Connington sent word to the Dotnere and Lightnere brothers, informing them that Viserys was planning a grand banquet in their honor and inviting them aboard his ship. With Illyrio vouching for Viserys, the brothers were without suspicion. Connington, skilled in persuasion, easily convinced the soldiers to accompany Viserys and his party that night as they set sail for Pentos.
By the time the Pentos soldiers awoke from their drunken stupor, they found themselves under house arrest in their own camp. Meanwhile, Cassius of Myr was left behind in Tyrosh, with Manfrey assigned to keep him under control.
Viserys, the Red Viper, and the old captain divided the fleet into three, each one like a sword aimed at Pentos. Captain Hoyt's ship was positioned in the center. His gaze fixed on the northern horizon, as if he could see through the misty night to the city of Pentos—the city that had haunted his dreams for thirty years.
The hatred that had festered within him for decades was finally on the brink of release, yet as they drew closer to Pentos, Hoyt found himself growing unexpectedly calm. He remembered the news of his family's murder shortly after his flight from the city. For ten long years, Hoyt had been haunted by dreams of his slain relatives—some accusing him of cowardice, others expressing concern for his well-being.
For years, Hoyt had questioned whether he had done the right thing by fleeing. While Pentos had sacrificed only a prince during a drought, a voice deep within him insisted that he was a man, not a slave to be butchered at will. This belief sustained him, though it had grown faint with age—until Viserys reignited it with talk of "just revenge."
Now, Hoyt was convinced that his quest for vengeance was righteous. He had no reason to blame himself for defying the corrupt rules of Pentos. His mind was clear: the Berent family and their vassals—the beneficiaries of those rules—had to be utterly destroyed.
A face flashed through Hoyt's mind—that of a young man, Kurland, who had not yet become the head of House Berent when Hoyt left Pentos. He would never forget the smug look on Kurland's face when he came to Hoyt's home to announce that he would be the next prince. At the time, both men had loved the same woman, but despite House Berent's power, the girl had always favored Hoyt. He suspected that Kurland had a hand in him being chosen as Prince—a move that led to his exile. Two years after Hoyt's departure, Kurland married the girl.
Hoyt was determined to spare nothing in his assault on Pentos, except Kurland's head, which he vowed to take himself.
Due to the ongoing war in Tyrosh, the number of ships on the Narrow Sea route had significantly decreased. After nearly a week of sailing, the fleet arrived off the coast of Pentos in the early morning. As they neared the harbor, they saw the lighthouse extinguish its light—a signal that their arrival had been noticed.
Before the fleet could enter the harbor, they needed to send notice, during which time the city would enter a brief state of martial law. This meant that Viserys and his forces couldn't simply sail into the harbor unchallenged. They had to rely on Connington to gain entry and trick the city gates open.
Viserys, Connington, and the Red Viper, along with a ship full of elite soldiers, prepared to enter the harbor first and seize control of the city gates.
Aboard the ship were Caggo, Spider Webber, Beans Baqq, the two Gerrolds, and a force larger than the one Viserys had led against the pirates. With the exception of the Red Viper, who was simply along for the ride, everyone else had their own motives for wanting to take Pentos.
For these sellswords, the capture of Pentos promised another fortune. Viserys and Connington, however, were focused on a different prize: Illyrio's head. As Illyrio had told Viserys earlier, the dragon egg should have already reached Pentos. Now, Illyrio was more of a liability than an asset.
The group, who had been laughing and joking moments before, grew somber as the warship approached the harbor. The tall, imposing walls of Pentos loomed larger with every passing moment, casting long shadows that engulfed the crew.
Viserys, his voice steady, gave the order: "Let's begin."
...
The searing pain caused Illyrio to break out in a cold sweat. Though the burn wasn't life-threatening, it had severely diminished his quality of life. He could no longer enjoy his beloved cheese and had to rely on poppy milk each night to sleep. Yet, each morning, as the milk's effects wore off, the pain would return with a vengeance. He still couldn't fathom how his room had caught fire. In his weakened state, his mind conjured all sorts of fears, even dreaming of Viserys riding a black dragon and setting him aflame.
As he was about to drift off, a knock on the door interrupted him. A maid entered the room, which reeked of pus and herbs. Seeing her, Illyrio felt a small measure of relief. His son, Aegon, was with her.
"Uncle Illyrio, is the wound hurting again?" Aegon asked, concern in his voice.
Illyrio was comforted by his son's presence. "It's okay, it's... it's much better."
His once golden beard was gone, replaced by a disheveled, burned face marred with ugly scars that looked like mud caked onto his skin.
"I'm here to change your bandages," the maid said softly.
Illyrio nodded. He watched Aegon's busy figure with satisfaction. 'See, Serra, this is our child,' he thought. 'I swear I will place him on the Iron Throne and restore the Blackfyre bloodline to its rightful place!'
As he made this vow to himself, his thoughts drifted back to Viserys. The fallen prince's rise to power had been beyond his expectations—from winning the tournament to beheading the pirates and forging alliances. It was hard to believe this was the same man he once thought of as little more than a pawn. What irritated Illyrio most was how easily Viserys had dismissed the marriage alliance with the Horselord. 'Since you don't want to follow my plan,' Illyrio thought, his eyes flashing with murderous intent, 'I'll write you a new ending!'
If he could find a way to cripple Viserys, everything would still be within his control.
Just then, a servant burst into the room, panic written all over his face. "My lord, terrible news! A group of rebels has captured the city gates!"
"Rebels?! Where did these rebels come from?" Illyrio demanded, his anger flaring as the situation spiraled out of control.