Gavin had also picked up word of the exiled Targaryen brother and sister across the Narrow Sea.
Their old protector, Ser Willem Darry, was dead.
Now the pair were reduced to wandering Braavos like beggars.
Certain powerful men had quietly placed a bounty on the exiled princess Daenerys.
They wanted her badly.
But she and her brother were still, on paper, guests of the Sealord of Braavos, so no one dared move openly.
There would be a chance to reach them someday.
Gavin was already turning over ways to lay hands on the dragon eggs that were supposed to go to Daenerys.
He wondered if they had reached Illyrio’s hands yet.
No solid plan yet.
He lay on the hard tavern bed, thoughts spinning.
If he changed too much of the story, would the Night King still be able to break the Wall without dragons?
His biggest advantage was knowing what was coming.
Any changes had to be handled with care.
He also thought about the tourney drawing closer every day.
A rare opening to show what he could do and maybe walk away with real wealth.
Status was another matter.
Westerosi nobles kept the ladder of advancement locked tight against smallfolk and bastards alike.
Some bastards got acknowledged by their families and helped into knighthood, but only a handful ever won lands of their own.
Others were treated as family shame and ignored completely.
Gavin’s position was better than most.
Lord Horton Cotoin was cold and distant, but Ser Emond genuinely cared and had been thinking about his future—mapping out a path to knighthood that would probably take more than a decade.
Without the panel, Gavin might have simply followed that road and been grateful for the chance.
The next morning, warm sunlight slipped through the shutters and brushed his face, gently waking him.
He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, washed quickly, and headed straight back to the Citadel.
Patients were waiting.
Qyburn had just finished a procedure.
He pulled off his mask and called out, “Gavin, when you’re done cleaning up, come see me in my study.” Gavin bowed.
“Yes, Maester.” Old fox is probing again.
Never ends.
He kept his face perfectly respectful.
Later he knocked on the study door.
“Come in.” Qyburn sat at his desk with several books in hand, a pleasant smile on his face but something sharper in his eyes.
“Gavin,” he said warmly, “I told you to study more theory.
These books aren’t normally given to acolytes, but you’re close to forging your links and I can see how serious you are about real medical research.
They cover deeper knowledge tied to the human body.
Take them.
Study them well.” He handed the books over.
“But keep them to yourself.
Return them when you’re finished.” Qyburn watched closely, still smiling.
Gavin took the books with both hands and nodded solemnly.
“Thank you, Maester.
I won’t betray your trust.
I’ll be discreet.” Qyburn nodded once and turned back to his papers.
Gavin clutched the books, bowed again, and slipped out quietly.
Back in his cell he fell on them like a starving man on fresh meat.
He spread the volumes across the table and devoured page after page.
Two of the books were detailed records of blood sorcerers’ explorations of the human body and their horrifying, evil blood magic.
There were also many later annotations and questions written in neat, insightful handwriting—almost certainly Qyburn’s, left as challenges for him to solve.
For three straight days Gavin shut himself away.
He forgot time, ignored the world outside, living on hard bread, dried fruit, and whatever sleep exhaustion forced on him.
On the third night, eyes bloodshot and burning, he finally leaned back with a mix of exhaustion and fierce excitement.
He had reached a working conclusion.
The books described several blood sorceries used for cursing enemies, repairing bodily functions, and even temporarily greatly enhancing physical strength.
Scattered notes on blood sorcerers themselves filled the margins.
But every working required one essential foundation: the unique bloodline of a true blood sorcerer.
Just like the Bloodfire Dragonborn bloodline he carried—the fusion of dragonlord and fire sorcerer heritage.
He remembered reading in the Belaerys family history that among the forty dragonlord houses of old Valyria, one of the high houses had mastered blood sorcery.
Their bloodline had preserved those special abilities across generations, passed through blood the same way the fire sorcerer gifts ran in House Belaerys.
Only this power was darker, more treacherous, more unpredictable.
Thinking back on what he’d read of Valyrian history, it was clear the high houses hadn’t relied on dragons alone.
They had held other supernatural powers for centuries.
That was how they kept the rest of the dragonlord families firmly in check.
Gavin closed the last book slowly, mind racing with new possibilities.
(Chapter 13 complete)