GO GIVE YOUR POWER STONES TO MY NEW STORY, IF YOU CAN. "A BLADEMASTER IN WESTEROS."
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I got a basket of food from the kitchens and headed to one of the few landmarks in the Red Keep I hadn't seen during my hazy hours as a tourist the day before.
The godswood sat in the southern end of the castle, a full acre of forest enclosed by high stone walls overlooking the Blackwater. Entering through an iron gate, I found myself on a packed earth path that wound between towering trees. Elm and alder and chestnut, their branches forming a canopy overhead that filtered the midday sun into dappled patterns on the ground.
The air here was some relief compared to the rest of the castle. Cooler, damper. Carrying the scent of moss and other growing things. The sounds of the castle, too, faded behind me, replaced by birdsong and the rustle of leaves and the occasional chittering of squirrels in the branches above.
I knew the godswood of the Red Keep did not have a weirwood as a heart tree. The Targaryens had never been ones for the old gods, and even if they had been, weirwoods didn't grow this far south anymore. So I didn't bother heading toward the center of the acre. Instead, I wandered off the main path, pushing through undergrowth until I found a small clearing tucked away in a corner.
Grass grew thick here, soft and green in the shade of an old chestnut tree. Wildflowers dotted the edges—blue and yellow and white, names I didn't know. A fallen log provided a convenient resting spot.
I settled down with my back against the chestnut's trunk and opened the basket. The kitchen staff had been generous. Fresh bread still warm from the ovens, a wedge of yellow cheese, cold chicken, some kind of fruit tart, and a skin of watered wine.
I ate slowly, savoring each bite. Let myself just exist in the moment without thinking about politics or prophecies or the weight of knowledge I carried.
A robin landed on a branch above me, head cocked, watching to see if I'd drop any crumbs. I tossed it a piece of bread crust. It hopped down, snatched the offering, and flew away. I smiled at it.
It felt nice to be back in the quiet after the stress of the last day, but the peace couldn't last forever. My mind was too active, too full of plans and concerns.
Jaime Lannister and Stannis Baratheon would be my squires starting after the tourney Lord Steffon planned to hold at Storm's End. The thought still felt surreal. Two of the most important figures in Westerosi history, and I'd be responsible for their training. For shaping them into the men they'd become.
No pressure at all.
Having those two under me meant getting chest-deep into Westerosi politics whether I wanted to or not. No more having a peaceful island to retreat to, away from prying eyes. Tarth had been my refuge, my base of operations where I could work in relative obscurity.
That was over now.
I'd have to speak with Jace about it as soon as I got back. Reinforce our counter-intelligence operations in Dawnrest and Evenfall Hall. Because spies would flood Tarth now. That was inevitable.
Tywin Lannister would surely plant his own people on the island: servants, merchants, anyone who could report back on what his son was doing and learning. And wherever the heir to the Hand of the King went, others would stick their noses in as well, hoping to smell even a fart of gossip. Anything that could be leveraged or exploited.
Before that happened, I needed to get my house in order. Literally and figuratively.
I needed to settle things with my father. Tell him the truth about Arianne and the glass candle and everything that had happened in the Weeping Town. He'd asked me to trust him. Standing on that quay in Durranton with his hand on my shoulder. I swear the man's voice was almost breaking, rough with emotion. He deserved that trust.
Then there was Arianne. Still a child at thirteen, but old enough to understand consequences. Old enough to be held accountable.
I'd been too soft on her so far. Too lenient. Let her get away with things because she was young, because she was scared, because she was my sister and I loved those little hellions to death.
But her powers were real. Dangerous. Valuable. I wanted to develop them, turn them into the asset they could be. I just couldn't allow it until she started showing some sense of responsibility. Until she understood that her actions had consequences beyond herself. That other people could be hurt by her choices.
The whole ordeal at the Weeping Town had proven she wasn't ready. Not yet. She meant well—I knew she did. And she had helped in the end. But I needed her to get a grip before we tried anything like that ever again.
Then there was the work on the island itself. Expanding Dawnrest, improving the port facilities. The roadworks connecting the major settlements. The signal towers I wanted to build at key points around the coast.
Fanciful ideas, but the pirate Matteno of Myr had escaped. And I knew from looking into their records that the Whiteheads did not have the gold to hire anyone at all, even a pirate crew. Especially not the two pirate crews that attacked us on the way from Lannisport, which included a war galley.
Someone had been backing them. An unknown enemy. Another I needed to be better prepared for.
There were my plans for the trading fleet too, and the Companions, both those who'd be staying on Tarth and those who'd be leaving for a while. With our experiences in the Weeping Town, I was bursting with ideas on how to up our training, both for combat and intelligence gathering.
And I had to do all of it not just before the tourney at Storm's End, but before Lord Steffon's journey to Volantis, which I planned to join.
Not only to save the Baratheons from a pointless death, but for practical reasons too. If I was there, I could set up my own interests in the east. Establish contacts, negotiate trade agreements, maybe even find investors willing to back Tarth's development in exchange for favorable terms.
As of now when it came to Essos, we'd only been slowly attracting traders to Dawnrest, then taking the goods bought there along with some of our own and selling them further into Westeros. We were middlemen, which was profitable but limited.
If I could directly tap into the Essosi markets, though... that would be big.
Not Sea Snake big, to be sure. I didn't plan on spending years sailing to Qarth and Asshai and the ends of the earth, chasing legends and lost cities. But for Tarth? For a minor house with limited resources and influence?
It would mean riches the island had never seen. Enough wealth to fund all my other projects. To make House Tarth a power in the Stormlands instead of just another insignificant house clinging to a rock in the Narrow Sea.
I was thinking about how to convince Lord Steffon to stop by other Free Cities beyond Volantis when a shrill cry echoed from deeper into the godswood.
It startled me for a second, and I always thought I'd be wiser in situations like this. King's Landing was not the kind of place you played the hero. Getting involved in other people's business was a good way to end up dead in an alley, or worse, disappeared into the black cells beneath the Red Keep.
But I was rushing through the woods before I could talk myself out of it. It was a child's cry. A baby, probably, and I couldn't just ignore that.
Branches whipped at my face as I ran. I dodged around trees, jumped over roots, following the sound toward the center of the godswood, until I burst into a clearing and stopped dead.
A towering oak stood ahead, easily the oldest tree in the godswood. Its trunk was massive, gnarled with age, covered in climbing vines. Around its base grew flowers the color of blood. Dragon's breath, I remembered from some half-forgotten botanical lesson. They only bloomed in high summer.
And standing in that clearing, in a beam of sunlight that seemed to illuminate her like she was on stage, was one of the most beautiful women I'd ever seen.
The Maiden herself, I thought for one stupid moment.
Long silver hair shimmered as it fell past her waist, catching the light. She wore a gown of deep purple that clung to curves that had me suddenly thinking about my earlier conversation with Gerion. Her face was so beautiful it didn't feel right to look at directly. As if it could be tainted by the wrong eyes.
Then I heard the cry again, and a maid stepped forward from beside the oak, carrying a small bundle.
She passed it carefully to the silver-haired woman, who took the baby with practiced ease. The crying stopped almost immediately as the child settled against her chest, tiny fist grabbing at her hair.
Not the Maiden, I realized with a sinking feeling. The Mother.
Queen Rhaella Targaryen.
I must have shifted my weight, made some noise, because the queen's bodyguards reacted like I'd drawn a weapon.
Four men in the red and black of House Targaryen burst out from behind the oak where they'd been standing watch. Swords came free of scabbards with harsh metallic rasps. They surrounded me in seconds, blades leveled at my throat and chest.
I sighed. Shit.
It took several more minutes to sort things out. For me to explain in detail what I'd been doing in the godswood, why I'd run toward the sound, how I hadn't known the queen was here. The guards remained suspicious throughout, hands tight on their sword hilts, and I believed the only reason I wasn't thrown into the black cells were Rhaella's own words to leave me be.
The men obeyed after that. Surprisingly, none of them wore white cloaks. Not Kingsguard, then. Just regular household guards assigned to protect the queen.
I filed that thought away and chose to focus on the woman looking at me instead. Having been divested of my sword, she had deemed it safe enough to walk closer to me. The baby—Prince Viserys, it had to be—lay cradled against her shoulder.
She was even more beautiful up close. And the eyes... such a dark purple, like a bruised sky after a storm. They looked at me with a mixture of wariness, curiosity, and something else. Something that told me she liked me not.
Still, I went to my knees without being told. Better to show deference immediately than have it demanded.
"Your Grace," I said, bowing my head. "I hope you can forgive me for such an unwelcome intrusion. I hope I did not upset you or Prince Viserys overly much."
"Do you often race across a castle's woods, ser?" she asked.
"Only when I hear a child's cry, my queen."
"Ah. I see. Very gallant on your part." Her words were sweet, but she didn't look convinced. "My husband has spoken of your gallantry often as of recent."
It took everything I had to hide the wince at that.
Oh. Of course she didn't like me. That was obvious now. She thought I was another of her husband's minions. Another young knight eager to curry favor with the Mad King, willing to do anything to earn his approval.
"He was right in praising your rescue of your mother," she continued. "You should be proud of it, ser." A pause. "A shame so many in the town had to suffer and burn for it."
I looked up at her and saw that her eyes had hardened, turning accusatory.
She had more of a spine than I had imagined. Though I supposed I was low-hanging fruit for her to take her frustrations out on. She could hardly express her anger at the king. That way lay only pain and suffering for her. More than she likely already went through. But here came another known arsonist, just stumbling across the woods toward her. An acceptable target.
I stared back at her. Long enough that I saw when she hesitated. A small flinch. The tiniest step backward. The reaction of a woman who didn't feel safe, even among her guards. Even in her own home.
For some reason, that made me want to be honest with her.
"I... I didn't mean for it to happen," I blurted out. Then flushed as soon as I realized I'd said it out loud.
She frowned. "What?"
I looked around. The guards had stepped back slightly, giving us space while remaining alert. The maid had moved away as well, tending to something near the oak. They weren't close enough to hear a quiet conversation.
It was just me, and the queen, and little Prince Viserys in her arms.
So I told her the truth.
"I didn't burn it on purpose," I said. "I... I just wanted to save my mum. The fire was a mistake. An accident." The words came faster now, tumbling out. "Most people managed to escape in time, thankfully. Even then... seeing the town burning keeps me up at night still. Hearing the people's screams. The few that burned. The many who lost their homes and livelihoods." I met her eyes. "I am proud to have saved my mother. But I could never be proud of that."
I'd been staring off into the distance as I spoke, at nothing in particular. I caught myself and looked back at her.
Something had shifted in her eyes. I didn't know what it was. A flicker of hope? Something softer than distrust and fear? Or just the way the shadow caught the light?
She didn't answer for a long while. Just stared at me while I stared back. Prince Viserys made soft baby noises, content in his mother's arms.
For some reason, I realized I cared about her opinion of me. That I didn't want her to think of me as someone like her husband. Someone angry. Someone cruel. Someone who would hurt innocents without remorse.
When she finally spoke, her voice was so quiet it felt almost like a distant sound carried on the breeze.
"You and all the others will be called by my husband today, ser." A pause. Her eyes held mine. "You should not go."
Then she turned away and left, walking back toward the castle. The guards and maid trailed after her. And I was left there, still kneeling in the grass, confused and very much scared all of a sudden.
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