I did not have time to check the captain’s quarters. After quickly arranging for accommodations to be found for the enslaved Stormlanders, I rode hard for the Spear Tower, the Lannister guard with me shouting warnings to clear the road ahead. Wary faces turned as we passed, but none dared slow us.
Our horses’ hooves rang sharp against the stone, the sound echoing through Sunspear’s streets as dusk crept in, shadows stretching long and thin between the buildings.
By the time I reached its steps, the place was already boiling over. Lannister guards blocked the entryway into the cell room in a tight knot of red cloaks, their hands hovering over their hilts, faces set and hostile. Dornish gaolers stood opposite them just as stubbornly, voices raised, everyone’s tempers flaring.
“This is Dornish ground,” one of the gaolers snapped, chin lifted in challenge.
“Aye, Dornish enough one of yous’ poisoned him,” came the sharp reply from a Lannister. “Might be you poisoned Ser Gerion too.”
“It was the pirate who done it, you yellow-haired fool!”
“An’ who’s to say he’s not one of yous’, then,” someone in red shot back.
That was enough to set them off. The Dornish erupted as one, and that made the Lannisters even more agitated. Both sides fired off accusations like thrown knives, trying to cut at each other where it hurt most. Negligence, interference, threats of calling for their superiors and so on.
The narrow corridor around the cell echoed with the shouts, the stones reflecting and amplifying the noise until it became almost unbearable.
I forced my way through before steel could be shown.
“Enough,” I said, pitching my voice as loud as I could manage. “All of you.”
It didn’t stop them at once. Turns out screaming when your voice was still prone to cracking occasionally wasn’t the best at getting grown men to obey you. Still, a few heads turned. The Lannister men, at least, recognized me from the Western Will and the aftermath of the fight. Those were quick to listen.
“What in the seven hells happened?” I demanded. My anger had no single target. The Dornish, for allowing it to happen in their cells. The Lannisters, for failing to guard the one man who mattered. “How was this allowed?”
Before an answer could come, steel-clad footsteps sounded behind me. I turned to see Princess Elia approaching, Ashara Dayne at her side, followed by a squad of guards in polished plate and greaves. Elia’s face was drawn tight, her back straight.
Her presence stilled the Dornish gaolers tempers better than I ever could. All the noise died when she reached us.
“That,” Elia said cooly, “is precisely what I intend to find out.”
She ordered the men move aside and had the head gaoler summoned at once. Ser Sarek Hill was brought as well, along with the Lannister guardsman who had been present during the interrogation. Elia took us into a smaller chamber nearby, shutting the door on the already-restarting shouting outside.
“Tell us everything,” she said. “From the beginning. And if any of you lie, I will know.”
The gaoler swallowed hard before speaking. The stories came out in turns, overlapping but consistent. The pirate had been questioned for hours. He’d been defiant from the beginning, cocky as if unafraid of what they might do to him. Apparently, it didn’t last for long. By the fourth hour he had soiled himself so badly the questioners needed a break.
“We stopped,” the Lannister man said. “Just long enough to eat, m’lady, an’ to have the room cleaned. No for long, I swears’ it.”
“Aye,” Ser Sarek added. “We ate together outside Ser Gerion’s room. Couldn’t have been more than twenty minutes.”
I rounded on him. “Is anyone at his door now, ser?” He gave me a confused look. “Your charge, man. The pirate is dead despite so many eyes on him, and you would leave Ser Gerion unguarded at a place like this?”
Ashara shot me a tight scowl from the corner. Ser Sarek went pale.
“M’lord,” he muttered, scrambling to his feet. He bowed hastily and fled the room.
I clicked my tongue. Whatever doubts I’d had about his competence were gone. There was a reason he was only the second in command.
“A place like this?” Princess Elia said once the door closed behind him. “What are you implying, ser?”
“I’m not implying anything, princess,” I said, heat bleeding into my words. “I’m being quite direct. Our prisoner died poisoned in your cells. Ser Gerion lies dying of the same. Remind me, who in the Seven Kingdoms has made an art of treachery and poisoning?”
The words came out with more vitriol than I wanted. So much for not offending my hosts. Elia bristled openly.
“Careful, Ser Galladon,” she said. “You are a guest here, and this prisoner is a problem you brought onto our doorstep, not the other way around.” As dainty as she looked, her eyes held a deep fierceness when she stared at me.
I clamped down on my tongue before it could run away from me. I had to keep in mind that I was, in fact, in Dorne, and that meant being surrounded by foreign people in a foreign land. I had no connections here, no Lord Selwyn to hide behind, no Lord Baratheon to ask for a favor.
It reminded me to call for my lads and keep them close from now on. I had told them to take the day off and rest in their rooms earlier, but that order would have to be rescinded.
“I spoke out of turn,” I said, inclining my head. “Forgive me, princess, but you must understand how this looks.” Then I decided to throw out a wild-card. “And how it will look once Lord Tywin hears that his brother’s last hope was silenced in a very… Dornish fashion.”
A sour look briefly twisted Elia’s fine features, but she was more skilled than I was in returning to composure.
“I wish to save his life as much as you do, ser,” she said. “And for that, I believe it’s best we keep searching for the truth without falling to endless finger-pointing, no?”
I nodded, and we turned back to the Lannister guard to continue his story.
“Well, m’lord,” he said, wringing his hands nervously. “We came back an’ got at it again, you see, really tryin’ to get to him. But not ten minutes later he jus’ started shaking and—and foamin’ at the mouth an’ all that. Next thing he was dead before the maester could be fetched.”
I rubbed a hand over my face. I didn’t need to be Sherlock Holmes to figure out where the ‘elementary’ part of the story could be found. Looking at the expressions of Ashara and the Princess, it seemed really obvious to them as well. It wasn’t even subtle.
“Did anyone enter the room while you were all gone?” I asked.
The Lannister guard shrugged. It wasn’t his responsibility, he probably thought, so he didn’t care. Just a man used to following strict orders and not thinking much beyond that.
I turned to the other man in the room. Shrinking in his seat, the Dornish gaoler hesitated. He looked at his Princess, who gave him a slow nod.
“Ah, no, ser,” he said. Then slower, more uncertain, “Only the servants, that is, to clean.” He wasn’t a good liar.
His eyes kept flicking toward the door, like he expected someone to burst in and save him from his own words. I frowned at Elia. Her gaze never left the man.
“Is that all?” she asked.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
He swallowed again. Sweat beaded at his temples. “Well,” he said, voice faltering, “Lord Yronwood came to see the prisoner. Very fast like. Came then was gone in a minute, he was.”
The room went very still.
“The Bloodroyal?” Princess Elia asked, sounding just as confused as I was. “He was allowed into the room?”
“He insisted,” the man said weakly. “Didn’t say nothin’ much. Just that he wanted to see the pirate who dared poison a Lannister.”
I felt something cold settle in my gut and went quiet for a moment, trying to make sense of what I just learned.
Lord Yronwood. How the hell did they fit into this whole mess? Why would the Lord of Yronwood kill the very man who might save Ser Gerion’s life by naming the poison? Could he have some kind of vendetta with House Lannister?
Considering the very woman who was once Dorne’s entire reason for their hatred of everything red and gold, I didn’t think that was the case. But if not that, then what?
Speaking with Ser Anders Yronwood, Lord Yronwood’s son, earlier, had been the only interaction I ever had with anyone from that family, and it was a foolish task to try to figure out the minds and reasonings of people I never met.
It couldn’t be to get back at me, could it? I didn’t think trading playground insults with Ser Anders would make his father spiteful enough to essentially kill off Gerion Lannister just to get some kind of petty revenge on me.
I exhaled, suddenly tired, and rubbed at my face. Beyond getting to the truth, we still had a man to try and save.
“Without the pirate,” I said, “we’ll never learn what poison was used. Has your maester been able to come up with anything else?”
Princess Elia only shook her head. “I bade him keep me informed of Ser Gerion’s condition, but I’ve heard nothing since.”
There was a brief silence, then Ashara Dayne spoke up.
“There may be another way.” We all turned to her, but she only stared at Elia. “My Princess,” she continued, softly but firmly, “there is… there is the prince.”
“Ashara,” Elia said at once, warning in her voice.
Her tone startled even myself. The Princess’s expression was stony, but despite a contrite lowering of her head, Ashara looked determined.
“Who?” I asked. No one answered, so I turned to Elia. “Princess, a man died under your roof and another may yet follow. A Lannister at that. If there is something you know, it’s past time for secrets.”
I could see the struggle play out across her face. Control warring with exhaustion, duty and fear.
At last, she nodded once. “Come,” she said, rising. “We will speak privately.”
xxx
I was quiet as we walked away from the Spear Tower. Maybe it was how fast things had gotten out of hand, but thinking straight seemed harder than usual. Just this morning, I was doing simple drills with the lads on the ship, enjoying the rising sun as the crew did its work on the Fair Winds.
Now most of that crew was gone, cold and silent under the waves, Ser Gerion Lannister was next, and I found myself embroiled in some kind of Dornish drama involving its largest and most powerful houses. It wasn’t even dark yet and everything had already gone to shit.
I could hardly blame myself for being overwhelmed. Careful planning while I sat in my little island in the Narrow Sea, then carrying it out inside the neat confines of a tourney was quite different from going out in the world where the unexpected had a penchant for hitting you in the face.
And that’s without counting whatever Malora Hightower and her glass candle had been. Some magic would’ve come in handy earlier today against the pirate ships.
I almost froze in the middle of a hallway at that thought, and had to force myself to keep moving.
Gods, had it actually helped me? The fire had offered me a glimpse of two ships in the dark. It happened quickly and I couldn’t make out their details, but given I had looked into the candle at night and we were sailing as two ships, I had just assumed they had been the Fair Winds and the Western Will.
I tried to remember the vessels’ silhouettes in the candle vision and compared it to what I had seen of the longship and the pirate galley. Ships don’t look quite that different from above, but it could definitely have been them too. Not a simple vision, then, a warning.
Had Malora sent it to me somehow? Or was it the candle’s own doing as it showed me what I needed to see?
I had not made up my mind by the time we made it to Princess Elia’s sitting room. It was quiet inside, cool and breezy. A hearth on the wall dominated the room, but given the day’s heat had yet to fully dissipate, no fire crackled inside.
The princess seated herself opposite me as if readying herself for a game of cyvass. Ashara stood by the window, arms crossed, eyes distant.
“This did not begin with this pirate of yours,” Elia started. “Nor with Ser Gerion. It began weeks ago.”
She spun me a right tale about her mother’s illness, Lord Ormond Yronwood’s growing pressure, his demand that Oberyn not be allowed to return to the capital.
I had almost slapped myself when she said his name. He was the person I knew the most about in Dorne, yet with everything happening, I had not given him a single thought. Granted, the tale of his soft exile from his homeland had reached all across the Seven Kingdoms, and even in Tarth we knew about the scandal around him and Lord Edgar Yronwood’s mistress. And how that ended too.
In my mind, he should be somewhere in far off Essos at this point, so his existence had completely escaped me. ??And then there was Prince Doran. I realized, with a twinge of unease, that I had not seen him at all. His mother still lived, barely, which meant he was not yet ruler. But he was the heir. Shouldn’t he have been more involved in this situation?
Then Princess Elia told me how things stood in the moment. Lord Yronwood’s five hundred men camped brazenly between Sunspear and the Water Gardens, where the Red Viper had managed to smuggle himself into.
Apparently, more than a week ago, the Bloodroyal had put out ships to scour the nearby sea lanes for any vessel approaching Dorne that might carry Oberyn. And now, with the prince already in the Water Gardens, his men were stopping any from coming and going on the road between the Gardens and Sunspear.
“My brother is many things,” Elia said quietly. “Unpredictable and prideful, yes, but Oberyn is also one of the most intelligent men I know. His mind is as sharp as his spear. And when it comes to poisons, none in Dorne can compare, even at his age. If anyone could identify what is killing Ser Gerion, it is him.”
“And Yronwood won’t allow him to return,” I concluded.
She nodded. “He claims Oberyn’s presence would be an insult he cannot abide. He asks for concessions: lands, trading rights, charters. My mother is too ill to rule, and without her word—”
“You’re trapped,” I said.
“Yes.”
The pieces slid into place in my mind, an ugly game that we had simply stumbled onto.
“He learned one of his hired men went rogue,” I said, almost thinking out loud. “Poisoned a Lannister, of all things. If the pirate spoke, it would lead back to him, or at least to his ships. So he silenced him.”
Elia’s eyes closed briefly. “So I believe.”
Her answer was simple again, but I could see how badly this had been affecting her. The tension on her shoulders, the lines around her eyes. Still, she seemed strong enough to carry the weight without collapsing under it.
“And in doing so,” I said, my voice hardening, “he may have killed Ser Gerion as well.”
“Unless Oberyn can return.” That was Ashara from the window, glancing over at me with her striking purple eyes.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. “I don’t understand,” I said to the Princess. “He’s brought an army to your doorstep. Attacked your sea trade with his ships. Threatened a Martell prince. It’s treason. Why haven’t you called your banners? Why isn’t he rotting in a dungeon at this very moment?”
Elia shook her head. “It’s not so simple. Yronwood is not without his allies in court, nor is he outright rebelling. Many would be reluctant to raise arms against fellow Dornish lords for what they see as a private dispute between great houses. They fear what being caught in the middle would mean for them.”
My jaw ground together. Of course. The answer to all things, I was starting to understand, was always politics. Should a smaller house back one side, they might make a life-long enemy with the other. When this crisis was settled, Yronwood and Martell would still stand, powerful and influential regardless of the outcome. And what might these big sharks do with the minnows that dared go against them?
“What of Prince Doran?” I asked. He did not seem like the kind of man who would abide a threat to his family’s rule and authority like this.
Ashara snorted softly, while Elia just bit her lip. “Doran is… careful. Too careful, some would say. He might act—might, but he has chosen not to. Not yet.”
She tried not to speak ill of her brother, but I could tell how bothered she was by this.
I shook my head. It was ludicrous, but that also sounded much like the Doran I knew. Always cautious, always reluctant to play his cards, perhaps to the point of indolency. Just never thought it would end up affecting my own situation.
My mind supplied me with a treacherous thought, then. I could simply do nothing. This wasn’t about me at all, in fact. I could just forget about my tiny little ship. Forget about Yronwood and Martell. Forget about poisoned Lannisters dying in a foreign land. I could gather my lads, charter a ship to take us to Tarth, and let the dominoes fall where they may, screw everyone else.
I could do it. But the moment the idea even came into my mind, I knew I wouldn’t.
I looked back to Elia. “Where is Lord Ormond?” I asked.
“My brother is holding court,” she said, “and Lord Ormond likes to make his presence well known to all in Sunspear.”
I was already on my feet.
“Where are you going?” Ashara asked, stepping closer.
“You say Prince Oberyn might save Ser Gerion,” I said. “And the only thing stopping him is Lord Yronwood.”
Ashara’s eyes widened as understanding dawned. I met Elia’s gaze squarely.
“I don’t care about Dornish politics,” I said. “I don’t care about mistresses or pride or old feuds. A good man is dying. I’ll speak to the Bloodroyal myself, and I’ll have Oberyn at Gerion Lannister’s side before the night is done.”
