Words are wind.
Some words run faster than wind itself.
Normally, a message from Volantis to Westeros took half a year, sometimes a lifetime.
But the emergence of a new dragonlord family was not a normal thing.
Through Prince Reggio of Pentos, the news crossed the continent at speed.
Ravens flew high over the Narrow Sea, carrying the prince’s own hand to the stone fortress perched on its smoking island.
Dragonstone.
“Arm straight.
Like this.” Prince Daemon tapped the boy’s elbow with a wooden sword.
The boy locked his arm at once.
His blade punched clean through the target.
Jacaerys Velaryon was broad-shouldered and handsome, with thick brown hair, a flat nose, and brown eyes that did nothing to dull his looks.
He had once agonized over lacking the silver hair and violet eyes of Old Valyria.
Now he accepted his different face without trouble.
What troubled him more was what to call the man training him.
Daemon Targaryen.
His stepfather.
His great-uncle.
His future good-father.
The castle maester came hurrying out of the ravenry, a letter in his hand.
He gave it to Daemon just as the next drill was about to begin.
Jacaerys watched his stepfather’s face change.
He had never seen that expression before.
“Jace, keep drilling.” Daemon dropped his wooden sword and pulled the maester aside.
“Are you certain this is true?” Daemon’s voice went cold.
The maester nodded.
“Prince Reggio’s own hand.”
“This is troublesome.” Daemon clasped his hands behind his back and thought.
“Do not tell Rhaenyra yet.
Wait until she wakes.
Send this to King’s Landing at once.
Directly to the king.”
“Yes, my prince.”
A shriek rose from the Dragonmont moments later.
Caraxes, the Blood Wyrm, long and serpentine and blood-red, shot into the sky and streaked toward Driftmark.
In the castle bedchamber, Rhaenyra slept soundly.
She was near her time and needed rest.
She did not notice her husband leaving on dragonback.
“Daemon, what are you doing here?”
Princess Rhaenys, the dark-haired older princess, stood in light armor beside her dragon on the hill above High Tide.
Meleys, the Red Queen, had scarlet scales and bright copper horns and claws.
Rhaenys watched Daemon descend.
She was the daughter of Aemon Targaryen, Jaehaerys I’s firstborn son, and Jocelyn Baratheon.
After Aemon and Baelon the Spring Prince both died, the heirless Old King called a Great Council.
The lords would choose their next king.
As the king’s eldest granddaughter, Rhaenys had a powerful dragon and the full backing of her husband, Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake.
She still lost.
The succession passed to Viserys I.
“Something has happened, Rhaenys.” Daemon climbed down the rope ladder.
Caraxes glanced at the Red Queen, then lowered his head to watch his rider.
Rhaenys slid from her saddle.
“What could make you look like that?”
Daemon drew a breath.
“Another family has tamed Vermithor and Silverwing.”
“What?”
Rhaenys stumbled a step.
She stared at him.
“Are you certain?”
“I am.” Daemon had gone still.
“We saw Vermithor and Silverwing leave the Dragonmont.
I flew after them once.
They were only hunting whales over the Narrow Sea, so I did not follow.
I never imagined…”
“So you came to sortie with me?” Rhaenys studied him.
“Can you guarantee the two of us can kill our grandparents’ dragons?”
“I came to talk, Rhaenys.”
Daemon stepped closer.
Meleys thrust her huge head forward at once and blew a hot breath.
Caraxes stretched his neck and hissed back at her.
“If Grandfather still ruled…
no, if your father and mine were still alive.” Rhaenys spoke slowly.
“If an outsider hatched a dragon, he would mount Vermithor at once and kill the man and his hatchling.
But things are different now.”
Daemon picked up her thread.
“Back then, House Targaryen could field Vermithor, Silverwing, Vhagar, Caraxes, and Meleys.
And now?”
“Only you and me.” Rhaenys sighed.
“Rhaenyra is pregnant.
She cannot ride to war.
Her sons’ dragons are too small.
I doubt they could even cross the Narrow Sea.
And Vhagar…” She gave a cold snort but went on.
“Its rider just crawled out of a sickbed.
I worry he will fall off the beast.”
She caught Daemon’s expression.
“You know who tamed them.”
Daemon nodded.
“Of course.” He produced a silver badge, engraved with a dragon and a laurel wreath.
“Princess Senira’s son.
Her trueborn son.
Lancel Valezeth and his twin brother, Valar Valezeth.”
“Aunt Senira married?”
Daemon nodded.
“She made me keep it from you.
Well, Laena knew.” He lowered his head, awkward.
“So what is your plan?”
“This cannot be hidden.” Daemon cupped his chin.
“I told the maester to inform the king directly.
Let my indecisive brother make the final decision.”
Rhaenys shot him a look.
“Speak plainly.”
“Fine, fine.” Daemon raised both hands.
“You win.”
“House Valezeth is a dragonlord house.
You know that as well as I do,” he said.
Rhaenys nodded.
She had read the family histories.
She knew the Forty Dragonlords.
“With House Targaryen holding a monopoly on dragon eggs now, even the dragonlord bloodlines behind the Black Walls cannot touch an egg or a riderless dragon.” Daemon went on.
“So those brothers taming adult dragons cannot be simple.”
“The Valyrian ruins?” Rhaenys caught on at once.
“Impossible.”
“All things are possible.” Daemon shrugged.
“Whatever the king decides in the end, we will be the ones who deal with them.”
Rhaenys agreed.
To answer dragonriders, you needed dragonriders.
“We do not know what they have gained.” Daemon lifted a hand.
“We cannot risk losing battle-ready dragons.
We must handle this carefully.”
“You want to win them over?” Rhaenys decided to wake her cousin up.
“Do you think a new dragonlord house will willingly bend the knee to another?”
Daemon smiled.
Aboard the Silent Lord, the boys stared.
They stared at Raymond.
At the shattered dragon egg in front of him.
At the hatchling the size of a cat, black as coal, shrieking its head off.
“Can someone explain what just happened?”
Lancel looked at his youngest brother in shock.
High above, Vermithor and Silverwing dipped their heads to watch the little dragon.
Without warning, the hatchling leaped and burrowed into Raymond’s clothes.
Raymond’s face went red.
His words came out a mess.
“I don’t know what happened.
On the way back, the black egg just started glowing.
And then this, and that, and then crack, it split open.
And then this.”
He fumbled the hatchling out of his shirt.
The dragon, still slick, licked his face with hot, sticky saliva.
“Congratulations, Raymond.” Lancel covered his face.
“You have your own dragon now.”
“Give him a name, little brother.” Valar crowded in, eager to see the hatchling.
The dragon blew a neat puff of smoke in his face.
“A name…”
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