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The next day dawned quiet over Tyrosh. The fighting was done. The city had fallen.
Lucerys Velaryon had men haul three heavy crates into the hall. "Your Grace, we found plenty of special crops among the spoils."
Tyrion popped out from behind the boxes, clutching a thick book. "Your Grace, I think I found something interesting."
Daeron barely glanced at it at first. Then his eyes caught the cover. The panel in his head flared to life, the blacked-out book slot in his special abilities tab pulsing.
Riding Secrets. A zebra's head stared back at him.
"Booksellers in Essos sell Horseback Secrets," Daeron muttered. "This one's called Riding Secrets?"
He took the book. The panel didn't register it as a collectible. That meant it wasn't the real deal.
Tyrion leaned in, sharp as ever. "Look at the ink stains on the cover, Your Grace. That's Myr printing. I'd know that smell anywhere."
Myr printed everything. Old books from Westeros and the east got cheap copies made there. The translations were often garbage.
Daeron flipped through the pages. Most of it was just riding tips and horse training. Then he hit the parts written in proper High Valyrian.
A chant. Old. Dangerous.
"By my voice, words of fire,
blood magic paid in full,
fire's tongue and clear-eyed sight,
three as one, sing to me."
He read it aloud. The words rolled out smooth and cold. His blood warmed. His eyes sharpened.
Tyrion froze, staring.
"Everyone out," Lucerys snapped. "No one comes back in without orders."
The sailors hauling crates scattered. Two Kingsguard stayed.
Daeron closed the book, face calm. "Just an old Targaryen song, my lord. Nothing to worry about."
He knew better. This was a mangled version of The Three Heads—the song Aegon the Conqueror wrote for his sister-wife Rhaenys. Someone had taken the real Horseback Secrets, mixed in pieces of an ancient dragon-binding spell, and turned it into this mess.
The real spell was probably called something like Binding Chant. Dragonlord magic. The kind that let the old Valyrian families actually control dragons instead of just riding them.
Daeron's mind raced. The Targaryens had lost something over the centuries. Knowledge. Power. Maybe even the full spell.
He tossed the book back to Tyrion. "It's yours. Study it."
Tyrion caught it, stunned. "Thank you, Your Grace."
Lucerys looked disappointed. He'd hoped for real treasure.
Daeron asked the important question. "Where did you find this? Any other books like it?"
Tyrion sent men running. They came back with a whole crate of books from the Archon's personal shelves.
Daeron checked every one. Nothing triggered the panel. No hidden spells.
This was the only one that mattered. The Silverhand's most precious secret.
Later that morning, Daeron met with Melisandre by the brazier. She held two fat leeches swollen with blood.
"Dragon blood is sweet," she said, "but theirs is thin. Weak."
Daeron and Jaehaerys stood side by side. "The Pojiali family," Daeron said. "What's their real bloodline?"
"They carry dragon blood," Melisandre answered. "Not Targaryen blood. Thin. Almost gone. Not worth keeping."
Jaehaerys's eyes widened. "They're real?"
"Of course," Melisandre said, studying him too long. "Dragons breed true. The east has many dragonseeds. But none of them are pure like you and your family."
Jaehaerys stepped back. "Brother, do we still need them?"
Daeron had his answer. He turned to leave.
"Wait," Melisandre said. She walked straight to Jaehaerys, leaned in, and breathed deep. "I smell magic on you."
Jaehaerys stiffened.
"You've been learning sorcery," she said.
Jaehaerys looked guilty. He'd been training with Lord Leyton's people in Oldtown. He'd discovered that certain gems worked for mages too—amethyst for purity, aquamarine for precision, emerald for power. He'd awakened fire magic and become a sorcerer's apprentice.
He'd also learned something important. Life Seed and sorcery didn't cancel each other out in the beginning. You could do both… for a while.
Daeron stayed quiet. Ancient Valyrian dragonlords had been both dragonriders and blood sorcerers. If he ever recovered the full binding spell, he'd probably need magic too.
He looked at his little brother. "We'll talk when we get home."
Jaehaerys nodded, ashamed.
At noon, Daeron called his lords together to decide what to do with the false Dragon King's family.
William and Diana Pojiali. Brother and sister. Forced into marriage by the old Archon. They'd played at being dragonlords and lost.
Lucerys wanted them executed. Kevan wanted them sent back to King's Landing for trial. Most of the lords agreed.
Daeron leaned back. "We'll send them to King's Landing. They're part of the spoils."
Killing them here would turn the city into a bloodbath. The last pockets of resistance were still fighting.
Tyrion stepped forward, small and serious. "Your Grace, I have an idea."
Daeron raised an eyebrow.
"William Pojiali is popular here," Tyrion said. "People see him as a symbol. If we kill him or drag him away, the city stays angry. Better to break them apart. Send William back to Westeros, strip his fake title, and marry him to some noblewoman. Let Diana stay and marry a local governor. It keeps the peace and shows we're not just conquerors."
Lucerys started to argue. Tyrion cut him off.
"William already told me he'll do anything to live. And Diana is still a maiden. The marriage was never real."
Daeron studied the dwarf. The boy had grown up fast.
He nodded once. "We'll do it your way, Tyrion. William goes to Westeros. Diana stays and marries locally."
The false dragon blood would be scattered. The city would calm down. And House Targaryen would keep what mattered.
Dragonblood didn't lie. And it sure as hell didn't share the sky.