A Feast for Dragons

Meereen I must win the Meereenese, however
much I may despise them
. “I am ready,” she told Irri.
    Reznak and Skahaz waited atop the marble steps. “Great
queen,” declared Reznak mo Reznak, “you are so radiant today I fear to look on
you.” The seneschal wore a
tokar
of maroon silk with a golden
fringe. A small, damp man, he smelled as if he had bathed in perfume and spoke
a bastard form of High Valyrian, much corrupted and flavored with a thick
Ghiscari growl.
    “You are kind to say so,” Dany answered, in the same tongue.
    “My queen,” growled Skahaz mo Kandaq, of the shaven head.
Ghiscari hair was dense and wiry; it had long been the fashion for the men of
the Slaver Cities to tease it into horns and spikes and wings. By shaving,
Skahaz had put old Meereen behind him to accept the new, and his kin had done
the same after his example. Others followed, though whether from fear, fashion,
or ambition, Dany could not say; shavepates, they were called. Skahaz was
the
Shavepate … and the vilest of traitors to the Sons of the Harpy and
their ilk. “We were told about the eunuch.”
    “His name was Stalwart Shield.”
    “More will die unless the murderers are punished.” Even with
his shaven scalp, Skahaz had an odious face—a beetled brow, small eyes with
heavy bags beneath them, a big nose dark with blackheads, oily skin that looked
more yellow than the usual amber of Ghiscari. It was a blunt, brutal, angry
face. She could only pray it was an honest one as well.
    “How can I punish them when I do not know who they are?”
Dany demanded of him. “Tell me that, bold Skahaz.”
    “You have no lack of enemies, Your Grace. You can see their
pyramids from your terrace. Zhak, Hazkar, Ghazeen, Merreq, Loraq, all the old
slaving families. Pahl. Pahl, most of all. A house of women now. Bitter old
women with a taste for blood. Women do not forget. Women do not forgive.”
    No
, Dany thought,
and the Usurper’s
dogs will learn that, when I return to Westeros
. It was true that
there was blood between her and the House of Pahl. Oznak zo Pahl had been cut
down by Strong Belwas in single combat. His father, commander of Meereen’s city
watch, had died defending the gates when Joso’s Cock smashed them into
splinters. Three uncles had been among the hundred sixty-three on the plaza.
“How much gold have we offered for information concerning the Sons of the
Harpy?” Dany asked.
    “One hundred honors, if it please Your Radiance.”
    “One thousand honors would please us more. Make it so.”
    “Your Grace has not asked for my counsel,” said Skahaz
Shavepate, “but I say that blood must pay for blood. Take one man from each of
the families I have named and kill him. The next time one of yours is slain,
take two from each great House and kill them both. There will not be a third
murder.”
    Reznak squealed in distress. “Noooo … gentle
queen, such savagery would bring down the ire of the gods. We will find the
murderers, I promise you, and when we do they will prove to be baseborn filth,
you shall see.”
    The seneschal was as bald as Skahaz, though in his case the
gods were responsible. “Should any hair be so insolent as to appear, my barber
stands with razor ready,” he had assured her when she raised him up. There were
times when Dany wondered if that razor might not be better saved for Reznak’s
throat. He was a useful man, but she liked him little and trusted him less. The
Undying of Qarth had told her she would be thrice betrayed. Mirri Maz Duur had
been the first, Ser Jorah the second. Would Reznak be the third? The Shavepate?
Daario?
Or will it be someone I would never suspect, Ser Barristan or
Grey Worm or Missandei?
    “Skahaz,” she told the Shavepate, “I thank you for your
counsel. Reznak, see what one thousand honors may accomplish.” Clutching her
tokar
,
Daenerys swept past them down the broad marble stair. She took one step at a
time, lest she trip over her fringe and go tumbling headfirst into court.
    Missandei announced her. The little scribe had a sweet,
strong voice. “All
kneel for Daenerys Stormborn, the Unburnt, Queen of
Meereen, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men
,
Khaleesi
of Great Grass Sea, Breaker of Shackles, and Mother of Dragons
.”
    The hall had filled. Unsullied stood with their backs to the
pillars, holding shields and spears, the spikes on their caps jutting upward
like a row of knives. The Meereenese had gathered beneath the eastern