Aeron had just returned to the wooden shack when he heard the sound of hooves.
It was not the hurried, arrogant clatter of Daeron, but something lighter and steadier.
He pushed open the door and saw Rhaenys’s handmaiden, Alys, riding a gentle mare, approaching from the other side of the rocky beach.
“Young Master Aeron.”
Alys dismounted and handed over a linen bundle.
She was in her forties, having served by Rhaenys’s side for twenty years.
Her face was always expressionless, but there was an indescribable complexity in her eyes.
“The Lady asked me to deliver this,” she said.
“She says…
at sunrise tomorrow, there will be a fleet at Ghost-Tooth Rock.
Please, under no circumstances, should you go near it.”
Aeron took the bundle and weighed it in his hand.
It clinked with the sound of silver coins, along with something hard.
He opened it and saw the red dragon scale amulet—a scale from Meleys’s youth, polished smooth and strung on a thin silver chain.
There was also a small note.
He unfolded it to see elegant cursive writing:
“Salt crystals must be dissolved from within.
In the tidal pools on the west side of Ghost-Tooth Rock, there are blue-spotted starfish at low tide; their marrow fluid can dissolve salt crystals.
However, they must be harvested on a full moon night, as the starfish float to the surface when the moonlight is bright.”
“If it cannot be done, there are supplies in an underwater cave on the island of ‘Seagulls Nest,’ thirty nautical miles north of Driftmark.
Meleys recognizes this scale.”
Aeron gripped the note tightly and looked up at the sky.
Dusk was approaching, and the outline of the moon was already faintly visible on the eastern horizon.
Today was the fifteenth—a full moon.
“Tell the Lady,” he said, “I will be careful.”
But he did not say he wouldn’t go.
Alys looked at him, wanting to say something but stopping herself.
Finally, she just nodded, turned, mounted her horse, and left.
The sound of hooves faded into the distance, disappearing past the rocky beach.
Aeron returned to the shack and emptied the contents of the bundle.
Fifty gold dragons—a huge sum, enough to buy a small fishing boat and six months of food.
There was also that dragon scale amulet, glowing with a dark red luster in the dim light.
He burned the note and scattered the ashes into the brazier.
Then, he reached into a hidden compartment under the bed frame and pulled out a roll of rough parchment.
It was not a book, but things he had recorded intermittently over the years—fragmented memories that occasionally flashed in his dreams, and he forced himself to write down snippets after waking up.
It was messy and disjointed, but he had to record it.
This was the only clue he could grasp.
He turned to the most recent page:
“Dreamt of a dragon again.
Gray-brown, flying low over the sea, something wrong with its wings.
A voice said,’Salt will be the death of him’…
What does that mean?”
The date was half a month ago.
He flipped further back:
“Dreamt of riding a dragon, but the dragon wasn’t red; it was mud-brown.
Someone below was shouting, ‘Sheepstealer!’…
A dragon that steals sheep?”
The date was three months ago.
These fragments were chaotic and disjointed, but they pointed in the same direction: there was a dragon that needed him, and he could save it.
Aeron closed the parchment roll and walked to the window.
The sky had darkened, and the sea breeze had grown stronger, carrying the salty tang of an approaching storm.
To the northwest, the outline of Ghost-Tooth Rock was blurred in the twilight.
But he knew, there was a dragon waiting for him there.
A dragon, just like him, trapped in wounds and salt crystals.
“Full moon night…” he murmured to himself.
Blue-spotted starfish only float to the surface on full moon nights; the brighter the moonlight, the more active they are.
To harvest enough marrow fluid, he had to go tonight.
He prepared quickly: more bandages, more herbs, and a sharp fishing knife.
Then he hid the gold dragons and the dragon scale amulet, taking only a few silver stags for backup.
Just as he was about to leave, he stopped.
He looked back at the wooden shack—the place where he had lived for seven years.
Broken boards, drafty walls, and straw mats that were always damp.
And the seven thin sheep outside the window, huddling together, looking at him in fear.
He remembered Daeron’s words: “Three days from now, either bring forty silver stags or lose a finger.”
And Corlys’s fleet: “Departing at sunrise tomorrow.”
There was not much time left.
Aeron took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The sea breeze hit him, carrying heavy moisture.
The moon in the east had already risen, big and round, casting silver-white light upon the sea, like a layer of scattered silver.
He walked toward Ghost-Tooth Rock.
High Tide, the Dragon Platform.
Rhaenys did not return to her room.
She climbed to the highest dragon platform at High Tide—a platform prepared for when Meleys visited.
Although The Red Queen spent most of her time at Dragonstone, she would occasionally fly to Driftmark to visit her owner.
At this moment, the platform was empty, with only the sea breeze howling.
Rhaenys took another red dragon scale from her bosom—a pair with the one given to Aeron, both selected from scales shed during Meleys’s youth.
She gripped the dragon scale tightly, its edge piercing her palm, a slight pain.
“My Lady.”
Alys’s voice came from behind.
She had returned.
“Was it delivered?” Rhaenys did not turn around.
“It was,” Alys walked to her side and said softly.
“Young Master Aeron said…
he will be careful.”
Rhaenys smiled bitterly.
“But he didn’t say he wouldn’t go, did he?”
Alys was silent.
The two stood side by side on the dragon platform, looking out at the northwestern sea.
The full moon illuminated the sea in silver-white, and the black outline of Ghost-Tooth Rock was clearly visible in the moonlight.
“Am I very cowardly?” Rhaenys suddenly asked.
Alys turned to look at her.
“Seventeen years,” Rhaenys’s voice was very soft, broken by the sea breeze.
“I gave birth to him, yet I dare not acknowledge him.
I watched him grow up, yet I can only sneak him things.
Now that he is in danger, I still dare not stand up…”
“The Lady has her reasons,” Alys said.
“Reasons?” Rhaenys shook her head.
“They are all excuses.
I fear losing Corlys’s support, I fear House Velaryon turning against me, I fear the scandals of House Targaryen…
I fear everything, except hurting his heart.”
She closed her eyes, tears sliding down.
“When his father died, I received the news at Dragonstone.
Otto Hightower sent men to do it because Aeron supported my claim to the throne.
I didn’t even dare to avenge him; I could only pretend I knew nothing, marry Corlys, and continue being my ‘Queen Who Never Was’…”
“My Lady—”
“Alys.” Rhaenys opened her eyes, the moonlight reflecting in her deep purple eyes.
“If tomorrow…
if Corlys’s men hurt Aeron, I will ride Meleys to save him.
This time, I will not back down.”
Alys’s expression changed: “My Lady!
If you do that—”
“If that happens, everyone will know he is my son,” Rhaenys interrupted.
“I know.
But some things are more important than the throne, than the family, than reputation.”
She gripped the dragon scale and turned to leave the dragon platform.
The sea breeze whipped her robe, making it snap loudly, and her silver hair flowed like liquid silver in the moonlight.