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Summary
Lured by tales of black sails and burning cities, Aemond "the dragonless" sets sail for Slaver's bay. He goes in search of dragons. He finds something else entirely.
"Well, well…." came a smokey voice, deep and lovely. "What do we have here?"
"I found him down below, Captain," the man with the knife replied, a faint tremor in his rasping voice. It was fear, Aemond realized. Fear of the kind earned with blood and misery. "Locked away in his cabin."
"Clearly not well enough," the captain hummed. A rough hand took hold of Aemond's chin, forcing it toward the sky. Lavender met glossy brown—so dark and deep that it might be mistaken for black. Yet, the longer Aemond looked, the more he noticed the odd sheen the man's eyes had. A tint of amethyst. "Where were you sailing to, Little one?"
Aemond's jaw clenched. "That is none of your concern, Pirate."
The captain smirked, grip turning to iron. "I think you'll find it is, Targaryen," he purred, imbuing the name with a strange venom. "You see, you've crossed into my kingdom now. And there is no matter here which does not concern me."
Series
- Part 1 of The Silver Witch