The Last Month of 120 AC, Drakoncrest
The great ships arrived in procession, their hulls so vast they seemed to blot out the sea itself. One after another, they cut through the gray waters and came alongside the quays of of the port, rigging creaking as anchors splashed down. Sailors shouted, dockhands ran, and the port answered with a roar of life.
Lysandro was the first to disembark. He held Larra's small hand firmly, his thumb resting over her knuckles as if to steady himself as much as the child. At his other side walked Johanna Swann, her back straight, her steps measured, every movement composed and deliberate.
Lysandro paused at the end of the gangplank. His gaze swept across the docks, the cranes, the warehouses rising in clean rows of pale stone.
"This rate of growth," he said softly, his voice tight with disbelief. "It is… unsettling."
Johanna's lips curved into a restrained smile. She folded her hands before her, but her eyes lingered on the skyline longer than she intended. Even she, who had wagered fortunes on Drakoncrest, had not expected such speed.
Before either could speak again, another massive merchantman edged toward the harbor, its banners snapping in the wind. When the plank was lowered, a broad-shouldered man stepped down, his boots striking the wood with confidence.
Felix Ballos halted and stared.
True Dragon Port teemed before him, louder and grander than any harbor he had known, rivaling even the great ports of the Free Cities. Then his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure.
Lysandro.
Felix's expression sharpened with interest. He adjusted his cloak and walked toward them, measuring Johanna Swann with a thoughtful glance.
A woman does not climb from a brothel to power without steel in her spine, he thought. Fortune alone could never account for it.
"My lord," Felix said, bowing his head. "Lord Lysandro."
Lysandro turned, surprise flickering across his face before recognition followed. He inclined his head in return.
"You are…?"
"Felix Ballos, of House Ballos of Myr," Felix replied, smiling easily. "I come in person, bearing Myr's regards, to pay my respects to His Highness Prince Aegon upon this isle."
Lysandro's eyes warmed at once. He clasped Felix's forearm in greeting.
"Governor Ballos. I did not expect Myr to send you yourself. You honor us."
Felix chuckled. "And I did not expect Volantis to send you. Nor Lady Johanna Swann." He glanced to her, polite and curious. "It seems Drakoncrest draws remarkable company."
"Lord Lysandro speaks for Volantis," Johanna said calmly. She inclined her head a fraction. "I am here only to observe."
Felix studied her for a heartbeat longer, then nodded. "Then perhaps we may observe together. I scarcely believe this was once the old isle men fought over like carrion."
They set off along the waterfront. The roads nearest the docks were broad and carefully leveled, built to bear weight and traffic, yet the same stone avenues stretched far inland. Felix slowed his steps, his brows knitting.
"This was planned," he said. "Not merely built."
Johanna answered without looking at him. "Drakoncrest sits astride the Narrow Sea. With Tyrosh secured, its rise was inevitable. Trade demands order, and order... invites power."
Lysandro's jaw tightened. His eyes gleamed with calculation.
The Stepstones command every ship that passes. With Tyrosh taken, the Disputed Lands will follow. If I linger, others will claim what should be mine.
They reached the edge of the port, where noise softened into the hum of commerce. A well-kept carriage house stood beside the road, its sign freshly painted. Inside, horses stamped and snorted, their tack clean and oiled.
"Welcome, my lords," came a clear voice.
A young woman stepped forward, her movements practiced, her smile courteous. Johanna stopped short.
"Amélie?" she said, disbelief breaking through her composure.
The woman froze. Her eyes widened, then filled.
"Lady Johanna?"
Lysandro looked between them, startled. Johanna Swann was not easily shaken.
"You know one another?" he asked quietly.
Johanna drew a slow breath. Her gaze never left Amélie's face.
"She was once my handmaid," Johanna said at last. "Closer to me than any other." Her fingers curled slightly at her side. "When my fleet was attacked, she was thrown into the sea. I believed her dead."
Amélie lowered her eyes. "I lived," she said softly. "By chance alone. I clung to a barrel until slavers found me. Tyrosh was… unkind."
Johanna's throat tightened, though her voice remained steady. "After Tyrosh was freed?"
"I wandered," Amélie replied. "Until I reached Drakoncrest. Honest work was offered. I took it."
For a long moment, Johanna said nothing. Then she stepped forward and took Amélie's hands in hers, gripping them once before releasing them.
"I am glad you endured," she said.
After Tyrosh's liberation, Amélie had wandered from port to port until she reached Drakoncrest. Here, under the island's Labor Code, even one of low birth could live decently, so long as he worked and obeyed the law. It was a harsh order, but a fair one, and it left little room for excuses.
As she finished arranging the carriage contracts, Lysandro spoke again, his voice lowered, thoughtful rather than careless.
"That boy Aegon is impressive," he murmured, eyes following the movement of workers in the yard. "Still, I wonder how capable he truly is."
Amélie's hand paused for the briefest instant.
She lifted her head and looked directly at him, her expression cool and steady. "My lord," she said, her tone clipped but controlled, "out of respect for Lady Johanna, I would advise you to choose your words with care. His Highness is not someone to be spoken of lightly."
The guard standing behind Lysandro stiffened at once. His hand drifted toward the hilt at his belt, his mouth twisting in disdain.
"My lord," he said, leaning forward, "shall I teach her some manners?"
He had followed Lysandro for more than ten years, watching House Rogare claw its way upward. Trusted, indulged, and rarely corrected, he had grown bold, especially toward those he deemed beneath him.
Lysandro frowned and began to turn toward Amélie.
Before he could speak, she rolled her eyes.
"You idiot," she snapped, sharp and unafraid. "If I weren't on duty, I'd curse you properly. You want a carriage, don't you? Come along. I'll show you what's available."
Despite the bite in her voice, her manner turned brisk and professional at once. She gestured toward the stable yard, explaining routes, prices, and schedules with practiced ease, as though nothing had happened.
In the end, two carriages were hired.
Lysandro rode with Larra, Johanna Swann, and Felix Ballos in the first, its interior lined with fresh leather. The guards and servants followed in the second.
As the carriage rolled out of the courtyard, voices rose nearby.
Through the open curtain, they saw a heavyset, aging man sprawled on the ground, his fine clothes smeared with dirt. Five figures in unfamiliar blue uniforms stood over him, their posture rigid and cold.
"Do you know who I am?" the man shouted, panic cracking his voice. "I am a merchant of Volantis. You have no right-"
A boot came down hard on his face, silencing him with a wet cry.
"Unless you are a subject of His Highness," one of the enforcers said, his voice flat and contemptuous, "you are nothing here but a foreigner. Do you understand?"
He drew a thin baton and struck the man twice, each blow precise and unhurried.
"Take him away."
As the merchant was hauled up by his hair, the enforcer leaned closer and added quietly, "If I do not pull some of it out later, consider that mercy."
He straightened at once and turned to a trembling woman nearby. His expression softened into something almost courteous.
"Madam, please come with us," he said politely. "We need to take a statement."
The change was so swift that many first-time visitors never realized what they had witnessed.
Inside the carriage, no one spoke for a time.
Felix broke the silence at last, his voice low. "This place does not seem particularly welcoming to outsiders."
"That is true," Lysandro replied. He squeezed Larra's small hand gently, his thumb moving in a slow, reassuring circle. A knowing smile touched his lips. "But such things can be arranged, can they not?"
The carriage continued on through the wide stone roads of the port, each passenger retreating into his own thoughts.
Even the most carefully laid plans, after all, could still conceal a flaw.