Jakor Chambers, lord of the kingdom, was sitting on the throne that was once known as the Iron Throne. Now there were no swords forming it; however, it was much worse: the skulls of those who had been killed over the twelve years it took to establish the new kingdom adorned the structure of the throne.
"What are you thinking about, my lord?" asked Dayana Varner, dragging her silk dress across the floor as she approached Jakor.
Jakor looked at her. She was the most beautiful woman in all of Westeros; in beauty, she could only be compared to the former queen, Lady Stark, who had married her own brother just to drive a dagger into his heart. So, no matter how much Dayana Varner provoked carnal desires in him, Jakor was not willing to go through the same thing. She was not an easy woman.
"That damn tournament, that damn organizer. Do you know what the worst part is, Dayana?"
Dayana shook her head, her hair swaying in the air. Although in reality, she already knew what the king was going to say. It all had to do with Rylen, that bastard who had left her waiting at the altar. The same one who had the people on his side.
"I must find that wretch before he convinces the people that he should be king."
Jakor couldn't stand the fact that Rylen had the people's favor. It unsettled him, it anguished him, it made him shit his pants.
"Or better yet, I must find someone to end his life. But who?" the king continued, bringing one of his fat hands up to his jaw.
"I think it must be someone close to him. Close enough to drive a dagger into his chest," said Dayana, remembering the times she had seen Rylen in the company of Chadha Da. Not that she had seen Rylen's face—at most, just the fabric covering him from head to toe.
"Dayana, you're a genius! But I don't think she would be capable of doing this. Perhaps I should think of someone else. Someone with enough reason to kill him."
Silent footsteps crossed the royal hall until they stopped before the king and the woman.
"My girls say there are two men in the tournament who managed to escape the ambush in each round. Maybe we could find out why Rylen wanted them dead."
Jakor shifted his gaze to the side of the royal hall. From among the pillars holding up the ceiling, a figure even fatter than him emerged.
"Salsen Saa! My most trusted man, always so timely. What would I do without you?"
"How are your girls?" Dayana interrupted, placing her hands on her hips.
"Ah, my beautiful Dayana!" Salsen approached and caressed the brooch she wore on her chest. "Not as well as you. After all, what good is a golden cage? But I suppose they are fine."
Dayana shook her head, bringing a hand to her face.
"Why do you lock up the girls? After all, they can't see."
"My dear Dayana, just because my girls can't see doesn't mean they can't go wherever they want. After all, if they weren't capable, how would they gather information for me?" Salsen adjusted his silk tunic and turned toward the king.
Jakor was paying close attention to the conversation.
"So, Salsen, could you find out what brought our dear friends to this tournament?" the king said in a firm voice.
"My girls will be delighted to serve you, my lord," Salsen replied in a hollow but respectful voice.
Dayana had the impression that the man's legs had dragon wings as she watched him leave the royal hall.
Far from there…
The figures of Darvin and Jasim swayed through the street, occasionally grabbing onto the street lamps.
Jasim mumbled a northern song while Darvin tried to keep up by humming along.
"Do you think I killed your brother for fun? Do you think it didn't hurt me to do it? Do you even know how I felt seeing that there was no guilt in your brother's eyes? What do you know about me, damn man of the North?!" Darvin spat, his tongue loosened by alcohol.
"You're a son of a bitch!" Jasim mumbled, his heart on his sleeve, affected by the beers he had drunk. "Do you know how I felt when I found out my brother was dead? Did you ever stop to think if he had a family, a wife, a child, a brother, a father, or a mother? No, right? Do you know why? Because bastards like you only care about money."
Both of them kept stumbling down the street, arms around each other like lifelong friends. They were letting it all out, spilling all the pain they carried inside. Meanwhile, small and slender figures followed them in the shadows cast by the lights as they hit the walls stained with obscene graffiti.
One of them whispered something to another, which neither of the men managed to hear.
"That one, the one with the daggers hanging from his waist, he's the right one for the job."
"I think so, but… what if he has different goals now?" one of them questioned, looking at her companion, who was adjusting a strand of golden hair that had fallen over her forehead as she crouched down to watch from the corner while the men entered the Limping Crow tavern. "I think we should focus on that man who seems to have come from the North. Maybe we can find something useful so that he's the one to carry out the job for our king."
"For our king or for our executioner?" another asked, raising one of her thin hands to show the finger that had been cut off the day she was taken from Ulthos. From that mass of land in the far east, south of Asshai, a land that held mysteries no one else knew.
She knew the jungle perfectly. She knew its inhabitants. She was like them.
But here, she had been tamed to serve a greasy man. She was thin, tanned-skinned, and had eyes that only the one who had ripped them out—like the other girls—had ever seen.
Both men entered the Limping Crow tavern, where Seban Crowlin, the innkeeper, was already waiting for them.