Daemon Waters is in White Harbor looking to purchase a flagship. The Blackbird has been offered for sale, but it will not be cheap. "You should talk to him about it." He handed her the folded letter and smiled his crooked smile. "I do hope you'll give me an answer soon, my lady. I'm growing old without a ship of my own."
"Soon," she promised. She tucked the paper into her bodice. "The sooner the better." Her mouth was suddenly dry. She turned back toward the window. It had grown dark outside. Only one candle burned in the room, and that dim light did little more than make Daemon's face look like a skull. Shadows danced on the walls behind him as he sat cross-legged upon the floor. His eyes were closed. A long lock of hair fell across his brow. When he spoke again, it was almost a whisper. "My lord father always said there are no good choices."
She swallowed hard. "And yet we must choose somehow."
He opened his eyes then and looked up at her. There was something wild in their depths. "If only there were another way."
"There isn't," she told him. "So choose well, or all our struggles have been for naught."
"All our struggles?" He laughed bitterly. "It seems I am doomed to fight your battles, whether I want to or not."
"No," she said firmly. "You need not take part in them if you don't wish. You could leave us."
"Leave you? And go where?"
"To Braavos," she suggested. "To Lys. To Pentos or Myr. Anywhere but here. I would send word to Mother. Perhaps she can find you some work in a sept."
"A sept?" Daemon shook his head. "I've seen what happens when men try to live apart from women. It does not end well. Men cannot live by bread alone. They need wine and song and soft beds and pretty maids who know how to please them." He glanced out the window once more. "I'd rather die than join a brotherhood of whores and priests, with no gold in my purse and no woman under me."
The woman found herself smiling. "So, Braavos then."
"Braavos," he agreed. "But not just yet. Not until you've given me what's mine."
"You will be paid as promised."
His eyes narrowed. "How much?"
"As much as you deserve." She pushed open the door and gestured to Ser Loras Tyrell. "Give him whatever he wants."