A Feast for Dragons

was still a good few moments before King Hizdahr zo
Loraq, Fourteenth of That Noble Name, emerged yawning, knotting the sash that
closed his robe. The robe was green satin, richly worked with pearls and silver
thread. Under it the king was quite naked. That was good. Naked men felt
vulnerable and were less inclined to acts of suicidal heroism.
    The woman Ser Barristan glimpsed peering through the archway
from behind a gauzy curtain was naked as well, her breasts and hips only
partially concealed by the blowing silk.
    “Ser Barristan.” Hizdahr yawned again. “What hour is it? Is
there news of my sweet queen?”
    “None, Your Grace.”
    Hizdahr sighed. “ ‘Your
Magnificence,
’
please. Though at his hour, ‘Your Sleepiness’ would be more apt.” The king
crossed to the sideboard to pour himself a cup of wine, but only a trickle
remained in the bottom of the flagon. A flicker of annoyance crossed his face.
“Miklaz, wine. At once.”
    “Yes, Your Worship.”
    “Take Draqaz with you. One flagon of Arbor gold, and one of
that sweet red. None of our yellow piss, thank you. And the next time I find my
flagon dry, I may have to take a switch to those pretty pink cheeks of yours.”
The boy went running off, and the king turned back to Selmy. “I dreamed you
found Daenerys.”
    “Dreams can lie, Your Grace.”
    “ ‘Your Radiance’ would serve. What brings you to me at
this hour, ser? Some trouble in the city?”
    “The city is tranquil.”
    “Is it so?” Hizdahr looked confused. “Why have you come?”
    “To ask a question. Magnificence, are you the Harpy?”
    Hizdahr’s wine cup slipped through his fingers, bounced off
the carpet, rolled. “You come to my bedchamber in the black of night and ask me
that? Are you mad?” It was only then that the king seemed to notice that Ser
Barristan was wearing his plate and mail. “What … why … how
dare you …”
    “Was the poison your work, Magnificence?”
    King Hizdahr backed away a step. “The locusts?
That … that was the Dornishman. Quentyn, the so-called prince. Ask
Reznak if you doubt me.”
    “Have you proof of that? Has Reznak?”
    “No, else I would have had them seized. Perhaps I should do
so in any case. Marghaz will wring a confession out of them, I do not doubt.
They’re all poisoners, these Dornish. Reznak says they worship snakes.”
    “They eat snakes,” said Ser Barristan. “It was your pit,
your box, your seats. Sweet wine and soft cushions, figs and melons and honeyed
locusts. You provided all. You urged Her Grace to try the locusts but never
tasted one yourself.”
    “I … hot spices do not agree with me. She was my
wife. My queen. Why would I want to poison her?”
    Was, he says. He believes her dead
. “Only
you can answer that, Magnificence. It might be that you wished to put another
woman in her place.” Ser Barristan nodded at the girl peering timidly from the
bedchamber. “That one, perhaps?”
    The king looked around wildly. “
Her?
She’s
nothing. A bedslave.” He raised his hands. “I misspoke. Not a slave. A free
woman. Trained in pleasure. Even a king has needs, she … she is none
of your concern, ser. I would never harm Daenerys. Never.”
    “You urged the queen to try the locusts. I heard you.”
    “I thought she might enjoy them.” Hizdahr retreated another
step. “Hot and sweet at once.”
    “Hot and sweet and poisoned. With mine own ears I heard you
commanding the men in the pit to kill Drogon. Shouting at them.”
    Hizdahr licked his lips. “The beast devoured Barsena’s
flesh. Dragons prey on men. It was killing, burning …”
    “… burning men who meant harm to your queen. Harpy’s
Sons, as like as not. Your friends.”
    “Not my friends.”
    “You say that, yet when you told them to stop killing they
obeyed. Why would they do that if you were not one of them?”
    Hizdahr shook his head. This time he did not answer.
    “Tell me true,” Ser Barristan said, “did you ever love her,
even a little? Or was it just the crown you lusted for?”
    “Lust? You dare speak to me of
lust?”
The
king’s mouth twisted in anger. “I lusted for the crown, aye … but not
half so much as she lusted for her sellsword. Perhaps it was her precious
captain who tried to poison her, for putting him aside. And if I had eaten of
his locusts too, well, so much the better.”
    “Daario is a killer but not a poisoner.” Ser Barristan moved
closer to the king. “Are you the Harpy?”