The air of Astapor had changed.
Gone was that sticky stench of rotting flesh, spices, and despair.
In its place: life.
Daenerys walked the wide streets. She'd traded her gowns for practical linen, her silver-gold hair braided down her back. The Plaza of Punishment—where blood had pooled thick enough to drown in—now blazed with hundreds of forges. Flames painted the sky orange. The ring of hammers on anvils sang like war drums.
A thousand smiths, bare-chested, muscles gleaming bronze in the firelight. They were forging armor. For their protector.
Down the street, a relief station. The line stretched forever. Freed slaves clutched clay bowls, faces no longer hollow. Their eyes held confusion, fear. But more than that: hope.
A woman took a bowl of steaming porridge from an Unsullied. She blew on it. Handed it to the child clinging to her leg. The boy devoured it. She smiled.
"Mhysa…"
She whispered the name that echoed through Astapor's dark corners. Mhysa. Mother, in Old Ghiscari. They didn't know the dragon lord's name. Didn't know the queen's. But they knew: the man on the three-headed dragon, the woman with moon-colored hair—they had given them life.
They were Mhysa to all the free.
Daenerys watched. Warmth flooded her chest. This. This was what she wanted. Not fear bought with fire and blood. Love, earned with mercy and respect.
"My lady."
Missandei appeared at her side, young face carrying unnatural calm. No longer the trembling slave translator. Now Daenerys's right hand, managing the settlement of women and children.
"The census is complete." She handed over a scroll. "Two hundred seventy-three thousand, four hundred free people in the city."
Daenerys took it. The numbers swam. She'd never imagined she'd have to manage this. She wasn't good at it. Three hundred thousand souls. One mistake, and it all collapsed. Forever.
"Where's Lynn?"
"With Ser Jorah. Discussing defenses."
Footsteps. Jorah Mormont approached, face grim. He bowed.
"Ships in the bay."
"Merchants?" Daenerys asked. Astapor's rebuilding needed supplies. Badly.
Jorah shook his head.
"Sails bearing the Meereenese harpy. And the Yunkish harpy."
Daenerys's heart sank.
The top floor of the Great Master's pyramid had been gutted. The tapestries made from slave skin, the chairs carved from slave bone—all burned. Lynn sat in the high seat, a simple throne of hard ironwood.
Before him stood two men in rich silks.
One was fat, draped in purple tokar, reeking of perfume. Ten fingers, ten jeweled rings. Grazdan mo Eraz, Great Master of Meereen.
The other: thin as a reed, gold robes, rat eyes glittering with cunning. Magzaz ko Zakar, Wise Master of Yunkai.
Behind them, a dozen armed guards. Hands on curved blades. Arrogant.
"We heard… unpleasant things happened in Astapor." Grazdan spoke first, Common Tongue thick with accent, like hot oil in his mouth. His contemptuous gaze swept over Grey Worm, over the Unsullied lining the hall.
"A pack of base slaves, incited by some madman, raised knives against their merciful masters."
His eyes landed on the figure chained to a chair in the corner.
Viserys.
Cleaned. Dressed decently. But his pale, twisted face, his ruined hands—they told the story. He was the target Lynn had pushed forward. The lightning rod.
"The Mad King's son lives up to his name." Magzaz hissed a laugh. "His father burned King's Landing. He lit a bigger fire in Astapor."
"Impressive."
Lynn sipped his wine.
"You came all this way to mourn Astapor's old order?"
His voice was calm.
"We came for an explanation." Grazdan stepped forward, belly nearly touching the table. "And a solution."
"Explanation?" Lynn smiled. "A madman incited slaves. I dealt with the madman. Quelled the rebellion. Clear enough?"
"Quelled?" Magzaz's laugh sharpened. "You call this quelled?"
He pointed out the window. At the free people working. At the Great Master estates being torn down.
"You freed every slave. Took the finest Unsullied. Turned this city into your war camp."
"You call that quelled?"
"Don't take us for fools, Westerosi."
Grazdan's face darkened. "We know what you want. You want to use this pathetic charade to destabilize the entire Slaver's Bay."
The hall tensed. Jorah and Grey Worm stepped forward, hands on weapons. Guest right? They didn't care. One word from Lynn, and these men died.
"Destabilize?"
A cold voice. Daenerys had appeared beside Lynn. She looked at the arrogant masters, violet eyes holding no fear. Only disgust.
"Your foundation is built on infant blood and innocent bones. That foundation should have been torn down long ago."
Grazdan and Magzaz stared. They hadn't expected this fragile-looking Targaryen girl to challenge them.
"A whore who spread her legs for power—you don't get to speak here." Grazdan spat in Ghiscari.
Daenerys's face froze.
Lynn set his cup down.
THUD.
The sound made every heart skip.
"Seems Astapor's lesson wasn't enough to teach you respect."
Lynn rose. His shadow swallowed them.
"You want a solution? Fine. Here it is."
His gaze swept the pale-faced masters.
"From today, Astapor is a free city. We'll trade with anyone who deals fairly. But we will never deal with slavers."
"As for you…"
Lynn smiled coldly.
"Open your gates. Free your slaves. Join us."
"Or…"
"Wait for your cities to burn from within. Just like Astapor did yesterday."
"You're declaring war?!" Grazdan shook with rage.
"I'm stating a fact. Slavery is over."
Lynn walked to him. Looked down.
"You think a rabble of mud-footed peasants can challenge all of Slaver's Bay?" Magzaz cackled like a night owl. "Naive. We'll cut your trade routes. No grain, no iron, no salt. I'll watch your 'free city' rot into a plague pit."
"We'll blockade the entire bay." Grazdan snarled. "Your army, your people—they'll eat each other in despair. Perhaps our merciful Meereenese legions will march in. Help you… restore order."
Naked threat.
Jorah's face darkened. A blockade would be fatal. Astapor's stores wouldn't last. Too many mouths.
Lynn laughed.
"Blockade?"
He walked to the window. Pushed it open. Hot wind rushed in, carrying smoke from the forges.
"Try it. I'll be waiting."
He looked up at the blue sky. Whistled.
A roar split the heavens.
Winter's shadow blotted out the sun. The three-headed dragon circled the pyramid, massive heads peering down at the ants below. Soul-freezing dread flooded the hall.
Grazdan and Magzaz went white. Their guards dropped their blades. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG.
"Your fleet will make excellent target practice." Lynn turned, smile playing on his lips. "Winter's appetite has been poor lately. Maybe a change of diet will help."
"You—" Grazdan pointed, lips trembling. No words came.
"Get out."
Lynn waved them off like flies.
"Tell your masters: next time, bring respect. Or I'll pay a personal visit."
Grazdan and Magzaz fled, stumbling over themselves. Outside, thousands of free people watched them with hate-filled eyes. They ran faster.
Silence returned.
"My lord, they'll do it." Jorah's face was lined with worry. "Yunkai and Meereen together can seal the bay. Our grain… won't last."
"I know."
Lynn sat back down. No tension in his face. He looked at Daenerys, smiled.
"Don't worry, Dany."
He touched her cheek.
"A city that only consumes will die. But a city that produces? It creates everything."
"They want to starve us?"
Lynn's gaze turned toward the bay.
"Soon they'll be begging us to take their grain and iron."