A Feast for Dragons

coming. “If you must
remain in Meereen, you would do well to stay away from court and hope Hizdahr
forgets you,” Ser Barristan finished, “but a ship for Volantis would be wiser,
my prince. Whatever course you choose, I wish you well.”
    Before he had gone three steps, Quentyn Martell called out
to him. “Barristan the Bold, they call you.”
    “Some do.” Selmy had won that name when he was ten years
old, a new-made squire, yet so vain and proud and foolish that he got it in his
head that he could joust with tried and proven knights. So he’d borrowed a
warhorse and some plate from Lord Dondarrion’s armory and entered the lists at
Blackhaven as a mystery knight.
Even the herald laughed. My
arms
were so thin that when I lowered my lance it was all I could do to keep the
point from furrowing the ground
. Lord Dondarrion would have been
within his rights to pull him off the horse and spank him, but the Prince of
Dragonflies had taken pity on the addlepated boy in the ill-fitting armor and
accorded him the respect of taking up his challenge. One course was all that it
required. Afterward Prince Duncan helped him to his feet and removed his helm.
“A boy,” he had proclaimed to the crowd. “A bold boy.”
Fifty-three years
ago. How many men are still alive who were there at Blackhaven?
    “What name do you think they will give me, should I return
to Dorne without Daenerys?” Prince Quentyn asked. “Quentyn the Cautious?
Quentyn the Craven? Quentyn the Quail?”
    The Prince Who Came Too Late
, the old knight
thought … but if a knight of the Kingsguard learns nothing else, he
learns to guard his tongue. “Quentyn the Wise,” he suggested. And hoped that it
was true.

----

    THE SPURNED SUITOR
    The hour of ghosts was almost upon them when Ser Gerris
Drinkwater returned to the pyramid to report that he had found Beans, Books,
and Old Bill Bone in one of Meereen’s less savory cellars, drinking yellow wine
and watching naked slaves kill one another with bare hands and filed teeth.
    “Beans pulled a blade and proposed a wager to determine if
deserters had bellies full of yellow slime,” Ser Gerris reported, “so I tossed
him a dragon and asked if yellow gold would do. He bit the coin and asked what
I meant to buy. When I told him he slipped the knife away and asked if I was
drunk or mad.”
    “Let him think what he wants, so long as he delivers the
message,” said Quentyn.
    “He’ll do that much. I’ll wager you get your meeting too, if
only so Rags can have Pretty Meris cut your liver out and fry it up with
onions. We should be heeding Selmy. When Barristan the Bold tells you to run, a
wise man laces up his boots. We should find a ship for Volantis whilst the port
is still open.”
    Just the mention turned Ser Archibald’s cheeks green. “No
more ships. I’d sooner hop back to Volantis on one foot.”
    Volantis
, Quentyn thought.
Then Lys,
then home. Back the way I came, empty-handed. Three brave men dead, for what?
    It would be sweet to see the Greenblood again, to visit
Sunspear and the Water Gardens and breathe the clean sweet mountain air of
Yronwood in place of the hot, wet, filthy humors of Slaver’s Bay. His father
would speak no word of rebuke, Quentyn knew, but the disappointment would be
there in his eyes. His sister would be scornful, the Sand Snakes would mock him
with smiles sharp as swords, and Lord Yronwood, his second father, who had sent
his own son along to keep him safe …
    “I will not keep you here,” Quentyn told his friends. “My
father laid this task on me, not you. Go home, if that is what you want. By
whatever means you like. I am staying.”
    The big man shrugged. “Then Drink and me are staying too.”
    The next night, Denzo D’han turned up at Prince Quentyn’s
door to talk terms. “He will meet with you on the morrow, by the spice market.
Look for a door marked with a purple lotus. Knock twice and call for freedom.”
    “Agreed,” said Quentyn. “Arch and Gerris will be with me. He
can bring two men as well. No more.”
    “If it please my prince.” The words were polite enough, but
Denzo’s tone was edged with malice, and the eyes of the warrior poet gleamed
bright with mockery. “Come at sunset. And see that you are not followed.”
    The Dornishmen left the Great Pyramid an hour shy of sunset in
case they took a wrong turn or had difficulty finding the purple lotus. Quentyn
and Gerris wore their sword belts. The big man had his warhammer slung