"All?" The translator sounded wary. "Did this one's ears mishear, Your Grace?"
Cool green light filtered down through the diamond-shaped panes of coloured glass set in the sloping triangular walls, and a breeze was blowing gently through the terrace doors, carrying the scents of fruit and flowers from the garden beyond. "They did not," said Daenerys. "I want to buy them all."
She had chosen a Qartheen gown today. The deep violet silk brought out the purple of her eyes. The cut of it bared her left breast. While the Good Masters of Astapor conferred in low voices, Daenerys sipped tart persimmon wine from a tall silver flute. She could not quite make out everything they were saying but could hear the greed in their voices.
Each of the eight brokers was attended by two or three body slaves . . . though one Grazdan, the eldest, had six. So as not to seem a beggar, Daenerys had brought her own attendants; the Professor, Irri and Jhiqui in their sandsilk trousers and painted vests, Ser Barristan, and her bloodriders.
"All," growled Kraznys mo Nakloz, who smelled of peaches today. The translator repeated the word in the Common Tongue of Westeros. "There are 8000 Unsullied in Astapor. Is this what you mean by all?"
"Yes," said Daenerys when the question was put to her. "8000. The six centuries, and the ones still in training as well. The ones who have not earned the spikes."
Kraznys turned back to his fellows. Then, once again, they conferred among themselves. The translator had told Daenerys their names, but keeping them straight took a lot of work. Four of the men seemed to be named Grazdan, presumably after Grazdan the Great, who had founded Old Ghis in the dawn of days. They all looked alike; thick fleshy men with amber skin, broad noses, and dark eyes. Their wiry hair was black, or a dark red, or that queer mixture of red and black that was peculiar to Ghiscari. All wrapped themselves in tokars, a garment permitted only to freeborn men of Astapor.
It was the fringe on the tokar that proclaimed a man's status, Captain Groleo had told Daenerys. In this cool green room atop the pyramid, two of the slavers wore tokars fringed in silver, five had gold fringes, and one, the oldest Grazdan, displayed a fringe of fat white pearls that clacked together softly when he shifted in his seat or moved an arm.
"We cannot sell half-trained boys," one of the silver-fringe Grazdans said to the others.
"We can if her gold is good," said a fatter man whose fringe was gold.
"They are not Unsullied. They have not killed their sucklings. If they fail in the field, they will shame all of Astapor. And even if we cut five thousand raw boys tomorrow, it would be ten years before they are fit for sale. So what would we tell the next buyer who comes seeking Unsullied?"
"We will tell him that he must wait," said the fat man. "Gold in my purse is better than gold in my future."
Daenerys let them argue, sipping the tart persimmon wine and trying to keep her face blank and ignorant. Finally, she told herself, I will have them all, no matter the price. The city had a hundred slave traders, but the eight before her were the greatest. When selling bed slaves, fieldhands, scribes, artisans, and tutors, these men were rivals, but their ancestors had allied one with the other to make and sell the Unsullied. So brick and blood built Astapor, and brick and blood her people.
It was Kraznys who finally announced their decision. "Tell her the eight thousand she shall have if her gold proves sufficient. And the six centuries, if she wishes. Tell her to return in a year, and we will sell her another two thousand."
"In a year, I shall be in Westeros," said Daenerys when she had heard the translation. "My need is now. The Unsullied are well-trained, but even so, many will fall in battle. So I shall need the boys as replacements to take up the swords they drop." She put her wine aside and leaned toward the slave girl. "Tell the Good Masters I will want even the little ones who still have their puppies. Tell them I will pay as much for the boy they cut yesterday as for an Unsullied in a spiked helm."
The girl told them. The answer was still no. Daenerys frowned in annoyance. "Very well. Tell them I will pay double so long as I get them all."
"Double?" The fat one in the gold fringe all but drooled.
"This little whore is a fool, truly," said Khaznys mo Nakloz. "Ask her for triple, I say. She is desperate enough to pay. Ask for ten times the price of every slave, yes."
The tall Grazdan with the spiked beard spoke in the Common Tongue, though not so well as the slave girl. "Your Grace," he growled, "Westeros is being wealthy, yes, but you are not being queen now. Perhaps will never being queen. Even Unsullied may be losing battles to savage steel knights of the Seven Kingdoms. I remind you that the Good Masters of Astapor are not selling flesh for promises. Are you having gold and trading goods sufficient to be paying for all these eunuchs you are wanting?"
"You know the answer to that better than I, Good Master," Daenerys replied. "Your men have gone through my ships and tallied every bead of amber and jar of saffron. How much do I have?"
"Sufficient to be buying one of the thousands," the Good Master said with a contemptuous smile. "Yet you are paying double, you are saying. Five centuries, then, is all you buy."
"Your pretty crown might buy another century," said the fat one in Valyrian. "Your crown of the three dragons."
Daenerys waited for his words to be translated. "My crown is not for sale." When Viserys sold their mother's crown, the last joy had gone from him, leaving only rage. "Nor will I enslave my people, nor sell their goods and horses. But you can have my ship – the great cog Balerion." She had warned Groleo and the other captains it might come to this, though they had protested the necessity of it furiously.
The fat Grazdan turned to the others. They conferred in low voices once again. "Two of the thousands," the one with the spiked beard said when he turned back. "It is too much, but the Good Masters are generous, and your need is great."
Two thousand would never serve what she meant to do. I must have them all. Daenerys knew what she must do now, though the taste of it was so bitter that even the persimmon wine could not cleanse it from her mouth. She had considered long and hard and found no other way. It is my only choice. "Give me all," she said, "and you may have a dragon."
There was the sound of indrawn breath from Jhiqui beside her. Kraznys smiled at his fellows. "Did I not tell you? Anything she would give us."
Ser Barristan stared in shocked disbelief. "No." He went to one knee before her. "You will win the throne with dragons."
The Professor leaned closer to Daenerys. "No. There will be another way."
Daenerys stepped towards the podium where the Good Masters were seated. "Tell the Good Masters I regret this interruption. Tell them I await their answer."
She knew the answer, though; she could see it in the glitter of their eyes and the smiles they tried so hard to hide. Astapor had thousands of eunuchs, and even more slave boys waiting to be cut, but there were only three living dragons in all the great wide world. And the Ghiscari lust for dragons. How could they not? Five times had Old Ghis contended with Valyria when the world was young, and five times have gone down to dismal defeat. For the Freehold had dragons, and the Empire had none.
The oldest Grazdan stirred in his seat, and his pearls clacked together softly. "A dragon of our choice," he said in a thin, stern voice. "The black one is largest and healthiest."
"His name is Drogon." She nodded.
"All your goods, save your crown and queenly attire, which we will allow you to keep. The three ships. And Drogon."
"Done," she said in the Common Tongue.
"Done," the old Grazdan answered in his thick Valyrian.
The others echoed that older man of the pearl fringe. "Done," the translator said, "and done, and done, eight times done."
"The Unsullied will learn your savage tongue quick enough," added Kraznys mo Nakloz when all the arrangements had been made, "but until such time, you will need a slave to speak to them. So take this one as our gift to you, a token of a bargain well struck."
"I shall," said Dany.
The translator rendered his words to her and hers to him. If she had felt about being given a token, she did not let them show.
Ser Barristan also held his tongue when Daenerys swept by him on the terrace. He followed her down the steps in silence. She did not blame him for his fury. It was a wretched thing she did. The Mother of Dragons has sold her strongest child. Even the thought made her ill.
Yet down in the Plaza of Pride, standing on the hot red bricks between the slavers' pyramid and the barracks of the eunuchs, Daenerys turned on the old man. "Ser Barristan," she said, "I want your counsel, and you should never fear to speak your mind with
me . . . when we are alone. But never question me in front of strangers. Is that understood?"
"Yes, Your Grace," he said unhappily.
"I am not a child," she told him. "I am a queen."
"Yet even queens can err. The Astapori have cheated you, Your Grace. A dragon is worth more than any army. Aegon proved that three hundred years ago, upon the Field of Fire."
"I know what Aegon proved. I mean to prove a few things of my own." Daenerys turned away from him to the translator standing meekly beside her litter. "Do you have a name, or must you draw a new one every day from some barrel?"
"That is only for Unsullied," the girl said. Then she realized the question had been asked in High Valyrian. Her eyes went wide. "Oh."
"Your name is Oh?"
"No. Your Grace, forgive this one her outburst. Your slave's name is Missandei, but . . . "
"Missandei is no longer a slave. I free you from this instant. Ride with me in the litter. I wish to talk." Rakharo helped them in, and Daenerys shut the curtains against the dust and heat. "If you stay with me, you will serve as one of my handmaids," she said as they set off. "I shall keep you by my side to speak for me as you spoke for Kraznys. But you may leave my service whenever you choose if you have father or mother you would sooner return to."
"This one will stay," Missandei said. "This one . . . I . . . there is no place for me to go. This . . . I will serve you gladly."
"I can give you freedom, but not safety," Daenerys warned. "I have a world to cross and wars to fight. You may go hungry. You may grow sick. You may be killed."
"Valar morghulis," said Missandei, in High Valyrian.
"All men must die," Daenerys agreed, "but not for a long while. We may pray." She leaned back on the pillows and took her hand. "Are these Unsullied truly fearless?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"You serve me now. Is it true they feel no pain?"
"The wine of courage kills such feelings. By the time they slay their sucklings, they have been drinking it for years."
"And they are obedient?"
"Obedience is all they know. If you told them not to breathe, they would find that easier than not to obey."
Daenerys nodded. "And when I am done with them?"
"Your Grace?"
"When I have won my war and claimed the throne that was my father's, my knights will sheathe their swords and return to their keeps, to their wives and children and
mothers . . . to their lives. But these eunuchs have no lives. So what will I do with eight thousand eunuchs when no more battles are fought?"
"The Unsullied make fine guards and excellent watchmen, Your Grace," said Missandei. "And it is never hard to find a buyer for such fine well-blooded troops."
"Men are not bought and sold in Westeros, they tell me."
"With all respect, Your Grace, Unsullied are not men."
"If I did resell them, how would I know they could not be used against me?" Daenerys asked pointedly. "Would they do that? Fight against me, even do me harm?"
"If their master commanded. They do not question, Your Grace. All the questions have been culled from them. They obey." She looked troubled. "When you are . . . when you are done with them . . . your Grace might command them to fall upon their swords."
"And even that, they would do?"
"Yes." Missandei's voice had grown soft. "Your Grace."
Daenerys squeezed her hand. "You would sooner I did not ask it of them, though. Why is that? Why do you care?"
"This one does not . . . I . . . Your Grace . . . "
"Tell me."
Missandei lowered her eyes. "Three of them were my brothers once, Your Grace."
"Then I hope your brothers are as brave and clever as you," Daenerys leaned back into her pillow and let the litter bear her onward back to Balerion one last time to set her world in order. And back to Drogon.
That night, Daenerys was asleep beside the Professor again in his bed in his TARDIS. She was curled up beside him, where she began to dream that she was her brother, Rhaegar. She was riding to the Trident. But instead of being mounted on a horse, she was mounted on a dragon. A dragon with black scales, that shone red in the light. Drogon. However, when she saw the Usurper's rebel host across the river, they were armoured all in ice. Their blue eyes glistened towards her, but she bathed them all in dragonfire and they melted away like dew and turned the Trident into a torrent.
She woke suddenly in the darkness of the Professor's bedroom, still flushed with triumph. She looked around, then saw the Professor still sleeping beside her. Leaning back down, she placed a kiss on his cheek, before drifting off to sleep. Tomorrow she had a big day. And she knew she had to be well rested for it.
