A Feast for Dragons

weeping as she died.” Obara edged
closer to the prince in his chair. “Let me use the spear; I ask no more.”
    “It is a deal to ask, Obara. I shall sleep on it.”
    “You have slept too long already.”
    “You may be right. I will send word to you at Sunspear.”
    “So long as the word is war.” Obara turned upon her heel and
strode off as angrily as she had come, back to the stables for a fresh horse
and another headlong gallop down the road.
    Maester Caleotte remained behind. “My prince?” the little
round man asked. “Do your legs hurt?”
    The prince smiled faintly. “Is the sun hot?”
    “Shall I fetch a draught for the pain?”
    “No. I need my wits about me.”
    The maester hesitated. “My prince, is it . . . is it prudent
to allow Lady Obara to return to Sunspear? She is certain to inflame the common
people. They loved your brother well.”
    “So did we all.” He pressed his fingers to his temples. “No.
You are right. I must return to Sunspear as well.”
    The little round man hesitated. “Is that wise?”
    “Not wise, but necessary. Best send a rider to Ricasso, and
have him open my apartments in the Tower of the Sun. Inform my daughter Arianne
that I will be there on the morrow.”
    My little princess. The captain had missed her
sorely.
    “You will be seen,” the maester warned.
    The captain understood. Two years ago, when they had left
Sunspear for the peace and isolation of the
Water
Gardens
,
Prince Doran’s gout had not been half so bad. In those days he had still
walked, albeit slowly, leaning on a stick and grimacing with every step. The
prince did not wish his enemies to know how feeble he had grown, and the
Old
Palace
and its shadow city were full of eyes. Eyes, the captain thought, and
steps he cannot climb. He would need to fly to sit atop the Tower of the Sun.
    “I must be seen. Someone must pour oil on the waters.
Dorne must be reminded that it still has a prince.” He smiled wanly. “Old and
gouty though he is.”
    “If you return to Sunspear, you will need to give audience
to Princess Myrcella,” Caleotte said. “Her white knight will be with her . . .
and you know he sends letters to his queen.”
    “I suppose he does.”
    The white knight. The captain frowned. Ser Arys had
come to Dorne to attend his own princess, as Areo Hotah had once come with his.
Even their names sounded oddly alike: Areo and Arys. Yet there the likeness
ended. The captain had left Norvos and its bearded priests, but Ser Arys
Oakheart still served the Iron Throne. Hotah had felt a certain sadness
whenever he saw the man in the long snowy cloak, the times the prince had sent
him down to Sunspear. One day, he sensed, the two of them would fight; on that
day Oakheart would die, with the captain’s longaxe crashing through his skull.
He slid his hand along the smooth ashen shaft of his axe and wondered if that
day was drawing nigh.
    “The afternoon is almost done,” the prince was saying. “We
will wait for morn. See that my litter is ready by first light.”
    “As you command.” Caleotte bobbed a bow. The captain stood
aside to let him pass, and listened to his footsteps dwindle.
    “Captain?” The prince’s voice was soft.
    Hotah strode forward, one hand wrapped about his longaxe.
The ash felt as smooth as a woman’s skin against his palm. When he reached the
rolling chair he thumped its butt down hard to announce his presence, but the
prince had eyes only for the children. “Did you have brothers, captain?” he
asked. “Back in Norvos, when you were young? Sisters?”
    “Both,” Hotah said. “Two brothers, three sisters. I was the
youngest.” The youngest, and unwanted. Another mouth to feed, a big boy who
ate too much and soon outgrew his clothes. Small wonder they had sold him
to the bearded priests.
    “I was the oldest,” the prince said, “and yet I am the last.
After Mors and Olyvar died in their cradles, I gave up hope of brothers. I was
nine when Elia came, a squire in service at
Salt
Shore
.
When the raven arrived with word that my mother had been brought to bed a month
too soon, I was old enough to understand that meant the child would not live.
Even when Lord Gargalen told me that I had a sister, I assured him that she
must shortly die. Yet she lived, by the Mother’s mercy. And a year later Oberyn
arrived, squalling and kicking. I was a man grown when they were playing in
these pools. Yet here I sit, and they are gone.”
    Areo Hotah did not know what to