Quellon's words—"Starting tomorrow, you will come with me to the Council Chamber."—hit Euron like a hammer against a hull, sending a jolt through his young heart.
The study seemed to hold its breath. Euron's mismatched eyes widened. The Council Chamber. Even his elder brother Balon had only recently been allowed there.
Quellon studied his son's astonishment, a faint, approving smile tugging at his lips.
"What? Afraid?" His tall frame loomed in the firelight. "Where is the spirit from earlier, when you were pointing out reefs and tides? Didn't you want to help me? Then come. See for yourself the reefs of the Iron Islands, and hear for yourself the words of those who fear change."
Euron's throat went dry, but he forced the words out. "Yes, Father. I will… watch and listen carefully."
Quellon nodded. "Very good. Now go prepare. Tomorrow—don't be late."
He turned back to the restless sea, as if sending his heir to the Council Chamber were as natural as sending a longship to sail.
Euron left the study almost floating, cold stone walls brushing his flushed cheeks, heart racing.
---
Late that night, the Pyke corridors were thick with darkness, the salty sea wind wailing through the stone walls.
In the shadows of the armory's back window, a small figure pressed against the rough stone, watching the reef beach below.
Euron's eyes took in the drowned god's altar, where his brother Balon knee-deep in seawater stood shirtless, muscles taut, waves crashing cold against his calves.
A newly tattooed longship writhed on his chest, its sails flapping, hull spewing ghostly green flames, and the mast piled with skeletal bones.
Two barefoot girls stood beside the altar, their soaked green silk dresses clinging to their bodies like a second skin.
The old priest's voice dragged like rusty chains. "Where do you come from?"
"Sun… Sunspear," the taller girl stammered, sand from her homeland still clinging to her skin.
The priest dipped his fingers into a bowl of saltwater. He sprinkled it over her head. "By the salt and the Drowned God, you are bound here. Now, under the eyes of the waves."
Euron's gaze fell on the second girl. A delicate silver chain hung at her throat, a small token of her past. Her amber eyes glimmered in the firelight, fear and uncertainty swirling together.
The priest repeated the blessing, pouring saltwater over her head.
Balon's voice suddenly rang out, cold as an anchor in the night. "Had enough?"
A hand seized Euron's collar, yanking him from his hiding spot, followed by a fist smashing into his cheek. He fell onto the gravel, tasting rust and salt.
Balon loomed over him, lifting him by the neck like a stranded fish. "What are you doing here? Come to stir trouble again?"
Euron gritted his teeth but forced himself to speak evenly. "I'm not here to start trouble. Father asked me to join the Council Chamber. I just… need to ask you something."
Balon's black hair whipped in the gale as he roared, "Your cleverness may fool a green boy, but the Council Chamber? That's a hall of Ironborn! Colder than the Drowned God's altar! Old geezers there… ice and poison flow in their veins! They'll chew you up, skin and bones, swallow you whole!"
Euron spat out a mouthful of blood, forcing a smile. "That's why I came to you, brother. Teach me which lords are dangerous, which topics to avoid."
Balon's gaze softened slightly, the hand gripping his hair loosening. He tossed Euron onto the gravel and muttered to himself about the stakes of House Greyjoy's honor. "No… don't talk. Sew your mouth shut!"
"And don't be late!"