Moonlight, like a ribbon of white silk, flowed silently across the deck.
Ashara hummed an ancient Dornish lullaby. Under her gentle, rhythmic patting, little Daeron's breathing grew long and steady, his eyelashes casting quiet shadows on his pale face.
Euron's tall figure moved silently through the shifting shadows of the massive ship. The bright moonlight cut through narrow windows, drawing sharp lines of light and dark across his shoulders.
These days, he had poured almost all his time into his new wife, Ashara, drowning in that late-coming warmth and passion. But now, as the night settled, he remembered someone he had temporarily set aside, yet who remained crucially important—Lysa.
This handmaiden, who played a key role in his grand plans, had not had a private audience with him since the war began and his marriage to Ashara followed. Many arrangements that needed covert deployment and intelligence gathering relied on her channels. His steps were steady as he walked toward the secluded tower room where Lysa stayed, his fading footsteps the only sound echoing off the stone walls.
In a quiet corner room of the great ship, where only the whisper of sea wind through the stone slit could be heard, Lysa sat at a desk. The surface was cluttered with scrolls recording information gathered from all directions.
When the door was pushed open soundlessly and Euron's looming figure filled the frame, Lysa, who had been buried in her reading, looked up instantly. Seeing him, she stood almost instinctively. On her face, weary from long contemplation, a flash of joy—undisguised, like a lighthouse suddenly igniting over a dark sea—lit up her features.
But the light lasted only an instant before she suppressed it. Her eyes returned to being calm as water, bottomless, restoring the cool composure a trained spy should possess. Subconsciously, she moved aside, intending to offer him the somewhat comfortable chair she had been occupying—an instinctive gesture of deference from subordinate to superior.
Euron, however, shook his head very slightly before she could complete the motion. He didn't speak, just used a simple gesture and a calm look to signal she needn't bother. He leaned casually against the cold stone wall nearby. This posture maintained his authority as master while suggesting a rare informality, showing he wasn't in a rush to be strictly business.
Euron briefly mentioned his grand vision for the bank to Lysa. He hadn't involved her not out of distrust, but because he knew her energy was currently poured into other, more secretive fronts. Those matters were already headache enough for her; she had no energy to spare.
Lysa thought for a moment, then slowly offered a piece of intelligence. "My Lord, regarding the three million Gold Dragons the Iron Bank promised to lend King Robert... according to the latest news our people sent from King's Landing, the sum was not delivered all at once, nor was it sent directly to the capital in coin."
She paused, ensuring every word was clear. "Currently, only a third of the loan has been fulfilled. One million Gold Dragons have arrived. Under the strong insistence and specific arrangement of the new Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, this money was quickly converted by the Iron Bank. It was used entirely to urgently purchase large quantities of grain, fruits, vegetables, furs, and other necessities from across the Narrow Sea, delivered to King's Landing."
Lysa looked up, her gaze holding a precise reading of the situation. "Lord Jon's intent is very clear. The Seven Kingdoms have been through war, and King's Landing and its surroundings are short on food, with the people's hearts wavering. He wants to use this tangible food to fill the market gaps and the people's bellies, stabilizing prices and calming the populace to consolidate King Robert's new rule. In his view, grain right now has more strategic value than Gold Dragons piling up in the Red Keep's cellars."
Lysa watched Euron quietly, her voice soft but sharp as a needle. "The remaining two million Gold Dragons will be loaded onto ships directly from Braavos, transported across the Narrow Sea to King's Landing."
"Two million Gold Dragons? From Braavos to King's Landing? By ship?" Euron repeated the key phrases, his pupils contracting suddenly. Almost instantly, the unspoken, heart-stopping implication behind Lysa's words surfaced in his mind as clearly as a reef on a chart.
On the sea, the waves were treacherous.
That domain where House Greyjoy reigned supreme was filled with countless unpredictable dangers. A sudden storm, a "coincidental" shipwreck on a reef, or perhaps a raid by "pirates" who appeared like ghosts and robbed even ships flying the Iron Bank's flag... on the vast ocean, any "accident" would seem perfectly reasonable.
The corner of his mouth couldn't help but curve into a cold, wild arc. His eyes glittered as if he could already see that gold sinking to the bottom of the sea, only to be salvaged again. "If there were an 'accident'..." he murmured, his voice full of the salty tang and danger of the sea wind, "then wouldn't the Iron Bank's remaining two million Gold Dragons be a generous gift prepared specifically to be delivered directly into the hands of Euron Greyjoy?"
The thought was like the strongest rum, igniting his blood. It wasn't just immense wealth; it was a naked provocation and plunder of the arrogant Iron Bank, a shot of adrenaline into his grand blueprint.
Euron's eyes shone with the excitement of a predator. His body subconsciously turned toward the door, almost ready to rush out and share this incredible news with his father, King Quellon, and his brother. Surely, hearing this, they would be even more agitated than he, eager to start rubbing their hands and planning how to swallow this fat chunk of meat.
"My Lord, please be patient." Lysa's voice remained calm, but it acted like an invisible anchor, steadying his eager steps. There was a knowing smile on her lips.
"Two million Gold Dragons is no small sum. Even for the Iron Bank, gathering, counting, crating, and arranging a reliable fleet takes time. Our people are watching Braavos like seagulls watching a school of fish. As soon as there is any confirmed news of the gold setting sail, it will reach your ears immediately."
She paused briefly, her gaze sweeping over the other scrolls piled on the desk, her tone shifting to an undeniable seriousness. "And now, regarding other fronts, I have many important matters to report to you."
Hearing this, Euron froze. The overly exposed eagerness on his face slowly retracted. He raised a hand to rub the stubble on his chin, as if a bit embarrassed by his loss of composure, which finally melted into a sheepish grin as he turned his full attention back to Lysa.
Lysa's voice flowed steadily in the quiet room, like reciting an epic poem of greed and death. "Westeros has been through war and is currently licking its wounds; there are no new movements worth special attention for now. The real storm is brewing and erupting across the Narrow Sea, in the Free Cities." She unrolled a dense parchment marked with complex symbols for Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr.
"The primary focus is the intensifying trade war between Lys and Tyrosh, which is now stained with blood." Her slender finger traced rows of coded text. "The Tyroshi struck first, issuing the 'Pear Brandy Ban,' aimed at strangling the Lysene liquor trade. That wasn't enough; their fleet openly looted the Lysene merchant ship Red Coral in disputed waters. Cargo worth thirty thousand Gold Dragons sank... or rather, fell into Tyroshi pockets."
"The Lysene retaliation was even more insidious and vicious," Lysa said, her tone devoid of emotion. "They used the 'Tears of Lys' directly. The Archon of Tyrosh's favorite son collapsed in agony at a banquet and never woke up."
"This completely ignited the fires of war. Tyrosh subsequently issued a general military mobilization order. Lys didn't hesitate to continue the attack; they hired the famous Windblown company to raid Tyrosh's painstakingly managed plantations in the Disputed Lands. Not only did they massacre the slave masters there, but they also incited and liberated all the slaves, dealing a heavy blow to Tyrosh's economic foundation."
"The daggers in the dark have never stopped swinging." She continued, lowering her voice further. "Soon after, a Lysene prince 'accidentally' fell to his death from his own tower. Following that, Tyrosh's Master of Coin died of poison in his study, with symptoms identical to the 'Tears of Lys,' yet an exquisitely crafted Myrish dagger was deliberately left at the scene."
"The latest news is," Lysa looked up, "the Lysene Magister, Tregar Ormollen, was ambushed by Tyroshi assassins. Fortunately, his guards fought to the death, and the Magister barely escaped with his life."
Tregar Ormollen assassinated? Euron suddenly remembered the "Brown Pearl," Bellegere Otherys, of the neutral zone in the Stepstones. He wondered if this had anything to do with her.
She put down the parchment and summarized, "My Lord, the lands across the Narrow Sea are no longer a place for safe business. They are a powder keg filled with trade disputes, bloody vendettas, and proxy wars. This storm is perfect for us to find prey and opportunity."
Lysa's voice laid out a more intricate, darker chessboard of Essosi power in the flickering candlelight. "The Golden Company, hired by Myr, tore up their contract after receiving a richer offer from Tyrosh and turned their coats. This backstab caused Myr to instantly lose control in the Disputed Lands." Lysa's fingertip traced Myr's location. "In retaliation, Myr secretly contacted the Iron Bank. They hope to use the Iron Bank's financial power to weaken or even crush the mercenary market Tyrosh relies on by tightening credit or raising commissions. They want to use Gold Dragons as weapons to regain dominance."
"Meanwhile, Illyrio Mopatis, the Magister of Pentos, hasn't been idle; he's pouring oil on the fire. He secretly bribed a Dothraki Khal to drive his khalasar to raid plantations and caravans on the Lysene border, carefully disguising them as Tyroshi sellswords. His intent is to muddy the waters completely, triggering direct bloody conflict between Lys and Tyrosh so he can profit from the chaos."
"Myr itself is stuck deep in the mud." Lysa's tone carried a cold analytical edge. "Its artisanal industry relies heavily on timber and ore imported from the Disputed Lands. Now, this lifeline is being strangled by hostile Tyrosh and Lys, forcing them to pay exorbitant tolls. It's like continuous bloodletting, and the conflict between the three parties is growing."
"Due to the reduced fighting in the Stepstones leading to a drop in the supply of captives, Myr's profits from the slave trade have shrunk. Coupled with Lysene lace being more competitively priced, Myr's fiscal revenue has plummeted, and they have failed to repay debts to the Iron Bank on time multiple times."
"Defaulting on the Iron Bank naturally invites countermeasures," she continued, revealing deeper layers of control. "The capital for Myr's slave trade comes almost entirely from the Iron Bank. The Iron Bank stopped lending to Myr and instead lent to slave traders for 'procurement,' or even directly bought war captives to resell to Tyrosh and Lys, completely seizing control of the slave trade's funding chain."
"Not only that, Myr's proud artisanal industries—whether buying Eastern silk or hiring skilled craftsmen—require massive liquid capital. Through low-interest loans and trade credit, the Iron Bank became the primary provider of funds for Myr's workshops."
"And when Myr tried to quietly bypass the Iron Bank and trade directly with Tyrosh or Lys to find a way out," Lysa's voice turned chilling, "the Iron Bank's retaliation was swift and precise: they immediately cut off new credit to Myrish merchants while turning to fund Myr's competitors—Tyroshi slave traders. Through these financial means, the Iron Bank easily weakened Myr's competitiveness in trade, locking them firmly within the financial order it constructed."
"My Lord," Lysa concluded, "the situation is this: Myr is deeply bound economically by the Iron Bank and passive militarily; it desperate to break the deadlock. Meanwhile, the Iron Bank invisibly manipulates the lifelines of multiple parties through financial capital. This chaos stems from ancient feuds between the cities, but on a deeper level, it is a wrestle for control and counter-control between the Iron Bank's financial empire and local powers. The cracks in this are the best levers we can insert ourselves into and exploit."
Euron nodded, and a phrase suddenly came to mind—Chaos is a ladder!