77

Chapter 77: Interlude: Daena IINotes:

Sorry for the inactivity the past month. I've been rather busy with university applications. Overall I did way better for my A levels than last time. Better than even Pamela, in fact. Though in her defence, she did her A-levels in 2020, and covid dragged everyone's grades down.

But I'm not home free just yet. I've got sort of a deal with my old clique that we'll all try reunite in the same university. Specifically Cambridge.

Yeah, that's an uphill battle. Especially for medicine. I mean, it's not impossible. Pamela and Alice were able to get in last year, and Yuuki just got accepted the other month, so I'm the last one left. But it's still gonna be one helluva slog.

Anyway, here's the chapter. I cut it in half, but it's still pretty long. I hope you enjoy it! :)

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"Diplomacy is a lot like a bar brawl, I find. There's insults, a few punches, a couple of stabbings… And then you all have a drink  together and realise that the other guy wasn't so bad after all."

- Iron King Theon Drumm, the Surprisingly Successful

112 AC, Gold Fleet, enroute to Qarth

"Children?" Jaehaerys Junior repeated, the Red Priestess nodding grimly.

"The Warlocks of Qarth like to scour the slave markets for young children gifted in magic." Melisandre agreed. "It is their main source of recruitment."

"Truly? But there are countless hedge practitioners and conjurers across Essos." Jaehaerys muttered. "I'd think that they'd be the best to recruit."

"And they do, but only for their less critical duties, waving the flag, so to speak." The Red Priestess conceded. "But for the truly vital duties, it is the mages, those raised from babes taken from their mother's arms to be on a diet of hate and murder that are sent."

"Rhaenyra told me indoctrination starts at an early age." Daena muttered. "It's why some places field love fielding child soldiers."

"Yes, and there have been a spate of disappearances in the Bay of Slavers for the past year or so." Melisandre nodded. "Moreso than normal. Even freemen and highborn haven't been spared."

"I have heard of such disappearances. Children vanishing at a truly distressing rate. Meereen and Yunkai are on the verge of war. Quite a few of their highborn scions have vanished mysteriously." Jaehaerys grimly said. "Even New Ghis hasn't been spared, for the granddaughter of Queen Regnant Zikhakha Zo Cezzar has vanished. The good queen is now tearing her own city apart to find her."

"Will that prove an issue?" Daena asked. "We're but three days away from New Ghis now."

"Even someone as mercurial as Queen Zikhakha will blanch at the sight of your great armada." Jaehaerys waved away. "She'll trouble you not, I presume."

———

112 AC, New Ghis

"I presumed wrongly." Jaehaerys reluctantly admitted, though Daena found little amusement in his words.

Jaehaerys was right in the sense that Queen Zikhakha's navy, which had previously been maintaining a blockade around New Ghis, preventing anyone from entering or leaving, had seemed reluctant to trouble the Gold Fleet. The Gold Fleet was allowed to dock, but that was where it all went south.

The Queen had summoned Lord Jonas Blacktyde to her palace in exchange for the supplies they needed to continue on to Qarth. And given that her envoy had come with an escort of two hundred iron legionaries, it was clear refusal wasn't exactly an option.

Hence why Daena and her compatriots were now being frog-marched through the streets of New Ghis, surrounded on all sides by heavily-armed men in iron armour.

The city was worth a second sight though. New Ghis was one part city, three parts citadel. The youngest and smallest of the Harpy cities had been built to be as close to impregnable as possible, while still serving as a trade city. The city was surrounded by flat plains, but it had not always been this way. In a work that had taken an entire generation, the surrounding lands had been thoroughly flattened, all the surrounding hills torn down and used to build the great wide plateau that the city rested on.

Two great walls had since been raised to encircle the entire city. One at the foot of the hill, and a second at the top, encircling the wide summit. Each at least forty yards tall. Great constructions of sandstone broken only by towers and battlements shaped like harpies, with five great gates of carved bronze and iron serving as their only entrances.

Three of the gates serviced the island proper, while two of them led to the great harbour and port at which the Gold Fleet had docked.

And the work wasn't even done. Plans had been made to turn the entire peninsula the city rested into a great island, connected to the mainland only by three great bridges.

The harbour itself was as an island of wealth jutting out of a sea of poverty. Most of the buildings outside the great outer walls of New Ghis were squalid slums, huddling in the shadow like beggars sleeping in the shade of manses.

Those were rare, by Essosi standards. Any such slum settlement unfortunate enough to be stuck outside the city walls would have been swiftly eradicated by the roaming Dothraki. But then New Ghis was an island, and the Dothraki didn't sail.

As they passed beneath the gatehouse into the outer city, Daena couldn't help but whistle.

"Seven Gods, this entire city is a killing field." The Dragonseed muttered, reluctantly impressed.

The avenue upon which they tread was made of sandstone, and wide enough for four carts to pass abreast. Five such avenues crisscrossed the city, running from each of the five gates up to the palace itself. Well, six, if one counted the one which encircled the entire city, sitting in the shadows of the outer wall. Behind each gate was an open square with a fountain in the middle, ringed by three-story-high stone shophouses packed so tight they were as a second wall, split by alleyways too narrow for more than one person to squeeze through at a time.

"Should any enemy breach the gates, they'll run right into a meat grinder." Lord Jonas grunted, eyeing the flat rooftops of the shophouses. "I don't think they can bring siege engines up so easily, but a couple'a archer companies would bleed them invaders dry."

"They can't." Lady Sayan agreed. "The shophouses are built using a standardised template, and the only way to access the roof is by a narrow ladder. When in war, the rooftops will be crammed full of archers, and they'll pull up the ladder, preventing easy dislodging."

"But then how will they retreat?" Daena curiously asked. "Sooner or later, they'll be surrounded."

"They'll just cross from rooftop to rooftop by wooden bridge." Jaehaerys Junior nodded, pointing to the gaps between the roofs. "It's too far to jump, but the bridge required to cross the gap wouldn't be too large or heavy."

"And these shophouses. They lead all the way up to the inner wall." Daena noted, looking up the hill. "And past it, I presume."

"If I recall, the shophouses are owned by the Queen, and not sold to anyone. Shops here must rent the space from the royal family." Jaehaerys remarked.

"This is true. Such is the case for every shophouse surrounding the avenues. And the city beyond them is deliberately designated to be a maze of back-alleys and dead ends." Lady Sayan agreed. "They're designed to funnel enemies down the avenues. And I think we've seen enough of legionaries to know that they prefer open grounds to fight on."

"Gods be good." Daena muttered. "This entire city is a slaughterhouse."

"I heard that the last time the city came unda siege, they dropped boulders on the invaders." Lord Jonas spoke up, pointing up the sloping hill. "Giant round rocks were pushed down from up there, and the slope did the rest."

"That's actually impressive." Gapeth Eelskin admitted, looking rather agape at the prospect. "So if we ever raid this place, we'll have to sneak in."

"I'm more inclined towards starving them out." Melisandre spoke up. "A great fortress is worthless, if the soldiers manning it are too weak to even lift their swords."

They left it at that, for a few of the legionaries were starting to glare at them. Daena didn't know how many of them spoke the Common Tongue, but she supposed their tone was telling.

Through the inner gate they went, and for a moment, Daena thought that they were done with the killing fields, for the buildings around them—though carefully arranged—were a haphazard mix of smaller pyramids belonging to the lesser nobility and opulent manses of the merchants, all built without any of the previous Rhaenyra-level paranoia that had saturated the rest of New Ghis.

But then they came in sight of the walled palace, the seat of the Queen at the summit of the hill, dead center of the entire city, and all Daena could think was that it was an army breaker on it's own.

The palace had walls, unimpressive compared to the ones ringing the city, but walls nonetheless. Surrounding the palace were five pyramids, each of the ziggurats two to three hundred feet tall, rising high like a mountain of painted stone, and surrounded by walls of their own. The five wide avenues all converged here, into a grand plaza. A triumphal parade ground much like the ones the Valyrians liked.

Anyone whom wanted to besiege the Queen's Palace would have to take at least two of the pyramids— which were fortresses in their own right— unless they wanted to wade through a rain of ballista bolts and catapult rocks down an avenue without cover. All to take a parade square overwatched by the palace and connecting to all five avenues in the city—making it the easiest place for defending troops to reinforce.

"Has the city ever fallen to storm?" Daena quietly asked, as they passed beneath the shadows of two looming pyramids and approached the brass gates of the Queen's Palace.

"Only to dragons." Melisandre softly said. "Only to dragons."

———

Daena and her company were led into a grand throne room with ceilings rivalling the height of the Great Sept of Aemma's grand hall. It wasn't mere pillars that held up the grand roof of leaded glass and brass, but twin rows of massive statues carved out of solid hunks of sandstone. Each and every single one of them a Ghiscari hero. Great kings, mighty warriors, dragonslayers and more.

Guardsmen stood with their backs to the pillars, eyes straight ahead as Daena and company were led down the aisle in the middle of the room. They weren't legionaries—those served the city itself and not the Queen Regnant— instead being slave-soldiers, each clad in bronze and brass armour like an insectoid carapace, bearing long-handled broadswords in their hands.

At the back of the room was a raised dais, atop which rested a great harpy throne of gilded wood, upon which rested the Queen of New Ghis.

Queen Zikhakha Zo Cezzar was claimed to the be the most beautiful and desired woman in the city. A peerless Queen of Queens whose beauty eclipsed even the sun.

Empty flattery, from the looks of it. If the Queen of Queens had ever been a great beauty—which was rather questionable in its own right— the Stranger had clearly ripped it away from her with the long sickle of time.

The sixty-something year old queen was short and rather stout. Like many Ghiscari her hair was dark and her skin olive, but age had marred them. Her hair seemed raven black with no grey or white touching them, but a practised eye could see that it was brittle and thin, hallmarks of hair dye usage. Her olive skin was pockmarked by liver spots and wrinkles, which not even the copious amount of makeup she wore could hide.

Her face was round, with drooping jowls and a large, vulture-like nose. But for all of them, Daena felt that Queen Zikhakha's worst feature was her expression. The Queen looked like she had something unpleasant under her nose, her face twisted into some nasty cross between a snarl and a scowl, with all of the worst features of both.

"You stand in the presence of Her Worship, Queen Zikhakha Zo Cezzar, Queen Regnant of New Ghis, Daughter of Harpies, Builder of Pyramids, Jewel of the Lands, Beloved of the Seas and Warden of the Skies." The herald—a young slave girl—proclaimed in lightly-accented Common Tongue, voice ringing throughout the hall. "Kneel in awe, and weep, for you shall never again see such a majestic sight in your lives."

Their guards did so. As did Melisandre, Jaehaerys and even Gapeth—though not before Lord Jonas had to shoot him a deathglare. The Blacktydes were the last to kneel, as befitting their statuses as the highest ranked members of their little expedition.

Before long, every single foreigner in the throne hall had knelt. All save one single lone exception:

"Dragons do not kneel." Daena refused, standing straight-backed and undaunted, glaring up at the Queen of New Ghis.

Valyrians could kneel. Royalty could kneel. Even Targaryens could kneel. But never a dragonrider. Never any person whom rode and commanded a dragon, unless it was to another dragonrider.

Honestly, it all felt like needless posturing to Daena, but both Alicent and Rhaenyra had agreed on the whole no kneeling thing. And those two never agreed on anything.

"I shall not tolerate such disrespect under my own roof!" The Queen shrieked, waving arms clattering with a goldsmith's worth of jewellery. "Guards, teach this little whelp respect!"

Eight guards advanced on Daena, raising their weapons threateningly, but the Dragonseed wasn't daunted. Under Melisandre's tutorage, Daena had been refining her sorcery for weeks now, and though she was still a far cry from the likes of Rhaenyra or Daenys, Daena liked to believe that she was now the equal of Haegon, if not Rhaegar.

Letting out a breath, the Dragonseed reached for her magic. Sinking into it for what felt like an eternity but was in truth only a heartbeat. She let it flow through her veins, course through her body. It wasn't a spell, not quite, but merely raw mana, ready and waiting for her to shape it into what she needed.

"Now what was that thing my cousin likes to say?" Daena wondered in Low Valyrian, casually rolling a shoulder to limber it. "Ah yes."

The first guard approached, sword raised to strike her with the flat of the blade.

The blow was slow, meant more to scare than to harm. The slave-soldier clearly didn't intend to truly hurt Daena. His mistake.

Shaping the mana into a reflex booster, the eldest Dragonseed's hand shot out, viper-quick. She snatched ahold of the slave-soldier's wrist, glaring up into his mid-brown eyes.

"Manners." The eldest Dragonseed mildly said.

Still holding his wrist, Daena took two steps to the side and one to the front.

"Maketh."

A swift kick struck him in the back of his right knee, and as he fell, Daena stepped to the right, twirled around and pulled.

"Man."

There was a pop. A sound soft yet heard by all in the throne room. A heartbeat later, the man began screaming. He cradled his dislocated shoulder, weeping in pain as he fell to the ground.

No strength enhancements had been required, for such was the advantage of leverage.

There was a moment of stunned silence, as everyone silently contemplated the young teenager. In the corner of her eye, Daena noticed her companions quietly scooting out of her way.

"Now then, are we just going to stand around all day?" Daena calmly asked. Deliberately keeping her tone unruffled and unhurried. "Or are we going to fight?"

"Kill her! Kill her now!" The Queen screeched, and the slave-soldiers, whom had been faltering slightly, regained their nerve, charging towards Daena with roars of rage.

The next two guards were less careless, one slashing from the right as the other stuck from the left, both aiming to kill. But with Daena's reflex booster, they might as well have been underwater. It felt like the air was molasses, resisting their every movement.

A single step left was enough to avoid the first swing, and a quick duck saw the second strike sail harmlessly above her head.

Rising to her feet, Daena concentrated sorcery into her fists, before striking out.

Her first punch was a rising uppercut, it struck the slave right in the belly, denting the plate. Her other hand came down, in a vicious chop that snapped the man's right wrist. Before the sword had even landed on the floor, Daena had struck twice more, landing blows that shattered the bronze breastplate's front like it was thin ice.

As the guard fell, Daena grabbed ahold of his shoulders and manoeuvred him to the side, the third guard's sword skimming off the second guard's armour in a rasp of sparks. The fourth guard moved to flank her, aiming to stab her while she was holding her human shield in the other direction.

And here was another opportunity for Daena to demonstrate the fruits of her labour. Where previously the Fyre would release her strengthening spell once it was no longer necessary, now the eldest Dragonseed no longer let the magic disperse. Instead, she reshaped the spell, sending the strengthening magic to her legs.

A quick hop sent her ten feet into the air, agilely backflipping straight over the stab and the soldier in question. Landing on her feet, Daena's magic-strengthened right foot shot out, slamming straight into the fourth guard's buttplate. He was propelled forwards, tripping over the moaning second soldier and crashing right into the third.

A pair of quick kicks later, and those two went off to dreamland.

Even as the three stooges went down in a pile of groaning bronze armour, the remaining four slave-soldiers moved to attack her. A staggered attack, one after the another, all aiming at her limbs.

A quick flick of her fingers telekinetically called the fallen sword of the first guard to her hands, and Daena struck out.

She parried two of the blows and dodged the other two.

It would have been easy to slay all four in the instant that followed. A second strengthening spell, combined with lacing the broadsword in her hands with a severing spell would let her bifurcate all the guards in the backswing, but that would be rather excessive.

Instead, Daena gave ground, retreating backwards.

Warily, the last four slaves spread out, two in the middle and two more on the flanks, swords levelled at Daena.

Daena raised the broadsword high, making an exaggeratedly-large swing at the leftmost guard. That was a feint, and as he moved to parry, Daena shamelessly stole one of Rhaenyra's favourite tricks. The eldest Dragonseed detonated the strengthening spell in her back leg, converting the energy released into kinetic energy and propelling herself forwards in a sudden burst of speed.

The heavy pommel of the broadsword slammed into the slave's harpy helmet. And as he reeled back, Daena's right foot, the one still wreathed in strengthening magic, struck him straight in the groin, shattering the gilded codpiece with contemptuous ease.

As the fifth slave went down, Daena stepped around his body and moved to attack, ducking under the sixth guard's swing.

Spinning up strengthening and protective spells into her arms, and Daena causally grabbed the bare blade of her weapon, swinging it around like a hammer, bringing the hilt down like a makeshift warhammer. Her first blow struck the guard in the chin, causing him to spit out blood and teeth. Her second broke three fingers and disarmed him. Her third rammed the tip of the sword through his breastplate, breaking the rib it struck. Deep enough to draw blood, but not fatal if quickly treated.

Twisting her entire body to put her full weight behind the swing, Daena spun on her feet, her fourth blow striking the guard in the left ear, knocking him aside and allowing Daena to advance on the seventh guard.

She raised her weapon, parrying his overhead strike, then danced to the side, letting her stolen weapon fall to the ground.

The warrior-monks of Yi Ti could shape magic like an extension of their own body, flawlessly combining it with martial arts such that every blow did tenfold the damage. Mana rippling out from the impact sites, ruining all that they touched.

While Melisandre was capable of replicating such a feat, Daena hadn't yet achieved such a mastery. But she instead drew from the very first lesson about healing magic Rhaenyra had given her; tossing magic about willy-nilly in a body rarely ever ended well.

Both of her palms struck the seventh guard's breastplate, and Daena detonated the spells in her arms. Sending them out in a pulse of magic that ignored all armour and defenses.

The poor guard went down, convulsing and retching as Daena's mana wrecked havoc on his body.

The last guard backpedaled in fear, but when his back hit a pillar, his expression hardened once more. Both his hands on his broadsword, the brass-armoured slave swung with all his might at Daena.

Dropping all spells save the reflex booster, the eldest Dragonseed called together every single speck of magic in her body, pooling them all into her right hand—so much so that it appeared as though red scales had grown over her limb—before catching the blade.

"I've had better fights from Daemon. And he's only six." Daena mocked, before squeezing. There was a horrible snap, and chunks of steel fell like sand out of her grip.

Clenching her fist, the Fyre struck one final time. The blow throwing the slave backwards like he was made of feathers. He slammed into the pillar behind him, before falling face-first into the ground.

Turning to face the Queen of New Ghis, Daena gave her an ironic bow.

"Are you not entertained?"

"Execute her!" Queen Zikhakha screeched, practically frothing at the mouth. "Execute them—"

A knife thunked into the back of the throne, as a red line appeared over the Queen's left cheek.

The old Ghiscari woman fell silent, as Daena casually produced another knife.

"The next one won't miss." The eldest Dragonseed airily smiled, enjoying the way the Queen went an entire rainbow of colours before she recovered.

"You fight well." Queen Zikhakha said, with remarkable poise despite the circumstances.

Daena didn't say anything, but she shifted her body into a less threatening position.

"Yes, very well indeed." The Queen nodded, growing in confidence as she spoke. "I have a bidding for you. Do it, and I shall forgive all of your many transgressions today."

———

"Her name is Ezraa Zo Cezzar." The majordomo said, as the five of them walked through the halls of the Palace of the Eternal Harpy. "She is the fourth daughter of Her Worship's fourth daughter."

"She must be at the bottom of the line of succession." Gapeth remarked. "And a girl, no less. Most people I know wouldn't care about losing her. So why is the Queen going this far for her? Her 'radiance' doesn't strike me as the caring type."

"Mind your tongue, pirate!" The majordomo snapped. "Her Radiance is as the Sun on the World. She is gentler than the Spring, warmer than the Summer, more beautiful than the Autumn, but her wrath is colder than the Winter, and one should not provoke such a divine calamity by insulting her holy and most august personage."

The man spoke the last words in a patriotic tone. One that carried through the hallways, as though daring people to eavesdrop.

Ah. The 'gentle' Queen must have countless spies throughout the palace. Spies whom would would report anyone badmouthing her.

"Torture or execution?" Daena whispered to Jaehaerys Junior. "Which do you think the Queen does to people whom do not bend over backwards to flatter her?"

"Torture. And then execution." Jaehaerys drily replied.

"Ah yes. That makes far more sense." Daena giggled.

"Do not insult Her Radiance!" The majordomo hissed. "Such foolishness cannot be borne!"

"Eh don't worry about it." Daena waved away. "She won't hear a thing."

"Her Worship—" The majordomo began.

"Shouldn't have any sorcerers capable of penetrating my privacy ward." Melisandre cut in. "The Lord of Light provides for his faithful. So long as you walk in his light, fear not tyrants or monsters."

"What she said, but without the religious bullcrap." Gapeth grunted, jerking a thumb at the Red Priestess. "If she says the Queen won't hear, the Queen won't hear."

"So speak freely, friend." Jaehaerys soothingly spoke, placing an affectionate hand on the beleaguered Ghiscari's shoulder. "Why is the Queen so interested in Lady Ezraa?"

Despite being under a privacy ward, the majordomo still looked around nervously before speaking.

"It's because Lady Ezraa is a Blue Grace." He quietly answered. "A priest-healer."

"And that's a big deal?" Daena sceptically asked. "I saw at least two dozen Blue Graces while walking the streets. They don't seem too rare."

"Most Blue Graces in the city are taught the arts of healing." The majordomo prevaricated. "They heal with needle, thread and potions. But not Lady Ezraa."

"Oh no." Daena suddenly realised, dread pooling in her sinking stomach.

"Indeed, Lady Ezraa heals by sorcery." The majordomo reverently whispered. "Wounds close when she touches them. She banishes infections. Ends sicknesses. Melts parasites. It is a miraculous thing, what she wields."

Seven Hells Below and Everburning. This was Haegon all over again. Healing was arguably the single hardest magical discipline. Many mages could regenerate, that was one thing. But to heal another? Now that was an entirely different beast. It didn't require much power, which was the sole upside to the whole matter, but in terms of sheer difficulty, none could surpass it. There were just so so so many things that could go wrong when treating a person with magic.

Even Rhaenyra—the single best mage Daena had ever met—found healing challenging. To the extent where the Dragonqueen outright admitted that she considered time magic easier than healing. Time magic!

No wonder why Queen Zikhakha was tearing her own city apart to find this Ezraa. A natural healer like her was easily worth tenfold, if not a hundredfold her weight in gold.

The five of them spent the rest of the walk in silence. The majordomo led them into a set of spacious, but relatively austere suites.

"Here are Lady Ezraa's quarters." He informed them. "She was last seen a fortnight ago, but disappeared from her bed overnight. No one has seen her come or go, and torture of the guards, slaves and servants on duty at the time has revealed nothing."

"Were there any signs of struggle?" Jaehaerys intently asked, eyes sweeping the rooms.

"None whatsoever." The majordomo denied. "And before you ask, no, there are no secret passages in this room."

"I see." Melisandre nodded. "Would you please give us some privacy? We would like to search for evidence undisturbed."

"Very well then." The man nodded, bespelled by the sorcery in the Red Priestess' voice. "I have duties on the other side of the palace. Should you need anything, the servants are but a bell away."

The four of them watched as the majordomo turned around and left, only speaking once the door shut.

"We have to recover Lady Ezraa." Daena insisted intently. "We can't let the Warlocks gain such an asset."

"Agreed." Melisandre nodded. "Nothing good will come of her kidnapping."

"What's the worse that can happen?" Gapeth shrugged. "A healer is useless if you don't leave any survivors."

Jaehaerys opened his mouth to chastise the scarred Ironborn, but the handsome Valyrian closed it immediately, when the tall Asshai'i raised a single pale finger.

"What do you know of Gorgossos?" Melisandre mildly asked Gapeth.

"Uh what?"

"It's a ruin, no?" Daena asked. "The Tenth Free City. Brought low by some calamity."

"The Red Death." Jaehaerys agreed. "Tis said that nine out of every ten died, screaming as they bled from every orifice and as their skin melted like wet parchment."

"That." Melisandre grimly declared. "Is the worst that can happen, when healing magic is misused."

Gapeth Eelskin had suddenly gone very silent, and Daena couldn't blame him. It was one thing to face death on the field of battle. Another to face it on the sickbed.

"I have to ask, but can Ezraa create such a plague?" The Dragonseed fearfully asked. "Bring this entire city to it's knees?"

"The crafting of such a plague is a laborious and time-consuming process." Melisandre denied. "I wouldn't rule out the possibility, but it's not something that can be done at the drop of a hat. Were she gone for two months instead of weeks, I'd be far more worried, but there should be no problems for the foreseeable future."

"So we find the healer, and then we kill all the people whom kidnapped her." Gapeth emphatically nodded. "Then problem solved?"

"More or less." Melisandre agreed.

"Good. Good. So let's go find her!" The scarred pirate enthused, making for the door.

"Eelskin, wait. We don't know where Lady Ezraa is." Jaehaerys pointed out. "Running off without a plan isn't going to end well."

"Waiting around isn't going to help either!" Gapeth snarled. "We have to at least try."

"And try we shall." Daena agreed, stepping in between the two men before the argument could escalate. "But I need your expertise here, Gapeth."

The Eelskin grunted in a 'get on with it' manner.

"Now Gapeth, let's say that you were on a salt wife run. You and your boys have successfully nabbed Princess Ezraa from the palace. Where would you have hid your captive?"

The scarred Ironborn paused, and cupped his chin contemplatively. He sat down in a plush armchair, drumming his fingers as he looked out the balcony, gazing down onto the city below.

"Does this city have sewers?" He asked.

"Yes." Jaehaerys agreed. "But they're deliberately built too small for people to squeeze through."

"Then they won't be hiding there." Gapeth muttered. "Magic can't make people smaller, right?"

"It can. But it's very power-intensive." Daena nodded. "I don't think it's likely."

"Hmm. Mayhaps a safehouse in the low districts?" Jaehaerys suggested. "Someplace where the guards rarely patrol."

"No no. That's an amateur move." The Ironborn man waved away. "If you're gonna use a safehouse longer than a few days, you don't want to hide it in the slums. It's the first place the guards are gonna look, and the neighbours always tattle."

"Rhaenyra once told me that the best place to hide was right under someone's nose." Daena nodded. "Think they've got Ezraa holed up in one of the big pyramids?"

"Dragonqueen's not wrong. People hardly ever check their own closets." Gapeth nodded in agreement. "The high districts, yes. But not one of the big pyramids. Too conspicuous. One of the manses is more likely. Preferably one belonging to a slave trader."

Jaehaerys rummaged around a bookshelf, before pulling out a large map of New Ghis and laying it out on the balcony table. He then snatched a Cyvasse set off another shelf, before placing down the white pieces.

Carved ivory soldiers came down, landing atop the span of the city, marking out troop barracks, legion camps, and half a dozen crucial infrastructure places that were heavily guarded by their very nature.

"The city is under lockdown. The port and all gates are closed." Jaehaerys nodded. "No one comes in or out. In fact, the Gold Fleet are the only ships which have even been allowed to dock this entire fortnight."

"How are they feeding everyone?" Daena asked. "This place is bigger than King's Landing. Food must be constantly be brought in."

"From the granaries, I presume." Jaehaerys noted. "But those won't last much longer. And once the food runs out, there'll be rioting in the streets. Already there is mass discontent. The Queen is an iron-fisted tyrant, and there is little love lost between her and her people. At some point, hunger will win out over fear, and the people will take to the streets."

"And that's how they're gonna get Ezraa out of the city." Daena realised. "Either the Queen opens the gates, and they exit that way. Or they use the riots as a distraction, and move to force one of the gates."

"That means that they're hiding someplace with easy access to one of the five outer gates." Jaehaerys deduced. "The harbour is under blockade, so probably one of the inland ones."

"They've probably got an escape ship crewed and ready on some quiet beach." Gapeth agreed. "Mayhaps even crewed by local smugglers. And once they reach the mainland, they're essentially scot-free."

Onyx Cyvasse pieces descended on the map. Only three of them, and all clustered on the northern edge of the inner city.

"We've got three locations that fit the aforementioned criteria." Jaehaerys nodded. "I'll need to consult with a few of the locals, but these look like our most plausible candidates."

A long and slender finger reached over, and flicked two of the onyx pieces over.

"Ezraa is here." Melisandre declared, tapping the last standing black piece, the three other people in the room recoiling in shock. They'd forgotten that she was there with them.

"How do you know that?" Gapeth accused.

Melisandre said nothing, but snapped her fingers, balls flames and light spinning in a circle around the Red Priestess, like moons swirling around a planet.

"Seven Hells. Magic is bullshit." Gapeth cussed.

"Why didn't you say anything this entire time? If you had tracking magic, why did we have to do all that?" Daena demanded, gesturing at the map setup.

"Didn't want to steal your thunder." The Red Priestess smirked.

———

In the dead of night, cloaked figures slipped through the streets, moving unseen from shadow to shadow. Though they bore medallions indicating that they were doing the Queen's duty, it was not mundane guards that they were avoiding.

Eventually, the twenty-five of them slipped up to a gate. Wrought iron, it was set into sandstone walls that encircled a sprawling mansion belonging to a particularly wealthy slave trader.

Despite Melisandre's professed weakness at stealth, the Red Priestess had successfully navigated them through the many wards surrounding the property, and after fiddling with a glass candle for a few moments, had undone the alarm ward on the gate.

"You know, I still think my initial plan was better." Daena complained as she fiddled with a lockpick.

"That was the stupidest plan I'd ever heard." Gapeth grunted. "No way."

"Hey, it wasn't that bad." Daena protested as she fiddled with the tiny rod of steel.

"Crashing Caraxes through the roof, then kicking down the front door while holding a bunch of crossbows sideways?" Melisandre dryly recalled. "Yes, that is totally a good plan. Flawless!"

"Milady, not to nitpick, but why would we have to kick down the front door after we'd already crashed the roof?" Jaehaerys asked, frowning in confusion.

He paused.

"And for the matter, can crossbows even fire sideways?" He confusedly asked. "I actually haven't used one before, so I don't know."

"It would have been awesome though." Daena defended herself, only to receive three dubious stares back.

Seven Hells but everyone was critic.

Thankfully though, the eldest Dragonseed was spared further ragging when there was a click, and the gate opened, revealing an elegant garden with paved limestone paths leading to a fountain and pavilion. By the main door of the manse, holding up the balcony above, were a pair of granite statues, each twenty feet tall.

"Alright, we all know the plan." Lord Jonas Blacktyde whispered to the twenty handpicked warriors. "We sneak inside and find Ezraa, then scram before anyone realises she's gone. After that Lady Fyre gets her dragon and burns the entire manse. No distractions, no delays. We be professionals tonight."

There were a series of nods, and the men filed into the garden. Daena was last to enter. Delicately closing the gate behind her, she took a single step forward, right into a trip ward that was only activated when the gate was closed. Immediately, lights illuminated the entire garden as an alarm bell began tolling. A great weight suddenly settled onto the entire property, sorcery lighting up the night sky as a ward snapped into place, trapping them all inside the premises.

Daena idly tested her magical bond with Caraxes and found it thinned. She could not draw power from her mount. No matter though. Melisandre and her had brought enough mana-filled jewels to be able to keep up a running battle for quite a while.

Slave soldiers began pouring out of the building, spears and shields forming a phalanx in the garden as crossbowmen lined up on the rooftops. A dozen blue-lipped sorcerers dashed out onto the balcony. But more concerning than them the two statues, which had suddenly began moving.

"Never mind. Quiet and professional just went out of the window." Jaehaerys shouted, drawing his sword. "We're going with Daena's plan."

"Knock knock, motherfuckers!" Daena cheerfully agreed, spinning up strengthening spells, reflex boosters and eyesight enhancement spells as she drew her bow.

A beautiful double recurve of jet-black dragonbone, sourced from Aenar's Vault, it was the single most beautiful thing that the Dragonseed ever owned. But it wasn't anything more than a well-crafted tool.

It was her quiver and arrows that were the good stuff.

Reaching up to her back, Daena's fingers roved over the arrows, feeling them by their fletchings as she contemplated which one of them she should open the dance with.

Ravens? Doves? Sparrows? Eagles? Falcon? Ah, owl. Daena didn't need any subtlety in a battle.

Within half a second, the arrow was already flying through the air. The owl feather-fletched arrow bore a shaft of ash inlaid with runes of stability and was tipped with hollow sphere of glass. It struck the closest statue right in the knee joint, before exploding.

Green flame burst froth, blasting the limb right off with impunity. The twenty-foot-tall titan of grey stone went down, crashing face-first into the ground so hard a few unlucky men were knocked off their feet.

All around Daena, a storm of swords and steel was raging. There were at least sixty slave-soldiers to Lord Jonas' twenty Ironborn, but these weren't regular pirates. Berserkers had long been a staple of First Men hosts since the days of the Long Night. Ferocious warriors whom imbibed strange concoctions that boosted all of their physical abilities at the cost of reason. Men whom weren't so much commanded as unleashed in the appropriate direction.

While Weirwoods weren't able to grow on the Iron Islands, the First Men whom were the ancestors of the modern Ironborn had found a substitute. Hallucinogenic mushroom that grew in caverns beneath the Islands. They were more potent than the Weirwood leaf paste the mainlanders used, at even further cost to reason.

Clad in heavy plate armour, wielding massive greataxes, the Ironborn berserkers split apart the slave phalanx like hammers cracking an egg. Quarrels and spears glanced straight off their plate, and what wounds they took only served to further enrage the men.

The second massive statue golem lumbered forwards, bringing down a fist that instantly pulped two berserkers. Gapeth Eelskin, clad head-to-toe in a scale armour of black steel, charged the golem with a savage cry. He ducked under a swipe, dodged a stomp and struck out with all his might. His Valyrian steel blade, Nightfall, carved a gash into solid stone, but the golem was unaffected, and Gapeth was forced to dodge a retaliatory punch.

The blow struck the ground so hard he and a dozen other men were knocked off their feet. A dozen crossbow bolts would have skewered the Ironborn man had Jaehaerys not jumped in front of him, shield raised high.

"Melisandre, take out the crossbows!" He yelled as a dozen quarrels sprouted from his shield.

"Fear the night." Melisandre of Asshai called out, voice ringing with spice and mystique. "For it is dark and full of terrors."

Smoke and shadow billowed out from the Red Priestess, enveloping half the crossbowmen. A heartbeat later, they exploded into violence, not into Daena or her party but at themselves. Falling onto one another with screams of blind rage, they hacked each other and themselves to pieces, all reason having been stripped away from them by Melisandre's curse.

Satisfied that her allies seemed to have the battle in hand, Daena took aim at the sorcerers massing on the balcony. A dozen arrows all shot in half as many seconds. Mundane arrows these, drawn from the quiver on her right hip instead.

As expected, sorcery bloomed, smaller wards bursting into existence around the balcony and halting Daena's volley cold. Preventing her arrows from striking the mages. Two of them had their hands raised, generating the shielding spells. The rest clustered in two cabals of five, pooling power as they prepared offensive spells.

But those were but ranging shots, and now that she'd ferreted out their defences, the best archer in House Targaryen was ready to strike. A dozen more arrows filled the sky in seconds. Each and every one of them a masterpiece of sorcery, enchanted and crafted by the best mages of House Targaryen.

The shielding mages were the first to die.

Fletched with dove feathers, with a shaft of olive grown on consecrated grounds. The arrowtip—silver blessed in holy water— took the first mage in the right eye, flying straight through the shielding spell like it wasn't there. The Warlocks could shrug off a great many wounds, but only so long as their brains were intact. Headshots that pierced the brain were a simple way to guarantee a kill.

The second mage went down half an instant later, another one of Haegon's holy arrows taking him down. Unfortunately, he'd managed to get his arm up before it could slay him, though he still dropped the shield.

The third arrow was made of yew and crow feathers, tipped with an arrowhead of steel tempered in blood. An arrow of vengeance this one, instantly killing the mage it struck.

Daena had aimed at the mage leading one of the offensive rituals, and his death caused the accumulated power to burst and spill out. Unfortunately, his remaining four compatriots were quick and skilled enough to catch the spell before it blew, though they were forced to abort the attack.

The other five mages weren't so encumbered, and fired their spell at the spot where the fighting was thickest, uncaring that most of the men in the melee were theirs. A whirling ball of darkness that devoured half of Daena's arrows midflight.

Melisandre of Asshai stepped forwards, jewelled choker shining with power borrowed from Caraxes.

"Lord of Light, protect us in the darkness. Lord of Light, shine your face upon us." The Red Priestess prayed, an incandescent ball of radiant sunlight shining into existence at her fingertips.

It flew out, colliding with the oncoming curse. Light shone out, devouring the darkness in a brilliant flare, before dissipating into shimmering wisps that fell like snow onto the fighters.

The golem that Daena had first downed was getting back to its feet. Though still missing a leg, it crawled unsteadily forward, crushing men through sheer bulk alone.

A stone fist, swung with great strength, slammed straight into it's face, shattering it instantly. Unaffected at the loss of a head, the crippled statue swung out an arm, but Jaehaerys easily dodged under it. The second golem stomped downwards, but the only thing it struck was the outstretched arm of it's twin. Stone crashed against stone, and the crippled golem lost an arm.

The man whom so looked like the Old King had lured the golems together, and was now using one to crush the other.

Magic boosting his movement, Jaehaerys leapt atop the fallen statue, missing its head and both left limbs, defiantly taunting the second. Down came a fist, and down went the first golem, torso shattered by its own twin.

The shielding warlock had recovered, and this time instead of a ward, he shaped wind. A smart choice, Daena's holy arrows were mundane in the sense that they bore no enchantment. The trick here was that they were made of magical materials. Of things that could be enchanted into magical artefacts.

Most defensive spells tended to assume any projectile headed towards them was either mundane or enchanted, which meant that arrows which were nonenchanted but magical nonetheless fell into a neat little loophole that allowed them to fly though the magic like it wasn't there.

Still, this wasn't Daena's first rodeo against mages, and compared to the likes of Daenys and Rhaegar, the Warlocks of Qarth were bumbling amateurs.

Her fourth arrow was made of pine and pigeon feather, and tipped with an arrowhead made from the skull of a messenger bird. It still bore remnants of the keen bird's soul, and was enchanted to never miss.

Her fifth was weirwood and eagle feather, with an arrowhead that had once been the bronze spear of a Child of the Forest. Winds were an old friend to the first inhabitants of Westeros, and it would be neither troubled nor slowed by them.

Two more fell to the two arrows crafted by Rhaegar, both arrows having ridden the wind like birds in the sky, soaring right to their destinations: the eye sockets of the mages. The wind guttered out, and the ritually pooled sphere of power glowed ever more ominously as another mage fell.

"Lead us from the darkness, O my Lord. Fill our hearts with fire, so we may walk your shining path." Melisandre prayed, voice high and clear. "R'hllor, you are the light in our eyes, the fire in our hearts, the heat in our loins. Yours is the sun that warms our days, yours the stars that guard us in the dark of night."

There was a great flash of light, and the second statue fell apart, crumbling in an instant. Melisandre must have unwoven the spells animating the golem.

Smiling, Daena nocked and fired another arrow with unerring accuracy born from both hours upon hours at the range and the boons of magic.

Obsidian tipped, with a shaft of gnarled willow and fletching of raven feather. All ingredients which amplified magic. Aimed not at a mage this time, but the ball of ritually pooled power, the one which the Warlocks had been trying to keep from exploding, after Daena killed the lead mage.

The blast devoured three mages instantly, leaving their clothes intact but evaporated any flesh that it touched.

Another mage was hit badly, and was trying to regenerate his wounds. He might have lived, had Daena's next arrow not sprouted from his forehead.

Cold iron, elder wood and sparrow feather. All ingredients that were banes of magic. The mage's spell winked out, like a candle guttering away in the dark, and death swiftly followed.

The remaining four mages seemed to realise that staying outdoors was suicide, and quickly ran indoors, Daena's arrows striking the stone uselessly.

"We'll handle the remaining men!" Lord Jonas called out as he split the skull of a slave with his axe. "You four go inside and find Ezraa!"

———

It was obvious where Ezraa Zo Cezzar was being kept.

The basement reeked with foul magic, so much so that Daena could almost see it, like smoke in the air.

"The wardstones are down there." Melisandre proclaimed. "We break those, and Caraxes can reinforce us."

"The Warlocks too." Jaehaerys nodded. "I can feel it."

Daena didn't doubt her cousin's words. He'd had picked up magic with even greater ease than even Daena did. He was no Visenya or even Maegelle, but he did seem to have a surprising knack for mage tricks.

"Then let's go murder them." Daena declared, Gapeth letting out a bark of a laugh in reply.

"You, I like." He grinned, reaching out to the basement door, the wards on them freshly unwoven by Melisandre. No need for a lockpick this time, not when the blades were already bare. Nightfall punched straight through the wood, and three heartbeats later, the door opened, lock having been completely cut out of it.

The four of them passed the threshold, and the world shivered.

———

Daena didn't remember closing her eyes, but when she opened them, she stood alone in a pitch-black room. The door behind her was gone, leaving behind only a wall of solid stone. On the other side of the room, shining like stars, were two torches on either side of an open door.

The darkness wasn't natural. That much was obvious. And Daena could still sense the presence of the four Warlocks. They were here, ready and waiting to strike.

"Ambushes now?" Daena called out, reaching for a specific pouch on her belt and drawing out the item within. "What happened to all that 'Tremble in awe, child, for we are your death' thing you guys had going on?"

"Insolence." A voice hissed, and Daena barely managed to dodge the decapitating blow. Even so, her helmet's plume got scythed straight off by an impossibly sharp blade. An invisible blade no less.

"That's me." Daena grinned, and threw the glass candle into the air.

A heartbeat later, blinding light filled the room, banishing the darkness. The four sorcerers were revealed, screaming as they shielded their eyes desperately. Had Daena not prematurely blinded herself with magic, she too would be writhing in pain.

There was a fifth person in the room. It was a man, seven feet tall, too slender and too thin to be human, made completely out of shadows from head to toe. And completely unaffected by the light, as shown by it lunging towards Daena, fingers outstretched.

Daena shot two arrows at it, but they both passed through the body like it was made of smoke. She blocked the swipe with her bow, wincing as the shadowy fingers cut straight through the string as easily as a person wiping away cobwebs.

The slender man's fingers closed around the bow, ripping it out of the Dragonseed's hands with inhuman strength. Daena was forced to let go, lest she break her fingers, dropping the bow and stabbing with a knife in the same movement.

Again, the knife went through the slender man as though it was made of smoke, and Daena had to dance aside to avoid being torn apart by whip-thin arms. The eldest Dragonseed barely had time to shape reinforcement spells before being backhanded away, being thrown halfway across the room and slamming into the stone wall.

The light from the candle then guttered out, plunging the room into unnatural darkness once more. The slender man was invisible now, indistinguishable from the darkness it now hid in.

"A shadow binder." Daena grunted, getting to her feet and drawing her spear. "Now which one of you four is he?"

She received no reply, but could instinctively tell that the shadow-creature they'd birthed was approaching, readying a killing stroke.

"No matter. I'll just kill you all." The dragonrider shrugged, and stomped her foot. A ring of flames rippled out from where she'd struck the floor, expanding in a searing circle of flickering fire. It struck the slender man's feet, illuminating and causing him to stumble for the briefest of instants, but that was all the Fyre needed.

Concentrating magic into her legs, Daena dashed forwards. As she ran, the Dragonseed reached out, taking hold of the magic that she'd released in the ring of flames. Even dispersed, it was still hers, as such when Daena called, her magic responded. Tendrils of fire coiled around her body, flowing back to her like rivers refilling a lake, wreathing her in incandescent flames. Almost like a suit of armour.

The eldest Dragonseed didn't even bother strike the slender man, dashing straight through it and detonating her flame coat. The explosion shredded the slender man, reducing it to a hundred wisps of shadow no larger than a finger.

The wisps writhed and began restitching the slender man, but Daena was already past it.

Before the light from the blast had faded, Daena had impaled the first Warlock in the throat, speartip punching straight through and severing the spine. A messier death than a clean decapitation. twist of her legs and Daena ripped the blade out, spilling black blood onto the floor.

The darkness suddenly vanished, revealing them to be in a stone cellar, faintly illuminated by oil lanterns. The mage she killed must have been responsible for the shadows.

The remaining three Warlocks dashed for the wooden door set in the back of the room, fleeing Daena in terror.

They didn't make it far, as the wooden door burst open in a blast of flame, billowing dust and smoke silhouetting three tall figures.

"Knock knock, motherfuckers." Gapeth Eelskin grinned, grabbing ahold of two of the Warlocks and knocking their heads together with the third's in between them. There was a sickening crack, and all three of them went down.

The half-reformed shadow creature behind Daena lunged at them, but Melisandre snapped her fingers, and the slender man crumbled. It stretched out a hand, as though trying to grasp at Daena, but that too fell apart. All that was left was a pool of shadowy dust, and even that evaporated after a heartbeat.

"I do apologise for the tardiness." Jaehaerys drawled. "But we were… otherwise engaged."

Daena exhaled, feeling the lack of weight on her shoulders. She hadn't noticed while she was brawling the slender man. Mana from Caraxes immediately began flowing down their bond, slowly refilling the depleted storage jewels.

"The wards." She nodded. "You took them down."

"That, and more." Melisandre smiled, stepping aside to reveal a girl not much younger than Daena.

Ezraa Zo Cezzar was rather pretty, despite being a direct descendent of homely Queen Zikhakha. She had a lovely heart-shaped face, full red lips, olive skin and wide doe-like dark eyes. But her beauty was marred by the sheer tiredness that saturated her entirety. It wasn't just dark shadows under her eyes, or the way she seemed to slump in on herself, but it felt like the exhaustion was a physical thing, streaming off her like smoke.

The princess wore what might have once been a brilliant blue tokar, but it had been cut and tied rather roughly in places to allow her full freedom of movement. The blue had faded considerably, and it was pockmarked with bloodstains. Most likely what had accumulated due to her healing work.

"Princess Ezraa." Daena bowed respectfully. "I'm glad that you are safe."

Smack!

Of all the reactions Daena expected from a rescued Princess, getting slapped was near the bottom.

"You utter bitch!" Ezraa screamed in High Valyrian. "You ruined everything!"

"Um. What?" Daena eloquently got out. "But… but we rescued you."

"Rescued? Rescued?!" Ezraa demanded, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Oh Harpy's Fangs, you seriously believed that I was kidnapped?!"

"Yes." Gapeth dumbly spoke up. "That was what Queenie said. Your return in exchange for the supplies our fleet needs."

"Harpy take that horrible toad!" Ezraa stomped, snorting angrily like a bull. "She just wants me to come back home. To be her little grace, her miraculous healer, working me to the bone day in and day out like a slave, while all the while she auctions off my hand to the highest bidder like some prize broodmare."

Something clicked.

"You didn't get kidnapped." Daena realised. "You ran away."

"Yes! And you just killed my way out!" Ezraa yelled, kicking one of the unconscious mages. "Another week or two. Just another week or two and I would have been scot-free on the mainland!"

"Your Highness, you must realise that the Warlocks intended on enslaving you. Your powers would have been put to depraved uses." Jaehaerys reasonably said. "However bad your grandmother might have treated you is but a pale shadow to that of the Warlocks."

"You think I don't know that?" Ezraa demanded. "I'm not stupid!"

"Could have fooled me." Gapeth grunted.

Ezraa glared at the scarred pirate, undaunted by the fact that he was twice her size and fully armed. The blue grace said nothing, but snapped her fingers.

As one, the three unconscious Warlocks on the floor spasmed, convulsing even as the flesh melted off their bones, leaving behind only skeletons, arms outstretched as though begging for help.

With a surprisingly girly yelp, Gapeth jumped backwards and pressed himself against the wall.

"You laid curses onto them." Melisandre noted, impressed. "However did you managed to do so without them noticing?"

"Do you even know how many people think that because I'm a girl and a healer that I'm harmless? That I'm nice and sweet and caring?" Ezraa snapped. "Well think again! I'm not some pretty flower in need of a protector."

"So you intended on betraying them all once you got to the mainland." Daena nodded. "I like your style."

"But what would you have done afterwards, highness?" Jaehaerys asked. "A natural healer like yourself is easily worth tenfold her weight in gold. You would have been relentlessly pursued no matter where you tread."

"I don't care!" Ezraa shouted, stomping her foot. "I just couldn't stand serving that old toad any second longer! I'm sick and fucking tired of doing her bidding, healing ingrown toenails of rich nobles and merchants instead of helping those in need of actual healing! Smiling and serving while being ferried from one place to another, surrounded by an entire company of guards and not let to even go to the privy by myself!

"Well I'm done! Done with it all" Ezraa shouted, pounding the wall angrily. "I may wear no collar, but I am still a slave, and I want my chains broken!"

Daena sympathised. Truly she did. She imagined herself in another life. This time as a Princess of the Realm. Imprisoned in the Fyrepit with her sisters by the King. A gilded cage, however comfortable, was still a cage. The confinement would wear on her, exhaust her both mentally and physically. She'd do anything, anything, just to leave it's confines and breath in the sweet air of freedom for even just the barest and briefest of moments.

"Could we help Ezraa?" Daena wondered out loud in the Common Tongue, turning to face her companions. "She doesn't want to go back."

"Milady, I'd love to help her out, but unfortunately we're on a mission." Jaehaerys reluctantly denied. "The Gold Fleet needs to resupply, and the Queen will not give us the supplies without the return of her granddaughter."

Yeah, the Gold Fleet was the single largest armada in Westerosi history, but unfortunately that size came at a price. The men needed to crew such a massive flotilla went through food and water at a truly astounding rate, forcing them to constantly have to stop at ports in order to resupply.

"Don't we have supply ships? Extra rations?" Melisandre asked.

"We do." Gapeth grunted. "But they're nearly empty. We had to go the long way around Valyria. That ate into our reserves a lot. Like it or not, we need the supplies from New Ghis."

"Can we not make it to another port with what we have left?" Melisandre asked again.

"No. Not even with rationing." Gapeth denied, shaking his head. "Too many mouths to feed."

"Then we reduce the number of mouths." Jaehaerys suggested. "If we consolidate what we have left, it might be possible for a smaller detachment to make it to Port Yhos and return with the necessary supplies."

"That lies on the assumption that Queenie lets us remain in New Ghis." Eelskin shook his head. "She could just decide to attack at anchor and drive us out of the harbour."

"True. I'd bet on the Gold Fleet over their navy, but the Iron Legions would butcher the Ironborn on land." Daena sighed. "The city is a fucking fortress. Even with Caraxes I'm reluctant to get into a brawl."

"Then we go back to the basics of piracy." Gapeth declared. "Hit soft targets hard and fast, nab what we need and then run before someone tougher stomps on us."

"You mean to strike the outlying farms on the island proper." Melisandre noted, cupping her chin in contemplation. "Yes, the countryside should be largely unguarded, and we could source the supplies we need directly from them. Or at least enough to last until the detachment returns from Port Yhos."

"But should we though?" Jaehaerys frowned. "Raiding innocent commoners is a truly deplorable thing. We're better people than that."

"We'll table that as a means of last resort." Daena decided. "Moral concerns aside, Rhaenyra has been clear that we're supposed to make friends on this journey. Yes we can and have behaved badly, but there's a difference between that and brutalising the Smallfolk."

There was a long silence as none of them came up with any ideas out of the situation.

"Man, I wish that this was just a regular salt wife run." Eelskin grumbled. "Politics complicate everything."

It felt like a thunderbolt had just hit Daena.

"Wait, repeat that again." The Dragonseed urged.

"Politics complicate everything." Gapeth confusedly replied.

"I think Milady means the earlier bit."

"Me wishing that this was just a salt wife run?"

"Yup. That's our solution." Daena nodded, before turning to face Ezraa.

"Oh done with your secret conversation?" The Blue Grace sarcastically asked. "I was starting to think that you'd forgotten me."

"We have a way to free you from your grandmother."

"Which is?"

"How would you like to be kidnapped in the dead of the night again?"

Notes:

Completely unrelated, but any advice on how to teach a two-year-old how to read? I've managed to teach my daughter her ABCs, but she's struggling to read complete words.