"Meleys," she said.
Little Joffrey's mouth fell open.
"With whom?" Luke asked, stepping closer, the easy boredom from the tower vanishing out of his shoulders.
Baela blinked, glancing sideways at Rhaena.
"Our grandmother," Rhaena said quietly.
The yard went dead still. Above the battlements, a gull shrieked once against the wind, loud as a whistle.
"Grandmother's here?" Joffrey piped up, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "Where is she?"
Baela's bright expression didn't vanish all at once, yet the heat drained out of it. She looked past Joffrey's shoulder toward the empty sky above the cliffs. "She already went back. It was at dawn."
Joffrey stopped bouncing. He looked up at Jace, then over at Luke, his small brow wrinkling. "Why didn't she see us?"
Nobody answered him.
Luke didn't say a word. He just stood very still on the cobbles, his hands dropping slowly to his sides, the easy morning warmth going out of his face until he looked much older than his years.
Rhaena shifted her weight, her fingers twisting in the dark wool of her skirts. "She didn't even come inside the gates, Luke. Just the eastern terrace."
"And Father?" Jace asked quietly.
Baela's chin came up, a flash of defiance crossing her face. "He caught us before we even went up to the yard. He flew Caraxes right alongside us the whole time."
Jace let that sit. He looked at Baela's wind-tangled hair, at Rhaena's quiet, apologetic eyes, and then sideways at Luke—who hadn't moved a muscle, staring at a crack between two flagstones as though he were studying a map.
There was no need for anyone to ask why Rhaenys had only sent for the girls. The answer sat right there in the cold morning air between them, plain as stone.
Joffrey's lower lip pushed out, his charcoal slate dipping toward his knees. "I wanted to ride Meleys too. She's faster than Syrax."
Baela dropped down onto one knee on the cobbles right in front of him, bringing herself down to his eye level. "Only because she's older, Joff," she said warmly, reaching out to steady the slate slipping from his fingers. "Wait till Tyraxes grows another two summers—he'll be twice as fast. Besides, Grandmother promised she's coming back soon, and next time I'm making her take you up first."
Joffrey's head snapped up, the gloom melting off his face in half a second. "Really? Even before Jace and Luke?"
"Jace already has Vermax, and Luke gets seasick anyway," Baela said, nudging Luke's boot lightly with her own.
Luke's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, yet the tight set of his shoulders eased a fraction. "I do not get seasick."
"You turned green crossing the Gullet last spring," Rhaena murmured gently, stepping across the cobbles to stand right beside him. She reached into her sleeve and pulled out two squares of honeyed sweetmeat wrapped in waxed linen, pressing one into Joffrey's hand and holding the other out to Luke. "She brought these from High Tide."
Joffrey tore into the waxed cloth immediately, his grievance completely forgotten as he began peppering Baela with questions about whether Meleys smelled like smoke or salt, and Baela answered every one of them—not boasting now, simply handing pieces of the morning over to him so he wouldn't feel left outside the gate.
Luke took the sweetmeat from Rhaena with a quiet nod, turning it over in his fingers without eating it. He knew what Rhaena was doing. So did Jace.
Jace stepped closer, resting a solid hand on the back of Luke's neck before looking toward their sisters.
"Did Father say anything?" Jace asked quietly, keeping his voice low enough that Joffrey didn't catch the shift in tone. "About Grandmother coming?"
Baela's smile faded a bit as she glanced once toward the upper galleries, then back to Jace. "He wasn't pleased. He barely let us speak to her before he marched us straight to the tower."
Somewhere below in the lower bailey, the iron bell began to clang for the midday meal, the sharp notes ringing across the black stone.
"Come on," Baela said, catching Joffrey by the back of his tunic before he could dart off toward the kennels. "If we're late to the hall after being late to Gerardys, Father won't even let us have—"
She stopped mid-step.
Beneath the shadowed stone archway leading up toward the great hall, Daemon stood with his arms folded loosely across his black riding tunic, watching them. The girls stiffened slightly at the sight of him. Whatever they were expecting—a lecture, or to be kept indoors for the rest of the day—neither of them looked eager to find out.
"Baela. Rhaena," Daemon called, his voice carrying easily across the cobbles without rising. "A word."
Baela glanced once at Jace before she and Rhaena crossed the yard toward their father.
Jace, Luke, and Joffrey stayed by the steps, out of earshot. From twenty paces off, Jace could only see the angle of Daemon's profile and the quiet, unhurried way he spoke—no sharp gestures, no cold dismissal. For a heartbeat, Baela simply stared up at him, caught off guard. Then a sudden, genuine smile broke across her face, and Rhaena's shoulders dropped all at once in visible relief.
Daemon inclined his head once and turned back into the shadow of the arcade, disappearing toward the upper stairs.
Baela and Rhaena didn't even walk back across the yard; they practically sprinted, Baela catching Rhaena by the sleeve as they came to a breathless halt in front of the boys.
"What did he say?" Luke asked, frowning slightly.
"The rookery," Baela said, grinning wide again. "He said if we want to write to Grandmother, we can send our letters up for the morning ravens."
Jace blinked, caught off guard by how quickly the wind had shifted, while Luke's eyes narrowed slightly as he took that in.
Baela didn't wait for either of them to retreat back into their own heads. She looked straight at Jace, wrinkling her nose slightly. "Only my hand looks like a crow walked through an inkpot, and Gerardys already made me recopy my letters twice this week. You write it for us—you're the best at writing anyway."
Rhaena let out a soft laugh, glancing sideways at Luke with a quiet, easy warmth. "If you write it, Jace, you and Luke ought to put your names to it too. Besides, one short note from the two of us will look terribly small on a whole sheet of parchment."
"I want to put my name at the bottom!" Joffrey announced immediately, waving his charcoal-smudged slate in the air. "And draw Tyraxes!"
"You can't draw on Grandfather's letter, Joff!" Jace protested. "It's a proper letter. He'll think we haven't anything sensible to say if you cover it in dragons."
The little boy looked distinctly unconvinced.
Jace's expression softened, a real smile broke across his face. He looked over at Luke. "What do you think? We've got questions about the ships anyway."
The guarded stillness around Luke's shoulders melted away. He nodded once. "Alright. After supper."
"Good," Baela said briskly, looping one arm through Rhaena's and grabbing Joffrey's hand before he could bolt.
They climbed the stone steps toward the great hall in a tight, noisy cluster, Joffrey still clutching his charcoal slate against his chest as he argued with Baela over whether he was old enough to sign his name in ink. Jace fell into step beside Luke half a pace behind them, and together they followed the girls out of the cold yard and into the warmth of the hall.