Vito strode in leading a clanking iron chain. Behind him shuffled the cannibal prisoners, wrists and ankles bound, necks collared like dogs.
He gave Sonny Bane—the filthy old patriarch—a savage kick to keep him moving.
The rest of the captives knelt in a pathetic line: twisted faces, dead eyes, some still snarling like animals. The first one they'd taken, the huge deformed freak, still had too much fight left. Vito planted two more boots in his ribs just to be sure.
Jules pointed at them, voice ice-cold. "My lord, these are the cannibal demons that nested in the Bloodwave Cape caves. Their leader, Sonny Bane, is guilty of crimes that offend both gods and men. Their trial belongs before the priests of the Lord of Light. Let holy flame purify their souls—and let the flames remind every soul in Lys of your justice and power!"
Of course the man who would bring the proposal before the Triarch's Council was Lysandro Rogare himself.
This was the final "gift" the White Company had prepared for him—a perfect, bloody trophy to showcase his triumph.
Lysandro nodded, staring at the prisoners with open disgust, like they were garbage that needed burning. "You speak truly, Jules. Such blasphemous, inhuman filth must be cleansed by R'hllor's sacred fire. I will arrange it personally!"
"Oh, and one more thing." A sly, knowing smile spread across Lysandro's face. "Tiberius, Jules, and all you fine men of the White Company—the Perfumed Garden will be open exclusively for you tonight!"
Tiberius's face flushed—he was still only twelve—but Vito and the rest of the knights broke into huge grins.
They'd earned this.
---
The next day, the Triarch's Council chamber.
Like the other Free Cities, Lys was ruled by a merchant-slave oligarchy. The Triarchs were elected, but real power lay with the richest merchants, ship-owners, and guild masters. Wealth bought you a seat on the Council; from those oligarchs, one man was chosen as First Triarch.
The great domed hall was flooded with colored sunlight through stained-glass windows. Marble tiers were packed with the city's most powerful men. At the very top sat the seat of the First Triarch.
Today, Lysandro Rogare rose to speak.
Several Triarchs immediately sat up straighter, ready to applaud.
No surprise—Rogare Bank under Lysandro now rivaled the Iron Bank of Braavos in both power and coin, and he was Lys's largest plantation owner and slave-master. That kind of wealth bought a lot of political friends.
"My lords," Lysandro began, voice carrying through the hall, low and grave. "I'm sure you've all heard what happened to my daughter Seraphys… and to the younger daughter of House Haen. They vanished on Bloodwave Cape Road just days ago…"
The entire chamber fell silent, faces solemn.
"But!" Lysandro's tone suddenly surged with passion. "After careful study and analysis, I devised a plan. After countless hardships, I have solved the mystery of the Bloodwave Cape disappearances!"
He clapped. The massive bronze doors swung open.
Jules led the way, followed by Tiberius, Vito, and the White Company knights who had taken part in the raid.
Behind them came the chained cannibals, shuffling in a miserable line.
Sonny Bane, the "founder" of the cannibal clan, took one look at the grand hall and nearly collapsed. Vito kicked him upright again.
"'The Honorable' Jules… the White Company?" Gastor Ferrero muttered under his breath. "Lucky bastard, that Rogare."
"Quiet, Gastor!" the man beside him hissed. "After this, House Haen and House Rogare are forming an alliance. Watch your tongue."
"Watch my tongue? Hmph, as if I fear him," Gastor sneered. "Last year in the Shadow War, whose plantations burned the most? Whose ships were taken by pirates like fattened pigs?"
The other Triarch shut his mouth instantly.
You know damn well why Rogare's holdings kept getting hit, Gastor.
And in the end, wasn't it your vaults that ran dry first, forcing you to kneel and beg Rogare for mercy?
Gastor wisely kept silent too. Antagonizing Rogare openly was a good way to lose more than coin.
With House Haen and House Rogare now linked, nearly a third of the Council's political power had just been welded together.
[At least the most nervous man here isn't me,] Gastor thought with dark amusement.
The one sweating the hardest right now was definitely First Triarch Bambarro Bazanne.
"My lords, behold—the true culprits behind the Bloodwave Cape disappearances!" Lysandro walked forward, handkerchief pressed to his nose, and took the wooden rod Tiberius offered. He pointed it at the prisoners' faces one by one.
"Sonny Bane, do you confess your crimes? Incest, murder, practicing black sorcery, cannibalism, hiding like vermin, robbery!"
Stuttering and drooling, Sonny spilled everything: how he'd been a lazy layabout, met a witch, started breeding children in a cave, how they'd hunted women and children for sacrifice, the incest, the feasting…
As he babbled, Jules and Tiberius displayed the evidence: human-skin books, the bone altar, victims' clothes and jewelry, the witch's staff… and finally, the most horrifying sight of all—a broken barrel filled with "salted meat" that made half the chamber retch.
One Triarch actually vomited on the marble steps.
The rest—including First Triarch Bambarro Bazanne—sat with faces like thunder, black as storm clouds.
These crimes went far beyond anything even the cynical oligarchs of Lys could stomach.
Finally Lysandro let out a long breath.
"Therefore, my lords, I propose these monsters be taken before the temple of R'hllor to confess, then purified by sacred flame!"
The moment he finished, nearly a third of the Triarchs rose, applauding loudly—none louder than the head of House Haen.
"Let the flames purify them!"
"These abominations deserve nothing less!"
"Long live Lord Lysandro! He has scattered the shadow over Lys like the sun itself!"
Someone in the back shouted the line. Tiberius couldn't help glancing at Lysandro.
Master-level subjectivism right there…
Bambarro's face darkened further.
[That Rogare bastard!] he thought. [Now that he and Haen are allied, he controls nearly a third of the votes. In raw power he's already stronger than me.]
The Council voted. The motion passed.
But just as it seemed the matter was settled, a discordant voice cut through the hall.
"These cannibal beasts' crimes are indeed unspeakable. They deserve the holy flames. But today, in this sacred chamber, there is another guilty party!"
It was Gastor. He stood, eyes fixed on Jules and Tiberius.
He paused dramatically, then continued:
"I have heard that while you were solving the Bloodwave Cape case, something disturbing happened on the beach. A respected vice-captain of the Second Sons, Jon Starr, was brutally murdered!"
"I am shocked. With the Volantis war about to begin, we need every sword and spear we can get! His death is a loss to all Lys. And what will the other mercenary companies think? That we allow a battle-hardened, famous captain to be slaughtered in the suburbs?"
He spoke with fiery eloquence, painting Jon Starr as some shining knightly paragon. All the while his gaze kept flicking meaningfully toward Jules and Tiberius.
Fuck's sake, Vito thought, the way he talks you'd think Jon was some Vale knight yelling 'High as Honor' like a brain-dead idiot!
Gastor's words landed like a boulder in still water. The chamber erupted in murmurs. Every eye turned back to the White Company—this time filled with scrutiny, suspicion, and a hint of excitement. Council fights were the best entertainment in Lys.
These oligarchs didn't fear scandal; they loved it. The so-called "Shadow War" was just hiring pirates to raid ships, burning rivals' warehouses, spreading rumors. Child's play. In Braavos they hired Faceless Men for the real work.
Tiberius watched the Triarchs lean forward, practically rubbing their hands together.
Bloodthirsty spectators, every last one.
To Gastor's surprise, however, First Triarch Bambarro Bazanne merely frowned, took a slow sip of wine, and said nothing. Instead he looked straight at Lysandro, waiting for his response.
[Damn you, you old fox!] Gastor cursed inside. Rogare plus Haen is already threatening your seat—why aren't you throwing some weight my way?!
At that moment Tiberius took a small step forward. He faced Gastor with the same innocent, slightly puzzled expression.
"My lord… forgive me, I don't know your name. Perhaps your house is… less prominent? I'm not very familiar…"
Less prominent?!
The Ferrero name—had this whelp never heard of it?!
Regar Haen suddenly cut in with a mocking laugh. "Why wouldn't a child like Tiberius have heard of certain… lesser-known houses? Perfectly normal, isn't it?"
"You—" Gastor nearly lunged at him.
Lesser-known?! What the hell do you mean by that?!
Tiberius continued as if he hadn't noticed the insult.
"At the time, we had just rescued Lady Seraphys and Lady Haen from the cannibals' lair. We were exhausted, carrying vital witnesses and evidence of evil. The moment we stepped out of the cave, Vice-Captain Jon Starr appeared with over fifty fully-armed Second Sons men and blocked our path. He claimed…"
He paused, as if struggling to recall the exact words.
"He claimed they had also been searching Bloodwave Cape for days, suffered terribly from mosquitoes, and therefore deserved a share. He demanded we 'hand over' the two ladies and all credit 'for the sake of face.' He even promised to put in a good word with the Second Sons captain so we could 'look good' on the coming battlefield."
He raised his head, gaze sweeping the chamber before returning to Gastor, eyes wide and guileless. "Uncle Jules and I were both shocked. After all, isn't the rule among mercenaries simple—whoever fulfills the contract gets the coin? Moreover, Vice-Captain Jon's attitude was… far from friendly. His men even drew their weapons and threatened to 'fight it out' if we refused."
Vito chimed in at exactly the right moment, voice dripping sarcasm. "Yeah, fifty armed thugs surrounding twenty of us with two frightened girls. Looked more like pirates than fellow sellswords!"
"And I have one question, respected First Triarch," Tiberius asked with perfect childlike innocence. "Does the Second Sons captain decide which companies fight on the front lines in Lys's wars? Because if so… First Triarch, sir…"
"Tiberius, no need to worry," Bambarro cut in quickly. "Military command in Lys rests entirely with the Triarchs. No sellsword captain has that authority!"
[Seven Hells, did Jon really think he could decide battlefield positions?!] Bambarro thought, inwardly seething.
Tiberius scanned the room once more, then continued calmly:
"But my lords, I did not murder him. I killed him in a sacred trial by combat, witnessed by the gods themselves! My uncle, 'the Honorable' Jules, can swear to it—he can confirm I am only twelve years old. As for Vice-Captain Jon Starr…" Tiberius deliberately drew out the name.
"That battle-hardened, fully-armed knight of the Second Sons challenged me to a fight to the death."
A low wave of astonishment rippled through the hall. A famous captain demanding mortal combat against a twelve-year-old boy? It reeked of cowardice and bullying.
"By R'hllor, Jon was shameless—challenging a child?"
"And he still lost! Clearly the man's reputation was hollow!"
"Silence!" Bambarro slammed his gavel on the redwood desk. "Order in the chamber!"
"But in the end, this is all your word!" Gastor insisted, stubborn as a mule.
"Lord Gastor Ferrero," Jules spoke at last, hands resting on the hilts of his twin swords. "Are you saying you doubt the word of 'the Honorable'?" His falcon gaze pinned Gastor like a mouse. "To defend my honor, I can only demand trial by combat before the priests of R'hllor. Let blood wash away the insult."
Tiberius saw Gastor's face turn green then white. Vito let out a loud snort.
"Trial by combat? Against Gastor Ferrero?" Vito laughed. "Boss Jules once took ten heads in a single melee with those two swords! Gastor? What's he good at—his 'spear' between his legs? That one only works in bed!"
Tiberius smiled inside, then stepped forward again, eyes sharp.
"I don't understand, my lord. Why are you so concerned about the death of a man who tried to rob his employer's prize, threatened fellow mercenaries, and then demanded a fight to the death against a child? Do you believe that honoring contracts and defending one's honor in fair combat is a crime? Or perhaps…" Tiberius let the pause hang, voice lightly mocking.
"Or perhaps you believe the Second Sons' actions that day were correct and should be encouraged? Hmm… could it be that you have some special… arrangement with Vice-Captain Jon or the Second Sons?"
The question stabbed straight at Bambarro's most sensitive nerve.
Why is Gastor so obsessed with the Second Sons?
[Could it be…] Bambarro narrowed his eyes at Gastor. [Has Gastor been dealing with them behind my back?]
The moment Bambarro's gaze landed on him, Gastor faltered.
He had already made an enemy of House Rogare. If he lost the First Triarch's support now…
His head might not stay attached to his shoulders much longer.
He shut his mouth.