Mother wasn’t wrathful.
She was something much worse: disappointed.
“Tell me, what do your books say about dragons?”
Clad in her samite house robe, Rhaenyra Targaryen paced about her chambers, hands furiously working at the rings lining her fingers.
The silver bands glinted in the candlelight, catching the flames as she twisted them round and round.
She did that when she was upset; Jace knew.
He shrank into his seat, gaze drifting to his boots.
The supple leather was stained with splotches of soot and sand, a damning reminder of the morning’s chaos.
“That dragons are dangerous weapons of war that can cause untold death and destruction,” his sister mumbled into her chin.
The way she sat on her chair, curled up into a tight ball, made her seem years his junior.
Jace wanted to kick her.
Gods, she’s so stupid.
She never could pass up the opportunity to be a showoff.
“Yes, weapons.
Not toys you can use for your own amusement.”
“It’s all Luce’s fault,” he whined, the words tumbling out before he could stop them.
His twin snapped up immediately, that stupid determined crease appearing between her brows.
Her cheeks flushed a deep pink.
“No, it isn’t!”
“It is so!
You were the one who told Arrax to spit fire at the acolytes.”
“No, I didn’t.
I just told him to be free.” She turned to Mother, her eyes wide and pleading.
“He doesn’t like the chains.
I’ve told them a thousand times to keep him unchained.
He won’t hurt anyone; he’s just upset!”
He couldn’t stop himself from snorting.
The sound was ugly, derisive.
“It sure looked like that when he was flying around, spitting fire at everything.”
“Of course you would see that as a threat, you who can’t control Vermax to save your life!”
A lump caught in his throat, hot and suffocating.
“That’s not true.”
“It is so!
You don’t even know the right dragon commands to get him to heel.”
“You…”
“Enough, both of you, enough!” Mother’s raised voice startled him, and he immediately pulled back his raised hand.
He hadn’t even realized he’d been reaching for his sister.
He couldn’t recall a time when she’d screamed at them.
The sound echoed off the stone walls, sharp and unfamiliar.
“This incessant bickering must cease.
You two are family.
You’re meant to look out for each other, not be at each other’s throats.”
Luce chortled, her arms crossing over her chest.
“Tell that to Jace.
He’s always teasing me about everything.”
“I am not!”
“Are so!
You and Aegon can’t utter a single thing without it being hurtful.”
“Stop it!
I will hear no more of this.” In a blink of an eye, Mother had knelt in front of them, purple eyes wide.
She was gritting her teeth so hard that Jace was certain she would shatter them.
“This dreadful contest of slights ends here.
I raised you to be equals.
Allies, two halves of one whole.
And I will be damned to the seven hells if I allow you to turn each other into enemies.
We have enough of those as is.”
“Mother…” Luce whined, but Rhaenyra refused to give her leeway.
Her hand shot up, silencing the protest before it could fully form.
“No, enough.
I know you will not always get along or see eye to eye.
But out there, in the world, you will do your duty and protect one another.
Always.”
The pause that ensued made Jace shift in his seat.
The silence was heavy, pressing down on his shoulders.
“Now, make amends.”
His and his twin’s gazes met simultaneously.
He blew a breath, the air rushing from his lungs.
“I’m sorry for teasing you about the dancing.
It was stupid.
Just need a bit more practice, is all.”
The ensuing pause made him think she wouldn’t say anything at all, but she finally released a resigned grunt.
“I’m sorry for saying all those mean things about your dragon commands.
I’m sure that your additional lessons with Maester Orwyle will help you improve.”
Unprompted, Luce seized his hand in hers.
Jace pondered the cold grip of her fingers but decided to return the squeeze.
He hated when she did that.
It made it obscenely difficult to be mad at her.
Releasing a slow, controlled sigh, his mother adjusted her robes and nodded.
The silk rustled softly.
“Good.
Now, Lucera, you shall go find Septa Melara.
In place of training in the Dragonpit, you will be having more needlework lessons with her for the next two weeks.”
Luce kept up in her chair, her eyes going wide with horror.
“What?
No, please don’t!
I hate needlework.”
“Then you should have considered that before you almost set the entire pit aflame.”
“Mother, please!”
Rhaenyra shook her head, strands of silver hair falling into her eyes.
“No, you know the rules.
Actions have consequences.
And if you perform an action…”
“You must bear the consequence,” his twin finished, her voice small and defeated.
“Good.
Now go.
And don’t think of getting yourself into more trouble, do you understand?”
Luce huffed, her bushy brows crinkling into a sullen frown.
Nevertheless, she rushed into their mother’s outstretched arms, burying her head into her curls.
Rhaenyra squeezed her briefly before planting a brief kiss on her lips.
Once they pulled apart, his sister reluctantly drew closer for a stilted embrace.
Jace begrudgingly accepted and resisted grimacing when she kissed him too.
Not a moment later, a guard entered the chamber to escort her to the Septa for her punishment.
Jace sat in his chair, legs swinging.
A strange bitterness lingered in his mouth, and he got an indescribable urge to hit something with his practice sword.
The urge was familiar, a constant companion these days.
His mother noticed his displeasure and plopped in the chair beside him.
The cushions sighed under her weight.
“What is it, my love?” Her slender fingers went for his hair and brushed his fringe to the side.
The touch was gentle, soothing.
He shrugged, his shoulders bunching up to his ears.
“You know, there are two things you could never do well—sing and lie to your mother.”
“You’re wrong.
There is another thing I can’t do well.
Control my dragon.”
The moment those words left his lips, his mother leaned closer.
Her eyes searched his face, reading the shame written there.
“Jace…”
“She’s right.
I can’t control Vermax.
I can’t even read the Valyrian commands, much less say them.”
His mother swallowed, her throat bobbing.
“Maester Orwyle has assured me that your condition is inconsequential.
It will just take a bit more effort on your part to learn reading and writing.”
The bitterness in his throat flooded his mouth, and he resisted the urge to spit.
He hated that stupid word: condition.
It made him seem like some halfwit who couldn’t tell one letter apart from the other.
“No, that’s stupid,” he hissed.
“I shouldn’t have to try.
It should just happen.
If I’m the blood of the dragon, then Vermax should just bow to me and do what I say, the way Sunfyre does with Aegon.”
The mention of his uncle’s name made his mother purse her lips.
Her jaw tightened almost imperceptibly.
“You are the blood of the dragon.
And Aegon shouldn’t dare to tell you otherwise.”
The candlelight made her purple irises flicker with specks of molten cobalt, and Jace shifted in his seat.
He didn’t understand why she’d gotten so angry at Aegon of all people, but he brushed it off.
“He didn’t tell me that.
But I know it to be true.
Every time I try to do the commands to direct Vermax, I embarrass myself.
Even Aemond laughs at me.”
That was the thing that hurt him the most.
The smug, satisfied laugh Aemond had let out after Luce had left.
He knew his half-uncle was mocking him.
He is the dragonless runt of their family.
It was pathetic.
His mother’s soft hands gripped his, warm and steady.
“Do you know what dragon your grandsire rode?”
“Balerion, the Black Dread.” He fired off with enthusiasm.
He didn’t care much for history, but this he took care to remember.
It was a point of pride.
“Yes, the largest and most fearsome dragon in the world.
And the only thing he was able to make him do was fly one lap around the Red Keep before Balerion collapsed in the courtyard and fell asleep.”
The laugh they shared made warmth blossom in his chest.
The tension in his shoulders eased slightly.
“Balerion died shortly after,” she continued, her voice soft.
“And your grandsire never claimed another dragon.
But that did not make him less worthy.
In fact, he was able to govern the realm peaceably with nothing but his wits for years.”
“Well, he did have help.”
Again, her lips stretched into a radiant smile.
“That he did.
But the point still stands.
He did things his own way.
At his own pace.
And made them work.
So shall you.” The hand that had so gently brushed his hair aside caressed his cheek.
“Mayhaps you will never be able to recite Valyrian poetry from memory.
But, in time, you will learn the commands well enough to command Vermax, just as your forebears did.
You are a Targaryen, now and always.
And a dragon is your birthright.”
Jace sank his teeth into his lower lip, the sullenness abating.
His mother was right.
He was the blood of the dragon.
The son of the future queen, the descendant of Old Valyria.
He would get it right eventually.
He just needed a bit more time.
Inching closer, he buried his face into his mother’s silver curls.
Rhaenyra squeezed him tighter, her warm skin like the caress of Vermax’s scales.
The scent of her perfume enveloped him, familiar and safe.
“You keep yourself out of trouble, you hear?” she chided, breaking apart to seize his chin in her hands.
The cobalt flecks were still in her eyes, the darkness making the lilac irises appear foreboding.
Jace decided he didn’t like it.
“I mean it, Jacaerys.
I know Lucera didn’t decide on that stunt on her own.” A pause followed—heavy and poignant.
“Teasing her will not make you better or more powerful.
Or make Aegon like you more.”
Again, the forceful way she said his uncle’s name made Jace squirm.
It almost sounded like an insult.
“I didn’t tease her because Aegon told me…”
“No, but he did make you want to say it.” She paused, hands needling his shoulders.
“He’s a terrible influence.
And you shouldn’t let him corrupt you into being more like him.”
Jace shook off her grip, cheeks flushing.
“He didn’t corrupt me.
I’m my own man.”
“Yes, is that why the trouble you’ve been getting yourself in lately has his name written all over it?”
His mouth fell open, ready to let out a torrent of arguments denying her point.
But no sound came out.
*We were just having fun.*
Jace had been unsure the first time Aegon had invited him to play.
He and his retinue of Florent lordlings had always taken care to exclude him from their adventures.
“He’s just a boy,” Edric Florent would sneer whenever they’d spot him in the yard.
“Why would we want a sniveling babe trailing after us?”
Jace yearned to grab his practice sword and show him who the babe was, but Ser Harwin would pull him away.
The boys were field mice, the knight reasoned.
“As Prince, you need not waste your strength on them.”
Though Jace appreciated his reassurance, their callous words had stung.
It wasn’t fair that Aegon had all these playmates, and Jace had to settle for his sister.
He wanted to have adventures too.
So when Edric Florent disappeared with his mother and cousins back to the Reach, and Aegon turned to him for company, he leapt at the chance.
His plots weren’t always to his liking.
He didn’t see the point in stealing the garments of serving girls.
But his uncle had assured him it was all harmless fun.
And he too couldn’t deny he had had fun, more often than not.
“I know you have few friends at court.
And that is entirely mine own doing.” Rhaenyra released a labored sigh.
For the thousandth time, Jace wondered if his mother could read thoughts—she always seemed to discern exactly what was troubling him.
“But that doesn’t mean you should allow Aegon to turn you into his plaything as payment for his companionship.
You’re the heir to the throne.
He should be attempting to impress you, not the other way around.”
“Yes, Mother,” Jace reluctantly conceded, though the words left a bitter taste on his lips.
He was nobody’s puppet.
In fact, some of their adventures had been Jace’s own idea.
Nevertheless, it would not do him good to admit so.
His mother seemed pleased with that answer.
“Good.” Rhaenyra pressed her forehead to his.
The scent of her floral perfume engulfed him like a cloud—it reminded him of spring and blooming daisies.
Of peace and safety.
“Now do not fret, my love.
Everything will come into place, you’ll see.”
Mussing her hair, her downturned lips curled into a smile.
The warmth did not reach her eyes, though.
The lilac remained cold and distant.
Full of dread.
“As long as I live, you will have everything.”
Maester Orwyle didn’t help at all.
Though the kindly man tried to be patient and understanding, their lesson didn’t progress beyond the first paragraph of the history of Aegon’s Conquest.
Half an hour in, and Jace was ready to scream and fling that cursed book through the keep window.
The letters swam before his eyes, refusing to form words, refusing to make sense.
Wisely, the Maester recognized how his mood had soured and dismissed him early.
Unable to bear the thought of facing his mother, he languished in the library, pretending to read, while Ser Steffon stood watch outside.
The silence of the hall was oppressive, broken only by the crackle of the hearth and the distant drip of water somewhere in the walls.
He was so focused on the letters blurring and morphing on the page that he barely registered the figure that had dropped into the seat beside him.
“Aegon’s Conquest?
Why are you bothering with that old bore,” Aegon commented.
Dragging a chair out, he plopped himself into it, legs going up on the table.
His boots were scuffed, the leather worn.
“We’ve already gone through it weeks ago.”
“The Maester insisted.”
Aegon pursed his pouty lips and pushed a lock of silver hair out of his eyes.
As always, the doublet he wore was a vibrant viper green embroidered with patchwork that evoked tower bricks.
The crinkles around his eyes told Jace he was especially displeased about something today.
“Of course he did.
Orwyle always liked to repeat himself to the point of redundancy.”
Jace squinted.
Redundancy.
What does that mean?”
“It’s redundancy,” Aegon smirked.
“When something becomes useless.”
“Oh.
Never heard of it.”
A laugh burst from his lips, and he leaned back into his chair.
Somehow, even sprawled out like that, Jace felt like he was towering over him.
“No?
I see Maester Orwyle would do better to give you a dictionary of common words, rather than history.”
“Shut up!” Jace balled his fists.
“What are you doing here anyway?
The library is the last place you’d haunt.”
“I could say the same of you.” His uncle held his gaze but released a long sigh a moment later.
“My mother had wanted me to read from the Seven-Pointed Star with Tyshara Lannister this afternoon.
I would rather shove Dornish vipers down my trousers.”
“Tyshara Lannister?” he giggled.
“Is she the one who chortles when she laughs?”
Jace vaguely remembered seeing her among the retinue Lord Jason had brought when he had come to visit his twin brother from the West.
Short and pudgy with golden rivulets that fell down her back, she’d worn a pale yellowish dress that reminded Jace of the color of spoiled milk.
“That one.
Though I’d say it’s more of an oink than a chortle.” He bit his lip.
“The Lannisters should change their house sigil from a lion to a pig.
They got the cry down to a fault.”
Against his better judgment, Jace burst out laughing.
The sound echoed off the stone walls, too loud in the quiet space.
“No, I simply could not endure it.
I wanted to pursue something more interesting.”
His dark, indigo eyes pinned him, and Jace swallowed a lump down his throat.
He knew that look—he knew it all too well.
“I can’t,” he fired off, burying his face into the book page.
“Mother has commanded me to spend the next few days reading with Maester Orwyle.
As punishment.”
The words were a bold-faced lie, but he wasn’t about to repeat what his mother had actually told him about Aegon.
His uncle was terribly displeased.
“Gods.
She does realize that the pit thing wasn’t your fault?”
“Yes.”
“It was your sister’s.
If she hadn’t goaded her dragon into misbehaving, that mess would not have happened.”
“She knows that too.
And she’s already punished Luce for it.
But, she thought that…”
“You should bear the consequences of her actions as well,” Aegon finished, voice dropping low.
“It seems both our mothers like to place blame on others for all the ill in their lives.”
His gaze went blank then, and he absentmindedly stared at one of the writing desks in the corner of the hall.
Jace thought he might get up and leave, but instead, he released a labored sigh, expelling the thought that was weighing him down.
“Well, if Lucera insisted on spoiling the fun for everyone, the least she could have done is command Arrax to burn Aemond.”
The darkness vanished from his face in a flash, and his lips curled into a cocksure smile once again.
Jace reluctantly followed suit.
“Gods… did you know the idiot spent half the day laughing after?”
Jace squirmed in his chair, heat attacking his cheeks.
The memory of Aemond’s smug face burned in his mind.
“What does he have to laugh about?
He doesn’t even have a dragon.
He has no idea what it’s like.”
Aegon tsked, drumming his slender fingers against the table.
“Exactly.
But he’s a self-serious twat who thinks being on time, reading books, and listening to Mother makes him better than everyone.”
A pause ensued, as Aegon ground his teeth.
The sound was harsh, grating.
“Strength comes from dragons, not from following rules.
He should be reminded of that.”
Dread pooled in the pit of Jace’s gut.
Aegon’s face had twisted into a hollow, serious mask, his eyes emptying of all feeling.
“What do you mean?” he dared to ask.
With a blink, he snapped back to life and shrugged his shoulders.
The casualness of the gesture was almost more unnerving than the intensity that had preceded it.
“Nothing.
Just that he could do with a lesson about strength and power.
Something to remind him of his place.
What do you say?”
Jace realized then what he was asking, and he began turning the buttons on his red doublet.
The metal was cold against his fingers.
“I can’t.
I promised my mother…”
“Gods, you sound just like him.
Always clinging to her mother’s skirts, doing everything she says.
Like a mewling child,” Aegon spat, his lip curling with disdain.
The dread in his gut dispersed, replaced by a hot flush of anger.
Jace straightened his back, his chin lifting.
“I’m not a child!
I’m a man grown.”
“Then prove it.”
The two locked eyes in a battle of wills, and Jace was about ready to leap out of his chair to run for his practice sword.
Still, a nagging voice at the back of his mind whispered incessantly, and he remained frozen.
“Fine, but… no one will get hurt, will they?”
He despised the girlish lilt in his voice—one pitch higher and he would have been his sister.
The words tasted like cowardice on his tongue.
Aegon scoffed and leaned back into the chair, stretching his arms behind his head.
“No, of course not.
It will just be a little jest.
Harmless fun.
As always.”
The words lingered in his head, and he turned them over for a bit.
A jest.
A simple little joke to bring Aemond down to earth.
It was what he deserved.
*He won’t dare laugh at me again after that.*
A smile crept on Jacaerys’s lips, and he nodded.