A Feast for Dragons

mother’s milk.”
    “And losing battles too.” Asha took a drink of wine.
    Victarion did not like to be reminded of Fair Isle. “Every
man should lose a battle in his youth, so he does not lose a war when he is
old. You have not come to make a claim, I hope.”
    She teased him with a smile. “And if I have?”
    “There are men who remember when you were a little girl,
swimming naked in the sea and playing with your doll.”
    “I played with axes too.”
    “You did,” he had to grant, “but a woman wants a husband,
not a crown. When I am king I’ll give you one.”
    “My nuncle is so good to me. Shall I find a pretty wife for
you, when I am queen?”
    “I have no luck with wives. How long have you been here?”
    “Long enough to see that Uncle Damphair has woken more than
he intended. The Drumm means to make a claim, and Tarle the Thrice-Drowned was
heard to say that Maron Volmark is the true heir of the black line.”
    “The king must be a kraken.”
    “The Crow’s Eye is a kraken. The elder brother comes before
the younger.” Asha leaned close. “But I am the child of King Balon’s body, so I
come before you both. Hear me, nuncle . . .”
    But then a sudden silence fell. The singing died, Little
Lenwood Tawney lowered his fiddle, men turned their heads. Even the clatter of
plates and knives was hushed.
    A dozen newcomers had entered the feast tent. Victarion saw
Pinchface Jon Myre, Torwold Browntooth, Left-Hand Lucas Codd. Germund Botley
crossed his arms against the gilded breastplate he had taken off a Lannister
captain during Balon’s first rebellion. Orkwood of Orkmont stood beside him.
Behind them were Stonehand, Quellon Humble, and the Red Oarsman with his fiery
hair in braids. Ralf the Shepherd too, and Ralf of Lordsport, and Qarl the
Thrall.
    And the Crow’s Eye, Euron Greyjoy.
    He looks unchanged, Victarion thought. He looks
the same as he did the day he laughed at me and left. Euron was the most
comely of Lord Quellon’s sons, and three years of exile had not changed that.
His hair was still black as a midnight sea, with never a whitecap to be seen,
and his face was still smooth and pale beneath his neat dark beard. A black
leather patch covered Euron’s left eye, but his right was blue as a summer sky.
    His smiling eye, thought Victarion. “Crow’s Eye,” he
said.
    “ King Crow’s Eye, brother.” Euron smiled. His lips
looked very dark in the lamplight, bruised and blue.
    “We shall have no king but from the kingsmoot.” The Damphair
stood. “No godless man—”
    “—may sit the Seastone Chair, aye.” Euron glanced about the
tent. “As it happens as I have oft sat upon the Seastone Chair of late. It
raises no objections.” His smiling eye was glittering. “Who knows more of gods
than I? Horse gods and fire gods, gods made of gold with gemstone eyes, gods
carved of cedar wood, gods chiseled into mountains, gods of empty air . . . I
know them all. I have seen their peoples garland them with flowers, and shed the
blood of goats and bulls and children in their names. And I have heard the
prayers, in half a hundred tongues. Cure my withered leg, make the maiden love
me, grant me a healthy son. Save me, succor me, make me wealthy . . . protect me! Protect me from mine enemies, protect me from the darkness, protect me from
the crabs inside my belly, from the horselords, from the slavers, from the
sellswords at my door. Protect me from the Silence .” He laughed. “ Godless? Why, Aeron, I am the godliest man ever to raise sail! You serve one god,
Damphair, but I have served ten thousand. From Ib to Asshai, when men see my sails, they pray.”
    The priest raised a bony finger. “They pray to trees and
golden idols and goat-headed abominations. False gods . . .”
    “Just so,” said Euron, “and for that sin I kill them all. I
spill their blood upon the sea and sow their screaming women with my seed.
Their little gods cannot stop me, so plainly they are false gods. I am more
devout than even you, Aeron. Perhaps it should be you who kneels to me for
blessing.”
    The Red Oarsman laughed loudly at that, and the others took
their lead from him.
    “Fools,” said the priest, “fools and thralls and
blind men, that is what you are. Do you not see what stands before you?”
    “A king,” said Quellon Humble.
    The Damphair spat, and strode out into the night.
    When he was gone, the Crow’s Eye turned his smiling eye upon
Victarion. “Lord Captain, have you no greeting for