NESRIN

"You've been avoiding me, Lord Varys."

Nesrin shoved the door shut with her foot before striding into Varys's chambers, taking in the minimal finery in the otherwise spacious room. Despite the late hour, candles still burned. The Spider himself was seated at his desk, an open inkpot and parchment before him, quill poised to write. He hardly spared her a glance, only sighing deeply.

"I'm a member of the King's Small Council," he said, scratching out another sentence on his paper. "As such, I'm very busy." He dabbed the quill in more ink. "Were you seen?"

"No." She perched on the end of his bed. It was as firm as a rock. She wrinkled her nose in distaste. "And if I had, there'd be less pairs of eyes in the Red Keep tomorrow than there had been today."

Varys shot her a disapproving look, though his quill never stopped moving. "Need I remind you that this isn't Pentos?" She rolled her eyes. "Maiming and strange disappearances don't go unnoticed here."

"Which is exactly why I haven't killed anyone. Yet." She scowled. "Though if the kitchen-head doesn't watch himself…"

Varys sniffed. "A waste of your talents. The man is simply trying to make a living to support his ill mother."

"He broke a wooden spoon across my hands because I dropped one dish."

"Then perhaps you shouldn't drop things."

She gave him a scornful look. "I'm just glad this fucking tourney is over. I haven't slept in days."

"Yes, I imagine sneaking about the Keep until the early hours of the morning is quite exhausting."

"Having your little birds watch me?" She crossed her arms. "How predictable. I hope they've been enjoying the kitchen scraps I leave behind for them."

"Oh, yes. You've become their favorite target as of late." He scrawled another sentence. "They also tell me you had an encounter with Ser Jaime Lannister."

"You instructed me to watch and learn, and so I have."

He glanced up from his parchment with a frown. "I was unaware that wraiths spoke. I thought they were supposed to be invisible." He fixed her with a pointed stare. "And not draw attention to themselves."

She flapped a hand. "As if anyone actually notices a servant."

"You've been noticed. And not just by the Queen's brother." When the ink dried, he rolled the parchment up and sealed it with wax. She watched, waiting. "Ned Stark's youngest daughter has taken quite an interest in you. Since the tourney's end, she's sought after you." He placed the scroll to the side and laced his fingers together. "By name too, I should add."

Nesrin shrugged, unfazed. "She's a child. Bright for her age, but a child all the same. I'm fairly certain she won't think twice on my true identity."

"Children talk," he said. "They tell their parents things. And now Lord Stark knows your name as well."

"Lord Stark has bigger things to worry about than a servant from Pentos," she said. She raised an eyebrow at Varys. "Like the clues a spider leaves for him about a certain Hand's death and the circumstances leading to that death." Varys's face remained impassive, but she couldn't help smiling at him. "You forget that spying can go both ways, Lord Varys."

He stared at her, unimpressed. "Is that why you've graced me with your unannounced presence so late? To gloat?"

"Partly." She leaned back on her elbows, swinging her leg leisurely as she studied him. "I've been puzzling it over for weeks; why you'd send me off to pose as a servant."

"Oh?"

"Despite your close friendship with Illyrio, you don't trust me, Lord Varys."

He smiled blandly at her. "An unfortunate side effect in our line of work, I'm afraid. Surely you understand."

"I do." She cocked her head. "But Illyrio wanted us to work together for a reason. He seems to think we'd make a good match. And we're not exactly working together if I'm breaking my back in the kitchens while you play pet to King Robert, hm?" When he said nothing, she bared her teeth in a grin. "I know you don't approve of my methods. But men can sing just as sweetly as your little birds if given the proper motivation."

"Of that, I'm aware." He settled back in his seat, his hands disappearing into his wide sleeves. "May I ask what the point of this conversation is?"

She jerked her chin at him. "You and I need to play the same game if we want our little scheme to work. And we can't do that unless we trust each other just enough to match our moves across the board."

"How do you propose we do that?"

"You can start by giving me access to your resources. Your spy network is vast. My little web consists of only me. I can't afford to make mistakes here. I have a reputation to maintain."

"And what do I get in return?"

She smiled. "Your life."

"I don't think our friend the Magister would like it all that much if you were to kill me."

"I owe Illyrio a life debt, but he is not my master. If it will benefit me in the long run, then I don't care who I kill."

Varys's lips pursed. His dark eyes raked her over from head to foot. "I think now I'm beginning to understand why Illyrio pulled you from the silks all those years ago."

She ignored him. "Do we have an agreement, Lord Varys?"

Slowly, he nodded. "I believe we do. And as a measure of good faith, I have some important news to share."

"What might that be?"

"Illyrio plans to visit the continent soon." A blink was the only surprise she showed. Illyrio was coming to Westeros and hadn't even told her? "We'll meet briefly and discuss matters of import. If you're still eager to work together, then find me here in five days' time at midday and I'll take you to see him."

She nodded, tucking that information away. "Very well. Then I'll see you then."

Varys's voice held her back before she could leave. "Oh, and Nesrin?"

She turned and raised her brows. He gave her a stern look. "Try not to draw any more attention to yourself."

She just grinned. "No promises."

ARYA

She still had yet to grasp just how big the Red Keep was.

Arya used to think Winterfell was the largest castle in Westeros with its tall towers, sprawling land, and the ancient weirwood trees that grew like spires into the sky. Though she'd heard stories of other keeps and castles far bigger than Winterfell, she'd had nothing else to compare to until now. She felt like she could live in the Red Keep for years and still not know where to go.

Her daily cat chase was going poorly, as usual. She'd long since lost her bearings in the maze of the keep as she crept after a black-and-grey-striped tabby with a crooked tail, who led her on with rusty meows that seemed almost mocking each time she tried—and failed—to catch it.

After a swipe that the cat easily dodged, it took off running down the corridor, and Arya let out a curse she'd heard Robb, Jon, and Theon use whenever her mother and father weren't around. She sprinted after the cat, bypassing two scandalized noblewomen, her shoes slapping against the stone floors as she tried to keep the cat in her sight. It was a quick little creature, leading her down several corridors with no signs of slowing, even though her lungs were already beginning to burn. The cat darted around a corner and Arya stumbled after it, abruptly finding herself in a dimly lit cellar that sloped increasingly downwards. When the cat meowed again, she entered the cellar fully and stopped in her tracks.

Directly in front of her was a dragon skull. A huge, hollow, bone-white dragon skull. It was so big it nearly brushed the dank ceiling of the cellar, its empty eye sockets the size of Arya's head. Giant fangs opened wide in a silent roar, its maw as dark as the night sky in the North. When she looked around, she could see more dragon skulls half-hidden in the shadows; none of them so big as this one, but dragon skulls all the same.

She stepped closer until she was a hairsbreadth away from one of those wicked teeth. She reached up and brushed her hand across the cool surface, the bone jagged and rough beneath her fingers. A fang that had seen usage.

Dragons, she thought in awe. The Targaryen dragons. This must be where they're kept now after King Robert ordered them taken out of the throne room all those years ago.

A clanging of an iron door echoed throughout the cellars, and she jumped. She shouldn't be in here. If it was a guard, they'd surely take her to her father. She turned back the way she'd come, but the stairs were lost in the shadows, and she didn't have the time to search for them. A light was coming her way, reaching for her feet, and footsteps, too. She ducked inside the dragon's maw just as a man's voice she vaguely recognized spoke.

"He's found one bastard already. He has the book. The rest will come."

Arya crouched behind one of the fangs, squeezing as far back as she could as the footsteps neared, coupled with the brightening flame of a torch and the jingling of keys.

Another man's voice spoke to the first. "And when he knows the truth, what will he do?"

"The gods alone know," answered the first. "The fools tried to kill his son. And what's worse, they botched it."

Arya's gut squirmed. Were they speaking of Bran?

"The wolf and the lion will be at each other's throats," the first voice continued. He sighed. "We will be at war soon, my friend."

"What good is war now?" the second man said, irate. "We're not ready. If one Hand can die, why not a second?"

Arya covered her mouth and shrank back even more when the two men approached. In the torchlight, she could see their shadows rippling across the sandy floor—not just two, but three. Her heart leaped into her throat.

"This Hand is not the other," the first man said.

"We need time," the second said. "Khal Drogo will not make his move until his son is born." He snorted. "You know how these savages are."

The shadows passed right by Arya's hiding spot. She watched the hems of their cloaks disappear deeper into the cellars, taking the light with them. Her heart thumped wildly; so loudly that she was terrified they would hear it, but they continued without pause, their voices fading.

Arya dashed from the dragon's mouth and ran in the opposite direction from the men, only to be caught by a locked iron gate. She swallowed, her mouth dry. She couldn't go back the way she came; the men had gone in that direction. She'd surely be found out then. She spun around, her eyes straining to see through the dark before a hand clamped around her mouth.

She screamed, her voice muffled. She tried to lash out at her attacker, but an arm wrapped around her torso like a vice, keeping her limbs locked by her sides. She kicked, to no avail; the attacker seemed to anticipate her moves, and so stood clear of her thrashing legs.

"Peace, child," the attacker said—a woman. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The hand removed itself from her mouth. Arya gaped. "Nesrin?"

The servant released her. In the dim light, Arya could barely make out the woman's features, but she remembered her distinct accent. "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing, m'lady," she said, crossing her arms. "The cellars of the Red Keep are hardly a place for nobles."

Arya swallowed. "There were two men—I heard them talking. I got lost chasing a cat—" She shook her head. "Did you hear them? Something about a wolf, and a lion, and—"

"Such things are not ours to discuss," Nesrin said. "You should see yourself out before you're missed, m'lady."

Arya took a step back from her. "There were three shadows."

Nesrin regarded her coolly. "You notice much, m'lady."

Arya backed up until she hit the dragon's skull again. "What were you doing with them? They talked about the King's Hand." Her lip trembled. "My father."

"Do you fear for him?" Arya nodded once, and Nesrin smiled. "Good. That makes it easier."

"Makes what easier?"

"You came to a dangerous place at a dangerous time," she said, walking past Arya on silent feet. "If you value the safety of your family and your household, then you should go back to Winterfell."

She came to a stop before the dragon skull. Arya turned to face her. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Too many innocents," Nesrin murmured. "Always too many innocents." She glanced at Arya. "Leave King's Landing before it's too late. Tell your father what you heard if you must; whatever you have to do to make him listen."

"Why?" Her voice was a whisper. "Who are you?"

Nesrin stared at the dragon skull. "Nobody."

Arya followed her gaze. Though her heart was still pounding, she realized that it wasn't Nesrin she was afraid of. "That one is Balerion. He was the biggest dragon."

Nesrin half-smiled. "You know your dragons?"

Arya nodded and came closer. "He was Aegon the Conqueror's dragon. Aegon had two sisters, Visenya and Rhaenys. They rode Vhagar and Meraxes."

"Correct." Nesrin nodded. "A shame what happened to the later dragons. As small as dogs. Weak, sickly creatures. Hard to inspire fear in the hearts of men with those." She looked back to Balerion's skull. "But dragons weren't meant to be kept in pits and chains. They belong to the sky. They should have been free."

Arya studied the skull of Balerion. She imagined the silver-haired Aegon and his sister-wives flying their dragons through the clouds, their Valyrian-steel swords raised for battle and cutting open the sky, bleeding it blue and red. She glanced back at Nesrin and found her staring at Balerion, as well, her expression mournful.

"Why are you helping me?" Arya asked her.

"In games, you play by the rules," she said, not taking her eyes off Balerion. She shrugged. "I've decided to make my own rules." Finally, she looked at Arya. "Go on; leave. They'll be gone by now."

Arya thought it best not to argue. And with everything she'd overheard, she was anxious to get back to her father. She turned and picked her way back to the stairs she'd descended earlier, leaving Nesrin alone with the skulls of long-dead dragons.

NESRIN

Illyrio found her at one of the coves that overlooked Blackwater Bay. The sun glinted off the waves made by the many fishing boats and galleys sailing through the water, their colorful sails flapping in the wind like the wings of exotic birds. The Magister walked up beside her and placed his hands on the weathered red stones, his golden rings just as bright as the sun.

"You've hardly said a word to me since my arrival," he said, watching the bay as she was. His fingers tapped against the stone. "You are still unhappy with me."

"You gave me an order, and I am fulfilling it," she said, clasping her hands behind her back. "That's what I do; what I've always done."

Illyrio hummed. "Perhaps I made a mistake sending you here." He frowned. "Viserys insisted on staying with the Dothraki to make sure they keep their word. Last I heard, they were in Vaes Dothrak. Daenerys is pregnant with Drogo's child. The pieces are falling into place, though too slowly for my liking." He glanced at her. "I thought it best for Varys to prepare you for being an advisor to Viserys. But now I think I was too hasty. You should have stayed with Viserys; with me."

He reached up and stroked her cheek. The hot metal from his rings stung her flesh.

"Hard labor does not suit you," he murmured, no doubt taking in her dull eyes and dirty face. "It never has."

"Is that regret I hear?" she asked.

"Maybe it is," he said. "But there is another reason why I had to send you away."

She turned to him. He lowered his voice. "A priestess came looking for you. She asked you by name. By Kessa." Nesrin stiffened. "I hid your tracks well, but she will not be the last. Westeros, it seems, might be the best place for you at the moment."

She forced herself to speak. "How did she know?"

"She claimed the Lord of Light led her to find you," he said. He patted her hand. "I wouldn't worry too much. The Lord does not have many followers here. I doubt they would come all this way." He was quiet for a moment before speaking again. "Are you ever going to tell me what it is you did to earn the priesthood's wrath?"

"No."

He sighed. "I thought as much. A wraith must keep her secrets." He jerked his chin over his shoulder. "I did the courtesy of having your possessions brought with me. Varys will keep them in his chambers."

She nodded. When Illyrio turned to move, she spoke. "Do you think we can win this war?" She turned to face him. "Aegon had three dragons when he conquered Westeros. Viserys has nothing but a Dothraki horde."

"Are we not dragons ourselves?" he said, raising his bushy eyebrows. "You, Varys, and I? We may not be able to breathe fire or topple castles, but we could bring men to their knees if we wished." He paused. "It will be those like us who tame the beast that is the realm."

"The dragons are all dead, Illyrio," she said, shaking her head. "You would do well to remember that."

He gave her a significant look. "Are they?"

When she didn't answer, he left her standing over the Blackwater, searching the waves for answers she could not find.