THE IRON DAUGHTER

Thyra had never been so happy to set eyes on the grey rocks of the Iron Islands. From the reactions of crew, a mix of sighs and cheers, she knew they felt the same. They had been gone too long, and the moons spent in the broken towers of Moat Cailin had not been easy.

The bog devils had claimed the lives of several of her crew. The younger ones, who would not heed her warnings to stay close to the Children's Tower, had learned their lesson at the point of a poisoned arrow.

"The trials have only just begun," Brenna murmured, as if reading her captain's thoughts. She had the right of it. Word of Balon's death had come a fortnight ago. Thyra had barely been given a breath to grieve the uncle who'd raised her, when they learned it was Euron who claimed the Seastone Chair. Euron, who had been banished from the Islands at threat of death, who had returned the day after Balon's fall. Thyra did not believe in coincidence.

But even with that, it took the raven from Aeron to put the wind back in Victarion's sails. He would not fight Euron, no matter how much Thyra argued. Asha was Balon's true born daughter, and Balon wanted her to succeed him. Euron had murdered his eldest brother to steal his crown. Victarion was a threat to his place, and that put his daughter in danger as well.

No argument could convince him. Then Aeron had called the kingsmoot, the first in four thousand years. The chance for Victarion to claim the Seastone Chair the old way. So, they had set sail for Old Wyk at once.

Kromm was at the prow searching for his father's banners. Old Wyk was his home, though he'd spent more time on Pyke or at sea these past years. Dalton hailed from the island as well, but unlike Kromm, Dalton had gone below deck to consult his books. Thyra couldn't blame him, she was sure there were plenty of bad memories for him here.

They were met on shore by friends and allies, all of whom wished to lend Victarion their voices at the kingsmoot, in exchange for this or that. Soon a huge sailcloth tent was erected so the captains could feast and discuss terms with Victarion. Thyra had never been interested in the politics of power, preferring to keep her tight knit crew far away from it all. But here in this tent, Kromm was right at home.

"Shouldn't you be with him?" Thyra teased Brenna. It was widely known she and Kromm were together, and that both their fathers wished them to marry. They watched on as Kromm told stories of Moat Cailin to anyone who would listen. He had attracted a small crowd, but then, the Goodbrothers had cadet branches across four islands. From the other side of the feast tent, Thyra could not tell if any other houses had joined in.

Brenna hummed disapprovingly. "He cares more for the attention than the sea." From Brenna Farwynd, that was the harshest of critiques. For years on the Lonely Light, the sea had been her only friend, and even still she had some connection to it that went beyond being Ironborn.

"I take it your father will be disappointed in your marriage prospects," Thyra mused.

Before Brenna could answer, Gwyn interrupted. "Did someone say marriage prospects?" The pair turned toward the blonde, who sat at the end of their table. She had a grin that nearly stretched from ear to ear. "Hal and I made a bet on how many captains will ask for your hand in exchange for their vote."

"I say eight," Halleck Farwynd informed them. "Gwyn says ten."

At the other end of the dais, Victarion was in discussion with Baelor Blacktyde. Thyra shrugged. "Whether it's twelve or twenty, Victarion's answer will be the same."

Her father had made it clear he would not sell his daughter, not even when Balon proposed it. On her sixteenth nameday, her aunt, Alannys, had brought suitors. The following day Victarion had brought the Kraken's Kiss. A fortnight later, Thyra was on the seas with her newly formed crew and no suitors in sight.

Gywnn leaned in, dropping her voice low. "Do you truly think your father will win?"

Before Thyra could answer, the tent hushed. At the entrance stood Euron and his loyal men. It had been two years since she'd seen her uncle. Two years since he'd gotten her stepmother killed and been banished for his betrayal. He looked as dark and deadly as ever.

"I do," Thyra said, forcing her voice to sound more confident than she truly felt. "If he does not, I fear for us all."

The quiet sound of footsteps in the sand made Thyra pause. She gave Asha time to catch up, before resuming her pilgrimage to the sea. As she neared the water, Thyra removed her boots, Asha did the same. They walked into the waves together.

Thyra breathed in the salty air, letting it ground her. "It feels good to be home, cousin."

"That it does," Asha agreed. "Would that we never need to return to the North." Thyra cracked one eye open to peer at her cousin. She could sense the beginnings of a negotiation. The thought alone exhausted her. Even in the sea there was no escaping the Kingsmoot.

Thyra closed her eyes again. "Save your breath, Asha. You know where my vote is."

Asha did not. "I know you've seen this war for what it is, a lost cause. If we put it aside now, we can escape with the coastal villages and the lives we have left." Thyra sighed. The lands of the North held little sway for her either way. But she would admit that there was not much she would despise more than returning to the bogs of Moat Cailin.

Seeming to sense a weakening in Thyra's resolve, Asha pushed on. "Raise your voice for me, cousin. You know it is the Drowned God's will, you have said it yourself."

"One voice amongst hundreds will not win you the Seastone Chair," Thyra pointed out, turning toward her cousin. "I have no fleet, only a small crew."

"If Victarion's own daughter sides with me, the Iron Fleet will think twice."

"And even if they do, they're as like to vote for Euron as for you."

"If Victarion sits the Seastone Chair, he will take another wife. He will have a son, maybe many, and those sons will replace you. How can you expect to command the Iron Fleet then, cousin? If you vote against me, you vote against yourself."

Asha was right. It was about the precedent. No woman had ever ruled the Ironborn, and no woman had ever commanded the Iron Fleet. But is that even the life I want? "I'll think on it, cousin."

"That's all I ask." She backed away, toward the shore. Leaving Thyra alone, with the waves crashing around her feet.

The drums summoned them to the Kingsmoot at sunrise. It seemed that every Ironborn was in attendance, packing the island as far as the eye could see. As the stragglers made their way to the gathering, Aeron opened the proceedings. There was a hum in the air as he spoke. These words, this place, this was Ironborn history past and present. Their ancestors were watching them, the Drowned God was waiting for his chance to speak.

"Who shall be king over us?" Aeron called. His voice rang out amongst the crowd. Amplified almost unnaturally over the din of voices and the distant sound of the waves.

The first claimant to step forward was Gylbert Farwynd. "I will!"

Brenna sighed as her father spoke. "Your uncle thinks him mad," she murmured. If Thyra were being honest, Aeron was not the only Greyjoy to believe Gylbert Farwynd mad. Even if there was something far beyond the Sunset Sea, as Brenna herself believed, the Ironborn would never see it. There were wars to fight here, for their home.

The Farwynd captains raised their voices for Gylbert with cries of "Gylbert! Gylbert King!" Their crews joined in. But of the thousands gathered, they were few. Brenna and Halleck both stayed silent. Hal glanced toward his own father, Triston Farwynd, for a moment. Thyra thought he looked disappointed. That was one less voice who would raise for Victarion.

Steffarion touched Thyra's shoulder lightly, and she turned to see the returning lordling. "My father will back yours," he told her. It had taken longer than either of them had expected to secure that vote. "The Humbles, Shepherds, and Netleys as well." They were all young houses, those born of thralls and salt wives only a few generations ago. But they would choose Victarion because his daughter had given one of them the chance to join the Iron Fleet. Thyra nodded once.

After Erik Ironmaker had come and gone, Dunstan Drumm made a claim. As the Drumm was carried past in a driftwood chair, Dalton hid himself behind Kromm and Halleck, so as not to be seen. Donnel Drumm looked at Thyra for a moment, as if expecting her to call his son forward. She met his gaze, and kept her mouth shut. After a beat he was gone.

Dunstan went on and on about the great Drumms of old. It was a small wonder Dalton had found books to entertain himself as a child amongst his grandfather's halls. But unlike his grandfather, Dalton never attempted to win an argument by boring his opponents to death. When Dunstan poured gifts of bronze before the crowd, his fate was sealed. Even the Farwynds had brought finer offerings.

Then came Victarion. Thyra stepped forward to join her father's champions. She found Asha in the crowd and watched the hurt cross her face, but she had to have known there was no other choice Thyra could make. She could not split the Iron Fleet. There was so much at risk with Euron yet to make his claim. She would not endanger the little hope they had of saving their Islands from a tyrant.

Victarion's words were short and simple. He was a storied warrior, the Captain of the Iron Fleet, Balon's right hand. He would continue this war Balon had started, and he would win it. "Victarion!" Thyra shouted. "Victarion King!"

The chests were emptied, spilling piles of precious metals and priceless gems. More and more voices answered the call. For a moment Thyra thought they had done it. Victarion would be king. Then Asha stepped forward.

Her claim was as bawdy and raucous as her personality. Thyra might have found herself swayed if she wasn't the target of some of her cousin's jokes. Asha damned herself in the eyes of many when she vowed to end Balon's war. The Ironborn were no cravens and they had lived with the sting of the rebellion's defeat for too long.

Many voices raised for Asha, but they were quickly overtaken by more shouts for Victarion. The voices became but a din, as nearly everyone in the crowd made their opinions known.

The horn cut through the voices with a piercing cry. The silence between blows was deafening. Thyra looked toward the source of the sound. Euron stepped forward, flanked by the horn blower. The horn itself looked ancient. It was taller than a man and took two hands for the massive man to hold.

And then the terrible sound stopped. The man stumbled, and the horn was taken away. Smoke drifted from the horn and from the man's mouth, which upon closer inspection was blacked and blistered. "May the Drowned God save us all," Steffarion murmured at her side.

Thyra looked back at her crew; they gathered behind her as if ready to defend an attack from Euron himself. Victarion was standing stoic, calm. But she could see the tightness in his jaw, the anger that he held back, the fear.

Even before Euron spoke, Thyra knew it was over. She knew his chests would be filled with unimaginable treasures, like the horn just demonstrated. She knew he would make promises that would put Balon's wildest dreams to shame. Euron Greyjoy would be King, and the whole realm would suffer for it.