A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

juggled, while dyers draped her in colors
she had never known existed. A pair of Jogos Nhai presented her with one of
their striped zorses, black and white

and fierce. A widow brought the dried corpse of her husband, covered with a
crust of silvered leaves; such remnants were believed to have great power,
especially if the deceased had been a sorcerer, as this one had. And the
Tourmaline Brotherhood pressed on her a crown wrought in the shape of a
three-headed dragon; the coils were yellow gold, the wings silver, the heads
carved from jade, ivory, and onyx.
    The crown was the only offering she’d kept. The rest she sold, to gather the
wealth she had wasted on the Pureborn. Xaro would have sold the crown
too—the Thirteen would see that she had a much finer one, he
swore—but Dany forbade it. “Viserys sold my mother’s crown, and men
called him a beggar. I shall keep this one, so men will call me a queen.” And
so she did, though the weight of it made her neck ache.
    Yet even crowned, I am a beggar still,
Dany thought.
I have
become the most splendid beggar in the world, but a beggar all the same.
She hated it, as her brother must have.
All those years of running from
city to city one step ahead of the Usurper’s knives, pleading for help from
archons and princes and magisters, buying our food with flattery. He must have
known how they mocked him. Small wonder he turned so angry and bitter.
In
the end it had driven him mad.
It will do the same to me if I let it.
Part of her would have liked nothing more than to lead her people back to Vaes
Tolorro, and make the dead city bloom.
No, that is defeat. I have
something Viserys never had. I have the dragons. The dragons are all the
difference.
    She stroked Rhaegal. The green dragon closed his teeth around the meat of
her hand and nipped hard. Outside, the great city murmured and thrummed and
seethed, all its myriad voices blending into one low sound like the surge of
the sea. “Make way, you Milk Men, make way for the Mother of Dragons,” Jhogo
cried, and the Qartheen moved aside, though perhaps the oxen had more to do
with that than his voice. Through the swaying draperies, Dany caught glimpses
of him astride his grey stallion. From time to time he gave one of the oxen a
flick with the silver-handled whip she had given him. Aggo guarded on her other
side, while Rakharo rode behind the procession, watching the faces in the crowd
for any sign of danger. Ser Jorah she had left behind today, to guard her other
dragons; the exile knight had been opposed to this folly from the start.
He distrusts everyone,
she reflected,
and perhaps for good
reason.
    As Dany lifted her goblet to drink, Rhaegal sniffed at the wine and drew his
head back, hissing. “Your dragon has a good nose.” Xaro wiped his lips. “The
wine is ordinary. It is said that across the Jade Sea they make a golden
vintage so fine that one sip makes all other wines taste like vinegar. Let us
take my pleasure barge and go in search of it, you and I.”
    â€œThe Arbor makes the best wine in the world,” Dany declared. Lord Redwyne had
fought for her father against the Usurper, she remembered, one of the few to
remain true to the last.
Will he fight for me as well?
There was no
way to be certain after so many years. “Come with me to the Arbor, Xaro, and
you’ll have the

finest vintages you ever tasted. But we’ll need to go in a warship, not a
pleasure barge.”
    â€œI have no warships. War is bad for trade. Many times I have told you, Xaro
Xhoan Daxos is a man of peace.”
    Xaro Xhoan Daxos is a man of gold,
she thought,
and gold will
buy me all the ships and swords I need.
“I have not asked you to take up
a sword, only to lend me your ships.”
    He smiled modestly. “Of trading ships I have a few, that is so. Who can say
how many? One may be sinking even now, in some stormy corner of the Summer Sea.
On the morrow, another will fall afoul of corsairs. The next day, one of my
captains may look at the wealth in his hold and think,
All this should
belong to me.
Such are the perils of trade. Why, the longer we talk, the
fewer ships I am likely to have. I grow poorer by the instant.”
    â€œGive me ships, and I will make you rich again.”
    â€œMarry me, bright light, and sail the ship of my heart. I cannot sleep at
night for thinking of your beauty.”
    Dany smiled.