They rode hard for three days along back lanes and hedgerows, avoiding any eyes along the Kingsroad. Without Dacey's steady banter the miles felt longer, the silences heavier. Lyanna caught herself turning to make a remark and finding only the empty space where her sworn shield should have been. The absence sat like a bruise she could not help bumping.
Oswell Whent set the pace. He had a way of talking that felt like throwing a cloak over a gallows: humor thin and dark, never quite covering what stood beneath. "Good news," he said once as they watered the horses at a willow-choked ford. "If someone tries to kill us today, it will be after lunch. Doesn't seem like there's a soul for miles. War must have everyone hiding."
Jonothor Darry ignored the joke. He rode upright and silent, eyes sweeping the treeline, hand never far from the hilt. To him, Lyanna was weight to be guarded and nowhere near trusted.
When the white raven drifted low to land on Lyanna's saddle bow, Darry flapped his glove like a farmer scaring crows. "Off with it," he snapped. "You'll have lice in your mane by dusk."
Dijkstra hopped to a fencepost, insulted and theatrical. He clicked his beak three times, then pretended to be very interested in a beetle.
Lewyn Martell watched the exchange, then eased his horse closer to Lyanna. "I owe you," he said quietly, not looking at her. "Whatever else is true, you turned the prince's head where I could not. Elia will be safe on Dragonstone because of that. Thank you."
Lyanna swallowed past the tightness in her throat. "Help me make sure she gets there," she said. "All of her."
"I will," he said, and there was iron in it.
They spoke little after that. The road curved, climbed, and the world opened. Ahead, the sprawl of King's Landing smeared against the afternoon light, its walls a grubby crown around a heap of roofs. Smoke crawled over the city like a low cloud. The Blackwater ran broad and brown at its feet, freckled with barges. The stench reached them even from miles out: tanneries, fish, and human refuse most of all.
Whent reined in on a hill where scrub pines gripped the earth. "Lion Gate," he said, pointing with his chin. "My contact stands watch there. Ser Alliser Thorne. Prickly as a hedgehog and twice as loyal when fed." He half smiled. "We walk in like we belong. No fuss, no fight."
"Loyal to whom," Lyanna asked. "Rhaegar or his father?"
Whent's smile thinned. "You make an unfortunate point. Men like Thorne are loyal to oaths and orders barked loud. Actually, he reminds me of you, Jonothor." He paused. "Rhaegar's voice is not the one that bounces in the gatehouse stones. Aerys shouts more."
"Then if we pass through his gate, the king will know before we reach the Red Keep," Lyanna said. "He will know a Stark walks his streets. He will not listen to us. He will not forgive us."
Darry made an impatient scoff. "And what do you propose. Fly?"
Lyanna looked up at the white bird sulking on the fencepost. "Yes, actually" she responded. "What a great idea. I will borrow a bird's eye to find a way inside."
Darry stared, then scowled. "No witchcraft in the open. Not near the city."
Lewyn considered the walls, the ugly lace of new timber hoardings, the glint of helms along the battlements. "You have another path," he said to Lyanna, not as a question.
"There are ways in," she said. "Hidden ones. I know of them, even if I have never walked such paths myself." She felt the amulet under her shirt warm against her skin, like a nod from the isle. "But I need eyes."
Whent rubbed his jaw. "You will forgive me if my heart does not leap to the thought of trusting a girl's hunch and a bird's map."
"Trust the goal," Lewyn said, voice calm. "We all want the same thing."
Darry folded his arms. "If this fails we will die like thieves in a drain."
"Then we do not fail," Lewyn said. "Let her try."
Whent looked from one to the other, then to Lyanna. "If you are wrong, I will make a very poor ghost," he said. "But I will haunt you with class." He flicked two fingers at the raven. "Go on then. Show us the tricks your trees taught you."
Lyanna closed her eyes and sank. The world tilted, blurred, then sharpened on a narrow skull and light hollow bones. Wind pressed along feathers, the city spread like a stained cloth beneath.
Pinpricks of gold and teal lined the walls. Within them, three hills rose above the rest. Atop one rested the Great Sept of Baelor, with its beautiful dome of white marble. Atop another rested cavernous ruins, the remains of the Dragonpit. And on the final hill rose the towering red keep, an impressive fortress watching the city below.
She felt Dijkstra's bright mind meet hers, delighted. "I love this place," he chattered in thought, and his passion poured through her: rooftops like scales, alleys like veins, the beating heart of a million secrets.
They skimmed the Blackwater. Barges bumped. Men laughed and cursed. Beneath the harbor, the city breathed out: a slow exhale of sewage and old tide. Dijkstra banked and showed her the places where the current swirled, less brown, more black. There, grates were half broken by storms. In one spot, a dark throat yawned under the wall near the docks, masked by a tangle of pilings and ropes. Past the wall, tunnels ran like roots. They branched, narrowed, and rose toward a grid of streets.
He climbed and wheeled toward the highest hill. The Red Keep sat on its rock like a cat that had eaten too much. He loved it. He showed her the postern doors masked by ivy. The drains that bled into the cliff. The slit behind a sally-port where mortar had crumbled. Then farther west, coins flowed beneath the shadow of the dragon pit. Brothels lined the street of silk, and at their summit was an establishment with red lanterns shaped like peonies.
"There lies a trapdoor under a false bed." Dijkstra said with relish. "It leads to the royal stable near the tower of the hand. At the tower you can access tunnels throughout the red keep itself."
He brought her down through stink and steam to taste the filth of flea bottom, then up again. Lyanna pulled back into herself with a shiver. The pine's resin smell came back first, then the horse's heat under her thighs, then the rasp of Darry's breathing.
"Well," Whent said, not unkind. "Did the wind speak."
"It did," Lyanna said with a smile. Nothing quite matched the joy of flying. "We cannot walk through the Lion Gate. The king will be warned, I saw Velaryon men on the walls and it's known that Lord Lucerys has no love for Rhaegar."
"I did find a culvert that feeds the river below the Fishmarket. If we float downriver at dusk, we can get horses into the tunnel. Beyond that, there is a path through the drains. We just pick a quiet alley to climb out and we're in the city." She paused for a breath then continued. "For a rescue inside the keep, I think we should take our time. Easier to stage from the city side, but the tunnels get more complicated in the Red Keep and I don't know them well. One idea is a brothel on Silk Street run by a woman named Chataya. There is a hidden door in one of her rooms and a tunnel that leads up Aegon's hill."
Darry snorted. "A brothel."
Lewyn's mouth twitched. "Dornishmen are known to find wisdom in such places."
Whent pinched the bridge of his nose. "Fish and sewers and whores. A perfect royal plan." Then he nodded. "But it is better than ringing the dinner bell for Aerys."
"We need disguises," Lyanna said. "Plain cloaks. No sigils. Put mud on the helms. Wrap the scabbards. We go in like river hands at dusk with our horses as pack stock. We float down on a barge. Then we slip in. If the Goldcloaks question us, we are fishmongers late to market."
Darry stiffened. "You want us playing peasant?"
"You can pray at the Mother's altar," Lewyn said mildly. "She forgives dirt."
Whent chuckled. "Commander Darry, consider it penance earned in advance." He swung down from his saddle and began stripping his plate armor. "Right. Cloaks off. Colors away. If anyone asks, I am Os of Willowwharf and you two are my cousins too ugly to marry. The lady is our mute sister with a fever. The bird is supper if it starts talking."
Dijkstra made a disgusted gargle and fluffed himself up. He hopped to Lyanna's stirrup and pecked it, then made a show of losing interest like the most ordinary of crows.
They worked fast. Cloaks off, mud lathered on, hair bound close under hoods. Lewyn smeared fish guts on his cheeks "to blend in with the smell" and grinned. Darry grumbled while he did the same. Whent seemed to enjoy the ruin of livery more than he should have.
They reached the river at last light, finding a barge loose on a rope. It was half sunk with its owner nowhere in sight. Whent clucked his tongue and judged it good enough.
"Hold fast to the gunwale," he ordered as they set off. "When I say down, duck into the tunnel one at a time. Do not lose the rope. If you meet a rat, call it ser and swim on."