Chapter 89: The Price of Blood
Artos went to Seraphine at last.
After all that blood, after all that fire, after the breaking of streets and the shattering of men, he came to the one thing he had been too angry to touch before. His love. It was a strange thing to think, even for him, a man who had known only war and struggle for most of his life. He knew battle better than comfort, and death better than mercy. To the men who watched him, he was the shape of fear itself, the reek of death made flesh.
But to Artos, he was only a man standing before a thing he did not know how to do.
So he chose the one path he trusted.
Truth.
He had never been good at soft words or careful courtesies, but he could be honest, and in the end that was enough for him.
"Sorry for making you wait like this," he said awkwardly. "I was too angry to do anything else about it."
Seraphine shook her head and ran to him at once, as if the blood on him, the horror of him, and the violence still hanging in the air meant nothing to her now.
"You'll get me messy," Artos tried to say, though even he sounded uncertain.
Seraphine did not care.
"You better marry my daughter and never make her sad," Lord Valen said, half-serious and half-amused, though his eyes were still sharp with the aftermath of everything that had happened.
Artos blinked at him, confused for a moment, but he was not truly listening to the words. His attention was on Seraphine alone.
"Are you alright?" he asked her.
Seraphine nodded. "Yes. I was scared."
It was plain enough that she was still shaken, and the truth of it struck them all a moment later when she fainted in his arms.
Artos caught her at once.
The sight of her going limp made his chest tighten with fresh anger, though it came mixed with fear now too. Lord Valen's voice cut through the moment before panic could take hold.
"Go. Fast. Get medics here at once," he barked to one of his servants.
Orders went flying at once, and within moments a group was assembled to carry Seraphine safely back to the Valens for treatment.
Even in his worry, Lord Valen remained composed enough to think ahead. He had seen enough blood and political ruin to know that panic only made a bad day worse.
"Don't worry, Hal," he said, lowering his voice a little. "She has likely only fainted from shock and exhaustion."
Artos nodded, though there was still a hard edge in him. Then he said something Lord Valen had not expected.
"Probably for the better. Gives us time to do what comes next."
Lord Valen frowned. After what had just happened in Braavos, after the massacre in the streets and the bodies left behind, he could not imagine what else there was to do.
"We should refrain," he said. "The Sealord will not be pleased. Elections are coming, and he will not want a hostile city on his hands. Whatever anger I have for him, he will need a great deal to forget this matter. I will handle things here. You take Seraphine and go back north. You will be safe there."
Artos let out a short laugh.
"That is the point," he said. "Elections are coming. The Sealord will not come to you for support when he has already betrayed you. He will go with the Sythans, and then he will lay the blame on you and punish you for it. If we want to survive this, we need to remove the opposition before they can turn the city against us. We need to end the Sythans. They are the ones behind all of this. I have confirmed it myself."
Lord Valen scoffed. "You think I have not realized that already? But the Sealord will come at us with his men before long, and then we will be trapped in a political spiral we cannot escape."
Artos smiled, and there was something unsettling in it.
"I may not like politics," he said, "but I have learned enough from my father to know how to handle it. Let us wait for Ronan to arrive. I have already sent my men to fetch him. Then we will decide our next move. The rest of our men are already coming prepared, so even if the Sealord comes now, he will have to pay for it. He is not ready for that kind of loss."
Lord Valen was still doubtful, but there was trust in him now too. Artos was going to be family. He had little choice but to trust the man who had just bled for his daughter.
While they waited for Ronan, Waymar was already at work.
He had become single-minded now, fully set on finding the rat called Glaro Sythan.
"Find that bastard at any cost," he barked.
"Kill any if you have to. Torture anyone if you must. I do not care. I need that bastard found."
The title of Sword of the Demonwolf had gone to his head, and not without reason. It was an honor none of the men who followed Artos would have taken lightly. He had been charismatic in war, fierce in battle, and fearless when others hesitated. He had led from the front and saved lives when lesser men would have broken and fled.
A hero of the North. A loyal man. An honest man.
Waymar himself went through buildings and shops with a handful of men, searching for Glaro while blood from the dead was carried into the streets of Braavos like paint.
"Vice Commander," one of his men shouted at last, "he is in the abandoned building there."
Waymar rushed to the place and found Glaro exactly where the man had said. He was there with a few men and a handful of associates, all of them pale and frightened now that the battle had turned against them.
"I am a Sythan," Glaro blurted at once. "You dare not touch me. My family will kill you, bastard. Take me to my father and he will reward you. He will give you gold enough that you will never need to worry again."
Waymar scoffed.
He was no pauper himself. The son of House Manderly, one of the wealthiest families in the North after House Stark, he needed neither Glaro's threats nor his promises.
He drew his sword with no hesitation and ordered the killing of the guards. It was easy enough for demons.
Then he seized one of the associates by the front of his clothing and held him there.
"You know how to swing a sword?" Waymar asked.
The man drew himself up with what little pride he still had. "We are from reputable families. You dare not touch us like this, peasant. Take us to Lord Valen. He would know how to treat us."
Waymar laughed.
"And why would I do that, you cunt?"
"You will need to take us to your contractor. We are valuable hostages, you fool. Do you not understand that?"
Waymar laughed again, and in the same motion he killed one of the associates.
"Well, that is bad luck for you. I work for the Demonwolf, and his order is no mercy and Braavos painted in blood." Waymar laughed at stupidity of them thinking they would survive after messing with The DemonWolf.
Then he killed the rest of the associates and knocked Glaro out brutally. He had no use for the rest. They were only useful as ink for the paint.
Waymar thought of it with a cold glint in his eyes.
By then Ronan had arrived with a force large and dangerous enough to matter.
"You look terrible," Ronan said, "and you summoned me here knowing I have a weak heart for all this nonsense you do."
The complaint came easily enough, but so did the seriousness behind it. He knew the matter was too important to joke about for long.
"We need to stall the Sealord," Artos said. "He cannot interfere tonight. Lord Valen will write the letter and use his political weight. After what has happened, he cannot ignore this."
Ronan and Lord Valen both spoke at once then, each of them thinking on the same line.
"But we need a large political favor to convince him," Ronan said.
Artos nodded.
"Before we left for the North, we spoke of a deal with Ilyrio Mopatis for the defense matter," he said. "It had money, and enough influence to lift in other cities as well. It is the very sort of thing the Sealord would crave."
Ronan and Lord Valen both ran through the matter quickly. They knew what he meant. It was a bargain that could bring favor from another city, wealth to match it, and the kind of leverage Braavos could not easily dismiss.
Lord Valen frowned. "But we cannot do it. Ilyrio Mopatis has already made deep arrangements with the Sythans. He will not abandon them so easily."
Artos smiled.
"I know. That is why I refused him before, even though it was a tempting deal. Ronan, did you not say there was a rival merchant competing with him? What was his name again?"
"Lysandro Vex," Ronan said at once. "From the auction. He could do it, but we would need some mediation first. He is not too pleased with us either, after what happened at the auction and after we took a mission against his interest, though we did it without knowing."
Lord Valen nodded. "Leave that to me. I know the man. Clever, political, and difficult, but on the better side of principle. I can deal with him."
Artos nodded once, satisfied.
"Then send a representative to the Sealord and deal with the political mess," he said.
"We only need one night."
Lord Valen nodded, though he also warned him.
"Lord Sythan is not stupid. He will be locked in his house already and preparing for the attack he expects. He will try to turn this into politics. That is where he is strongest now."
Artos smiled then, and the smile sent a chill through everyone who saw it.
"I know," he said. "I will deal with it. That is my specialty afterall."
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