A Feast for Dragons

his nephew now
. Martell
was dancing in a vipers’ nest, and he did not even see the snakes. His
continued presence, even after Daenerys had given herself to another before the
eyes of gods and men, would provoke any husband, and Quentyn no longer had the
queen to shield him from Hizdahr’s wroth.
Although …
    The thought hit him like a slap across the face. Quentyn had
grown up amongst the courts of Dorne. Plots and poisons were no strangers to
him. Nor was Prince Lewyn his only uncle.
He is kin to the Red Viper
.
Daenerys had taken another for her consort, but if Hizdahr died, she would be
free to wed again.
Could the Shavepate have been wrong? Who can say that
the locusts were meant for Daenerys? It was the king’s own box. What if he was
meant to be the victim all along?
Hizdahr’s death would have smashed
the fragile peace. The Sons of the Harpy would have resumed their murders, the
Yunkishmen their war. Daenerys might have had no better choice than Quentyn and
his marriage pact.
    Ser Barristan was still wrestling with that suspicion when
he heard the sound of heavy boots ascending the steep stone steps at the back
of the hall. The Yunkishmen had come. Three Wise Masters led the procession
from the Yellow City, each with his own armed retinue. One slaver wore a
tokar
of maroon silk fringed with gold, one a striped
tokar
of teal
and orange, the third an ornate breastplate inlaid with erotic scenes done in
jet and jade and mother-of-pearl. The sellsword captain Bloodbeard accompanied
them with a leathern sack slung across one massive shoulder and a look of mirth
and murder on his face.
    No Tattered Prince
, Selmy noted.
No
Brown Ben Plumm
. Ser Barristan eyed Bloodbeard coolly.
Give me
half a reason to dance with you, and we will see who is laughing at the end
.
    Reznak mo Reznak wormed his way forward. “Wise Masters, you
honor us. His Radiance King Hizdahr bids welcome to his friends from Yunkai. We
understand—”
    “Understand this.” Bloodbeard pulled a severed head from his
sack and flung it at the seneschal.
    Reznak gave a squeak of fright and leapt aside. The head
bounced past him, leaving spots of blood on the purple marble floor as it
rolled until it fetched up against the foot of King Hizdahr’s dragon throne. Up
and down the length of the hall, Brazen Beasts lowered their spears. Goghor the
Giant lumbered forward to place himself before the king’s throne, and the
Spotted Cat and Khrazz moved to either side of him to form a wall.
    Bloodbeard laughed. “He’s dead. He won’t bite.”
    Gingerly, so gingerly, the seneschal approached the head,
lifted it delicately by the hair. “Admiral Groleo.”
    Ser Barristan glanced toward the throne. He had served so
many kings, he could not help but imagine how they might have reacted to this
provocation. Aerys would have flinched away in horror, likely cutting himself
on the barbs of the Iron Throne, then shrieked at his swordsmen to cut the
Yunkishmen to pieces. Robert would have shouted for his hammer to repay
Bloodbeard in kind. Even Jaehaerys, reckoned weak by many, would have ordered
the arrest of Bloodbeard and the Yunkish slavers.
    Hizdahr sat frozen, a man transfixed. Reznak set the head on
a satin pillow at the king’s feet, then scampered away, his mouth twisted up in
a moue of distaste. Ser Barristan could smell the seneschal’s heavy floral
perfume from several yards away.
    The dead man stared up reproachfully. His beard was brown
with caked blood, but a trickle of red still leaked from his neck. From the
look of him, it had taken more than one blow to part his head from his body. In
the back of the hall, petitioners began to slip away. One of the Brazen Beasts
ripped off his brass hawk’s mask and began to spew up his breakfast.
    Barristan Selmy was no stranger to severed heads. This one,
though … he had crossed half the world with the old seafarer, from
Pentos to Qarth and back again to Astapor.
Groleo was a good man. He did
not deserve this end. All he ever wanted was to go home
. The knight
tensed, waiting.
    “This,” King Hizdahr said at last, “this is
not … we are not pleased, this … what is the meaning of
this … this …”
    The slaver in the maroon
tokar
produced a
parchment. “I have the honor to bear this message from the council of masters.”
He unrolled the scroll. “It is here written,
‘Seven entered Meereen to
sign the peace accords and witness the celebratory games at the Pit of Daznak.
As