Chapter 54 (Patreon)

93 AC. Volantis

The heat in Volantis did not break even as evening fell. Dust hung over the lower city, raised by thousands of feet, carts, and beasts of burden. In the port at the mouth of the Rhoyne the shouts of dockhands and overseers never ceased, and on the Long Bridge the merchants were still calling out to buyers, though the sun was already sinking toward the horizon. But beyond the Black Wall, which separated the old part of the city from the rest of Volantis, all was quiet. Here, on streets paved with smooth stone, there were no beggars, no street vendors, no sailors from foreign lands. Only those who traced their blood back to ancient Valyria were admitted here, along with their guests and their slaves. All others, even the richest merchants in Essos, were turned back by the guards at the gates.

The manse of House Velroy stood not far from the Old Palace, where the Valyrian governors had dwelt in the days of the Freehold. It was a great house of dark stone surrounded by a garden of fountains and orange trees, and the windows of its main hall opened directly onto the inner courtyard, from which a cool breeze drifted off the water. Slaves with marks tattooed on their cheeks set out pitchers of chilled wine on a low table, along with platters of dates, olives, and thin flatbreads, and then withdrew without a sound, closing the doors firmly behind them. The master of the house did not like having unnecessary ears nearby during important conversations, even when those ears belonged to his slaves.

Today all three triarchs of Volantis had gathered in this hall. At the head of the table sat the master himself, Vogarro Velroy, a large man of about five and forty with a heavy jaw and short greying hair, on whose fingers glittered rings set with stones from Asshai and Qarth. At his right hand sat Parquello Vaelaros, the eldest of the three, a dry, stooped old man with a long face and watchful pale eyes, who had sat on the council of triarchs longer than any Volantene now living. And across from him, reclining against the cushions, sat Malaquo Maegyr, the youngest of the three. He was not yet forty, and unlike his colleagues he dressed without excess, preferring a simple dark tunic and a single ring bearing the seal of his house.

Vogarro Velroy and Parquello Vaelaros belonged to the elephants, the faction that had won the elections in Volantis for several decades running. The elephants were the party of merchants and moneylenders, of those who believed the city's wealth lay in trade rather than war, and every year the citizens of Volantis who held the right to vote gave them two of the three triarchs, and often all three. The tigers, the old party of warriors and conquest, had long since lost their former influence and had contented themselves for years with mere seats on the council. But in recent years a new face had appeared among the triarchs. Malaquo Maegyr had first been elected four years ago, and then re-elected twice more, so that he now held his seat for the third year running, a feat few could claim.

The rise of the Maegyr family had begun on the day Malaquo's younger sister, Thea, married Daeron Velaryon. Before that, the Maegyrs had been one of many old families beyond the Black Wall, wealthy by the standards of the lower city but in no way distinguished among the rest of the Volantene nobility. Thea's marriage, however, opened doors for Malaquo he had never dreamed of. He concluded a great many trade agreements with Corlys Velaryon, his sister's husband's elder brother, and soon silks, spices, wine, coffee, and all the wondrous goods that Velaryon ships brought from across the world began to pass through the Maegyr warehouses. Within a few years Malaquo had become one of the two chief trading partners of the Velaryons in Volantis.

The second partner, strangely enough, was the Velroy family. Vogarro's sister, Elise, had married Corlys's second younger brother, Veylor, and the Velroys received the same rights and the same profits as the Maegyrs. At first a rivalry arose between the two families, for each wanted more goods and better prices, but soon both Malaquo and Vogarro came to understand that there was trade enough with Driftmark for both of them.

Both families began to earn fabulous sums. And when election time came, it was Corlys Velaryon, through his brothers and trusted men, who provided them the gold needed to buy votes, to throw festivals for the townsfolk, and to persuade the right people to change their minds at the right moment. Thus Malaquo became triarch for the first time, and Vogarro, who had twice lost elections before, at last took the seat he had dreamed of all his life.

Of course, this help came at a price. From time to time, through Corlys's brothers, through the captains of his ships, or through other go-betweens, requests would come to them. Sometimes a certain ship needed to pass without inspection; sometimes they had to look the other way when some merchant was suddenly ruined or vanished; and sometimes they had to vote in council the way that suited Driftmark. Vogarro and Malaquo did not always like these requests, but both understood perfectly well how the world worked, and they did not object. All the more so since their families grew richer with every year, and not one of Corlys's requests had yet worked to the harm of Volantis itself. To further strengthen their power and bind their interests together, Malaquo and Vogarro married their children to one another. Malaquo's eldest son took Vogarro's daughter to wife, and Vogarro's eldest son wed Malaquo's daughter. Now they shared grandchildren, shared warehouses, and shared enemies, and breaking this alliance would be far harder than breaking any trade agreement.

Today's council was devoted to news that had been confirmed beyond doubt only a few days before. Several months ago, rumours had begun to reach Volantis that the Velaryons had invaded Slaver's Bay. At first few believed them, for Westeros had never before meddled in the affairs of those distant cities. But then the rumours came more and more often, and the captains of trading ships brought ever more details, and now no one in Volantis doubted any longer that Meereen, Yunkai, and Astapor had fallen.

Parquello Vaelaros set aside the cup he had not touched and looked around at his colleagues.

"I still do not understand how the two of you can sit here so calmly," he said irritably, his thin fingers tightening on the edge of the table. "Three cities. The three oldest and richest cities of Slaver's Bay in a single season. The Velaryons sailed there, slaughtered the Good Masters like pigs in a shambles, and took everything they could carry. No house of Westeros has dared such insolence since the Conquest. And we sit here eating dates and pretending it does not concern us."

"And does it?" asked Vogarro Velroy, lazily tearing a small piece from his flatbread. "These are not our cities, Parquello, and not our Good Masters."

"Not yet ours," the old man answered sharply, leaning forward. "But who can promise that Corlys Velaryon will stop at the Bay? He has shown that he does not fear to make war in Essos and that his fleet can take any city on the coast. Today he plunders Astapor, and tomorrow his ships will appear at the mouth of the Rhoyne. Perhaps we ought to teach him a lesson while there is still time. Send a fleet, remind this upstart that Essos is not his hunting ground."

Vogarro sighed and put the piece of flatbread back on the platter, as though he had lost his appetite all at once.

"Teach Corlys Velaryon a lesson," he repeated slowly, as if tasting the words. "Do you have any idea how much gold Volantis earns from trade with Driftmark, Parquello? I can show you the customs ledgers for the past year if you have forgotten. And Corlys Velaryon earns no less from that trade than we do, if not more. An attack on Volantis would cost him every trade agreement, every warehouse, and every partner in Essos. He is not fool enough to kill the goose that lays his golden eggs. And mark this: Corlys Velaryon never traded with the cities of Slaver's Bay. He never sold them a single bale of silk, nor bought a single slave from them. He had nothing to lose when he attacked them."

Parquello pressed his lips together in displeasure, but he had nothing to say in reply. For a time the only sound in the hall was the murmur of the fountain in the courtyard. Then Malaquo Maegyr, who had listened to their argument in silence, took an olive from the platter, turned it between his fingers, and said quietly, "For Volantis, this may become an opportunity."

Parquello slowly turned his head toward him and looked at him as though unsure he had heard correctly.

"What are you talking about, Malaquo?" he asked, knitting his grey brows. "What opportunity?"

"Unlike the other Free Cities, we know exactly what the situation is in Slaver's Bay," Malaquo answered calmly, without raising his voice. "In Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr they are still passing rumours to one another, rumours that grow new details with every ship. But we have our information firsthand."

"And what is the situation there?" Parquello asked, puzzled, his gaze moving from Malaquo to Vogarro and back again.

Malaquo laid the olive back on the platter and laced his fingers together on the table.

"Corlys Velaryon conquered these cities and executed the Good Masters," he said, looking the old man straight in the eye. "But he did not stay in them. Or rather, he left a garrison only in Meereen. In Astapor and Yunkai there are now none of his warriors, none of his ships, none of his governors. There is hardly anyone there at all. That means these cities are now like ripe fruit, simply waiting to fall into someone's hands."

Parquello was silent for a long while, weighing what he had heard. His fingers tapped slowly on the tabletop, and his gaze was fixed somewhere toward the window, beyond which the sky was darkening.

"Then why did the Velaryons attack Astapor and Yunkai at all?" he asked at last, and now in place of irritation his voice held genuine bewilderment. "If he never meant to hold them, why spend men, ships, and time on them?"

"That I do not know for certain," Vogarro Velroy said with a shrug, reaching for the platter again. "But truth be told, it hardly matters, Parquello. What matters is that Volantis now has the chance to expand its lands without losing a single warrior in battle with the Velaryons."

"I believe Corlys Velaryon has no interest in Slaver's Bay," Malaquo added, nodding toward Vogarro. "He has already taken everything he wanted from it. My people say he carried off nearly all the slaves from the cities, and from what I know of him, it was the people he needed. The gold of the Good Masters was merely a pleasant addition. Whatever he means to do with them, he has no further use for those cities, and the Velaryons will not stand in the way of whoever wishes to take them. Corlys has quite different concerns now. While we sit here, he is taking the Stepstones."

Parquello leaned back against the cushions, and for the first time that evening his face showed not anger but unease.

"And neither of you is troubled that the Velaryons and Westeros are meddling so boldly in the affairs of Essos?" he asked, looking from one triarch to the other. "Slaver's Bay, and now the Stepstones. Two hundred years ago the Targaryen dragons flew west, and Essos forgot them. And now they are here again, on our very doorstep."

"So long as these meddlings do not touch Volantis itself, I do not care a whit for the rest," Vogarro answered bluntly, making no attempt to soften his words. "Let Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr deal with their own pirates and their own islands. They were never friends of Volantis, and I shall not grieve if the Velaryons take the Stepstones from them. Besides, Parquello, there is something else you do not yet know."

He paused briefly, drank some wine, and set his cup down on the table.

"Corlys Velaryon has contacted Malaquo and me through intermediaries," Vogarro went on, lowering his voice, though there was no one in the hall but themselves. "He sent word that if Volantis does not interfere in his affairs on the Stepstones, then in a few months he will hand Meereen over to us. As soon as he has withdrawn his entire garrison and all the inhabitants from the city, its gates will open to our warriors."

Parquello slowly shifted his gaze from Vogarro to Malaquo, who merely gave a short nod, confirming his colleague's words. The old man was silent for a long time. He took up his cup again, and this time he did drink from it, then held it before him for a while, staring into the dark wine.

"In that case we shall have the three greatest cities of Slaver's Bay," he said at last, pronouncing each word slowly, as though reckoning something in his head. "I am certain the Velaryons will leave nothing of value in them. No gold, no slaves, no goods. But even empty cities, their walls, their ports, and the lands around them are a worthy prize. Volantis will make the greatest expansion of its lands since the Doom of Valyria."

"Just so," Malaquo agreed, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. "And we shall only gain from it. Yes, we have lost great suppliers of slaves, and the merchants of the lower city will not like that. But the chance to gain three large cities more than makes up for any losses. Slaves can be bought elsewhere, but lands will not fall into our hands of their own accord again. Moreover, once Corlys Velaryon takes the Stepstones, and I am certain he will, it will be far easier to come to terms with the Velaryons than with the accursed Triarchy. Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr have strangled our trade in the Narrow Sea for years with their tolls and their pirates. Corlys, on the other hand, is a man of business, and he will not hinder trade that brings him gold. It would be better still if the Velaryons destroyed Tyrosh, Lys, and Myr themselves, but they are unlikely to go that far."

Vogarro Velroy smirked, then straightened in his chair and regarded his colleagues with an altogether different, businesslike look.

"Well, then, we ought to observe the proper forms," he said, laying both palms on the table. "Who is in favour of gathering warriors and sending them to take Astapor and Yunkai, and thereafter waiting for the Velaryons to yield Meereen to us?"

He asked it more for propriety's sake than anything else. His vote and Malaquo's were already enough to carry any decision in council, and all three of them knew it perfectly well. But Vogarro had not been in politics for a year or two alone, and he understood that it was unwise to show disregard for the third triarch, especially one like Parquello Vaelaros, behind whom stood nearly the entire old leadership of the elephants.

Vogarro himself raised his hand first. Parquello sat motionless for some time, gazing thoughtfully at the cup in his hands, then slowly set it on the table and raised his hand as well. Malaquo raised his hand last, and did so with the air of a man who had never expected any other outcome.

Vogarro looked at them both and nodded with satisfaction.

"By unanimous decision of the council of triarchs, warriors and a fleet shall be gathered without delay and sent to seize Astapor and Yunkai," he declared solemnly, as custom demanded. "I shall give orders for the ships to be readied starting tomorrow. And with that, today's council is concluded."

93 AC. The Stepstones. Bloodstone

Over the past weeks, the Velaryon camp on Bloodstone had come to look more like a small town than a military encampment. The commanders' pavilions stood in neat rows on the high ground above the main bay, and around them spread the soldiers' tents, storehouses of provisions and weapons, field forges, and horse pens. A little farther off, on the rocky headland at the mouth of the bay, the first walls of a future fort were already rising from the earth. Workers brought over from Driftmark hewed stone, hauled timber, and dug ditches from dawn to dusk, and in the bay itself dozens of ships with the seahorse on their sails lay at the piers.

Corlys's pavilion stood at the centre of the camp. Inside it was cooler than without, thanks to the side flaps that had been thrown back to let the sea wind through. Corlys sat at a camp table piled with maps, reports, and letters, while by the entrance, stretched out on a spread hide, Ares dozed, now and then twitching an ear whenever loud voices sounded outside.

The reports Corlys was looking over that morning were good. His brothers had done what was asked of them. Daeron had taken Torturer's Deep, smoking the pirates out of the tunnels the same way Corlys himself had smoked out Craghas Drahar's men on Bloodstone. Veylor had taken Grey Gallows, though there the pirates had managed to hold out somewhat longer, and he had been forced to storm the fortifications above the main bay twice before the last of them laid down their arms. With the three main islands fallen and their leaders dead, resistance on the rest of the Stepstones had been almost entirely crushed. On the smaller islands there remained only a few small pirate camps and storehouses, and the Velaryon soldiers were taking them one after another, meeting almost no resistance. Many pirates, having learned of Drahar's fate, tried to flee in boats toward Tyrosh or Lys, but the Velaryon ships intercepted them at sea.

On Bloodstone, Torturer's Deep, and Grey Gallows, Corlys had decided to build military forts. These three islands were the largest of the Stepstones, with good harbours and sources of fresh water, and whoever held them held the entire strait. In time, once all claims with the Targaryens had been settled, true towns were to grow up around these forts, with ports, markets, and shipyards. But for now, what Corlys needed above all were walls, garrisons, and ships. He ordered the patrols around the islands strengthened, so that no pirate ship could ever again approach the Stepstones unseen, and he directed that particular ships be assigned to escort the merchant vessels that would soon begin to stream through the strait again in the coming months. Trade had to return to the Stepstones as quickly as possible, for it was for the sake of trade that these islands had been worth taking at all.

Corlys had also ordered the bodies of the pirates hanged along the shores of Bloodstone, on the rocks at the mouths of the bays and on posts along the coast, wherever they could be seen from passing ships. Some of his commanders grimaced on hearing the order, and Ser Adam cautiously remarked that the stench of the bodies would hang over the camp for weeks yet. But Corlys did not change his mind. Every captain who passed the Stepstones was to see with his own eyes what had become of those who had ruled these islands before him. It was a warning to all who might wish to seize the Stepstones, which now belonged to House Velaryon.

Having finished with the reports, Corlys set them aside and drew a clean sheet of parchment toward himself. He had been turning this letter over in his mind for several days, and now that the last islands were all but taken, the time had come to write it. His people were to make many copies and send them to all the lords of Westeros, from Winterfell to Sunspear, as well as to the rulers of every Free City in Essos. Corlys dipped his quill in the ink and began to write in an even, confident hand.

"I, Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, Master of Driftmark, Lord of the Tides and of the Narrow Sea, do inform all the lords of the Seven Kingdoms and the rulers of the Free Cities that the Stepstones have been cleansed of pirates. Craghas Drahar, who called himself the Crabfeeder, is dead, as are all his captains and all those who for years plundered merchant ships, took sailors and fishermen captive, and sold them into slavery. The Triarchy's fleet, which lay off the islands, has been burned. Henceforth the Stepstones are under the rule and protection of House Velaryon. My ships guard the strait, and any merchant ship that comes here in peace shall find safe harbour, fresh water, and protection among the islands. But whosoever comes to the Stepstones bearing arms shall share the fate of Craghas Drahar and his men, whose bodies now hang upon the rocks of Bloodstone."

Corlys read over what he had written, was satisfied, and added a few more lines concerning the tolls that would be levied on ships passing through the strait. The tolls were lower than those the Triarchy had demanded, and lower than what the pirates had taken for their so-called protection. Merchants would understand at once that passing through the Stepstones under Velaryon protection was not only safer but cheaper.

He had no doubt how this letter would be received in Essos. He would come to terms with Volantis easily. His people had already passed along to the Maegyrs and the Velroys everything that was required, and if he knew his Volantene kin well, the triarchs were already deciding how many warriors to send to Slaver's Bay. Braavos and Pentos would be only too glad that the Narrow Sea had grown safer for their trade. As for Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr, they could rage as much as they liked, but without the fleet burned at the Stepstones, and without the pirates who had done their dirty work for years, they posed no real danger to a man of his abilities and station. What occupied Corlys far more was how this letter would be read in King's Landing. But that he meant to think on later, when his brothers were at his side.

He was just finishing the last lines when the flap at the entrance was thrown back and Ser Adam stepped into the pavilion. Ares raised his head, recognised him, and lowered his muzzle onto his paws again, not deigning to give the knight even a lazy growl.

"My lord," said Ser Adam, stopping at the table and inclining his head slightly. "The lookouts on the headland have sighted ships on the horizon. It is Lord Daeron's flagship, and beside it Lord Veylor's ship. Behind them come some score of escort ships. If the wind does not change, they will be in the bay by noon."

Corlys signed the letter, sprinkled the parchment with sand so the ink would dry faster, and set it carefully aside, weighting it down with a heavy seal.

"Then we ought to greet Daeron and Veylor as befits them," Corlys said, rising from the table, and on his face appeared a smile Ser Adam had not seen in many weeks. "Have an honour guard drawn up at the pier, and tell the cooks there will be a feast in the camp tonight. My brothers have earned it."

93 AC. Driftmark

Spicetown went about its usual life. In the harbour, merchant ships from Pentos, Braavos, and Oldtown were unloading at the piers; dockhands hauled bales of cloth and casks of wine down the gangplanks, while clerks of the trading houses, wax tablets in hand, counted the goods and haggled with captains over prices. In the market square, market women laid out fresh fish, fruit, and spices brought from across the sea, shouting over one another to draw in buyers. Carts loaded with goods from the warehouses rolled through the streets, children darted between them, and at the doors of taverns, sailors fresh off their ships discussed the latest news.

And in recent weeks there had been only one piece of news. All of Spicetown was talking about the Stepstones, about the burned fleet of the Triarchy, and about how Lord Corlys and his brothers had cleansed the islands of pirates. The townsfolk, many of whom were sailors themselves or had kin aboard the ships, were proud of their lord and impatient for the fleet to come home.

In the centre of the city, in the castle of High Tide, things were calmer. In the garden that spread between the castle's inner walls, carpets had been laid out and cushions arranged in the shade of old trees, and on them sat Viserra, Elise, and Thea together with the youngest children of House Velaryon. Viserra held little Victor in her arms; he had already learned to grab at everything within reach and was now earnestly trying to catch hold of a silver lock of his mother's hair. Thea was rocking her daughter Rhaella, while Elise held Elia on her lap; unlike her cousin, Elia had no intention of sleeping and was gazing with curiosity at the leaves swaying above her head. A little way off, on the grass by the fountain, Daemon, Corwyn, and Aurane were playing. Corwyn and Aurane were building a fortress out of wooden blocks, and Daemon, who now ran about the garden almost as surely as his older cousins, kept trying to knock it down, at which the boys shouted at him indignantly, only to start building again at once.

"If they carry on like this, by evening Corwyn and Aurane will have learned every word they are not yet supposed to know," Thea remarked, smiling as she watched the boys and never ceasing to rock her daughter. "Yesterday Corwyn called Daemon a little pirate. I have no idea where he heard it."

"In the kitchens, most likely," Elise answered, straightening the delicate lace dress on Elia. "That is all anyone talks about there now, pirates and the Stepstones. The cooks are certain Lord Corlys killed every last pirate himself, while the rest of the soldiers simply stood by and watched."

"Knowing Corlys, I would not be surprised if that is exactly how it went," Viserra laughed, carefully freeing her hair from her son's clutching fingers. "Though he wrote nothing of the sort in his letter. He writes as though he were reporting to the Master of Coin. So many ships, so many islands, so many soldiers. And not a word about himself."

"Daeron writes the very same way," Thea sighed, shaking her head. "It must run in the family. In every letter I ask him to tell me how he is and whether he has been wounded, and in return I get a detailed account of how many pirate ships they have sunk."

Elise was about to add something, but at that moment a roar rolled over the city. It was so loud and so deep that birds burst from the trees in the garden and the water in the fountain shivered with tiny ripples. The boys by the fountain froze and tipped their heads back to the sky as one. After the first roar came a second, and then a third, and it was plain that three different dragons were roaring.

Viserra raised her head and looked up at the sky. Over the rooftops of Spicetown, descending slowly in wide circles, flew three dragons. The first she recognised was Meleys, whose red scales gleamed brightly in the sun. Beside her flew Caraxes, long and sinuous, like a monstrous red serpent with leathery wings. And above them both, blotting out half the sky, sailed the vast bronze-green bulk of Vhagar, the eldest of all living dragons, whose wings cast a shadow over the streets of the city in which whole districts vanished for an instant. In the streets below, people stopped and pointed at the dragons, merchants abandoned their stalls, and in the harbour one of the dockhands dropped a cask, which went rolling along the pier.

Viserra watched the dragons for a long moment, then let out a quiet breath.

"Well, here it begins," she said softly, more to herself than to the others.

She closed her eyes and reached out with her mind to Dreamfyre, who was resting on the broad platform by the castle's western tower. Over the years, the bond between them had grown so strong that Viserra no longer needed words or gestures for her dragon to understand her. She felt Dreamfyre wake and lift her head, felt her curiosity and a faint irritation that strange dragons had flown into her territory, and passed to her a single, simple wish. Meet the guests.

The answering roar came almost at once. It was louder than all three before it put together, and it set the glass in the castle windows trembling. Dreamfyre rose from behind the western tower, and even Elise and Thea, who saw her nearly every day, could not help but hold their breath. In recent years Viserra's dragon had grown to a size no one had expected. The training Corlys had insisted upon, the long flights over the sea, the freedom she had been denied in the Dragonpit, and the potions Corlys prepared for her himself, whose ingredients he would not reveal even to his wife, had all done their work. Dreamfyre had grown far faster than other dragons of her age, and she was now larger than Vermithor and had nearly matched Vhagar herself. Her silver-blue scales shimmered in the sun, and when she spread her wings and rose above the towers of High Tide, her shadow covered the whole garden.

Dreamfyre made a wide circle over the castle and climbed to meet the guests. She did not attack and did not loose her flame, but she held herself so as to stay between the strange dragons and High Tide, and roared again, this time short and in warning. Meleys answered her with a cry of greeting, for these two dragons had flown together more than once when Rhaenys had stayed on Driftmark. Caraxes kept silent, and Vhagar merely turned her enormous head slowly toward Dreamfyre, as though taking the measure of a rival she had not seen in a long while.

The boys by the fountain stared at the sky, mouths agape. Aurane was the first to recover and shouted in delight that Dreamfyre was bigger than Vhagar, and Corwyn at once began to argue with him. Daemon, understanding nothing, simply clapped his hands happily as he watched the dragons. Little Elia, frightened by the roaring, burst into tears, and Elise pulled her close, while Rhaella, whom Thea had almost rocked to sleep, woke and clutched fearfully at her mother's dress.

Elise and Thea exchanged a glance, and the same unease showed on both their faces. Both of them had grown up behind the Black Wall of Volantis, and they had known since childhood that when the mighty arrive without warning, it rarely means anything good.

"Viserra, what should we do?" Elise asked, getting to her feet and rocking the weeping Elia, and her voice held an anxiety she no longer tried to hide. "That is Caraxes, isn't it? Prince Aemon would not come without warning, and with Prince Baelon and Rhaenys besides, unless something had happened."

"They must have learned something in King's Landing already," Thea added, rising as well and holding Rhaella close. She looked at the sky, then at the boys by the fountain, and her voice grew quieter. "Perhaps we should take the children into the castle? Or send someone to the harbour to warn the captains? If the king has sent them for answers, they will not leave until they have them. What should we do?"

Viserra did not answer at once. She lowered her gaze to Victor, who, paying the dragons no heed whatsoever, was once more reaching for her hair, and then looked at tiny Rhaella and Elia in their mothers' arms. After that she turned her eyes to Daemon, Corwyn, and Aurane, who still stood together by the fountain, heads tipped back, arguing over whose dragon was bigger. For a while she simply watched them, and Elise and Thea, who knew her well, saw the uncertainty leave her face and give way to the look they had seen more than once on Corlys when he was making an important decision.

At last Viserra raised her eyes to Elise and Thea.

"Whatever is needed to protect the family," she said quietly, yet so firmly that neither of them was left in any doubt that she meant it. "Whatever it takes."