THE BASTARD OF STARFALL

With every day that passed, Dyanna Sand felt more and more like a mask she wore. But the time had not yet come for the mummer's farce to be entirely put aside. They were newly arrived in Dorne, and there could still be those who would think of only gold when they heard her true name. But much to her knight's consternation, others in her party were not quite so worried about sellswords and opportunists.

They had first stopped in Kingsgrave, seat of Lord Dagos Manwoody. Lord Manwoody had been with them since King's Landing, along with his brother and sons, but this would be where they parted. Kingsgrave was located in the Prince's Pass and with the growing instability in the Stormlands, Dagos was of the opinion that he would be most helpful here at home, ready to defend the Pass, should the need arise.

"It has been a pleasure to travel with you, my lady. I do hope your graces will suit you well in Sunspear. Oberyn spoke so highly of you before his passing, it would be a shame for Doran to continue to toe the line now."

Dyanna tilted her head. His words were so pointed they would have drawn blood if they were swords. Lord Manwoody smiled at her, conspiratorially. A good man to drink and dice with, but perhaps not the best man to trust with your secrets. But Oberyn was not here for her to chastise now, and Dagos had held his tongue this far, at least.

She smiled pleasantly. "Ah, thank you for the kind words, Lord Manwoody. I do hope we can expect you in Sunspear when Doran comes to his decision."

The large man patted Dyanna on the shoulder. "When Doran makes the decision we all expect of him, you can surely count on my support."

They had come to Skyreach next. An imposing castle carved into the stone overlooking the Prince's Pass. The views were remarkable. Dyanna found herself rather thankful that Aegon the Conqueror had been unsuccessful in his attempt to destroy the castle so many years ago. She also found herself thankful for Lord Fowler's hospitality amid the grueling Dornish heat. And we aren't even in the deserts yet, she thought.

There were rumors that up north, autumn was rapidly coming to an end. But no one had thought to tell the Dornish that summer was behind them.

Lord Fowler had been kind enough to offer Dyanna her pick of his twin daughters' wardrobe. Most of the wardrobe she'd gotten from Ellaria was worn and stained from travel by now. The twins were in Sunspear now, they learned, so Dyanna could return the garments in person. If this damned Dornish sun didn't ruin them all first.

At Lord Qorgyle's castle deep in the Dornish desert, they heard word that Mace Tyrell's host was besieging Storm's End. "That sounds rather familiar," Dyanna had murmured dryly. "Perhaps some onion knight will deliver the Stormlanders again, and the Tyrells will be tied up with this pointless game for another year, at least."

Aylward tugged the thin scarf she wore about her head further forward. It wasn't needed here in Sandstone's courtyard. At least it wasn't needed to block out the sun and the sand. But she'd looked in the mirror, her hair was going a rather mousy color. A far cry from the deep brown she'd left King's Landing with. But as long as she kept her hair covered, she wasn't concerned. Besides, it might help her case if she could present silver hair and lavender eyes to Prince Doran. From the talk she'd heard, the prince was slow to action and prone to thinking on things for weeks and months and years. Patience was one thing she'd never been particularly good at.

"You seem ill at ease, ser," Dyanna noted, as she needlessly adjusted her veil. She would wet it before they rode out and endure it sticking to her face until the sun inevitably dried it. She'd quickly learned that was a small price to pay for the short reprieve from the heat.

"These are the foes I was weaned on stories of," Aylward reminded her. "No need for snarks and grumkins in the Reach when we had the Dornish just on our doorstep."

"Prince Oberyn was fostered here, and Lord Qorgyle has been very courteous, even to you."

"You think they're all courteous," he reprimanded, but there was a hint of a smile on his lips. It was true, she'd quickly taken with these Dornish. They were so unlike the lords and ladies she'd grown up around, but still interesting in their own ways. And if they were all polite to her...well, they ought to be.

"After Daeron's conquest, Lord Lyonel Tyrell was left in Dorne to maintain the peace. He worked closely with that old Lord Qorgyle to suppress the rebels. But one night, as he slept in these very walls, a hundred red scorpions descended upon him and stung him to death in his bed."

Dyanna waved a hand. "Over a century ago. Aegon and Visenya burned this castle once, and you don't see Quentyn Qorgyle holding a grudge over that, do you?"

Aylward shook his head. "Even still..."

"I'll be wary of red scorpions in my bed, if that will set your mind at ease," she teased. But soon her mind was drifting toward a red-armored lion, instead. A lion who is a world away and sworn to another queen, and who didn't want you besides.

She forced her thoughts away, only for them to land on her sister instead. Perhaps she'd taken that sellsword with the garish beard into bed, or one of those Ghiscari who turned their hair into sculptures. There was a time when they might have whispered these secrets to each other in Dany's pavilion or on the terrace of the Great Pyramid, far above the world. But those times were over.

Dyanna Sand has no sister, she reminded herself. But it sounded a lie even to her own ears. She was tired of pretending to be someone she was not. That had been a necessity for some other girl, who needed red-gold hair and southron princesses to keep her from falling to pieces. She'd left that girl behind in King's Landing.

Sunspear and awaiting Doran's whims could not come soon enough.

They had stayed at Hellholt too long. Dyanna was ill at ease within these castle's walls. It was a grim castle and made even grimmer by its history. The name had come when a Lord Uller had gathered all his rivals to a feast, then barred them inside his hall, set them all aflame, and roasted them to death along with their supper. The great hall was long rebuilt, but still Dyanna avoided it as much as she could.

The dragon bones didn't help either. Queen Rhaenys had died outside these very walls, fallen to her death, or crushed, depending on the telling. What was certain was that Meraxes had been stuck in the eye with a scorpion bolt, and rider and dragon both had met their end in Dorne. The Queen's body had never been recovered, but her dragon's bones were displayed proudly in Lord Uller's great hall, a trophy for all to see.

But Ellaria was an Uller by blood, and Lord Harmen and his brother had traveled with their caravan from King's Landing. Harmen and Ulwyck were not unkind, and Ellaria had entrusted them with their secrets, but still...

"Half the Ullers are mad, and the other half are worse," Daemon had said. "Not that I would say that in their hearing. Or Ellaria's for that matter. She may be sweet, but she loves her father dearly. I certainly don't wish to know if she has his temper too."

"If the gods are good, her little ones have more of their father in them," Aylward had muttered.

Daemon had laughed then. "Oh, my good ser, you haven't met the elder Sand Snakes yet. Elsewise, you would be praying that the little ones turn out exactly like Lord Harmen."

Dyanna had heard much and more about these Sand Snakes, both Ellaria's young daughters, and the three elder ones born from different mothers. But they were a distant thought, weeks away in Sunspear, while their caravan languished in Hellholt. She couldn't fault Ellaria for seeking comfort in her family, but Dyanna was of half a mind to remind the woman that she had four young daughters waiting for her too.

"I'm surprised we haven't seen the Sand Snakes yet," Daemon had told them. "Tyene is ever Arianne's shadow, but Nym and Obara are known to venture far and wide. Our caravan would seem to be just a thing to interest them." But when asked, Ellaria admitted that Doran had taken all the Sand Snakes into custody.

"Even your little ones?" Daemon asked, shocked. "When did this happen?"

"Soon after word reached Sunspear of Oberyn's death. Obara, Nym, and Tyene were stoking the commons to war, and Doran feared my girls could be used against him. I received word in Kingsgrave. I did not wish to worry you with it."

"The swiftest decision our prince has ever made, and for what? He can't expect imprisoning his own nieces will make the commons love him."

"It seems an ill omen for our own cause," Aylward admitted. "If he would go to such lengths to avoid the idea of war, what will he say to ours?"

Daemon Sand looked grim. They'd let him in on their secret weeks ago, when it became clear that the man would not be so easily turned aside from his mystery. In truth, Dyanna appreciated that in a companion. That drive would serve them well someday.

Ellaria looked Dyanna over and pushed back the scarf from her hair. The dye had nearly all gone from it, it would be true silver soon. "Doran will listen, and Dorne will not stand alone. There's the Riverlands, and the North."

"Under siege by Freys and Lannisters, Greyjoys and Boltons," her knight insisted. "It may be that we can scrape together a few swords, but if we expect the full host, we'll need to be liberators as well as rebels."

Ellaria shrugged one shoulder. It was clear she was exhausted. Grief and travel had worn her ragged. "Oberyn believed it could be done. But what do I know?"

"What other hope do we have?" Dyanna asked, extending a hand to Ellaria, who squeezed it. "We must press forward, no matter what lies ahead."

Ahead had led them through Vaith, to Godsgrace. The last of their stops. Sunspear was so close she could practically taste it, but the reprieve from the heat was worth waiting a few days more. And Lady Allyrion was glad to see her son and grandson. Ser Ryon, Daemon's father, would continue with their party to King's Landing. Dellone was growing old, and she left much of the politicking to her heir.

But oh, was Lady Dellone eager to see the girl they'd brought with them. "Once we Dornish fled our castles to escape your ancestors and their wroth. Then our prince went and married one. Too bad Elia's marriage was not as sweet. Maron Martell built a palace for his bride, but Rhaegar gave Elia only war and death."

The girl pulled her scarf from her hair, letting the silver strands free. "I never knew my brother, but I hope that I can mend what he broke. Not just in Dorne, but with the North as well. The things my father did will haunt us forever, but I can only hope the realm will see that I am not my father's daughter."

"No, I think not. You're Stark and Tully with silver hair, and perhaps that is what the realm needs now. Gods know, we need something to put a stop to this endless war. Who am I to say that it should not be you...Amina?"