A Feast for Dragons

moved a stack of books
off a stool and seated herself. “Three-Tooth seems to have lost two more of her
teeth. Do you call her One-Tooth now?”
    “I seldom call her at all. The woman frightens me. What hour
is it?” Lord Rodrik glanced out the window, at the moonlit sea. “Dark, so soon?
I had not noticed. You come late. We looked for you some days ago.”
    “The winds were against us, and I had captives to concern
me. Robett Glover’s wife and children. The youngest is still at the breast, and
Lady Glover’s milk dried up during our crossing. I had no choice but to beach Black
Wind upon the
Stony
Shore
and
send my men out to find a wet nurse. They found a goat instead. The girl does
not thrive. Is there a nursing mother in the village? Deepwood is important to
my plans.”
    “Your plans must change. You come too late.”
    “Late and hungry.” She stretched her long legs out beneath
the table and turned the pages of the nearest book, a septon’s discourse on
Maegor the Cruel’s war against the Poor Fellows. “Oh, and thirsty too. A horn
of ale would go down well, Nuncle.”
    Lord Rodrik pursed his lips. “You know I do not permit food
nor drink in my library. The books—”
    “—might suffer harm.” Asha laughed.
    Her uncle frowned. “You do like to provoke me.”
    “Oh, don’t look so aggrieved. I have never met a man I
didn’t provoke, you should know that well enough by now. But enough of me. You
are well?”
    He shrugged. “Well enough. My eyes grow weaker. I have sent
to Myr for a lens to help me read.”
    “And how fares my aunt?”
    Lord Rodrik sighed. “Still seven years my elder, and
convinced Ten Towers should be hers. Gwynesse grows forgetful, but that she does not forget. She mourns for her dead husband as deeply as she did the
day he died, though she cannot always recall his name.”
    “I am not certain she ever knew his name.” Asha closed the
septon’s book with a thump. “Was my father murdered?”
    “So your mother believes.”
    There were times when she would gladly have murdered him
herself, she thought. “And what does my nuncle believe?”
    “Balon fell to his death when a rope bridge broke beneath
him. A storm was rising, and the bridge was swaying and twisting with each gust
of wind.” Rodrik shrugged. “Or so we are told. Your mother had a bird from
Maester Wendamyr.”
    Asha slid her dirk out of its sheath and began to clean the
dirt from beneath her fingernails. “Three years away, and the Crow’s Eye
returns the very day my father dies.”
    “The day after, we had heard. Silence was still out
to sea when Balon died, or so it is claimed. Even so, I will agree that Euron’s
return was . . . timely, shall we say?”
    “That is not how I would say it.” Asha slammed the point of
the dirk into the table. “ Where are my ships? I counted twoscore
longships moored below, not near enough to throw the Crow’s Eye off my father’s
chair.”
    “I sent the summons. In your name, for the love I bear you
and your mother. House Harlaw has gathered. Stonetree as well, and Volmark.
Some Myres . . .”
    “All from the isle of Harlaw . . . one isle out of seven. I
saw one lonely Botley banner in the hall, from Pyke. Where are the ships from
Saltcliffe, from Orkwood, from the Wyks?”
    “Baelor Blacktyde came from Blacktyde to consult with me,
and just as soon set sail again.” Lord Rodrik closed The Book of Lost Books. “He is on Old Wyk by now.”
    “Old Wyk?” Asha had feared he was about to say that they all
had gone to Pyke, to do homage to the Crow’s Eye. “Why Old Wyk?”
    “I thought you would have heard. Aeron Damphair has called a
kingsmoot.”
    Asha threw back her head and laughed. “The Drowned God must
have shoved a pricklefish up Uncle Aeron’s arse. A kingsmoot? Is this
some jape, or does he mean it truly?”
    “The Damphair has not japed since he was drowned. And the
other priests have taken up the call. Blind Beron Blacktyde, Tarle the
Thrice-Drowned . . . even the Old Grey Gull has left that rock he lives on to
preach this kingsmoot all across Harlaw. The captains are gathering on Old Wyk
as we speak.”
    Asha was astonished. “Has the Crow’s Eye agreed to attend
this holy farce and abide by its decision?”
    “The Crow’s Eye does not confide in me. Since he summoned me
to Pyke to do him homage, I have had no word from Euron.”
    A kingsmoot. This is something new . . . or rather,
something very old. “And my uncle Victarion?