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The flower boat of the Black Pearl glided through the canals with a regal arrogance. In Braavos, horses were a rare vanity of the excessively wealthy or the hopelessly eccentric; the city's lifeblood was the water.
Viserys watched the aquatic ballet through the colored glass windows. Snake-shaped skiffs darted through tunnels, their prows painted in vibrant hues, propelled by polemen in moss-green cloaks. Large, flat-bottomed barges groaned under the weight of barrels and crates, while floating houses—hung with velvet curtains and brass figureheads—glittered like jewels on the dark water.
Every vessel, from the nimblest skiff to the heaviest merchant cog, made way for the Black Pearl.
"There are no walls here," Viserys remarked, leaning against the cushioned railing.
"Our Purple Fleet is our wall," the Black Pearl replied, her brown skin glowing in the lantern light. "Braavos is unconquerable."
"A bold claim," Viserys mused, his violet eyes narrowing with a strategist's cold logic. "What if the Sweet Water Canal were cut? Or the Titan's knees blown? This city lives on land-water. Sever the stone pipeline, and the unconquerable city becomes a desert."
The Black Pearl looked at him, a shiver of unease crossing her features. "Are you a devil, Viserys? You speak of ruin so easily."
"I speak of logic," he countered, accepting another glass of the expensive lemonade. "In war, the throat is always the first place a killer looks."
"Be careful with such talk," she warned. "There are those in this city who kill with precision, not armies. The House of Black and White does not take kindly to those who threaten the foundations of Braavos."
"I know them," Viserys said, his hand straying to the hilt of his dagger. He was studying the Way of Insight precisely because he knew that in a city of assassins, a king's only shield was his own perception.
As the boat passed the green copper dome of the Palace of Truth and the square towers of the great noble houses—Preston and Antarion—the Black Pearl introduced the landscape of power. Only families who had produced multiple Sealords were considered "Old Houses." The rest were merely guests.
"Do these Sealord families have daughters?" Viserys asked, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
The Black Pearl laughed, her shoulders shaking. "You are insatiable! The current Sealord has no daughters, and even if he did, they wouldn't be for an exiled dragon. Don't go looking for death, Viserys. The young nobles of this city are protective of their own."
"I was only thinking of making friends," he said smoothly.
"Friends? You are about to become the most famous man in the city. The 'Silver Traveler' will be on every tongue once I release your new song. But fame is a fire, Viserys. It brings warmth, but it also brings those who want to steal the flame."
Viserys nodded. He understood the "nouveau riche" problem. Nightingale had the Temple of the Moon Singers; the other Courtesans had the backing of ancient guilds. He was starting from scratch, a wild card in a deck of fixed suits.
"Some will hate you for your brilliance," she continued. "Others will covet your value. They will fight to be your agent, to own your voice. You could follow me—the Black Pearl can protect what she owns."
"No," Viserys said, his voice hardening. "I am not a pet. I am a partner. Let the trouble come. I have a sword, and I have the mists."
"You cannot rely entirely on Syrio," she said. "If those who cannot have you decide to destroy you, even the First Sword cannot watch every shadow. I wouldn't want my investment to go to waste."
"Then keep the dragon bones coming," Viserys said, changing the subject with a wolfish grin. "And the Sea King crabs. And the Valyrian steel. I am a hungry dragon, Belle. I need the strength of the old world to survive the new one."
"You treat me like a wishing well," she teased, though her eyes were fond. "Dragon bone is scarce and fakes are everywhere—scoundrels will sell you sun-bleached fish bones and call them ancient. Valyrian steel is a ghost's treasure. But if you have the gold, I can find the reality behind the myths."
"And how much gold will you lend me?"
The Black Pearl leaned back, her silk gown rustling. "My cash flow is deeper than the lagoon, but it is not a bottomless well. For now? Ten, perhaps twenty thousand gold dragons. As your fame grows, so too will your credit. I observe, I invest, and I expect a return."
"You'll get it," Viserys said, taking her hand. "I'll make sure the Black Pearl is the wealthiest woman in Essos when I sit on the Iron Throne."
She withdrew her hand with a sharp, knowing smile. "Then show me your value, Viserys Targaryen. Let me see if you are a legend in the making, or just another beautiful tragedy."
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