A Feast for Dragons

watched them, thoughtful.
What would
Daenerys want?
he asked himself. He thought he knew. The old knight
strode across the hall, his long white cloak rippling behind him. He caught the
Dornishmen at the top of the steps. “Your father’s court was never half so
lively,” he heard Drinkwater japing.
    “Prince Quentyn,” Selmy called. “Might I beg a word?”
    Quentyn Martell turned. “Ser Barristan. Of course. My
chambers are one level down.”
    No
. “It is not my place to counsel you,
Prince Quentyn … but if I were you, I would not return to my
chambers. You and your friends should go down the steps and leave.”
    Prince Quentyn stared. “Leave the pyramid?”
    “Leave the city. Return to Dorne.”
    The Dornishmen exchanged a look. “Our arms and armor are
back in our apartments,” said Gerris Drinkwater. “Not to mention most of the
coin that we have left.”
    “Swords can be replaced,” said Ser Barristan. “I can provide
you with coin enough for passage back to Dorne. Prince Quentyn, the king made
note of you today. He frowned.”
    Gerris Drinkwater laughed. “Should we be frightened of
Hizdahr zo Loraq? You saw him just now. He quailed before the Yunkishmen. They
sent him a
head
, and he did nothing.”
    Quentyn Martell nodded in agreement. “A prince does well to
think before he acts. This king … I do not know what to think of him.
The queen warned me against him as well, true, but …”
    “She warned you?” Selmy frowned. “Why are you still here?”
    Prince Quentyn flushed. “The marriage pact—”
    “—was made by two dead men and contained not a word about
the queen or you. It promised your sister’s hand to the queen’s brother,
another dead man. It has no force. Until you turned up here, Her Grace was
ignorant of its existence. Your father keeps his secrets well, Prince Quentyn.
Too well, I fear. If the queen had known of this pact in Qarth, she might never
have turned aside for Slaver’s Bay, but you came too late. I have no wish to
salt your wounds, but Her Grace has a new husband and an old paramour, and
seems to prefer the both of them to you.”
    Anger flashed in the prince’s dark eyes. “This Ghiscari
lordling is no fit consort for the queen of the Seven Kingdoms.”
    “That is not for you to judge.” Ser Barristan paused,
wondering if he had said too much already.
No. Tell him the rest of it
.
“That day at Daznak’s Pit, some of the food in the royal box was poisoned. It
was only chance that Strong Belwas ate it all. The Blue Graces say that only
his size and freakish strength have saved him, but it was a near thing. He may
yet die.”
    The shock was plain on Prince Quentyn’s face.
“Poison … meant for Daenerys?”
    “Her or Hizdahr. Perhaps both. The box was his, though. His
Grace made all the arrangements. If the poison was his doing … well,
he will need a scapegoat. Who better than a rival from a distant land who has
no friends at this court? Who better than a suitor the queen spurned?”
    Quentyn Martell went pale. “
Me?
I would never … you
cannot think I had any part in any …”
    That was the truth, or he is a master mummer
.
“Others might,” said Ser Barristan. “The Red Viper was your uncle. And you have
good reason to want King Hizdahr dead.”
    “So do others,” suggested Gerris Drinkwater. “Naharis, for
one. The queen’s …”
    “… paramour,” Ser Barristan finished, before the
Dornish knight could say anything that might besmirch the queen’s honor. “That
is what you call them down in Dorne, is it not?” He did not wait for a reply.
“Prince Lewyn was my Sworn Brother. In those days there were few secrets
amongst the Kingsguard. I know he kept a paramour. He did not feel there was
any shame in that.”
    “No,” said Quentyn, red-faced, “but …”
    “Daario would kill Hizdahr in a heartbeat if he dared,” Ser
Barristan went on. “But not with poison. Never. And Daario was not there in any
case. Hizdahr would be pleased to blame him for the locusts, all the
same … but the king may yet have need of the Stormcrows, and he will
lose them if he appears complicit in the death of their captain. No, my prince.
If His Grace needs a poisoner, he will look to you.” He had said all that he
could safely say. In a few more days, if the gods smiled on them, Hizdahr zo
Loraq would no longer rule Meereen … but no good would be served by
having Prince Quentyn caught up in the bloodbath that was