Three riders came to the Water Gardens in the black hour before dawn, when the tiled pools reflected the stars and every child under Prince Doran's roof ought to have been asleep. The gate captain challenged them twice. The first rider gave his name and showed the sun and spear beneath his cloak. The second was a poleboat woman from the Greenblood, her face wrapped in green linen. The man between them gave no answer at all. He sagged over the pommel, one boot hanging loose from the stirrup. Something small moved beneath his patched sailcloth cloak.
Oberyn was halfway across the moonlit court before the bars had been lifted. He had come from bed in a red silk robe and soft boots, with a dagger naked in his hand. Loose black hair swept his lean face as he turned towards the gate; his dark eyes searched the riders as the bars came free. Doran followed more slowly, leaning upon Areo Hotah's arm. His loose sand-coloured night robe trailed over the damp tiles. Mellario came behind him with a lamp and Arianne wrapped in a blue coverlet at her side.
"Clear the galleries," Doran told the captain. "Say we have a sick man here."
A washerwoman had appeared above them. Two kitchen boys peered through an arch with flour on their forearms. Areo did not shout. He merely looked up, his scarred face lifted above the broad shoulders, and rested one hand upon the long axe across his back. Doors closed one by one. The wounded rider tried to dismount.
"Joss," Oberyn said. "Wait."
The man's right leg found the ground. His left folded beneath him. Oberyn caught his shoulders, and the sailcloth bundle between them cried out. A child's dark head emerged first. One narrow lock above her temple shone gold-silver in Mellario's lamplight. Her skin had Elia's warm olive cast, her eyes the deep honey-gold of old Rhoynish tales. Rhaegar lived in the fineness of her brow and the straight little nose. Elia lived everywhere else. Four scratches marked the back of her hand. Then a black kitten forced its head through the cloak and hissed at Oberyn.
For a moment he could smell Elia's orange-blossom oil and hear her laughing beside this very pool, holding up a grave-eyed babe while he swore no child of hers would remain solemn after meeting him.
"Rhaenys," he breathed, so softly only the child could have heard. The girl shrank against Joss.
Doran reached them. "Inside, Oberyn. Quickly."
"She is alive."
"And I mean to keep her so."
Joss's face had gone grey beneath the road dust. "My prince, I brought her home."
"You did," Doran said. "Now let us keep you here as well."
They carried him to the blue chamber off Mellario's private court and laid him on the bed. The room smelled of limewashed walls, cedar chests and the rosemary Maester Caleotte cast into the brazier. Joss would not release the child until Oberyn put his dagger away and swore she could sit where he could see her.
"He stays where I can see him," Rhaenys said. "No one carries him away while I sleep." Her voice was hoarse, the voice of a child who had cried too long and afterwards learned not to.
"He stays," Oberyn said.
"Here." She pointed to the bed, refusing to loosen her arms.
Doran drew the quilt back himself. "Here. You can sit beside him while Caleotte works."
Only then did her arms loosen. Mellario took her with the sailcloth still wrapped around her shoulders. Rhaenys went rigid but did not struggle. The kitten climbed onto Mellario's sleeve, buried its claws in the purple silk and clung there.
"Mind those claws," Mellario murmured, easing the silk out of his grip.
"He does not like you."
"Then I shall have to bribe him. Does he take fish?"
That answer pleased the child enough to let Mellario carry her to the bed. Caleotte cut Joss's doublet from hip to ribs. A knife wound had closed around broken black stitches. Pus rimmed the lower edge, and red lines ran into the groin. Joss gripped the bed rail while the maester washed it with cooled, boiled wine. His knuckles whitened.
"Who stitched this?" Caleotte asked. "Those threads should have come out days ago."
"A sailor. There was no one else." Joss caught the maester's sleeve. "Let me tell them first. Before you open it."
Caleotte freed his sleeve and offered him a strip of leather to bite. Joss shook his head.
"Tell us while he works," Doran said. "Stop when you need to."
Rhaenys drew the sailcloth over her head. Mellario sat beside her and kept one arm around the hidden shape. "Must it be now?"
"Men will already be hunting the road they used," Doran said. "Before sunrise I must know which road that was."
Oberyn wanted to tell him to wait. He saw the blood gathering beneath Caleotte's knife and said, "Tell us, Joss. Leave out what a child should not hear."
"She was there." Joss stared at the rafters. "Princess Elia heard the outer gate break. She had one hand on Prince Aegon's cradle and the other on Rhaenys. A boy came through the panel behind the painted wardrobe. Brown hood, bare feet, no badge. He said the lions were inside the walls. He knew a stair beneath Maegor's Holdfast."
"One of Varys's birds," Oberyn said.
"Did he give you a name?" Doran asked.
"No. He knew which wall opened and which gate still had men taking coin." Caleotte touched the wound. Joss took the leather then, and they waited until he could speak again.
"Elia put the princess in my arms," he continued when he could breathe. "She ordered me down the stair. I asked about the little prince. The boy said the cart could hide only one child. I had no time to see whether he spoke true. She would not leave Aegon." The sailcloth trembled.
"And you left Elia?" Oberyn asked.
"She ordered me to go." Joss's voice failed. He swallowed and tried again. "I went back three steps. She told me to take Rhaenys and run."
Oberyn's hand closed around the table edge. Mellario spoke from the bed. "He crossed a burning city with her beneath his cloak. Hate the men who put the choice before him."
"How did you get through the gate?" Doran asked.
"The boy gave me a fishwife's shawl and told me which cart. A purse was sewn inside Princess Elia's belt. Gold opened the Mud Gate and bought a place on a wine cog. After that it bought less each day."
"Which cog? Who was her master?"
"Sweet Ceryse. She flew Arbor colours, but the men spoke like Dornishmen. The master called himself Collo. I doubt it was his name."
From beneath the sailcloth came Rhaenys's muffled voice. "Balerion scratched him."
"Did he?" Oberyn leaned towards the bed. "Show me."
A little hand appeared. Thumb and forefinger were held the width of a barley grain apart. "This much."
"Then he will bear that dreadful scar with honour," Oberyn said, matching the solemn measure between her fingers.
The cloth lowered enough to reveal her eyes. Joss told them of wine jars emptied and restacked to hide a man and child, of two nights without lanterns in the Stepstones, of the sailor who reached beneath Rhaenys's hood and the knife that followed. They changed ships in the Stepstones. Their new captain had meant to sail east, but a squall forced him to seek shelter on the Dornish coast. At Planky Town the Greenblood woman claimed Joss as a fevered brother and Rhaenys as her sister's orphan. Three watchmen believed the dull tale and did not look beneath the hood.
"And the body in King's Landing?" Doran asked.
Joss shook his head. "I saw no other girl. The boy knew a cart would wait. He may have known more."
"A child died in Rhaenys's bed," Mellario said. "Someone put her there."
Rhaenys came out from beneath the cloth. "Where is her mama?"
"We do not know," Doran said.
"She will look for her."
Oberyn looked away. Caleotte drew out the last rotten thread and dropped it into a copper bowl. Doran watched the child tuck her scratched hand back beneath the sailcloth. "We will try to find her," he said.
When the wound had been cleaned and packed with honeyed linen, Joss fainted. Rhaenys climbed off the bed and stood beside him until she had seen his chest rise ten times. Mellario washed the salt from her face with warm water. Ysilla brought a saffron-yellow shift of Arianne's and pinned it at the shoulders. Balerion received the belly of a mullet upon a silver plate and dragged it beneath the bed, snarling at anyone who came near.
Rhaenys refused hot milk until Arianne drank from the cup first. "There," Arianne said, leaving a white moustache on her upper lip. Milk shone upon her round chin, and one thick black ringlet had fallen against the cup. She pushed it back before offering the milk again. "See? I drank it."
"You only had a little," Rhaenys said.
Arianne took another swallow. "There."
"Leave some for her," Oberyn said.
Mellario gave him a look. "Bring your daughters this afternoon. They should meet her before they hear the servants talking."
Doran watched Arianne offer the cup again. "You are right."
Oberyn glanced between them. "That sounded painful, brother."
"Less painful than saying it to you."
* * *
Dawn found Doran and Oberyn at a low table beneath the eastern arcade. Neither had slept. Servants brought warm flatbread, goat cheese rolled in mint, a dish of stewed chickpeas, river trout crisped in oil and a bowl piled with blood oranges. Doran tore one flatbread into small pieces and ate three. Oberyn peeled an orange so savagely that juice ran to his wrist. When the dishes had been laid, Mellario dismissed the servants and left the brothers to their talk. Areo closed the lattice gates at either end of the arcade and stood beyond the farther one, where no quiet word could reach him.
"Five thousand horse and fifteen thousand spears before the next moon," Oberyn said. "Yronwood will come when I call, and the Greenblood will water us as far as the roads allow."
Doran spooned chickpeas onto his bread. "How will you feed them in the passes? The Fowlers have only just brought their sons home from the Trident."
"Then three columns through the Boneway. We enter the stormlands while Stannis's men are still lean from eating rats."
"And expose our western flank to a pardoned Reach eager to prove its loyalty upon Dornish backs. Mace Tyrell feasted outside walls, the Redwynes still have their fleet, and Tarly fights for whichever side can win."
"Yronwood's spears make the road possible," Oberyn insisted.
"Yronwood will come because I call," Doran said, "and Lord Anders will count how many Martells die before he decides what our weakness has made possible for him."
"You can find a reason against any blow," Oberyn said, pushing away the untouched trout. "Name one stroke you would judge worthy of Elia."
"Not a march into the stormlands with the Reach at our backs."
"They raped Elia. They crushed Aegon's skull. They put another little girl beneath a lion cloak and named her Rhaenys. Robert looked upon all of it and took the throne. Tell me which blow is good enough for that."
Doran's fingers stopped upon the bread. A pulse beat hard beside his mouth. "Do not speak as if you are the only brother Elia had."
The quiet words cut through Oberyn's anger. He looked at Doran properly. His elder brother had dressed with care, but the fastening at his collar sat awry. His bad foot was wrapped in red flannel beneath the table. He had not touched the trout because Elia had loved it with lime and pepper.
"What would you have me do while Clegane rides beneath Lannister colours and Elia lies cold?" Oberyn asked.
"First I would have you listen." Doran pushed the fish back towards him. "We cannot fight all of them."
Oberyn took the trout. Its skin cracked beneath his fork. "We have men returning to dry fields," Doran said. "The Yronwoods buried two sons. The Fowlers count every marcher horse across the passes. The Reach has grain, ships and Robert's pardon. The rebels have Arryn, Stark, Tully and Lannister in one camp. If we march now, we carry Rhaenys before us whether we name her or not."
"She is why we should march. Elia's daughter has a better right than the man drinking from her father's cups," Oberyn said.
"She is three," Doran said. "Last night she would not let us take her from a wounded man. I will not send her into another war."
"You would leave her inheritance to thieves while they learn to believe she is truly dead."
"I would keep her alive until there is a chance of recovering it."
"And what becomes of vengeance while Rhaenys sleeps behind guarded shutters?" Oberyn asked, chewing without tasting.
"Clegane rides with men who curry his horse. Lorch drinks somewhere, sleeps somewhere and pays someone to clean his mail. Someone carried Tywin's orders. Someone heard them given. Find those men."
"You want servants to tell us where they sleep."
"Quietly," Doran said. "I want to know where they go and who serves them. Bring me that before you ask for an army."
Oberyn reached for the cheese. "I want Clegane's head."
"So do I. But I want Tywin exposed with him, not free to blame a dead bannerman."
"And the girl who died in Rhaenys's place?" Oberyn asked. "I want her name, Doran. Her mother should know what became of her."
Doran broke a blood orange in two. The flesh inside was crimson. "Begin below Aegon's High Hill. Missing servants' children. Girls near Rhaenys's age with dark hair. Someone washed her, dressed her and put her inside Maegor's Holdfast. Find who last saw her alive."
"If Varys arranged the exchange, he will have cut every thread before the lions crossed the river," Oberyn warned.
"Then ask who disappeared when the castle fell. Begin with the servants who escaped." Mellario returned beneath the arcade with Quentyn on one hip, his bare toes knocking against her skirts. He seemed a large burden for so short a woman, but she carried their sleepy two-year-old without breaking stride. He reached at once for Doran's orange.
"You are making war over cold fish," Mellario said. "If neither of you intends to eat, Quentyn and I will rescue the oranges."
"Oberyn wants a war before midday."
"After midday," Oberyn said. "I have agreed to eat first and invade the stormlands only when the trout is finished."
Mellario gave Quentyn half the orange. Juice ran down his small wrist. "Rhaenys is asleep. She wakes when sandals pass the door. If either of you speaks of her as a crown before she can sleep through footsteps, I shall throw you both into the pool."
"Your husband cannot swim with that foot," Oberyn said. "You would lose the cautious brother and be left with only me."
"Then you had better catch him," Mellario replied.
Mellario wiped Quentyn's wrist with her napkin. "The children come this afternoon."
"Good. Arianne has already decided Rhaenys belongs to her; the others should hear the truth before servants teach them a more dangerous tale," Doran said.
"Every child under the roof?" Oberyn asked. "Obara is old enough to ride with a spear, and Sarella is young enough to tell the pools."
"They will meet her every day," Mellario said. "The older ones can help the little ones remember. We cannot keep her shut away from her cousins."
Doran glanced towards the shuttered blue chamber. "Outside these rooms she will be Deria Sand, Oberyn's daughter by a woman dead of fever."
"Another daughter," Mellario said, her mouth tilting. "No one in Dorne will strain belief, though they may marvel that one of Oberyn's children arrived with so little noise."
"You wound me before my nephew," Oberyn protested.
Mellario shook her head and took the orange from Quentyn before he could bite the peel.
* * *
The tray fell before the children could be told anything. A servant carrying milk and honey cakes caught one sandal on a lifted tile. Bronze cups rang across the west court. A blue-glazed jug broke against the bench and sent white milk over the orange-and-cream floor. Rhaenys vanished beneath the stone seat. One moment she had been standing beside Arianne in the sun. The next only her yellow hem showed in shadow, her knees drawn against her chest and both hands clamped over her mouth.
The servant stared. "Lady Deria, I—"
"Go," Mellario said. Ysilla gathered him towards the kitchen. Areo moved the watching guard away from the arch. No one approached the bench.
Arianne dropped to her knees. "It was only a jug."
Rhaenys pressed harder over her mouth. "Ari," Mellario said. "Ask what she wants brought."
Arianne looked beneath the bench. "What shall I bring?"
"Joss," Rhaenys said. "With his spear."
"He is sleeping," Oberyn said as he entered the court. He had run from the adjoining gallery and come without his spear.
Rhaenys saw his empty hands. "Where is yours?"
"In the gallery. I will fetch it."
"Do not go."
Oberyn crouched an arm's length from the bench. "I will stay here." He beckoned to Areo and pointed towards the gallery. Doran waited beneath the arch, one hand on the wall.
"She wants her mother," Arianne whispered.
"Do not," Mellario said.
But Rhaenys had heard. "Mama told me to be quiet."
Oberyn set both palms upon the tile. "You were quiet."
"I did not cry in the stair. I did not cry when Balerion scratched. I did not cry on the cart."
"You did well," Oberyn said. "You did what she asked."
"Then she has to come." Rhaenys's chin shook. "I was good." The fountain trickled behind them. Sun warmed the milk into a sour smell.
"Little sun," Oberyn began.
"Do not call me that. Get Mama."
"I cannot."
Rhaenys came out so quickly that she struck the back of her head on the bench. She shoved Oberyn's hands away and ran towards the arch. Doran knelt in her path. Pain whitened his mouth, but he did not reach for her.
"Move. I want Mama," Rhaenys said, planting both bare feet before him.
"Rhaenys." Doran had to brace one hand against the wall to remain kneeling. "The men who hurt her are still there."
"You are the prince. Tell them no."
"I cannot bring her back."
Rhaenys stared at him. Her fists opened and closed at her sides. "Mama knows where I am."
"Mama knows." Doran's hand tightened against his bad knee. Oberyn looked down at the milk between the tiles.
"Aegon needs his blanket," Rhaenys said. "He cannot sleep if the corner is not in his hand."
Oberyn gathered her when her knees folded. She fought him with both fists, then with one, then only clung. He sat on the milk-streaked tiles and held her while she sobbed against his throat. The other children had gathered silently in the gallery.
Obara stood first, eleven years old, long-limbed and already hard through the shoulders from spear work. Her brown hair was tied back clear of her close-set eyes. She looked at the two exits, the roofline and Areo's guard before she looked at the crying child. Nymeria, nine, wore pale lilac and had her black hair bound with copper rings; she kept one hand upon Sarella while her dark eyes followed Obara's glance. Tyene was Arianne's age, fair in cream linen, with golden hair and solemn blue eyes. Three-year-old Sarella had escaped one slipper and held it in her brown hand. Quentyn stood between Mellario's knees with orange stains on his tunic.
"Your cousins are here," Doran said when her crying eased. He waited for Areo to bring the spear, then had the doors shut.
Obara helped close the gallery doors. "Is she Deria or Rhaenys?"
"Deria where others can hear," Doran said.
Oberyn looked down at Elia's daughter. "Rhaenys, here with us."
Tyene repeated it softly. Sarella wriggled free of Nymeria's hand and crawled beneath the bench, where Balerion had taken refuge from the broken jug. "Rhaenys," Arianne said, as though correcting a lesson she had first learned badly. "My cousin."
"Why does she need another name?" Nymeria asked.
Doran sat upon the bench. "Before servants, guards, visiting lords and anyone beyond this family, she is Deria Sand, one of Oberyn's daughters. Her mother died of fever. Inside our own rooms, she is Rhaenys Targaryen, Elia's daughter. Men killed Elia and Aegon. They believe they killed Rhaenys too."
Obara's hand closed around her belt. "Who killed them?"
"Gregor Clegane killed your aunt and Aegon," Oberyn said. "Amory Lorch killed the girl they thought was Rhaenys."
"I would kill him," Obara said.
"You will stay here," Oberyn told her. "Rhaenys needs her cousins."
Nymeria lowered herself beside Oberyn. She did not touch Rhaenys. "Deria is not an ugly name."
"It is not mine," Rhaenys said into Oberyn's robe.
"Within these doors no one will call you Deria."
Tyene folded her hands in her lap. "Is a false name a lie? Septa Lenore says every lie leaves a stain upon the soul."
"It is a lie," Doran said. "I am asking you to tell it so that Rhaenys may stay with us."
Tyene considered that with a gravity beyond her years, then glanced towards the door. "Deria outside. Rhaenys inside."
"Just so. If you forget, correct yourself without making the room stare," Doran told her.
Sarella emerged from beneath the bench with Balerion clutched under his forelegs. He hung long and black, too astonished to scratch her. "He says her name is Rhaenys."
"Then tell him to be quiet," Arianne said.
"He bites guards," Sarella replied.
"Then mind which end you offer them," Nymeria said. Quentyn looked from face to face, then came to Oberyn and held out the crushed half of a honey cake rescued from the floor.
"For girl," Quentyn said, as though no other name were required.
Rhaenys looked at the cake. "It has milk on it."
Quentyn licked the milk from the top with grave care. "Gone. Girl can eat now." She took it. The latch lifted. All seven children turned.
Ysilla put her head through the door. "My princes? The maester says Joss has woken and is demanding his spear."
"May we come too?" Arianne asked. "Deria wants to see him."
Nymeria rose and held out her hand. "Come, Deria."
Rhaenys remained against Oberyn for one heartbeat longer. Then she took Nymeria's hand. As Ysilla turned back to fetch Quentyn, Sarella called, "Rhaenys, Balerion bit me."
"Deria," Tyene whispered, glancing at Ysilla.
Sarella looked at the cat. "He still bit."
Obara snorted. It was the first sound near laughter the court had heard that afternoon.
* * *
They ate the evening meal in Joss's chamber because Rhaenys would not leave him. The windows stood open to the orange court. Lamp flames leaned whenever the sea wind found them. On the low table were grilled mullet with lemons, lamb cooked with dates, peppers stuffed with cheese and herbs, flatbread still blistered from the oven and a dish of green olives that Quentyn rolled beneath his palm until Mellario took it away.
Joss slept beneath a linen sheet, his face shiny with fever. Caleotte sat at his feet and claimed he was only resting his eyes. No one believed him. The children had arranged themselves according to instincts no prince could have ordered. Arianne sat nearest Rhaenys and kept trying to choose food for her. Nymeria occupied the other side, peeling the skin from a pepper in long red strips. Tyene broke bread into neat pieces. Sarella knelt under the table with Balerion. Quentyn leaned against Mellario's knee. Obara chose the stool between Joss's bed and the door.
"Come and eat, Obara," Arianne said.
"I can eat here." Obara kept her stool beside the door.
"The guards are outside," Nymeria told her.
"Leave her there, Nym," Oberyn said. He passed Obara the bread.
Nymeria shrugged and went back to her pepper.
Obara took a heel of bread and bit it without moving from the door. Rhaenys had eaten nothing but Quentyn's crushed cake. She watched the mullet as though it might make a sudden noise.
Mellario put one piece upon her plate. "The cat has had three."
"Four," Sarella corrected from below the table. "He stole the tail while everyone watched Joss breathe."
"Then we shall give you four and see who grows first."
Rhaenys touched the crisp skin with one finger. "Mama took the bones out."
"Then I will do the same. Ask when you want another piece," Mellario told her.
Mellario opened the fish along the spine and drew the fine white bones free. She made no attempt to feed the child. After watching her taste the first piece, Rhaenys ate the second herself.
Arianne pointed to each face in turn. "You know me. That is Quentyn, my brother. Obara is Uncle Oberyn's eldest, then Nym, Tyene and Sarella. You can call her Sare."
"Sarella," came the correction from beneath the table.
Rhaenys peered over the edge. Sarella held up a hand slick with fish oil. "He licked it."
"He bites if you pull his tail."
"I know."
Arianne reached for another piece of mullet. Mellario stopped her hand. "Ask her."
"I was helping."
"Then ask."
Arianne held the dish towards Rhaenys. "Would you like some more?"
"No more fish," Rhaenys said.
Arianne set the dish down and took a piece for herself.
Joss moved upon the bed. His eyes opened and searched the chamber before they found the dark-haired child. "Princess," he rasped. Every grown face turned towards the door. It was shut. Obara rose to make certain.
Caleotte woke fully. "Lie still. Let her come to you."
Rhaenys climbed onto the bed and took his hand. "I am here."
"Have you eaten?" Joss asked.
"Fish. She took the bones out." Rhaenys pointed to Mellario.
"Good, my princess," Joss said, finding enough strength for the old formality. The cat appeared from beneath the table with a strip of fish tail in his teeth.
Joss's eyes moved over the children, then returned to Rhaenys. "You have company."
"They all came," she said. "Even him." She pointed at Quentyn, asleep against Mellario with lamb on his face.
Joss managed a smile. His fingers loosened upon the coverlet. Since his arrival, Doran had watched that hand hunt for a knife at every footfall. Now the children crowded between him and the door, quarrelling over which cushion Rhaenys should have. Outside, a guard's sandals passed and kept going.
Ysilla entered with a small bundle stiffened by salt. "This was sewn into the cloak."
Inside lay a strip of red-and-black wool, a little wooden knight missing one arm, and a baby's blanket whose white corner had turned brown with smoke and old blood. Rhaenys took the blanket. She pressed it to her nose and frowned.
"It does not smell like Aegon any longer," Rhaenys said, pressing the scorched wool to her nose a second time. No one told her why.
"He needs this to sleep," she said. "He holds the corner."
Ysilla knelt. "We shall keep it safe in your chest."
"In mine," Rhaenys said. "Not with the dirty things."
Ysilla helped her fold it, hiding the stained corner inside. When the child would not release it, she left it on her lap.
Arianne offered both hands. "I can carry the blanket. Your room is only next door."
Rhaenys let her take one corner but kept hold of the other. Arianne walked slowly beside her towards the adjoining bedchamber. At the open door a serving woman bowed.
"Lady Deria," the woman greeted her, holding the door wide enough for all the children to pass.
Rhaenys hesitated. Nymeria touched two fingers to her own lips, a private reminder, while Tyene said, "Good night, Deria," in a voice no louder than the lamps.
"Good night," Rhaenys answered after the smallest pause.
Obara followed them into the passage. Sarella carried Balerion upside down beneath both arms. Quentyn had fallen asleep against Mellario and left a smear of lamb grease upon her sleeve. When the rooms were quiet, Doran poured wine for Oberyn and watered his own.
"The dead girl," Oberyn said. "Joss heard one sailor call her Myria, though he cannot swear the man meant the child."
"It is a beginning. Search for every Myria missing from the servants' lanes before you decide the sailor meant her," Doran said.
"And Varys?"
"A hidden stair known at the right hour is more than chance. Find which of Elia's servants dealt with the eunuch's people. Do not approach him. A spider feels a plucked thread."
Oberyn turned the cup in his hands. "You have more for me."
"Two armed men took ship east from the mouth of the Greenblood. One was old and broad. The other wore a bat worked into his sword belt."
"Hightower and Whent, if the age and the bat upon the belt were seen truly," Oberyn said.
"So it appears. They asked after Dragonstone."
"Was Dayne with them?"
"No one has reported seeing him. Find out where he is, but let neither Hightower nor Whent know we watched them sail."
"Rhaella may know."
Doran glanced towards the children's door. "Rhaella holds a besieged island, a frightened household and a son who has watched his family die one by one. If we send word that Rhaenys lives, joy may make her careless where fear would not. No raven carries the name."
Oberyn turned his cup between both palms. "And if they miss Dragonstone?"
"The traders who watch the harbour can follow their inquiries east. I would know where Rhaella's children land."
"You have been busy."
"So have you. You peeled that orange into my breakfast."
Oberyn glanced at his orange-stained fingers. "You could have complained."
"I have had other complaints to answer."
* * *
The storm reached Dragonstone before the two white knights did. For ten mornings Viserys climbed the Sea Dragon Tower before breaking his fast and searched the eastern water for a sail. A smuggler had told the castellan that two knights out of Dorne meant to join them. On the eleventh morning the horizon disappeared beneath green-black cloud. Gulls abandoned the outer rocks. Men dragged fishing boats above the tide line while royal galleys strained at doubled ropes in the harbour. Queen Rhaella held council over the Painted Table because she would not be seen taking to her bed.
She wore black wool loose over her belly. Silver hair clung damply to one cheek. The chamber floor was warm from the mountain beneath it, yet wind made the shutters jump and sent cold threads of rain through every crack.
"How much sound grain remains, and how long if the harbour stays closed after the storm?" Rhaella asked.
Orryn, the household clerk, bent over his wax tablets. "Near three moons at the present ration. Less if more men come in from the outlying posts."
"And the salt meat?" she asked when Orryn had counted the last outlying post.
"The eastern cellar has greened. Some casks beneath may still be sound, but the stink has entered the hoops," Orryn answered.
"Throw it away before hunger persuades someone to serve it. Move the women from the rooms beneath the broken gutters. Pay only men who stand before their captain."
Ser Olyvar frowned. "Some are on the walls when the pay is called. They will think you mean to cheat them."
"Then muster them by turns," Rhaella said. "I will pay every man we have, but no name the captains cannot put a face to."
Viserys stood beside her chair in a black doublet fastened with Rhaegar's three-headed dragon. A strand of pale silver hair had caught beneath the brooch; he tugged it free with a child's impatient wince before lifting his chin to address the men. "They swore to us."
"And we owe them their pay," Rhaella said. The first pain took her with both hands flat upon the Painted Table. She bent over the carved coast until it passed. No man in the chamber dared move.
When she straightened, her voice remained steady. "Ser Willem, ready the cove boats. Water, biscuit, cheese, blankets. People before silver."
"We are not leaving our castle," Viserys said, staring at Willem.
"We are preparing in case we must."
Three hammer blows sounded from below, then three again. A guard came up the stair with blood beneath his nose and a folded letter in his hand. The east-wall company had been offered pardon and back wages if they opened the postern to Stannis Baratheon's men. The prince and any newborn child were to be delivered alive. The letter made no promise concerning the queen.
Rhaella read it once. "How many men have heard?"
"Half the east wall," Olyvar said. "Four at the inner gate remain mine."
"Hold it. Ser Willem, take Viserys below. Keep a boat for me."
"I am staying with you," Viserys said.
Another pain broke a cry from her. Willem caught her elbow. She slapped his hand away and walked from the chamber upright, one slow step after another, because the castle was watching. Daenerys was born while lightning ran red along the Dragonmont. The bedchamber smelled of hot iron, smoke and vinegar. Rain hammered the shutters. Rhaella lay among darkened sheets, her face almost colourless beneath the silver hair.
Nella, the Eastcove midwife, placed the swaddled babe in Viserys's arms. "A princess."
Viserys looked at the small red face, the flattened nose and wet silver fuzz. "She is ugly. Was Rhaegar ugly when he was born?"
Rhaella managed the ghost of a smile. "You were worse." Blood kept spreading beneath her.
"Are the boats ready?" she asked Willem.
"Aye, Your Grace."
"You are coming with us," Viserys said. "A king does not flee and leave his mother for Stannis."
Rhaella lifted one hand towards him. He bent so her fingers could reach his cheek. "Tonight you are her brother before you are anything else. Keep her beside you."
"I am the king. I command you to come."
"Then come close. Let me look at you."
Her hand slipped. Viserys caught it against his face, waiting for her fingers to move. The bell above the inner gate began to ring without pause. Willem wrapped Rhaella in the black cloak she had worn at the Painted Table. Viserys unfastened Rhaegar's dragon from his own doublet and gave it to the knight to pin beneath her throat. He laid her crown at her feet, then lifted his sister. Before following them, Willem wrapped the crown in spare linen and put it in his bag.
Four boats waited below the hidden stair. Rain ran down the steps like a stream. Men passed Daenerys hand to hand where the footing narrowed. Viserys slipped, struck one knee and refused to cry until Willem put the babe back into his arms.
"The gold," he said when a coin chest split against the cove wall. "We cannot buy another ship if the sea takes every dragon." Dragons flashed beneath black water. Two men went to their knees after them.
"Leave it," Willem shouted. "Get aboard, Your Grace. The men cannot wait."
The boats pulled away without lamps. One struck the cliff and broke an oar; another vanished behind a wall of rain before finding them again at dawn. Dragonstone dwindled to a blacker shape against the storm. Somewhere above, Ser Olyvar held four men at an inner gate.
By the next dusk all four vessels had found one another, but two people had not. Rennifer Pyke had gone overboard beside the broken coin chest, and Mara, the younger laundress, had been swept from a fishing boat. Her sister sat beneath wet sailcloth with Mara's shoes in her lap while Orryn opened the household book upon a box and drew four small hulls. He wrote the living beneath them, the dead in the margin, and Rhaella's name above them all because Viserys insisted she had been queen when they fled. At the boy's command, the clerk left two empty lines beneath her name for the white knights who had not come.
* * *
Six days after the surrender, a fishing boat put Gerold Hightower and Oswell Whent ashore below Dragonstone's outer village. The white cloaks stayed bundled beneath their plain travelling coats. Stannis's banner flew above the sea wall. Fishermen told them the queen was dead and her children had escaped; none agreed on the ship or its destination. Gerold paid for their passage back to the mainland. From there they would look for a berth east.
* * *
Rhaenys mounted her first Dornish pony eight moons after Joss came home. The mare was dun-coloured with a black stripe down her back and a mane clipped short against the heat. Arianne had chosen a red saddlecloth. Obara inspected the girth twice, then a third time after Oberyn told her twice was enough. Nymeria shortened the left stirrup. Tyene held a slice of apple beneath the pony's nose. Sarella had already climbed the mounting block though no horse had been found for her. Quentyn sat on the fence kicking both sandals against the rail.
Rhaenys wore brown riding wool and a yellow scarf over her pale lock. She put one foot into Oberyn's joined hands, gripped the saddle and froze when he lifted. Leather creaked. The pony shifted its hindquarters. Sweat darkened the hair beneath the bridle, and fine court sand clung to the damp fetlocks whenever she stamped.
"Down," Rhaenys said, locking her fingers around the pommel. "Put me down."
Oberyn lowered her at once. "The ship moved," she said.
"I have her," Oberyn said. He kept one hand on the bridle while he steadied Rhaenys.
"She moved," Rhaenys insisted.
"She moved because a fly bit her," Tyene said. "Watch." She brushed the fly from the mare's flank. The skin twitched but the pony stood.
Sarella slid off the block and took Rhaenys's hand. "I will walk. If she eats you, she has to eat me too."
"She does not eat girls," Arianne said.
"Balerion bites," Sarella objected.
"That is because you pull him about." Tyene held the apple for the pony.
Rhaenys looked at Oberyn. "Do not let go."
"Not until you tell me."
The second time she let him lift her. Obara steadied one knee. Nymeria put the reins across the saddle horn where Rhaenys could see them. The mare walked one circuit of the orange court, then another. Hooves clicked on tile and softened upon the sand track. With every step Rhaenys's narrow back loosened.
At the third circuit a courier in dusty lemon-yellow entered beneath the arch. He saw Doran watching from the shade and dismounted, landing stiffly after a hard ride. Foam crusted his bay gelding's breast. A groom took the reins before the horse could lower its head to drink too quickly. The courier brought the latest account from Dragonstone: the queen had been buried, her children had escaped, and two white knights had followed their trail east. Doran asked three questions, gave the man water and sent him to eat before he made his full report. Across the court, Rhaenys reached for the reins.
Oberyn kept hold of the lead. "Where do you want to go?"
"Make her turn towards my cousins," Rhaenys said, pointing towards the mounting block.
"Left rein, gently." Oberyn touched her hand to show her.
The mare's head came around. Rhaenys leaned too far, corrected when Obara barked at her, and brought the pony in a crooked half-circle towards the mounting block. Sarella cheered. Quentyn fell from the fence into Nymeria's skirts. Even Obara smiled before she remembered herself.
A serving man crossed the outer gallery with folded towels. "Well ridden, Lady Deria."
Rhaenys's hands tightened upon the reins. She looked to Arianne, then to Nymeria and Tyene. No one answered for her. "Thank you. She is a patient mare," Rhaenys said, choosing the words the servant could safely carry away.
The man bowed and went on. Obara waited until the door closed and checked the outer arch. Then Sarella ran beside the pony, calling for a turn. Obara kept one hand near the child's ankle, Arianne corrected her seat, and Oberyn walked at the mare's head with the reins loose enough for Rhaenys to believe they were hers.