A Feast for Dragons

surety for their safety, seven hostages were tendered us. The Yellow City
mourns its noble son Yurkhaz zo Yunzak, who perished cruelly whilst a guest of
Meereen. Blood must pay for blood.’
 ”
    Groleo had a wife back in Pentos. Children, grandchildren.
Why
him, of all the hostages?
Jhogo, Hero, and Daario Naharis all
commanded fighting men, but Groleo had been an admiral without a fleet.
Did
they draw straws, or did they think Groleo the least valuable to us, the least
likely to provoke reprisal?
the knight asked himself … but
it was easier to pose that question than to answer it.
I have no skill
at unraveling such knots
.
    “Your Grace,” Ser Barristan called out. “If it please you to
recall, the noble Yurkhaz died by happenstance. He stumbled on the steps as he
tried to flee the dragon and was crushed beneath the feet of his own slaves and
companions. That, or his heart burst in terror. He was old.”
    “Who is this who speaks without the king’s leave?” asked the
Yunkish lord in the striped
tokar
, a small man with a receding
chin and teeth too big for his mouth. He reminded Selmy of a rabbit. “Must the
lords of Yunkai attend to the natterings of guards?” He shook the pearls that
fringed his
tokar
.
    Hizdahr zo Loraq could not seem to look away from the head.
Only when Reznak whispered something in his ear did he finally bestir himself.
“Yurkhaz zo Yunzak was your supreme commander,” he said. “Which of you speaks
for Yunkai now?”
    “All of us,” said the rabbit. “The council of masters.”
    King Hizdahr found some steel. “Then all of you bear the
responsibility for this breach of our peace.”
    The Yunkishman in the breastplate gave answer. “Our peace has
not been breached. Blood pays for blood, a life for a life. To show our good
faith, we return three of your hostages.” The iron ranks behind him parted.
Three Meereenese were ushered forward, clutching at their tokars—two women and
a man.
    “Sister,” said Hizdahr zo Loraq, stiffly. “Cousins.” He
gestured at the bleeding head. “Remove that from our sight.”
    “The admiral was a man of the sea,” Ser Barristan reminded
him. “Mayhaps Your Magnificence might ask the Yunkai’i to return his body to
us, so we may bury him beneath the waves?”
    The rabbit-toothed lord waved a hand. “If it please Your
Radiance, this shall be done. A sign of our respect.”
    Reznak mo Reznak cleared his throat noisily. “Meaning no
offense, yet it seems to me that Her Worship Queen Daenerys gave
you … ah … seven hostages. The other three …”
    “The others shall remain our guests,” announced the Yunkish
lord in the breastplate, “until the dragons have been destroyed.”
    A hush fell across the hall. Then came the murmurs and the
mutters, whispered curses, whispered prayers, the hornets stirring in their
hive. “The dragons …” said King Hizdahr.
    “… are monsters, as all men saw in Daznak’s Pit. No
true peace is possible whilst they live.”
    Reznak replied. “Her Magnificence Queen Daenerys is Mother
of Dragons. Only she can—”
    Bloodbeard’s scorn cut him off. “She is gone. Burned and
devoured. Weeds grow through her broken skull.”
    A roar greeted those words. Some began to shout and curse.
Others stamped their feet and whistled their approval. It took the Brazen
Beasts pounding the butts of their spears against the floor before the hall
quieted again.
    Ser Barristan never once took his eyes off Bloodbeard.
He
came to sack a city, and Hizdahr’s peace has cheated him of his plunder. He
will do whatever he must to start the bloodshed
.
    Hizdahr zo Loraq rose slowly from his dragon throne. “I must
consult my council. This court is done.”
    “All kneel for His Magnificence Hizdahr zo Loraq,
Fourteenth of That Ancient Name, King of Meereen, Scion of Ghis, Octarch of the
Old Empire, Master of the Skahazadhan, Consort to Dragons and Blood of the
Harpy,”
the herald shouted. Brazen Beasts swung out amongst the
pillars to form a line, then began a slow advance in lockstep, ushering the
petitioners from the hall.
    The Dornishmen did not have as far to go as most. As befit
his rank and station, Quentyn Martell had been given quarters within the Great
Pyramid, two levels down—a handsome suite of rooms with its own privy and
walled terrace. Perhaps that was why he and his companions lingered, waiting
until the press had lessened before beginning to make their way toward the
steps.
    Ser Barristan