A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

the throngs. She didn’t see why she should not go with him. Perhaps Ser Jorah meant to find a woman after he met with the merchant captain. Whores frequently traveled with the caravans, she knew, and some men were queerly shy about their couplings. She gave a shrug. “Come,” she told the others.
    Her handmaids trailed along as Dany resumed her stroll through the market. “Oh, look,” she exclaimed to Doreah, “those are the kind of sausages I meant.” She pointed to a stall where a wizened little woman was grilling meat and onions on a hot firestone. “They make them with lots of garlic and hot peppers.” Delighted with her discovery, Dany insisted the others join her for a sausage. Her handmaids wolfed theirs down giggling and grinning, though the men of her
khas
sniffed at the grilled meat suspiciously. “They taste different than I remember,” Dany said after her first few bites.
    â€œIn Pentos, I make them with pork,” the old woman said, “but all my pigs died on the Dothraki sea. These are made of horsemeat,
Khaleesi
, but I spice them the same.”
    â€œOh.” Dany felt disappointed, but Quaro liked his sausage so well he decided to have another one, and Rakharo had to outdo him and eat three more, belching loudly. Dany giggled.
    â€œYou have not laughed since your brother the
Khal Rhaggat
was crowned by Drogo,” said Irri. “It is good to see,
Khaleesi.”
    Dany smiled shyly. It
was
sweet to laugh. She felt half a girl again.
    They wandered for half the morning. She saw a beautiful feathered cloak from the Summer Isles, and took it for a gift. In return, she gave the merchant a silver medallion from her belt. That was how it was done among the Dothraki. A birdseller taught a green-and-red parrot to say her name, and Dany laughed again, yet still refused to take him. What would she do with a green-and-red parrot in a
khalasar?
She did take a dozen flasks of scented oils, the perfumes of her childhood; she had only to close her eyes and sniff them and she could see the big house withthe red door once more. When Doreah looked longingly at a fertility charm at a magician’s booth, Dany took that too and gave it to the handmaid, thinking that now she should find something for Irri and Jhiqui as well.
    Turning a corner, they came upon a wine merchant offering thimble-sized cups of his wares to the passersby. “Sweet reds,” he cried in fluent Dothraki, “I have sweet reds, from Lys and Volantis and the Arbor. Whites from Lys, Tyroshi pear brandy, firewine, pepperwine, the pale green nectars of Myr. Smokeberry browns and Andalish sours, I have them, I have them.” He was a small man, slender and handsome, his flaxen hair curled and perfumed after the fashion of Lys. When Dany paused before his stall, he bowed low. “A taste for the
khaleesi?
I have a sweet red from Dorne, my lady, it sings of plums and cherries and rich dark oak. A cask, a cup, a swallow? One taste, and you will name your child after me.”
    Dany smiled. “My son has his name, but I will try your summerwine,” she said in Valyrian, Valyrian as they spoke it in the Free Cities. The words felt strange on her tongue, after so long. “Just a taste, if you would be so kind.”
    The merchant must have taken her for Dothraki, with her clothes and her oiled hair and sun-browned skin. When she spoke, he gaped at her in astonishment. “My lady, you are … Tyroshi? Can it be so?”
    â€œMy speech may be Tyroshi, and my garb Dothraki, but I am of Westeros, of the Sunset Kingdoms,” Dany told him.
    Doreah stepped up beside her. “You have the honor to address Daenerys of the House Targaryen, Daenerys Stormborn,
khaleesi
of the riding men and princess of the Seven Kingdoms.”
    The wine merchant dropped to his knees. “Princess,” he said, bowing his head.
    â€œRise,” Dany commanded him. “I would still like to taste that summerwine you spoke of.”
    The man bounded to his feet. “That? Dornish swill. It is not worthy of a princess. I have a dry red from the Arbor, crisp and delectable. Please, let me give you a cask.”
    Khal Drogo’s visits to the Free Cities had given him a taste for good wine, and Dany knew that such a noblevintage would please him. “You honor me, ser,” she murmured sweetly.
    â€œThe honor is mine.” The merchant rummaged about in the back of his