A Feast for Dragons

twenty longships, and Pinchface Jon Myre a
dozen. Left-Hand Lucas Codd is with them. And Harren Half-Hoare, the Red
Oarsman, Kemmett Pyke the Bastard, Rodrik Freeborn, Torwold Browntooth . . .”
    “Men of small account.” Asha knew them, every one. “The sons
of salt wives, the grandsons of thralls. The Codds . . . do you know their words ?”
    “Though All Men Do Despise Us,” Tris said, “but if
they catch you in those nets of theirs, you’ll be as dead as if they had been
dragonlords. And there’s worse. The Crow’s Eye brought back monsters from the
east . . . aye, and wizards too.”
    “Nuncle always had a fondness for freaks and fools,” said
Asha. “My father used to fight with him about it. Let the wizards call upon
their gods. The Damphair will call on ours, and drown them. Will I have your
voice at the queensmoot, Tris?”
    “You shall have all of me. I am your man, forever. Asha, I
would wed you. Your lady mother has given her consent.”
    She stifled a groan. You might have asked me first . . .
though you might not have liked the answer half so well.
    “I am no second son now,” he went on. “I am the rightful
Lord Botley, as you said yourself. And you are—”
    “What I am will be settled on Old Wyk. Tris, we are no
longer children fumbling at each other and trying to see what fits where. You
think you want to wed me, but you don’t.”
    “I do. All I dream about is you. Asha, I swear upon the
bones of Nagga, I have never touched another woman.”
    “Go touch one . . . or two, or ten. I have touched more men
than I can count. Some with my lips, more with my axe.” She had surrendered her
virtue at six-and-ten, to a beautiful blond-haired sailor on a trading galley
up from Lys. He only knew six words of the Common Tongue, but “fuck” was one of
them—the very word she’d hoped to hear. Afterward, Asha had the sense to find a
woods witch, who showed her how to brew moon tea to keep her belly flat.
    Botley blinked, as if he did not quite understand what she
had said. “You . . . I thought you would wait. Why . . .” He rubbed his mouth.
“Asha, were you forced ?”
    “So forced I tore his tunic. You do not want to wed me, take
my word on that. You are a sweet boy and always were, but I am no sweet girl.
If we wed, soon enough you’d come to hate me.”
    “Never. Asha, I have ached for you.”
    She had heard enough of this. A sickly mother, a murdered
father, and a plague of uncles were enough for any woman to contend with; she
did not require a lovesick puppy too. “Find a brothel, Tris. They’ll cure you
of that ache.”
    “I could never . . .” Tristifer shook his head. “You and I
were meant to be, Asha. I have always known you would be my wife, and the
mother of my sons.” He seized her upper arm.
    In a blink her dirk was at his throat. “Take your hand away
or you won’t live long enough to breed a son. Now. ” When he did, she lowered
the blade. “You want a woman, well and good. I’ll put one in your bed tonight.
Pretend she’s me, if that will give you pleasure, but do not presume to grab at
me again. I am your queen, not your wife. Remember that.” Asha sheathed her
dirk and left him standing there, with a fat drop of blood slowly creeping down
his neck, black in the pale light of the moon.
    ----

    DAENERYS
    She could hear the dead man coming up the steps. The slow,
measured sound of footsteps went before him, echoing amongst the purple pillars
of her hall. Daenerys Targaryen awaited him upon the ebon bench that she had
made her throne. Her eyes were soft with sleep, her silver-gold hair all
tousled.
    “Your Grace,” said Ser Barristan Selmy, the lord commander
of her Queensguard, “there is no need for you to see this.”
    “He died for me.” Dany clutched her lion pelt to her chest.
Underneath, a sheer white linen tunic covered her to midthigh. She had been
dreaming of a house with a red door when Missandei woke her. There had been no
time to dress.
    “Khaleesi,”
whispered Irri, “you must not
touch the dead man. It is bad luck to touch the dead.”
    “Unless you killed them yourself.” Jhiqui was bigger-boned
than Irri, with wide hips and heavy breasts. “That is known.”
    “It is known,” Irri agreed.
    Dothraki were wise where horses were concerned, but could be
utter fools about much else.
They are only girls, besides
. Her
handmaids were of an age with her—women grown to look at them, with their black
hair, copper skin, and