Pale gold hair and beard tangled together, caked with dust and blood.
Blue-violet eyes stared blankly at the boy.
The mouth hung open as if to speak, but nothing would ever come out again.
The son of the former Triarch of Volantis and his mother.
The boy recognized the head.
No.
The word screamed inside him.
Please don’t let it be Lancel.
Kinslaying was the blackest sin.
“What are you looking at, Ray?”
His brother’s voice came from behind.
Raymond whirled, his startled violet eyes meeting Lancel’s deep purple ones.
The silver-haired young man smiled at his brother.
He was lean and tall, no more than fifteen or sixteen, with fine silver curls cropped short.
His deep purple eyes were slightly narrowed, calm and restrained.
Even among the famously beautiful Valyrian nobility, his face stood out.
The violet silk tokar draped cool and easy on his frame, and a sculpted silver dragon arm-ring circled his bare bicep.
Everything about him spoke of distinction.
“Brother!” Raymond pointed at the head, his eyes wide with horror.
Lancel smiled and stroked his brother’s silver hair.
Then he looked toward the unsettled main courtyard, and the gaze that had been as mild as a Volantene spring turned cold.
“Amalric.
You’ve frightened my brother.”
“My apologies, young master.” The powerfully built man with the curled beard raised his long-hafted war axe, still dripping, and inclined his head toward Raymond.
The winged-dragon tattoo on his cheek gleamed in the sunlight.
“Master, this man infiltrated the estate and attempted to steal your property.
I have executed the thief in accordance with the laws of the Black Wall Codex of Volantis.”
He nudged the body with his boot, and the corpse, still bleeding from the neck, toppled over.
He gestured for the Unsullied house guards to drag it away.
“Lancel, this is kinslaying!”
The High Valyrian was shrill and riddled with errors.
The obese silver-haired man made no effort to hide his terror or his soaked trousers.
He jabbed a fat finger at Lancel and shouted, surrounded by Unsullied in full armor with spears leveled.
Though far more Unsullied and tattooed Silvercloak guards surrounded them in turn.
“And this one.” Amalric lifted his axe.
“By law, a Black Wall noble who leads armed men into another’s estate has declared war.”
Lancel patted Raymond’s head gently and motioned him back.
Then he turned his attention to the fat man.
“Who are you?”
“You.” The man nearly choked on his rage.
“Ah.
I remember now.” Lancel clapped his hands together.
“You’re little Corvino of House Bontaro.
Old Corvino the former Triarch’s youngest son.” He took a few steps forward and motioned for Amalric to lower his axe.
“I’ve just returned from the workshops at Verenthis Town.
I’m not yet clear on what’s happened.
So, Lord Corvino, perhaps you could explain why you’ve led armed men into my home?”
Corvino was already regretting letting his unreliable bastard half-brother talk him into this mess.
“Magister Lancel.” Seeing that Lancel had not immediately ordered his expulsion, Corvino dared to duck behind a sturdy Unsullied, peeking out with only his head.
“Forgive my offense.
I came only on behalf of House Bontaro to offer condolences to House Valezeth on the passing of Magister Cleorius, who has returned to the gods.
As for the soldiers.”
He swept his gaze across the courtyard, his own Unsullied guards, and the male and female slaves cowering in the corner.
His voice grew bolder.
“They are my slaves.
Volantene law permits a noble to bring slaves when paying a visit.” He slapped the Unsullied beside him.
The man did not flinch.
“They ensure my safety.
And the male slaves, I require them to carry my litter.
As for the female slaves.”
Before he could finish, Amalric’s axe came up again.
The towering warrior stared at Corvino in silence.
The words died in Corvino’s throat.
“The Valezeth estate holds no slaves.
Even the Unsullied beneath the banner of the Silver Laurel Dragon are contracted servants.” Lancel stepped forward and spread his arms.
“This house welcomes those who respect our traditions.” His eyes flicked to the bloodstains on the ground.
“But never those with hidden motives, and never thieves.
Lord Corvino, why are you truly here?” The young man’s High Valyrian rang through the courtyard.
“I.
I came to mourn.
Mourn Magister Cleorius.” Corvino’s voice trembled.
“And him?” Lancel tilted his head toward the bloodstain.
The Unsullied had already efficiently removed the corpse.
“If I recall correctly, that man was your.”
“Magister Lancel, please do not misunderstand.
That man shares some blood with me, but he was not a guest who accompanied me on this uninvited visit.
I am not familiar with him.” Corvino scrambled to distance himself.
One had to admire the Volantene noble’s talent for improvisation.
Lancel shook his head, weary.
“Then why did you accuse me of kinslaying?”
Under Lancel’s deep purple stare, Corvino felt deeply unwell.
This time he pulled his head entirely behind the Unsullied.
“Magister Lancel, forgive me.” He switched back to High Valyrian with its distinctive Volantene accent.
That was much easier on the ears.
“My High Valyrian is poor.
Perhaps my pronunciation was at fault.
You misheard.
I swear it by R’hllor, Lord of Light, and by the gods of Old Valyria.
I swear it on the honor of House Bontaro.”
Raymond, who had been watching the spectacle from behind his brother, curled his lip.
What honor?
he thought.
Master Vysar said old Corvino bought his Triarch’s seat by bribing senators and councilmen.
His family even went outside the Black Wall to throw coin at voters in the streets.
Just then, Raymond noticed a cluster of young men in the corner of the courtyard, whispering among themselves.
He glanced at his brother, then edged his way toward them.
“I see.” Lancel swept his gaze over Corvino’s retinue.
They all dropped their heads in fear.
He gestured for his own guards to stand down.
“Lord Corvino, please convey my thanks to House Bontaro for their condolences.”
“House Bontaro is deeply grieved by Magister Cleorius’s passing.” Relieved that Lancel was letting him go, Corvino forced a few tears to his eyes.
“As a token of my personal sorrow, I offer the ancient and noble House Valezeth the lands between the Little Lorne and the Ben Odule estate, along with two thousand tiger pelts, for the funeral rites.
Please accept them, Magister Lancel.
The house’s formal gifts will follow.”
“Thank you, Lord Corvino.” Lancel gave a slight bow and raised his hand, dismissing him.
Two Unsullied hurriedly lifted the now-legless Corvino and fled with the remaining slaves and soldiers, stumbling over themselves.
Lancel pressed a hand to his temple.
That fool Corvino could not possibly have been ignorant of the dead man’s identity.
His bastard half-brother.
And Lancel’s own half-brother, through their mother.
All of it the tangled legacy of Princess Senira.
Lancel had gathered in several of his mother’s illegitimate children, but a few still pricked at him like hidden thorns.
Fortunately, most of them had since returned to the gods.
All but one.
Alexios Bontaro.
The unlucky bastard Amalric had just beheaded.
That aging bastard had even attended the Great Council of 101 in Westeros.
Not that it mattered.
Princess Senira’s reputation was too foul.
Even if it hadn’t been, his birth meant he could never have sat that iron chair.
He could no longer speak, but Lancel knew exactly what he had come here so brazenly to steal.
“They think youth makes me easy prey.”
Lancel turned and walked back toward the fountain at the courtyard’s center.
Palm down, with barely a gesture, a single drop of silver-gleaming blood fell into the water.
It dissolved without a trace.
“It seems Mother’s entanglements are finally severed.” Lancel withdrew his hand and walked toward his brother and the laughing young men.
Amalric rested his axe on his shoulder and followed close.
“Amalric, where is Valar?” Lancel asked after his twin.
“Young master Valar has gone to the Silverblood Legion estate on the Orange Coast.
You assigned him a military training regimen under the Unsullied centurion Silver Scorpion.”
“Good.” Satisfied, Lancel approached his cheerful squires.
Lyn Valtaken, his black hair streaked with silver, had Raymond in his arms and was laughing about something.
His bronze arms were thick with muscle.
Young as he was, anyone with an eye could see he was a capable fighter.
Amos Faezel, his silver hair cropped short, leaned against a pillar with his arms crossed and a grin.
Ago, the Dothraki boy with his hair in braids, stood shirtless and silent against the wall.
The arakh at his hip gleamed cold, but his eyes held a deep warmth.
Sebastian Flamebane, with his striking, bright eyes, saw Lancel approaching and stepped aside with a slight bow.
That revealed the silver-haired young man leaning against the wall with a wicked smirk.
“Tigaro.
What did you prepare for little Corvino?” Lancel knew his companions too well.
One look and he fixed on the still-smirking Tigaro Dagarreon.
“Magister, he drank the wine I offered.” Tigaro straightened, his expression turning formal.
“Rest assured, I used nothing potent.
Only a mixture of forest scorpion venom and Lysene salt crystals.”
Lancel raised a hand to stop him.
“Just tell me how long he has.”
“If he abstains from wine and women.” Tigaro held up a number.
“A month or two, no issue.
If he cannot control himself, three days at most.
The more he drinks, the faster he goes.”
“Well done.”
“As you will.”
Lancel clapped Tigaro on the shoulder and walked with Amalric through the colonnade into the great hall.
Marble pillars surrounded a massive map table carved with House Valezeth’s trade routes.
The young squires followed with Raymond and took their places around Lancel.
Servants carried in copper urns packed with ice, and the room grew instantly more comfortable.
These young men were the pillars of Lancel’s hold on the house.
Lyn Valtaken was also a bastard of Princess Senira, but of the lowest birth.
Before Lancel took him in, he had not even known his parents.
He had survived collecting debts on the docks of Lys.
Amos Faezel and Sebastian Flamebane both came from a Lysene slave ship captured by the Valezeth fleet.
Lysene pirates had destroyed Sebastian’s hometown and taken him captive as a child.
Amos carried the beauty of Valyrian blood in his veins, which was why the slave ship’s captain had intended to sell him to a Lysene pleasure house.
Fortunately, that ship never reached the Lysene port.
Ago came from a small khalasar that had sworn fealty to House Valezeth.
Their khal died in the slaughter of the Great Grass Sea.
Another khal shattered their khalasar, until that not-so-mighty khalasar was in turn crushed by the Tiger Cloaks guarding Volantis’s frontier.
Tigaro Dagarreon also came from Lys, but unlike his companions, his father, Fisher Dagarreon, had once possessed immense wealth.
It all ended in the blood feuds of Lys.
Fisher died from a poisoned cup.
Tigaro was sold into slavery by the other great houses, until Lancel’s father freed him and took him in.
Doctor Vysar and the house’s chief steward, Vansen Caon, were already waiting by the map table.
“Magister, we have sold the northern estates as you instructed.” Vansen Caon bowed as Lancel approached, then spoke.
“All transactions in gold and silver.”
“Which houses purchased them?” Lancel looked at the black-bearded steward.
“Primarily Lord Hamar of House Cyrenica and Lord Doran of House Maegyr.” Vansen stepped closer and lowered his voice.
“Lord Doran offered twenty percent above the asking price, in hopes of inviting you to a banquet at the Maegyr Palace.”
“Understood.” Lancel seemed unsurprised.
Volantis, of all the Free Cities of Essos, held the closest ties to the Valyrian Freehold and had always maintained its republican traditions.
After the Doom, Volantis launched wars to rebuild the Valyrian empire.
In the chaos that later ages called the Century of Blood, Volantis was crushed.
The hawkish Tiger Party faded into disgrace.
To this day, of the three Triarchs in the Volantene Senate, two seats always belonged to the victorious Elephant Party.
House Valezeth backed the Elephants.
And Vagado of House Cyrenica was one of the current Elephant Triarchs.
As for House Maegyr, whose head, Belicio, held the lone Tiger seat among the Triarchs.
The reason needed no explanation.
“Did you accept Lord Doran’s offer?” Lancel tapped the table lightly.
“No.” Vansen shook his head.
“But Lord Doran has also expressed interest in purchasing the family’s mines.”
“The mines can wait.” Lancel turned to Doctor Vysar.
“Master Vysar, how goes the construction of the carracks at the shipyard?”
Doctor Vysar drew a parchment from his sleeve.
“The Weeping Boy and the Silent Lord have completed their sea trials.
The Cleorius and the Sea Dragon have just been launched.
I can assure you, these carracks can sail any sea.”
“Even the Smoking Sea of the Valyrian ruins?” Lancel said quietly.
“That.” Doctor Vysar faltered.
Lancel did not press.
He nodded and continued.
“Lord Caon, continue selling the lands, workshops, and estates as planned.
The mines last.”
His deep purple eyes shifted to the young squires.
“Ago, take Sebastian and Amos to the Silverblood Legion estate.
Tell Valar and the others to prepare.”
“Yes, blood of my blood.” Ago lowered his head.
The Dothraki boy stubbornly considered himself Lancel’s bloodrider, the sworn warrior and companion of a khal in the old traditions.
“Lyn, take Tigaro and handle the properties within Volantis.”
“As you will.” Lyn was already dragging Tigaro out before he finished speaking.
“Master Vysar.” Lancel turned to the old scholar.
“We can depart.”
“As you will.”
Beneath the Valezeth estate lay a vast artificial cavern.
Once it had stored the treasures and wines of earlier generations.
Now it was a great laboratory.
Lancel walked among grotesque statues and intricate symbols.
There were twisted manticores, wingless dragons like serpents without limbs, faceless men, and men covered in nothing but faces.
There were blazing flames and humanoid shapes inlaid with different gems.
Silver and crimson flowed through the complex symbols, converging at the laboratory’s heart.
A book bound in silver and red lay there, still, as if it had always been waiting for someone to open it.
Lancel pressed his lips together.
Under the watchful eyes of Vysar and Amalric, he opened the book.
To my firstborn son, Lancel Valezeth.
So the opening line read.