"From what I've learned, Stannis has already promised the red woman," Varys said quietly.
"After the battle he'll do his best to take the royal family alive and offer their king's blood to her false god."
"King's blood." Eddard repeated the words and drove his fist into the table. "Gods be damned!"
"I knew the man was rigid. I never imagined he'd fallen this low!"
Joffrey said nothing.
The night was black, the enemy campfires a clear line on the horizon.
"My lords," he said, pulling his gaze back inside. "With the real fight about to start, the river battle is what matters most."
"Half of Stannis's ships may be pirate tubs, but those captains have spent their lives raiding at sea. Their naval experience beats ours by a mile."
"Our own fleet is neither crack troops nor even half the size of his."
"So how do we beat them with fewer ships and worse sailors?"
"Any ideas?"
The Imp dropped back into his chair and rolled his mismatched eyes.
"You already have a plan or you wouldn't be asking. Stop being mysterious and spit it out."
Joffrey gave a small smile.
"Uncle, did you finish that little errand I gave you?"
Tyrion caught on instantly.
"Pyromancer Hallyne claims they have thirteen thousand jars of wildfire," he said with a shrug. "I took every last one."
"Thirteen thousand?" Varys pretended to be shocked.
"I thought he was exaggerating too—until he personally walked me through the vaults."
"And get this: ever since that red comet appeared, they say brewing the stuff has become child's play. Their little 'spells' are suddenly working again."
Tyrion rolled his eyes. "Of course they're full of shit. These alchemists love their spooky theatrics and creepy little giggles. I don't believe a word."
"You're sure the wildfire won't just ignite on its own?" Eddard asked, ever cautious. "I'd rather not have Stannis watch us blow ourselves to hell before he even attacks."
"I watched them store it," Tyrion said, scratching his head. "Been buried for years. Should be fine… right?"
He gave that same nervous little chuckle.
"Anyway, it's already loaded on the fire ships. Too late to change our minds now, my lords."
…
Dong—dong—dong—
The great bells tolled.
Their heavy bronze voices rolled across King's Landing.
Joffrey stood on the top level of Maegor's Holdfast, staring out at Blackwater Bay.
On the horizon Stannis's fleet was visible at last—hundreds of masts like a dead white forest glowing pale in the dawn light.
Soft footsteps came from behind.
Morning wind lifted long auburn hair. A girl's hands slipped through his arm.
"Look, Sansa."
He pointed across the wide river.
"The Blackwater flows east to the sea, sky and land stretching forever."
"It's a perfect battlefield."
Sansa smiled.
"My little Joff is going to win immortal glory here."
Joffrey turned and met those sky-blue eyes.
Her cheeks flushed faintly—maybe from the sunrise.
She pressed her lips together and leaned into him a little more.
"You…" Joffrey started.
But right then a strong wind gusted up.
Banners snapped on the battlements.
His heart gave a sudden hard kick.
"Fate!" he blurted.
"Fucking fate!"
Sansa startled. "What is it?"
"We planned for everything—every detail."
"And we still forgot the one thing that actually matters."
Joffrey closed his eyes, feeling the wind sweeping in from outside the walls, and burst out laughing.
"It's the height of summer."
"The wind over the Crownlands is always an east wind!"
A short time later Joffrey stood between the merlons in full plate, sword at his hip, one gauntleted hand resting on cold stone. Jaime's maiming was fresh in his mind; he wasn't lifting a finger unless he absolutely had to.
Out on Blackwater Bay, Stannis's fleet was moving.
Warships rode the high tide, sails furled, hundreds of long oars pulling in perfect rhythm against the wind.
They weren't chained together, but the gaps between ships were no more than twenty yards—tight battle line sliding up the river mouth.
On the walls, spearmen and crossbowmen gripped their weapons, sweat beading on every brow.
The first line entered the river.
Stannis had put his best ships in front.
The lead vessel was a massive three-banked war galley, a huge stag figurehead with towering antlers thrusting forward.
King's Fury.
Lord Steffon and Sea Hart followed close behind, both two-hundred-oar monsters.
Crimson heart banners of the Lord of Light snapped from their sterns—red, orange, yellow flames twisting together.
Lysene warships sailed among them, their painted hulls gaudy in the morning sun.
Hooooooon—
War horns sounded.
From the Red Keep the defenders poured arrows down in a black rain. Thousands of shafts streaked straight and deadly.
"Trebuchets ready!" Eddard roared from the battlements.
"Trebuchets ready!" the runners echoed below.
Gunners slid pitch-filled clay pots into the slings and stood ready with torches, eyes locked on their officers' hands.
"Loose!"
The giant arms snapped forward with deep booms. Dozens of orange fire-birds arced over the Red Keep and dove toward the fleet.
Most splashed into the water.
A few struck true. Clay pots shattered on decks, flames exploding across wood and men too slow to jump clear.
Screams and shouted orders tangled together.
The fleet never slowed.
The first line pushed deeper into the river. The second followed. Then came Black Betha, Sea Spirit, Lady Marya…
One warship after another slid past Joffrey's position, decks packed with soldiers, spearpoints like a forest, banners snapping.
King's Landing's own ships slipped out from the harbor on the current.
Divine Grace led them—old and heavy, but fitted with a massive iron ram on her prow.
Lionstar, Lady Lyanna, Silken Lady, Lady's Shame followed.
The two fleets met in the middle of the river.
CRASH—
The first collision split the air. Two prows slammed together, timbers exploding, hulls rocking wildly.
Then a second impact, a third—on and on.
Grappling hooks flew. Boarding nets slapped across rails. Men screamed as they leaped the gap. Steel rang, javelins punched through leather, axes split bone, blood sprayed across decks and turned patches of the Blackwater red.
It felt both very short and very long.
King's Landing's ships had done their job.
They had stalled the enemy advance with wood and flesh.
Stannis's first line was jammed up against the barricade while his second line had already passed the Red Keep. The third line—smaller oar galleys—was already entering the river mouth.
"Almost there," Tyrion said beside him, voice tight with excitement.
Joffrey followed his gaze.
Between the clashing fleets, dozens of old scows and barges had drifted silently into the center of the fight.
Trailing behind each one, a thin green slick spread across the water like slow poison.
Tyrion's eyes reflected that eerie green glow.
"It's coming… any second now…"
His voice dropped lower, tighter.
Then it cut off.
"Huh?"
"Motherfucker!"
"That red bitch is right there!"
Joffrey lunged to the parapet, peering through his helm's eye-slit.
In the middle of the untouched enemy ships, one figure stood out.
Copper-red hair whipped in the wind like living flame.
Her arms stretched wide, the great ruby at her throat flashing.
She looked like she was embracing something—or summoning it.
A cold spike of dread hit Joffrey.
He snatched up the nearest repeating crossbow, braced it on the merlon, and aimed at the red figure.
"Shoot the red woman! Now!"
The quarrel hissed away.
Too late.
A wall of fire exploded upward from the middle of the river, cutting the fire ships off from Stannis's fleet.
The first fire ship slammed into it.
BOOM—
Then the second, the third, the fourth…
Green flames erupted one after another, each tower of fire thirty feet high, demonic arms swallowing everything around them.
The fire ships detonated before they ever reached the enemy line, turning into drifting wrecks.
Joffrey's voice cracked out before he could stop it.
"She's got fucking hacks!"