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The Red Keep had gone silent.
Jaqen had moved fast. He hadn't let Lynn down.
Myrcella was packing now. The goal was achieved , she'd slip out of King's Landing in the chaos, following Lynn north. No way she'd let herself become a hostage to use against him.
Jaqen, Ned, Jaime — they were all preparing to head north too.
The doors to the king's bedchamber were sealed tight, shutting out prying eyes and anxious murmurs. Heavy herbal stench seeped through the cracks, blanketing Maegor's Holdfast.
Robert Baratheon lay sprawled across a bed big enough for three or four women. That body, once bull-strong, looked like a mountain mid-collapse.
The massive wound in his belly, torn open by a boar's tusk, had been sealed with Grand Maester Pycelle's red-hot iron. Charred, rotting flesh gave off a nauseating burnt smell.
Everyone knew it was pointless.
Robert's organs were damaged. This era didn't understand infection , they only knew it brought him endless fever and unbearable pain.
"Wine..."
Robert's eyes, usually full of lust and rage, had gone cloudy.
Cersei sat at the bedside, dabbing the cold sweat from his forehead with damp silk. Her beautiful face wore perfectly measured grief and concern.
But deep in those green eyes lay cold, dead stillness , and a flicker of barely concealed delight.
"Robert, darling, Pycelle says you can't have any more wine."
Her voice could drip honey.
"Get away from me, you... bitch!"
"You want me dead more than anyone!"
Robert roared with everything he had left, but it came out weak as a kitten's mewl.
"Give me wine!"
The bedchamber door eased open.
Varys's round form slid inside without a sound. He moved like an apologetic shadow, hunched over, clutching a roll of parchment.
"Your Grace."
His voice was soft, uneasy — as if afraid to disturb the king's final peace.
"Troubling news... brought back by your men some time ago, but you'd already left for the hunt."
"I shouldn't disturb you at a time like this, but... this concerns the safety of the realm."
Cersei's gaze sharpened instantly. She stared at the parchment in Varys's hands, dread coiling in her chest.
Robert turned his head with difficulty. His clouded eyes focused on the scroll.
"Read it."
Varys hesitated, then unrolled the letter. In that peculiar gentle tone of his, he began to read aloud.
To loyal Davos: The air in King's Landing is more suffocating than Dragonstone's sea winds. The stench of rot is everywhere. My 'gracious' brother wallows in wine and women.
His body decays faster than House Baratheon's honor. I have seen his end, and the realm's future. What should be mine will soon return to its rightful owner. Law and justice will triumph over chaos and desire.
Ready the fleet. When the stag falls, we return to King's Landing.
The bedchamber went silent as a tomb.
Every word drove straight into Robert's heart, already corroded by poison and rage.
"Heh... hehehe..."
Robert started laughing.
The laughter pulled at his belly wound. His whole face twisted.
"Good... good old Stannis, my dear brother!"
Robert's body jerked. Black blood spilled from the corner of his mouth, staining the silk sheets beneath him.
"Pycelle!"
A terrifying light flared in Robert's eyes , the kind that comes before the end.
"You useless old fool! Get over here!"
Grand Maester Pycelle scrambled to the bedside. The heavy maester's chain rattled around his neck.
"Test me!"
Robert grabbed his wrist weakly.
"Now! Right now! Check if there's poison in my body!"
"Your Grace... you..."
Pycelle trembled all over.
"Test me!"
Robert let out a feeble roar.
Pycelle didn't dare hesitate. His hands shook as he pulled a silver blood needle and several crystal vials from his medicine chest.
Carefully, he pricked Robert's finger and drew a drop of blood , already darkening.
He let the blood fall into a vial filled with clear liquid.
Every eye fixed on that vial.
The black drop spread slowly through the liquid.
Then the entire vial turned a sickly pale purple, right before their eyes.
Pycelle's face went white as bone. He dropped to his knees with a thud.
"Seven above..."
His voice cracked.
"It's... it's the Tears of Lys..."
"Your Grace, your body has been poisoned with small doses of the Tears of Lys..."
"This poison is colorless, tasteless — undetectable in wine. It slowly corrodes the organs, making the victim look like... like they died from excess and drink..."
Dead silence in the bedchamber.
Cersei's pupils contracted. Instinctively, guiltily, she glanced at Varys.
Varys was looking right back at her. His plump, gentle face showed perfectly calibrated shock and horror.
But if you looked closely, there was something playful in his gaze.
"Stannis..."
Robert ground out the name through clenched teeth. Every syllable dripped with bottomless hatred and murderous intent.
"That bastard... he doesn't just want my throne... he wants to poison me..."
"Does he think no one will know his plot once I'm dead?!"
"Barristan!"
Robert whipped toward the Kingsguard commander who'd been standing silent by the door.
"By the king's command!"
"Stannis Baratheon — guilty of regicide! Unforgivable!"
"Strip him of all titles and lands as Lord of Dragonstone!"
"He's no longer my brother! He's a usurper! A kingslayer! An enemy of the entire realm!"
"Blockade Dragonstone immediately! I want him to rot on that broken rock!"
"And Renly!"
"Send him back to Storm's End at once!"
"He doesn't set foot in King's Landing again without my command!"
A violent coughing fit seized him. Black blood poured from his mouth in waves.
Those hands that once swung a warhammer dropped limp.
"Everyone out!"
"Bring me Ned. I need to talk to him!"
...
Dragonstone.
Cold sea winds carried salt-thick fog that never lifted from the black castle. The stones were forged by ancient Valyrians with dragonfire , black as frozen midnight.
Waves beat endlessly against the cliffs.
In the Painted Table chamber deep within the castle, Stannis Baratheon stood before the massive map of Westeros.
His hard, rigid face showed no expression. His jawline jutted sharp from years of grinding his teeth.
A letter from King's Landing was crushed in his fist. The parchment had long since crumpled out of shape.
Kingslayer?
Usurper?
He, Stannis Baratheon, a man who valued law and duty above his own life, accused of such vile crimes?
He hadn't even left Dragonstone recently!
He'd done nothing!
And Robert had stripped him of his title, just like that...
Absurd rage burned in his chest.
This was madness!
What right did Robert have?!
He felt like a fool, played by some invisible hand.
Who?
Cersei, that poisonous woman?
Varys, that spider?
Or... that northern upstart who'd just made such a splash in King's Landing , Lynn?
But how had they done it?
"My lord."
A voice like smoke and honey drifted from behind him.
Stannis didn't turn around. But his rigid body relaxed, just slightly.
The stone door to the Painted Table chamber had opened without him noticing.
A woman in a deep red gown glided inside. She moved like walking flame, lighting up the gloomy hall in an instant.
She was tall, voluptuous yet graceful. Every step carried a strange rhythm , as if she walked not on hard stone but on the hearts of believers.
Cascading copper-red hair flowed with metallic luster in the dim light. Her skin was milk-white, made even more striking against the red gown.
Most eye-catching was the massive ruby at her throat. The gem seemed alive, pulsing with her breath between her collarbones like a beating heart.
Melisandre.
Priestess of the Lord of Light.
She circled the great Painted Table and came to Stannis's side. A warm scent, cinnamon, cardamom, and some unknown exotic spice, wrapped around him instantly.
The kind of scent that could intoxicate any man.
But not Stannis.
He just looked at her coldly. Those blue eyes held a chill that could freeze bone.
"Did your Lord of Light see it?"
Suppressed fury edged his voice.
"Did he see how I 'poisoned' my own brother?"
Melisandre didn't answer. She extended one hand, pale, slender, nails trimmed smooth and round.
Gently, she took the letter from him.
"This is merely the darkness's trick, my king."
Melisandre's voice carried a convincing power.
"The long night is coming. The great war approaches."
"Great wars never begin on the battlefield."
"The enemy seeks to tarnish your reputation with lies, to shake your resolve."
"They fear you. They fear the king's blood flowing in your veins. They fear you are the prince of prophecy who will lead humanity from darkness."
Stannis said nothing, but his clenched fist slowly opened.
"Tell me, Melisandre."
He stared hard into those red eyes.
"Tell me what I should do."
"Show me your Lord of Light's power. Tell me who the enemy is!"
A cryptic smile touched Melisandre's face. She didn't answer directly. Instead, she took Stannis's hand and led him to the massive hearth in the center of the hall.
Flames roared inside.
"Fire does not lie."
"The Lord of Light will tell you everything."
Melisandre's voice dropped, taking on a sacred quality.
She released Stannis's hand and walked alone to the hearth. She spread her arms wide, tilted her head back, closed her eyes.
The posture looked like she was embracing an invisible lover.
"Lord of Light, hear your servant's prayer."
"Dispel the fog. Light the path."
"Reveal our enemy's true face!"
She began chanting in an ancient tongue Stannis couldn't understand. The chant was distant, mysterious , as if it came from the end of time itself.
As she chanted, the flames in the hearth began to change.
They were no longer ordinary orange-red. They started showing brilliant, shifting colors.
The flames danced more and more violently, twisting and spiraling in the hearth.
Gradually, they coalesced into blurred images.
Stannis held his breath.
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