Limpick's hand started shaking. He reached inside his robe and closed his fingers around the dragon bone. It was burning hot—not warm, scalding. The dark-red glow on its surface pulsed so fast it looked ready to explode.
Yuan had drawn power from the dragon-glass vein under the sea and used it to make eggs. These weren't ordinary octopus eggs. They were something else—scaled, tentacled, golden-eyed things built to live in the deep, to grow in volcanic heat, to become full-grown adults exactly like Yuan. Every egg was a dragon.
Dozens of them.
Limpick crouched on the rocks, one hand resting on Yuan's thick tentacle, staring at the clutch of smooth white spheres glowing softly in the sunset. His mind raced so fast he could barely keep up. Dozens of dragons. Not the kind he had to raise from tiny Ember and Plume, feeding and protecting them. These would hatch already strong, already able to swim the deep trenches, already able to absorb dragon glass and grow into giants.
The world was about to change.
He stood up and stepped back. Yuan's golden eye followed him, confused. One tentacle slid forward and rested across his knee again, cool and slick.
"Not you," Limpick said, patting the tentacle. "I'm thinking about the eggs. When they hatch… what the hell do we do with them?"
Yuan blinked once.
"You can't keep them hidden under you forever. They'll break out, they'll swim, people will see them. Fishermen sail these waters. Merchant ships. Stannis's fleet. You're already big enough to scare the shit out of everyone. Add dozens more your size—"
He pictured it: dozens of Yuan's young rising along Dragonstone's coast at once, each the size of a warship, golden eyes glowing in the dark, tentacles reaching up and dragging hulls under.
A shiver ran down his spine.
"You have to take them deeper," he told Yuan. "Farther out. Somewhere no one goes. Let them grow. Then come back when they're ready."
Yuan's tentacle tapped his knee twice—understood. It sank lower, coiling all eight arms around the clutch, shielding the eggs. Its golden eyes met his one last time, then dimmed as it slipped beneath the surface. The water closed over it without a splash. A single ring of ripples spread out, catching the last gold of the sunset, then faded.
Limpick stood on the rocks and watched the sea turn black. Stars came out. The wind grew cold. He didn't move.
He reached inside his robe again. The dragon bone was still scorching. He gripped it tighter, feeling the heat bite into his palm. The surface pulsed hard and fast, matching the beat of his own heart.
The world was going to change.
He turned and started up the stone steps toward the castle. The climb felt longer than usual. When he reached the top, the bonfires along the coast were still burning—Melisandre's order to ward off sea monsters. Orange-red light painted the black cliffs the color of blood. He looked back once more at the dark water.
Yuan was down there, deep, wrapped around its clutch in the heart of the dragon-glass vein where fire and sea met.
Dozens of dragons turning inside their shells.
Limpick kept walking.
By the time he reached the great hall, evening prayers had already started. The brazier roared. Melisandre stood at the altar, arms raised, voice rolling through the vaulted ceiling in perfect High Valyrian. Limpick slipped in behind her and joined the chant. His pronunciation was flawless now. His mind was somewhere else—wondering how long the eggs would take to hatch, what the hatchlings would look like, whether they would listen to him the way Yuan did.
The prayer ended. Melisandre turned and studied him. Firelight made her face glow. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She stepped close and straightened his collar, fingertips brushing the side of his neck—cool skin against her burning touch.
"You were distracted tonight," she said quietly. "What were you thinking about?"
Limpick met her red eyes. "The fire. The things I saw in it. Blue light. And the sea. Something strange happened by the water today."
"What?"
"Light under the waves. Blue, faint, pulsing like a heartbeat. I watched it a long time. It wasn't the moon."
Melisandre's fingers paused on his collar. "Are you sure?"
"Positive. Moon was east. The light came from the west."
She studied him another moment, then let her hand drop. She turned back to the brazier and added two fresh pieces of charcoal. The flames jumped higher, lighting the fine lines on her face.
"There are old stories in the Targaryen scrolls," she said. "Dragonstone's dragon-glass veins stretch far out under the sea. Fire still burns down there—R'hllor's fire, dragonflame. It can heat the water, kill fish, drag ships under. What you saw was probably that."
"Maybe," Limpick said.
Melisandre gave him one last look, then walked away. Her red robe whispered across the stone and vanished down the corridor.
Limpick stayed in the hall a moment longer, watching the ordinary orange fire throw normal shadows on the walls. Then he went to his room, shut the door, and laid out the seven pieces of dragonglass and the single dragon bone on the bed. The bone sat in the center, glowing brighter and hotter than ever. He closed his hand around it. The surface pulsed fast and hard, like it was about to burst.
He knew why.
Yuan was deep below, wrapped around its clutch at the root of the dragon-glass vein. Dozens of tiny hearts beat inside those shells, blue light flickering in time with the mountain's fire.
Limpick lay down and stared at the dragons carved into the ceiling. Moonlight made their shadows move like living things. He closed his eyes, palm still pressed over the dragon bone, and listened to the three heartbeats—his own, Ember's far to the north, and the dozens now pulsing in the deep.
Dozens of dragons, turning inside their eggs.
The world was about to change.
He rolled over, facing the wall. The stone was cool and thick. He buried his face in the pillow.
It was going to be one hell of a storm.