Daemon cursed the Gods as he flew. A daughter, another fucking daughter! His only son was a deformed blight upon his line, and now he had three daughters. A daughter was worth something, and his daughter would one day be Queen, which counted for much. But he wanted a trueborn son to carry on his name and legacy. He had fought for the Stepstones. He had bled for the Stepstones. He would pass the Stepstones to a worthy heir.
A son.
As he flew and brooded, he realized there was another option if Laena continued to give him only daughters and grotesques. Aelyx was his child by blood. He was fourth in line to the throne after Rhaenyra, and would follow any children Jace, Luke, or Aenar might have. He could adopt the boy and make him his heir. The realm might howl at him for openly declaring that Rhaenyra had sired a son outside her marriage, but only the blind refused to see that Rhaenyra's children were not Laenor's.
Yes, he is the child that should have been if Rhaenyra had wed me.
Others would also oppose such a decision, but they were not the Paramount Lord of the Stepstones. Rhaenyra would come around; she would want her sons to have lands and titles. His own wife would be an obstacle as well, but in time, she would relent.
She had mentioned that if I found Maegor so offensive, then he could be fostered elsewhere. I had wanted to hide my shame, but if I did have Maegor fostered, I could replace him with Aelyx who can act as a brother to my daughters.
Daemon smiled as the wind lashed Caraxes. This was a plan he could see working and resolve much. He still wished for a trueborn son with Laena to make things less complicated, but the Gods had seen fit to deny him that.
He had intended to fly all through the night and into the next day. Now that he knew he had an alternative to Laena producing a proper heir, the rage that had driven him faded, and he realized he was weary. Daemon guided Caraxes toward Tarth. They would welcome a Paramount Lord and the brother of the King.
The hour was late when Daemon arrived, but food was made available and as was a comfortable bed. He left instructions not to be woken, and drifted to sleep. He would not wake until the noonday sun had well passed its zenith.
Stifling a yawn, he broke his fast with Lord Tarth. The man was aged but affable enough – exactly the type of lickspittle Viserys would most enjoy for company. Daemon didn't let his contempt show, for the man had been hospitable.
"If I might inquire, my prince, what brings you to Tarth?"
"Merely a rest stop. I have business that needs attending to in the Stepstones. The Triarchy and Dorne ever seek signs of negligence in their defense."
The grey-haired lord nodded. "A wise decision. Since you are here, I hoped to speak with you about favorable tariff considerations from merchants aligned with some of my friends. Tarth does not have a large trading fleet, but given…"
The man prattled on, and Daemon simply did not care. Counting coppers was beneath a Targaryen of his stature. He was no fool; he understood that those coppers were important, which is why you entrusted a favored servant to ensure all was well. Finances needed to be in order, just as chamber pots needed to be tended to, but a prince would never attend to such matters himself.
"Put your proposal in writing and I will review it when I return to the Stepstones. Trade between the Stormlands and the Stepstones is of great importance to me, rest assured."
Tarth seemed pleased by that. Their meal was interrupted by the Maester bearing a message.
"Dark wings, dark words, my lord, my prince."
Daemon was slightly irked that the letter was given to Tarth first, but it was his lands.
"Gods! This is grim news, my prince. Your good-brother, Ser Laenor, he has been gravely wounded in an assassination attempt by the Dornish. They've written it appears to have been poison."
Daemon snatched the letter from the man's grasp and read it himself. This was monumental news. The letter stated only that the assassins were from Dorne, not that Dorne was behind the assassination, but even a child could see what it likely meant. War.
Only if Viserys has the will to pursue it.
That had always been the rub. His brother was too wedded to keeping the peace, too focused on promoting harmony between the Seven Kingdoms. His compromises had revealed his weakness, but this… this could not stand. Daemon had no love for Laenor, and his reputation as the Dark Storm gnawed at him. The people were fickle; Daemon should not care, and yet he did. Nonetheless, he would passionately demand that Dorne be held to account for this attack.
"It seems I must depart for King's Landing. Matters of more import than trade call me away. Thank you for the lodging and the meal."
With that, Daemon mounted Caraxes and prepared to begin the war of words with his brother.
***
"How is Laenor?" Rhaenys asked her husband, who had embraced her, despite her coming straight from dragonback.
"He is fighting, but the Maesters hold little hope." Corlys answered gravely.
Rhaenys nodded. "They held little hope for Maegor as well; they can be wrong."
"So we pray." Corlys paused. "Were you successful?"
"Yes, my love. Our men have the full crew under arms and are bringing them to you as we speak. It should be no more than an hour. You will have time to question them when they arrive. For now, take me to see our son."
Corlys walked with her past several guards. Security was now tight within High Tide. Faces were grim. Some had lost friends, but more than that, Rhaenys felt the soldiers who served them felt shame for not stopping the assassins.
The serving staff were still cleaning the bloodstains left on the floor and walls of their home. Rhaenys would trade the entire fortification if it meant her son would live. They had moved her son to a different location, closer to the Maesters' tools and concoctions. It felt stark and strange for the future King-Consort to be in a room without adornment.
Maester Gerardys bowed. "Lord Corlys, Princess Rhaenys, there has been little change."
Rhaenys looked toward her boy, but as her weary eyes traveled to his bedding, she noticed several things. The dragon egg that was meant to be placed in Visenya's cradle was instead held in a metal bowl above a brazier next to Laenor. Joffrey Lonmouth was red-eyed and looked lost as he sat beside the bed. Princess Elaena was holding Laenor's hand, her eyes closed. She was so still, Rhaenys at first thought she had fallen asleep.
"Why is Visenya's dragon egg here?" Rhaenys asked.
Elaena slowly opened her eyes. "I recall stories of my own struggles as an infant. It was said that the dragon egg in my cradle gave me strength. Perhaps it is Valyrian superstition, but if it amounts to nothing, no harm has been done."
Rhaenys thought there was little chance of that helping. Laenor was already bonded to Seasmoke. As Elaena had said though, it seemed like it would cause little harm. She looked down at Laenor. Fresh beads of sweat formed on his brow, and he twitched.
Maester Gerardys frowned. "Strange, it has been a couple of hours since the last time he jerked like that."
"What is going on?" Corlys asked, iron tone tinged with worry.
"We've given him a sedative. Milk of the poppy didn't work, but there were alternatives on hand that proved effective. We've also fed him honey and a mixture of herbs. Your son is remarkable." His clinical voice allowed a hint of perplexity to enter it. "Somehow his body is shielding itself from the corrosive effects of the poison. The flesh should be necrotizing by now, and yet it has not. I am at a loss to explain."
Corlys looked at him sharply. "Does that mean he will live?"
"Again... I know not. We are still awaiting word from the Citadel. The Archmaester of Silver or Maester Orwyle may have some additional insight. The poison used was found on several bolts, daggers, and swords. I suspect it has degraded in potency from being exposed to open air for so many hours, and yet, when we tested it on a pig and a sheep, death was violent and brutal. The animals went mad with pain, and here Laenor does not."
Rhaenys moved past Joffrey and took Laenor's hand. Kissing it and pressing her forehead to it as she whispered a prayer. When she was finished, she stood back up.
"I must speak with his wife, and then obtain some rest. Hard choices may soon be upon us. However, if his condition changes for the worse, summon me." Rhaenys commanded.
The Maester nodded and then she turned to Elaena.
"Elaena, your care for your good-brother is kind, but you too should get some rest."
Elaena shook her head. "I can doze here just as easily. Ser Laenor has always been kind to me. I do have a request, Princess Rhaenys. Can you ensure that Laena is not neglected in all this? Stress and worry so soon after giving birth may weaken her and lead to birthing fever. I know the Maesters are focusing their attention on your son, but your daughter must also be cared for."
Rhaenys blinked. So many things had happened in such a short time she had forgotten that it had been less than a day since her daughter gave birth. She turned to Gerardys expectantly.
"Ah, well Maester Vaelar is resting. Neither of us had rested since our slumber was disturbed by the attack. We thought it best that one of us stay with Ser Laenor the entire time, but I suppose I can check on Laena and hurry back." He gave a small smile toward Elaena. "Our young princess here is surprisingly knowledgeable; I had thought bronze and gold the Maester metals she was most familiar with."
"Of course, I'll have Joffrey alert the guards if something changes in Laenor's condition." Elaena helpfully suggested.
That decided, the Maester made ready to depart for Laena's chambers. Corlys stopped him and took him by the shoulders.
"Save him, Maester. Do this and I will owe a debt to the Citadel. Name it and I will provide it. Rare tomes, funding for projects, a new wing of a library, I know not what your kind desire, but speak it and I will see it done."
Maester Gerardys shook his head. "I would do my best regardless, but let us speak no more of debts until I have succeeded. I do not wish to be gone long, so let us not tarry."
Rhaenys took one last look at her son and the two companions at his side before leaving the room. A heavy guard stood outside, and she instructed them that if Princess Elaena requested a Maester, their fastest runner should head to her daughter's chamber to fetch Gerardys.
***
Viserys was angry, in pain, and most of all, tired. Ravens were coming and going throughout the realm. The most distasteful word, war, was on everyone's lips. For the third time in less than two days, the small council would meet to discuss what had happened on Driftmark. This time, it promised to be explosive, as Daemon had just arrived.
He arrived and saw that most of the small council was already present. His reliable Hand and good friend, Otto Hightower, was seated next to Jaspar Wylde, the Master of Laws. Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, appeared pensive, while Lyman Beesbury was red-faced with anger. Larys Strong was organizing some sheaves of paper and only briefly looked up to bow with the others and murmur, "Your Grace."
Daemon was seated in the spot where his cousin Rhaenys had begun sitting. A sardonic expression was on his face. Viserys could already feel a headache forming, to match the pain in his foot.
"Where is the Grand Maester?" Viserys asked in a sharp tone.
"He should be here momentarily," Larys answered. "He was composing a response to Maester Vaelar."
That was an acceptable excuse. "We will begin without him. Has there been any change in Ser Laenor's condition?"
Larys shook his head. "No, Your Grace. The report from the Maesters on Driftmark is that it is some sort of rare poison that has been enhanced in some way they are not able to interpret. Maester Gerardys believes it was done with the intent to inflict malicious levels of pain and ensure the victim suffers it consciously. Milk of the poppy does nothing, but they were able to use an alternative means to bring Ser Laenor the relief of sleep."
"Such vileness must face the harshest sanction," Jaspar thundered.
"There is hope yet that Laenor will live, then?" Viserys prompted.
Larys spread his hands. "The news appears grim, but I am no Maester."
"Why would it matter with regard to what you must do now, brother?"
"Of course it matters!" Viserys answered.
Daemon stood. "We all hope for our brave Storm to recover, but a failed assassination is no less a cause for war than a successful one. The Dornish came to High Tide, where my wife had just given birth, and attempted to slaughter the heir to House Velaryon – the husband of the heir to the Iron Throne. There can be but one answer for these transgressions."
"You mean war," Otto spoke softly. "Conflict with Dorne has done naught but cause ill for the Seven Kingdoms. Perhaps if House Velaryon and you had not begun the conflict in the Stepstones…"
"You would blame me for this despicable act?" Daemon asked incredulously. "Your hatred for me has long guided you, Hightower, but this is too far."
"It does not matter what provocations occurred in the past!" Wylde thundered. "Daemon could have flown to the Greenblood and had Caraxes defecate in the river, and it would still not excuse the use of vile poison and assassination!"
"My lords!" Viserys raised his voice to prevent several open mouths from speaking over each other. "We still do not know all that has transpired. Our path must be certain before we do anything rash. What news from the Marcher Lords? Has Dorne called their banners?"
Otto shook his head. "The Marcher Lords have reported an increase in Dornish activity across the border, but no large gathering of men. We have received letters from Selmy, Dondarrion, Swann, and Caron, who have called their banners in your name."
Of course they would. This time, I cannot fault them either.
"Larys, what do your whisperers say?"
Larys took a moment to respond as he sifted through some of the notes before him.
"Your Grace, rumors always abound, but I have yet to verify them, so hesitate to trouble the council with them."
We will make that judgement," Viserys admonished, "what are you hearing?"
"Many things. Weeks prior, there was increased trade between Dorne and the cities of Lys and Volantis. It made sense that Dorne would wish to avoid the Stepstones, so I did not think much of it. Close to home, much of the talk was about the match between Princess Elaena and Ser Kevan." Larys turned and gave Daemon a small smile. "I fear the smallfolk oft let their imaginations run wild. You were apparently defeated by Ser Baldric, and then you attacked him, only for Ser Kevan to defeat you next."
Daemon stared daggers at the Master of Whisperers. "What in the Seven Hells does ignorant nattering have to do with Dorne?"
"Forgive me, but there is a point. Some of the smallfolk have heard of your sudden departure from Driftmark immediately prior to the assassination of Ser Laenor. They say that you may have had a hand in it due to jealousy over the Dark Storm's reputation. I merely wished to put such nonsense in the proper context. As I stated, the smallfolk are oft wrong; my little ears pick up much, but it must be sifted so the chaff is not mixed with the grain."
Viserys looked at Daemon in surprise. "Why did you leave so suddenly?"
"The Gods denied me an able-bodied son, so I departed lest I take my anger out on those precious to me. But we have gone far astray from the topic at hand. Dorne must pay for what it has done."
The doors opened, and Grand Maester Mellos swiftly walked in.
"My apologies, Your Grace. I had to confirm some of the details, but I believe I know the substance now, or at least in part." He was out of breath as he spoke. "It is manticore venom, one of the deadliest of all poisons. A single drop is supposed to be able to kill a man once it reaches the heart. You must understand, Your Grace, Maesters study how to heal those who may suffer from ailments, including poisoning, but we don't deal with such substances firsthand. Sources in Essos have varying degrees of reliability."
"Is there an antidote? Where does this come from?" Viserys asked.
"On the islands in the Jade Sea is where the creatures are found. However, poison masters in Essos sell their product throughout Essos and in Dorne," Mellos replied, then hesitated. "References easily 200 years old speak of venom being modified using magic to be deadlier, and I found a reference to manticore venom on the subject. To my mind, this means the storied lethality of the manticore venom is just that, storied, and there may be hope for Ser Laenor. For why would one need sorcery when something already guarantees death?"
"Wonderful," Daemon's voice dripped with derision. "We have tales of sorcery to go along with me planning my good-brother's death within hours of my departure. None of this changes what the Seven Kingdoms must now do."
"Oh, sit down Daemon." Viserys commanded. "You are not a formal part of this council, and you are here so long as you comport yourself. You will have a chance to speak, but I am King. Sit down or you will be removed."
Daemon stared at him for several long seconds before sitting back down. "Very well, brother. What do you intend to do?"
"I intend to wait to see if my good-son survives. Ravens have been dispatched to Dorne for an accounting. Security has been tightened in the Red Keep, and all lords, great and small, have been made aware of the poisoning. In the interim, the lords on Dorne's borders are calling up their men. If it is to be war, we will not be found lacking. But I will not be rushed into this. If there is to be war, we will not launch it without a clear vision of our aims."
Viserys looked around the table. Otto was on the verge of speaking but held his tongue. Beesbury was nodding. Tyland was looking at Daemon as if expecting a response.
Larys broke the silence. "Perhaps we could do something to improve the mood of the people. From what I have learned from those on Driftmark, Ser Laenor still has a chance of survival due to the quick succor and attending to the wound administered by Princess Elaena."
Viserys felt a chill pass through him.
"What? I had not heard of this." Viserys stared at Larys intensely.
"Oh?" Larys said slowly. "It was Ser Joffrey Lonmouth and Princess Elaena who found Laenor. Laenor was in the guest rooms in High Tide; I am told Elaena was in the room next door. We must thank the Gods for the prowess of Ser Laenor. If the Dark Storm had not been so... effective, I fear that when the princess left her room to investigate the commotion, she would likely have been slain as well."
All color had departed from Viserys' face. His hands clenched, and he could hear his pulse in his ears. Larys continued speaking about recognizing the princess for her quick thinking and bravery—cleaning the wound with wine and...
"Your Grace, Your Grace," Otto was saying, and Viserys realized he had lost track of the conversation.
The world returned into focus.
"Are you well, Your Grace?" Mellos asked, concern evident on his brow.
Viserys shook himself. The news earlier had been brief; they had not shared the details of how close Elaena had been. He stood.
"No, I am not well. I long for peace, but my brother has the right of it."
"Your Grace, I would urge…" Otto spoke, but Viserys interrupted.
"No. He is right," Viserys repeated. "Call the banners. Every house south of Duskendale should make ready to march. The fleets of Lannisport, Oldtown, the Arbor, King's Landing, Driftmark, Gulltown, and White Harbor must be made ready to transport men." Viserys spoke quickly, his words fueled by a fiery rage. "Daemon, we will need you and Caraxes. Laena has just given birth; I will not risk Rhaenyra or Elaena in battle, and Laenor is still facing the Stranger. You and Rhaenys will be of critical import."
Daemon showed his teeth in a smile. "Of course, Your Grace. I would also gladly volunteer my services to take command of the war effort and organize our forces."
Viserys nodded. "Yes, it was your good-brother who was laid low. But hark, Daemon. You will prosecute this conflict as I see fit. You are granted command and will act in my name, so do not tarnish it."
"Your Grace," Otto said more firmly. "We must speak more. We cannot–"
"Cannot!? Am I not King?" Viserys seethed, words laced with danger and a broiling ire the likes of which he hadn't felt in decades.
"You are, Your Grace. I only mean to say that your earlier course was the better."
Viserys studied his friend. "Everyone, leave the room save for Otto. Grand Maester, coordinate with Daemon and see to it that the realm is ready for war."
Daemon walked out and stopped to speak a few words to Larys, who nodded. The others left without comment. When the room was empty except for Ser Harrold and Otto, Viserys looked Otto in the eyes.
"There are two things of which I am most proud in this world: my peaceful reign and my two daughters."
Ottos' eyes blazed. "Four."
"Pardon?"
"I said, four. You have four daughters. Helaena and Daenora are your daughters as much as Rhaenyra and Elaena are."
Viserys felt a slight twinge of guilt. He looked away from Otto for a moment and softened his tone. "They are young yet and have not made their mark on the world. I am sure they will, but that is beside the point, my friend. I had every wish to be known as Viserys the Peaceful, but now that I know the full account of what occurred and how close those assassins were to Elaena... I cannot let it go. Dorne must pay; they must suffer."
Otto nodded. "I understand, Your Grace. I simply believe we should proceed with justified caution. While all evidence, so far, points to Dorne committing this foul deed, we are not yet certain."
"Can it be more obvious? It was carried out by Dornish men. The ship that was to be their swift passage away from Driftmark hails from the port of Planky Town."
Otto sighed. "As you say, Your Grace. I will write to my nephew and ensure he is prompt in raising his banners, and that he compels his peers in the Reach to move with similar alacrity."
Viserys expected a longer argument. "I'm glad you understand."
"I am ever your loyal servant. And as your loyal servant I will always give you honest counsel, but when I can see your heart is set on a course, I will do my best to see the realm fulfills your wishes."
***
Daemon was well pleased with the command he had been given. However, not all was right in the world. The smallfolk of King's Landing had once feared and respected him. Now they gossip and make up stories? He did not care for the opinions of those so far beneath him, but he could not allow this affront to continue.
"Hello, Daemon. It has been some time since we spoke."
"Mysaria, you are looking as ravishing as ever." Daemon truly did admire her lithe form. Her skin was as pale as milk, and her lips a vivid scarlet.
"I no longer dance or entertain; you know this. And you know my trade now. Tell me, then, what do you wish to learn, and what do you have to offer?"
Daemon's smile departed. "I am Lord Paramount of the Stepstones, brother to the King, and rider of Caraxes. Extort or deny me at your peril."
Mysaria laughed. "Ah, you never change. My Rogue Prince, always with your threats. You must know that one gathers more friends with honey than with vinegar. Play your part, and I will play mine to the benefit of us both."
Daemon was tempted to just kill her for her impudence, but that wouldn't get him anywhere. And it wouldn't get him anywhere in the future when he needed knowledge or favors from the depths of King's Landing.
"I want to know why the smallfolk have turned against me. I want it fixed as well. I also wish to know of manticore venom and any within King's Landing who have legitimate claims to sorcerous talent."
"And in exchange?" Mysaria prompted.
"In the Stepstones. Name someone, and I'll have your man appointed as harbormaster. It will become the center of the Seven Kingdoms' trade with Essos, and your little ears' influence will spread. I can also arrange for your invitation to the royal wedding. Imagine how much more powerful the gutter rats will think the White Worm is when you dance with high nobility."
Mysaria tilted her head and smiled. "We have a deal then. As to why your reputation has suffered, that is your own doing. You lost to Ser Criston and then blamed it on a child – one who is beloved. You lost to Lord Selmy, and the whole city buzzed with tales of how you insulted the princess." She looked him in the eyes. "It is still correctable, and easily enough. Mend your relationship with the Realm's Blessing. Ask to wear her favor in the wedding tournament, and the smallfolk will forget your trespasses."
Daemon sneered. "You expect me to do that? No, I will regain their respect by conquering Dorne."
Her eyes widened. "So the rumors are true; they were behind the attack on the Dark Storm. Do as you will; I have provided you with excellent counsel. Perhaps your way will work, perhaps not. You are right though, someone is spreading silver around to sully your name. The work of the Hand and his agents. Otto Hightower is one who understands how valuable appearances can be."
"I suspected as much, but it is good to have my suspicions confirmed. What about the manticore venom and those who claim sorcerous abilities?"
"I know that it is from the Jade Sea and that it is lethal. If Ser Laenor was stricken by it, his death is assured. There are a dozen charlatans in the city who claim to be witches or mages. The sharps will claim powers, but it is sleight of hand and outright lies flavored convincingly. But there is one… she has real power." Her voice took on a slight note of unease. "A maegi."
"Good, where can I find her."
"What is it that you wish to accomplish? Individuals like her are dangerous. Your typical swagger will see you cursed in truth."
Daemon snorted. "I fear no woods-witch. However, I am at odds with some of my family. Ensuring my wife's brother survives certain death, that is the type of currency that can smooth over a number of… actions."
"Well, isn't that amusing. My Rogue Prince has let his temper fray once too… urk."
Daemon's hand closed around Mysaria's throat and tightened. It happened too quickly for Mysaria to register before her ability to breathe was cut off.
"Careful. You are useful, but I will only tolerate so much needling," Daemon warned as he watched her pretty pale face turn a shade of red before releasing her.
"Arrange the meeting."
Mysaria coughed and rubbed at her neck. "That…" she took another breath, "is what you must avoid doing. I warn you, she has power, my prince."
"I'll be at my favorite brothel," he said with a snide smile, "you know the one. Two hours, and you will have someone meet me and take me to your 'maegi,' understood?"
Mysaria bowed her head in agreement, and Daemon made his way to the Street of Silk.