"If the one who claimed Sheepstealer had been anyone other than you, I would have had him killed the same day."
Hugh's eyes widened.
"It would not have mattered whether he swore loyalty or not," Aegon continued. "Allegiance is cheap. A dragon is not. Any man without a shield strong enough to protect him, once he mounts a dragon, becomes a threat that must be cut down."
He paused, then added flatly, "He would have died."
The wind snapped the banners above them. Hugh said nothing.
"But the rider of Sheepstealer was you," Aegon said at last. "My knight. My confidant. A man who stands under my protection."
He gestured faintly toward the sky, where Sheepstealer circled alongside Sunfyre. "You lived not because no one wished you dead, but because no one dared strike you beneath my gaze."
Hugh's throat tightened.
"You need not burden yourself with guilt," Aegon said. "If someone now succeeds in taming the Cannibal or Grey Ghost, I will summon the dragons myself and burn the rider from the saddle. Without hesitation."
The words were spoken without anger. Without cruelty. As if they were no more than a statement of weather.
"That," Aegon concluded, "is the truth of it."
Hugh drew a sharp breath, then dropped to one knee on the deck, fist pressed to his chest. The wood creaked beneath his weight.
"My life is yours, Your Highness," he declared hoarsely. "My sword, my dragon, my blood."
Aegon stared down at him for a long moment, then sighed and rolled his eyes. "You are already a veteran of court and camp. Why do you still insist on kneeling like a green boy?"
Hugh laughed quietly and rose. He turned his gaze upward, watching Sheepstealer wheel through the clouds beside Sunfyre. Determination burned in his eyes.
I will see you crowned, he swore silently. The Iron Throne will be yours, no matter the cost.
Aegon followed his gaze.
"Sheepstealer suits you," he said. "A fine beast. A warrior at heart."
Hugh snorted. "Hardly. He is skittish, greedy, and lazy when he can be. Not a warrior at all. More like a clumsy thief."
Aegon shot him a sidelong look. "Dragons are clever creatures. I should tell him later that his rider called him a clumsy thief."
Hugh froze, then laughed uneasily. "We get along well. He will not take offense."
"Is that so?" Aegon said, feigning seriousness. "I find that hard to believe. I will test it myself."
"Your Highness," Hugh said helplessly, "I truly do not think that is necessary."
"It is extremely necessary," Aegon replied solemnly, then let a grin slip through. "Why so nervous? Did you not say you had a good relationship with him?"
Hugh shook his head, defeated, as Aegon laughed.
With favorable winds, the fleet cut swiftly across the sea. Before long, the purple-streaked towers of Tyrosh rose from the horizon, sharp and crowded, their dye-stained walls gleaming faintly beneath the sun.
This was the first time Aegon entered Tyrosh openly.
In the past, he had come only on dragonback, raining fire along the harbor and streets, leaving smoke, screams, and thousands of corpses in his wake.
Now the city awaited him in uneasy silence.
"Tyrosh is a city of trade," Aegon said, observing the harbor. "Here, merchants hold more honor than warriors. I have heard they even possess a bank."
"They did," Hugh replied. "When I last sacked the city, it was already empty. Just stone and ledgers left behind."
Aegon clicked his tongue. "A pity. That vault must have held at least a million gold dragons."
"More," Hugh said. "Closer to three million, by my reckoning. But banks are cautious creatures. No more than thirty percent would remain in Tyrosh at any time. The rest would be sent elsewhere for safekeeping."
"Braavos," Aegon said.
Hugh nodded. "The Iron Bank."
Its name carried weight even here, spoken with a trace of wariness. In Essos, no vault was said to be safer, nor any purse deeper.
"Most Free Cities maintain banks," Aegon mused. "All save the truly destitute."
"Tyrosh grew wealthy through craft," he continued. "The purple conch changed everything. Dye built this city."
"And destroyed it," Hugh added.
Aegon inclined his head. "Once the trade routes were severed, the city could not breathe. Most Tyroshi cannot survive without commerce."
Hugh frowned. "Yet I heard that slaves outnumber free men three to one here, and that the craftsmen themselves are slaves."
"They are," Aegon said. "But slaves are property. When trade collapses, the owners still eat. The slaves do not."
Understanding dawned. Hugh's mouth twisted with disgust. "Then the masters deserve death. All of them."
Aegon shook his head slowly. "You cannot simply kill slave owners. Slavery is older than these cities, older than their walls. It is woven into Essos itself."
He looked toward the docks as sailors prepared to lower the gangplank. "To destroy it would require conquest more ruthless than even Braavos showed Pentos."
Hugh glanced at him. "Is that something you intend?"
"No," Aegon said.
Then, after a pause, "But I must be prepared to do it."
"Why?" Hugh asked.
Aegon's lips curved faintly. "For the day I require an excuse."
The ship shuddered as it came alongside the pier.
"We are docking," Aegon said, straightening. "Enough philosophy. Prepare to disembark."
The moment his boots touched the stone quay, Aegon felt the firmness beneath his feet. He stamped once, hard, listening to the echo ring through the harbor.
"Not bad," he said at last, his tone mild. "The foundation is solid."
A port built on such stone would be easy to repair and even easier to expand. Tyrosh had been wealthy once, and its bones still remembered that prosperity.
A sharp hiss split the air.
Sunfyre descended in a rush of heat and wind, her golden wings folding with practiced grace as she landed beside him. The dragon's talons bit neatly into the stone, and she lowered her great head, eyes whirling with lazy satisfaction.
Sheepstealer attempted to follow.
The wild dragon circled once, awkward and uneven, then came down far too fast. There was a thunderous crash as its bulk slammed straight into the city wall. Stone shattered. Dust billowed upward in choking clouds.
Aegon stepped back several paces, lifting an arm to shield his face.
When the dust began to settle, he turned his head slowly toward Hugh Hammer.
"The cost of repairing the city wall," Aegon said calmly, "will be deducted from your pay."
Hugh's jaw tightened. His lips twitched as if he wished to protest, but after a heartbeat he merely bowed his head. No excuse came to him that would survive a second's scrutiny.
Sheepstealer shook itself like a dog emerging from water. Chunks of stone slid from its scales as it reared back and loosed a long, defiant roar toward the sky, as if daring the city itself to complain.
A thousand men were left to garrison the port. Aegon led the rest of the army through the gates and into Tyrosh proper.
Hidolf came personally to receive him. The man wore fine robes of dyed silk, though sweat clung to his brow despite the sea breeze. He bowed deeply, his movements quick and practiced.
"Prince Aegon," Hidolf said, forcing a smile. "Tyrosh welcomes you."
Polite words were exchanged, courtesies observed. Servants hurried ahead to throw open the doors of the palace, revealing halls of marble and gold. Even stripped of much of its former wealth, Tyrosh still knew how to display luxury.
Outside, Sunfyre and Sheepstealer coiled before the palace steps like living statues, one radiant and regal, the other scarred and ill-tempered.
Hugh departed to oversee the army's takeover of the city defenses.
Within the palace, Aegon accepted a cup of wine from Hidolf's own hand. He lifted it, inhaled the scent, then set it aside untouched. The gesture was casual, almost absentminded, yet Hidolf's smile stiffened all the same.
Aegon leaned back in his chair, fingers resting lightly on the armrest.
"Beyond taking control of Tyrosh," he said, meeting Hidolf's eyes, "I have brought supplies for you. Five hundred suits of armor. One hundred bows with arrows. Fifty warhorses."
For a while, Hidolf simply stared.
Then his breath escaped him, and his expression transformed. The tension melted from his shoulders, replaced by undisguised relief.
"You are most generous, Prince Aegon," he said, bowing again, this time more deeply than before. "The Rebel Army will not forget such aid."
"They had better not," Aegon replied with a faint smile. "If the slave system is to be torn down, your army will need steel in its hands. Ideals alone do not win wars."