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Lysa shifted her gaze from the scrolls concerning the Narrow Sea and opened another ledger bound in rough Iron Islands leather. Her voice returned to the crisp, precise tone she used for business.
"Regarding the Stepstones," she began, her fingertip tracing rows of figures. "Between the taxes for the past year, the 'passage fees' collected from merchant ships, and other... grey income, we have followed the agreed-upon 6-2-2 split with House Redwyne and House Martell. Our share totals over one million Gold Dragons. As per your instructions, the fractional change was left locally with Balf to cover daily operations and grease the necessary palms. The flat one million has been safely transported to Pyke and locked in the vaults."
She paused, adding a necessary piece of analysis. "Due to the recent turmoil across the Narrow Sea, trade routes have been significantly affected, and the volume of merchant traffic has dropped. Consequently, revenue is slightly lower than projected. However, I believe that once the situation clarifies and trade resumes, this income will return to a growth trajectory."
She closed the ledger and moved on to their pieces on the far side of the world.
"In Qarth, my uncle, Sisyphus Garfield, has made excellent progress." When she mentioned his name, a note of subtle approval entered Lysa's voice. "Thanks to the critical intelligence and ample funding we've continuously provided—along with the precise 'cleaning' of several key competitors—it took him only two years to maneuver between the Ancient Guild of Spicers and the Tourmaline Brotherhood. He has successfully secured a seat among The Thirteen."
Her eyes grew deep. "He has a firm foothold now and holds real power. But how to place the next stone requires more careful, long-term planning."
These two pieces of news—one regarding cold, hard cash in hand, the other regarding the future of Qarth—signaled that Euron Greyjoy's influence was like the tentacles of a kraken, firmly grasping every opportunity to expand in all directions.
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After listening to the report on the chaos across the Narrow Sea and the financial update, Euron Greyjoy didn't look grim. Instead, a fire of excitement lit up in his eyes, as if he'd just discovered a buried treasure.
He paced slowly to the window, looking out at the gloomy seas of the Iron Islands, as if he could already see the countless opportunities floating in those waters of strife.
"They need swords? We sell them swords. They need poison? We provide the poison. They need grain to sustain their wars? We sell them grain at prices never seen before."
Euron's voice carried a hint of a smile. "Iron from the Islands, metal we've secured from the Lannisters, even war supplies we can gather from all over Westeros—we can trade it all through the ports we control in the Disputed Lands or in neutral waters. We will sell weapons to both Lys and Tyrosh simultaneously. Let them bleed each other dry, and for every drop of blood, they will trade us a Gold Dragon."
"Tyrosh looted the Red Coral? Good. That gives us the perfect excuse." Euron's gaze was sharp as a knife. "Our fleet can disguise itself as anyone. We fly Lysene banners to raid Tyroshi merchant ships, or we pose as Tyroshi to plunder Lysene cargo. In these chaotic waters, no one can tell the difference. The point is, we must surgically target the ships carrying truly valuable cargo—Tyroshi dyes, gold and silver work, or Lysene wine and amber. Let those two cities point fingers at each other; the real winner will be us."
"When they are both exhausted, when their treasuries are dragged down by war and our 'trade'," Euron turned around, a look of deep calculation on his face, "perhaps that will be the moment we step in to 'mediate.' Not as conquerors, but as a 'fair maritime power.' We can facilitate peace talks, but the condition is that the peace must favor us. For example, demanding tax-free trade rights in specific ports, or forcing them to recognize our status as 'protectors' of key shipping lanes. We could even... use this chance to force one of the cities—perhaps the weaker Tyrosh—to take loans from our bank, bringing their future fiscal revenue under our control."
"Lysa, your people must keep watching closely," Euron emphasized. "We need to know before anyone else which side has won a key victory and which side is about to collapse. We are the side of 'justice'—we support the underdog to strike the strong."
Lysa laughed at this so-called justice.
"This chaos is not a disaster; it is a gift," Euron concluded, ambition surging in his eyes. "It gives us the chance to break the old order and establish new rules. We will make the Narrow Sea no longer a barrier between Westeros and Essos, but an inland lake flowing with Gold Dragons under our control. Arms dealing, raiding, mediation, finance... all these methods serve one goal: to make the Kraken banner the most feared and unavoidable symbol on these seas."
He looked at Lysa and commanded, "Mobilize our merchant ships and fast cutters. Start buying up all the steel, timber, and saltpeter we can find. At the same time, tell our 'friends' in the Disputed Lands to get ready to receive cargo. House Greyjoy is going to eat its fill at this feast."
Lysa smiled. "These events started months ago. If we were only entering the game now, it would be too late. We've already done it, my Lord. While you were showing off your might in the Seven Kingdoms, the window of opportunity was fleeting. I reported the plan to the King, and he told me to use my own judgment."
Euron let out a low chuckle, possessive and pleased. His rough fingers, with a hint of intimacy, gently pinched Lysa's smooth cheek. "My Lysa. So beautiful and so clever. Let me think... how should I properly reward you?"
His hand began to wander restlessly over her shoulder and back, his touch burning hot. A blush rose on Lysa's cheeks. She didn't resist, only turning her head slightly, her voice barely a whisper.
"Aren't you... afraid Lady Ashara will find out?"
"She knows you are my most capable right hand, and she knows I trust you more than anyone," Euron said with undeniable certainty, his movements not stopping. "She is a smart woman. Of course, she understood long ago that you are also my woman. From the very beginning."
Lysa said no more. She complied, leaning her body against his broad shoulder, letting him hold her. Yet, deep in her lowered eyes, a flicker of dimness passed—hard to catch. It wasn't shyness, but a complex mix of loyalty, helplessness, and a trace of melancholy.
Euron seemed to sense her momentary dip in spirits. He held her tighter, resting his chin on the top of her head. His voice was deep, filled with the power of a promise.
"Rest assured," he said, every word stamped like a seal, solemn and heavy. "What I, Euron Greyjoy, have promised, I will deliver. I will make you the Queen of Qarth. I will make you my wife, openly and proudly. And in the future, I want you to bear me a litter of cubs who can gallop across the sands and wrestle with the waves."
The promise was like the strongest wine—dizzyingly tempting, yet burning hot. Lysa closed her eyes, burying her face deeper into the crook of his neck, trying to draw strength from this brief warmth to face the long, uncertain future.