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Viserys's silver-white hair shimmered under the amber lanterns, his handsome face set in a mask of calm composure. His half-black, half-red attire—the colors of his house—gave him the dangerous, elegant silhouette of a predator. To any other woman, he was an exiled king; to the Black Pearl, he was an investment.
"I am the fourth Black Pearl," Bellegere Otherys said with a playful tilt of her head. "The first of my line was a pirate queen and a lover of Prince Aegon. I carry the blood of the dragon as well, though mine is seasoned with the salt of the Summer Isles."
She was youthful, radiant, and possessed a poise that made her the undisputed queen of the canals.
"I am seven generations removed from that Aegon," Viserys replied, his eyes tracing the lineage in his mind. "If we were to speak of seniority, My Lady, you would be something of a great-great-aunt to me."
Bellegere burst into a melodic laugh. "Then you may call me Great-Aunt, little dragon!"
Viserys couldn't help but chuckle. "My actual great-aunts are long in their graves. I don't recall any of them being quite so beautiful or so well-positioned in Braavos."
The ice was broken. Bellegere watched him with a keen, analytical gaze. "Many say you are a fallen king with no land and no hope. But I see the Gourmet, the Silver Traveler, and the Violet Swordsman. You are a man of many masks, Viserys. In Braavos, I know the rhythm of every heart. I knew the moment those songs appeared that the 'Traveler' was someone new, someone whose sweetness was born of a very different kind of bitter."
"I am a king without land," Viserys admitted, "but land is merely earth. It can be taken. Power, however, is built on information. You seem to have a monopoly on that."
"Information is the only currency that doesn't devalue," she said, pouring him a cup of hot lemon drink—a luxury so expensive in Braavos that it was practically liquid gold. "I screen the destitute who come to my door. I wanted to see if you were the son of the Mad King, or a genius in your own right. You have piqued my interest, Viserys. You are worth more than a polite dismissal."
She opened a cedar box on the low table. Inside sat seven large, flawless Black Pearls. "Seven for luck," she said. "Had you bored me, you would have taken these and never seen my deck again. But you are more than a beggar."
She opened a second box, and Viserys's breath hitched. It was filled with dragonbone—clasps, hairpins, and trinkets. But resting atop them was a weapon of legend: a Valyrian steel dagger with a dragonbone hilt. Its blade was dark as smoke, ripple-marked and hungry for light.
"This belonged to Aegon the Unworthy," she said softly. "It is yours now. A gift from one dragon to another."
Viserys took the dagger, feeling the unnatural balance of the steel. It was a king's weapon, a piece of his lost heritage returned.
"And the third gift?" he asked, his voice low.
Bellegere opened the final box to reveal a heavy, ancient tome: The Reigns of Four Kings.
"History is a map," she said, her eyes turning serious. "You need gold and steel, yes. But if you wish to avoid the rot that took your ancestors, you need to understand where the road turned to ash. I am a broker of futures, Viserys. And I think yours is a future worth betting on."
Viserys looked from the gold to the steel, and then to the girl who sat before him. The "Silver Traveler" had finally found a partner who didn't just want a song—she wanted a revolution.
"I need money," Viserys said plainly, "to build an army that doesn't sell its loyalty. And I need the Iron Bank to look the other way while I do it."
Bellegere smiled, a slow, dangerous expression. "Then it is a good thing the Keyholders find my company so... indispensable."
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