A Dance With Dragons

Men send us food?”
    “Grain will come down the Skahazadhan by barge, my queen, and other goods by caravan over the Khyzai.”
    “Not the Skahazadhan. The river has been closed to us. The seas as well. You will have seen the ships out in the bay. The Qartheen have driven off a third of our fishing fleet and seized another third. The others are too frightened to leave port. What little trade we still had has been cut off.”
    Daario tossed away the pear stem. “Qartheen have milk in their veins. Let them see your dragons, and they’ll run.”
    Dany did not want to talk about the dragons. Farmers still came to her court with burned bones, complaining of missing sheep, though Drogon had not returned to the city. Some reported seeing him north of the river, above the grass of the Dothraki sea. Down in the pit, Viserion had snapped one of his chains; he and Rhaegal grew more savage every day. Once the iron doors had glowed red-hot, her Unsullied told her, and no one dared to touch them for a day. “Astapor is under siege as well.”
    “This I knew. One of the Long Lances lived long enough to tell us that men were eating one another in the Red City. He said Meereen’s turn would come soon, so I cut his tongue out and fed it to a yellow dog. No dog will eat a liar’s tongue. When the yellow dog ate his, I knew he spoke the truth.”
    “I have war inside the city too.” She told him of the Harpy’s Sons and the Brazen Beasts, of blood upon the bricks. “My enemies are all around me, within the city and without.”
    “Attack,” he said at once. “A man surrounded by foes cannot defend himself. Try, and the axe will take you in the back whilst you are parrying the sword. No. When faced with many enemies, choose the weakest, kill him, ride over him, and escape.”
    “Where should I escape to?”
    “Into my bed. Into my arms. Into my heart.” The hilts of Daario’s arakh and stiletto were wrought in the shape of golden women, naked and wanton. He brushed his thumbs across them in a way that was remarkably obscene and smiled a wicked smile.
    Dany felt blood rushing to her face. It was almost as if he were caressing her. Would he think me wanton too if I pulled him into bed? He made her want to be his wanton. I should never see him alone. He is too dangerous to have near me. “The Green Grace says that I must take a Ghiscari king,” she said, flustered. “She urges me to wed the noble Hizdahr zo Loraq.”
    “That one?” Daario chuckled. “Why not Grey Worm, if you want a eunuch in your bed? Do you want a king?”
    I want you. “I want peace. I gave Hizdahr ninety days to end the killings. If he does, I will take him for a husband.”
    “Take me for your husband. I will do it in nine.”
    You know I cannot do that, she almost said. “You are fighting shadows when you should be fighting the men who cast them,” Daario went on. “Kill them all and take their treasures, I say. Whisper the command, and your Daario will make you a pile of their heads taller than this pyramid.”
    “If I knew who they were—”
    “Zhak and Pahl and Merreq. Them, and all the rest. The Great Masters. Who else would it be?”
    He is as bold as he is bloody. “We have no proof this is their work. Would you have me slaughter my own subjects?”
    “Your own subjects would gladly slaughter you.”
    He had been so long away, Dany had almost forgotten what he was. Sellswords were treacherous by nature, she reminded herself. Fickle, faithless, brutal. He will never be more than he is. He will never be the stuff of kings. “The pyramids are strong,” she explained to him. “We could take them only at great cost. The moment we attack one the others will rise against us.”
    “Then winkle them out of their pyramids on some pretext. A wedding might serve. Why not? Promise your hand to Hizdahr and all the Great Masters will come to see you married. When they gather in the Temple of the Graces, turn us loose upon them.”
    Dany was appalled. He is a monster. A gallant monster, but a monster still. “Do you take me for the Butcher King?”
    “Better the butcher than the meat. All kings are butchers. Are queens so different?”
    “This queen is.”
    Daario shrugged. “Most queens have no purpose but to warm some king’s bed and pop out sons for him. If that’s the sort of queen you mean to be, best marry Hizdahr.”
    Her anger flashed. “Have you forgotten who I am?”
    “No. Have you?”
    Viserys would have his head off for