A Dance With Dragons

the dragon and was crushed beneath the feet of his own slaves and companions. That, or his heart burst in terror. He was old.”
    “Who is this who speaks without the king’s leave?” asked the Yunkish lord in the striped tokar, a small man with a receding chin and teeth too big for his mouth. He reminded Selmy of a rabbit. “Must the lords of Yunkai attend to the natterings of guards?” He shook the pearls that fringed his tokar.
    Hizdahr zo Loraq could not seem to look away from the head. Only when Reznak whispered something in his ear did he finally bestir himself. “Yurkhaz zo Yunzak was your supreme commander,” he said. “Which of you speaks for Yunkai now?”
    “All of us,” said the rabbit. “The council of masters.”
    King Hizdahr found some steel. “Then all of you bear the responsibility for this breach of our peace.”
    The Yunkishman in the breastplate gave answer. “Our peace has not been breached. Blood pays for blood, a life for a life. To show our good faith, we return three of your hostages.” The iron ranks behind him parted. Three Meereenese were ushered forward, clutching at their tokar s—two women and a man.
    “Sister,” said Hizdahr zo Loraq, stiffly. “Cousins.” He gestured at the bleeding head. “Remove that from our sight.”
    “The admiral was a man of the sea,” Ser Barristan reminded him. “Mayhaps Your Magnificence might ask the Yunkai’i to return his body to us, so we may bury him beneath the waves?”
    The rabbit-toothed lord waved a hand. “If it please Your Radiance, this shall be done. A sign of our respect.”
    Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. “Meaning no offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …”
    “The others shall remain our guests,” announced the Yunkish lord in the breastplate, “until the dragons have been destroyed.”
    A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their hive. “The dragons …” said King Hizdahr.
    “… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak’s Pit. No true peace is possible whilst they live.”
    Reznak replied. “Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother of Dragons. Only she can—”
    Bloodbeard’s scorn cut him off. “She is gone. Burned and devoured. Weeds grow through her broken skull.”
    A roar greeted those words. Some began to shout and curse. Others stamped their feet and whistled their approval. It took the Brazen Beasts pounding the butts of their spears against the floor before the hall quieted again.
    Ser Barristan never once took his eyes off Bloodbeard. He came to sack a city, and Hizdahr’s peace has cheated him of his plunder. He will do whatever he must to start the bloodshed.
    Hizdahr zo Loraq rose slowly from his dragon throne. “I must consult my council. This court is done.”
    “ All kneel for His Magnificence Hizdahr zo Loraq, Fourteenth of That Ancient Name, King of Meereen, Scion of Ghis, Octarch of the Old Empire, Master of the Skahazadhan, Consort to Dragons and Blood of the Harpy, ” the herald shouted. Brazen Beasts swung out amongst the pillars to form a line, then began a slow advance in lockstep, ushering the petitioners from the hall.
    The Dornishmen did not have as far to go as most. As befit his rank and station, Quentyn Martell had been given quarters within the Great Pyramid, two levels down—a handsome suite of rooms with its own privy and walled terrace. Perhaps that was why he and his companions lingered, waiting until the press had lessened before beginning to make their way toward the steps.
    Ser Barristan watched them, thoughtful. What would Daenerys want? he asked himself. He thought he knew. The old knight strode across the hall, his long white cloak rippling behind him. He caught the Dornishmen at the top of the steps. “Your father’s court was never half so lively,” he heard Drinkwater japing.
    “Prince Quentyn,” Selmy called. “Might I beg a word?”
    Quentyn Martell turned. “Ser Barristan. Of course. My chambers are one level down.”
    No. “It is not my place to counsel you, Prince Quentyn … but if I were you, I would not return to my chambers. You and your friends should go down the steps and leave.”
    Prince Quentyn stared. “Leave the pyramid?”
    “Leave the city. Return to Dorne.”
    The Dornishmen exchanged a look. “Our arms and armor are back in our apartments,”