Chapter 3
Inheritance
Illyen felt another involuntary shiver run through his body as a cold draft washed over him, and he folded his arms tightly across his chest and hunched forward slightly as he sat on the uncomfortably hard stone bench in his cell. It was the sole piece of furniture in the tiny room, save for a wooden waste bucket in one corner that smelled as though it had not been cleaned in years. The only light – other than the torches flickering on the opposite wall in the hallway outside – came streaming in through the barred window ten feet above his head. Drops of water occasionally fell from the cracked ceiling to land in a puddle near his feet, forcing Illyen to sit with his legs turned at an uncomfortable angle to avoid being splashed.
He did not know exactly how long he had been sitting in the cell, though he was certain that it was more than an hour and less than a day. The sun had clearly not set since he had been placed in the cell, though the pale light above him did appear to be gradually growing dimmer. Not that the exact time particularly mattered to him at the moment, as there were far more important questions to ponder.
Regoro was dead? That was the first question that kept circling in his mind. Of course, he had little reason to doubt the guards' claims, else he would not have been dragged to the dungeons in the first place. However, they had told him nothing more, even when he had begged for details. How had Regoro died? When? Where? Why did the watch believe he was the murderer? Was it because he had been seen walking with Regoro the night before? That seemed the most likely answer. What's more, if word had gotten out that Regoro had been considering naming Illyen his heir, that would provide a motive as well. However, Illyen had never accepted Regoro's offer, nor had the magister officially named him as his successor. Thus, there was no reason for Illyen to murder him, even if he was foolish enough to seek to claim Regoro's title as soon as possible. But would that convince the guards?
More importantly, what would happen to him if he was found guilty? Would he be hanged as a murderer? Would he even have the opportunity to defend himself, to plead his case? Or was there enough evidence against him that a judge would deem a trial unnecessary? Illyen's stomach turned, and bile rose in his throat. Ruthlessly, he suppressed that thought and shook his head, forcing himself to remain calm. Braavos was not a barbaric land like Westeros or the Dothraki Sea, he reminded himself. There were few summary executions, and even common prisoners were afforded the opportunity to defend themselves, even for heinous crimes like murder. Only slavers were granted no quarter, and even then, so long as they repented, they were often given a lighter punishment than execution. However, until he knew more, all Illyen could do was wait, though that seemed more tortuous than anything an interrogator could inflict upon him. At that, another thought crept into the back of his mind – would he be tortured until a confession was extracted? Nausea began rising in his stomach again, and he swallowed heavily as he groaned to himself.
Suddenly, a door swung open, and heavy footsteps began approaching his cell. Illyen's heart began to race as a guard stopped in front of his cell and unlocked it. He then stepped aside and held his arm out.
"You have been released," the guard said curtly. "Come with me so that you may collect your belongings."
"I… what?" Illyen asked. He was relieved, but quite surprised.
"It has been determined that you could not have committed the murder you were initially accused of," the guard said in a bored voice – if anything, he almost sounded disappointed. "We will explain more while we are securing your release. Now, come with me. Unless you have already become so fond of your cell that you wish to spend the night in there. If so, I have no qualms about allowing that," he sneered.
Illyen glowered, but quickly hurried out of the cell as the guard smirked and closed the iron bars behind him. He then motioned for Illyen to follow him down the hallway, past the rows of cells lining either side of the corridor. Some of the cells were empty, while others were occupied, either by sneering men and women who reached out for them through the bars, or by shadowy figures huddled deep in the corners of their small rooms, eyeing the guard suspiciously as he walked. Illyen stole a few furtive glances at first, but when he was met with vicious glares, he quickly looked straight ahead and followed close behind the watchman.
After being led up a spiral staircase, Illyen and the guard emerged into a small room, where a bored-looking watch captain in gold-trimmed armor was sitting behind a desk. When he saw Illyen and the other guard approaching, he motioned for Illyen to take a seat in the chair in front of him, while turning to the guardsman.
"Unchain him," the captain said curtly.
The guardsman hesitated. "Are you cer-?" he began.
"We have determined that he is innocent, so there is no further reason to restrain him," the captain interrupted curtly. He then smirked slightly. "What's more, I suspect he would be hard-pressed to best even a child in a fight. Now unchain him."
Illeyn glowered at the captain while the other guard snickered and pulled a key ring off his belt. He briefly pawed through the keys until he found a slender iron one, which he jammed into the keyhole on Illyen's manacles. As he turned the key, the cuffs fell from his wrists to land with a clatter on the desk, and Illyen shook his hands and flexed his fingers. The cuffs had not been particularly tight, but their weight had been uncomfortable.
"Now, here are your possessions," the captain continued, pushing Illyen's belt and pouch towards him. "You are free to leave-"
"Hold," Illyen interrupted. The captain narrowed his eyes, but Illyen ignored his glare. "You have accused me of murder, arrested me, and detained me for the better part of the day. Yet you have explained nothing. I wish to know what has happened."
The captain continued to scowl, but when Illyen didn't budge, he settled back in his seat and laced his fingers together. "Very well. Magister Regoro Telerys was found dead in an alleyway near the Purple Harbor around midmorning today. There were six stab wounds in his chest and stomach. We believe that he had been killed around dawn, as much of the blood had already dried by the time his body was spotted by a passerby."
Illyen felt his heart starting to pound. "And you believed that I was the one who killed him?!" he snapped.
"You were one of the most likely to have done so, yes," the captain replied with a shrug. "For one, you were seen in his company last night, dining with him at the Emerald Lagoon. Thus, it was not unreasonable for us to initially assume that you attacked him at some point that evening."
"To what end?" Illyen demanded, though he felt that he already knew the answer.
"Oh, you had ample motive," the captain pointed out, raising an eyebrow. "The innkeeper and his servants overheard your conversation. Regoro was suggesting that he might name you his successor, yes? Thus, one might conclude that you thought to obtain your inheritance early."
"But he had yet to officially named me his heir, so I had nothing to gain by killing him," Illyen countered. "If anything, that would have prevented me from obtaining his title."
"You were officially named his heir," the captain stated flatly.
Illyen blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. "I beg your pardon?" he asked numbly.
The captain raised an eyebrow. "You truly were not informed? Intriguing. Yes, after we detained you, we requested Magister Telerys' records from the Iron Bank. According to them, Regoro Telerys added your name to his will four days ago. The papers lacked your signature, but so far as the Bank was concerned, he had declared that you were to receive his estate in the event of his death."
Illyen's mouth fell open as he sat back in the chair. "I… but-!" he stammered, unable to muster a response.
"In any case," the captain continued, ignoring Illyen's dumbfounded expression. "While you were one of our most obvious suspects, it soon became apparent that you could not have killed him. According to the steward of Regoro's manse – whom we are still holding as a suspect as well – he returned home unharmed and retired to bed shortly after spending a bit of time writing in his cabinet. He departed from his manse early the next morning, and we estimate that he was killed shortly after dawn. You, on the other hand, seem to have returned straight to the Dome theater and spent the night there. Your fellow mummers informed us that you left the theater early the next morning, and several witnesses have confirmed that you were openly wandering the streets of Braavos for most of the day. Thus, we can safely conclude that you were not Regoro's murderer."
"W-well… that's one positive, I suppose," Illyen murmured, still reeling from the revelation that Regoro had already named him his heir. How long had the magister been planning this? Had he simply presumed that Illyen would accept his offer? He pushed those thoughts aside for the moment as a more pressing one came to the forefront of his mind. "Have you not found his murderer, though?"
"Not yet, though we will continue searching. In any case, we have no reason to keep you here, so you're free to go," the captain continued with a shrug, as Illyen turned pale. "We will be watching you closely in the meantime, however. The Iron Bank also indicated that they wished to speak with you at your earliest convenience, so I would recommend meeting with them tomorrow."
"Hold a moment!" Illyen said sharply, pushing himself up. "If Regoro was killed, does that not mean that I might be next?"
The captain paused and glanced at the other guard, then turned back to Illyen. "You might," he admitted bluntly. "However, we cannot spare a guard to constantly escort you." Illyen's blood ran cold as his eyes widened with fright, and the captain let out a soft sigh. "Nevertheless, we will remain alert. Should anyone trouble you, find the nearest watchman, and we shall see to it that you are protected."
Illyen swallowed hard, but he realized that the captain had a point – the watch had a duty to protect the entire city, not just one person. What's more, there was no guarantee that he would be attacked next. "I… very well," Illyen said reluctantly. "Thank you."
"It's our job, Magister," the captain shrugged. Illyen stiffened at the man's use of the title, and when he noticed Illyen's reaction, the guard grinned. "Sounds queer, does it? I imagine you'll soon become accustomed to it. In any case, you're free to go. Good day."
With that, the guard standing behind Illyen gently nudged him towards the exit. Illyen still had dozens of questions racing through his mind, but he realized that the captain likely didn't have any more answers – and if he did, he was unwilling to say any more. Thus, he allowed himself to be guided out of the dungeons, still in a daze, until he was led out a heavy wooden door and once more stepped onto the streets of Braavos.
The door to the heavy stone tower shut behind him as Illyen took a moment to survey his surroundings. He had been taken to the guard post at the edge of the Ragman's Harbor, not far from where he had been arrested, though those dungeons were usually reserved for foreigners rather than citizens of Braavos. He supposed they had taken him there simply because it was nearby. It was still afternoon, but evening was fast approaching, judging by how low on the horizon the sun was. A shiver ran down Illyen's spine as he abruptly realized he did not want to be on the streets when night fell, so long as Regoro's murderer had not been captured, and might be seeking his blood next.
While he was contemplating whether to return to the Dome, where he might find some measure of safety being surrounded by the other members of his troupe, he noticed a pair of figures hurrying towards him through the crowd. To his mild surprise, Balerion and Saera were running to meet him. The pair stopped short, breathless, when they were a few feet away from him, and Balerion staggered forward to grip Illyen's shoulders.
"Th-there you are!" he panted, a relieved grin spreading across his face.
"Here I am," Illyen confirmed, frowning. "Surely you two were not awaiting my release all this time. I could have been imprisoned for days, for all you knew!"
"Yes, but Bale assumed that you would not be held for long," Saera replied, dismissing his comment with a wave of her hand. "After all, although you had met with Regoro the night before, we and the mummers could confirm your whereabouts both last night and today. If need be, Bale was even willing to hire an arbiter to argue for your release. Fortunately, it seems that was unnecessary. I must confess, I am pleasantly surprised by how competent the guards here in Braavos seem to be. In Tyrosh, they likely would have taken the opportunity to fasten a slave collar around your neck, regardless of your innocence."
Illyen felt the blood drain from his face as a sudden thought struck him, and he turned to Balerion. "If you were waiting for me all this time… what of that Antaryon daughter you were supposed to meet with?" he asked, hoping that the courtesan had not missed an important engagement for his sake.
"Oh, rest assured, I did entertain her," Balerion replied with a smug grin. "Fond of you as I am, I would not forsake an appointment with such a powerful lady. Besides, though I anticipated that you would not be held for long, I also did not expect you to be released for several hours while the guards were investigating, so I decided that there was no reason to remain here in the meantime. If you were released early, I assumed that Saera – whose ship is moored just over there, as you can see – would spot you first and alert me once you had been set free." Beside him, Saera nodded in agreement. "In any case, what happened?" Balerion pressed. "The watchmen told us that you had been arrested for the murder of Magister Telerys, but we know nothing else."
"I know little more than you," Illyen admitted, before quickly recounting what the guard captain had told him. Balerion and Saera listened silently, and when he had finished, they traded glances with each other.
"Well… I suppose we should begin referring to you as Magister Telerys now, mm?" Balerion quipped, managing a faint smile.
Illyen glared at him. "I am in no mood for japes!" he snapped. "Not only has my uncle been murdered, but his killer has not been captured! He might seek to slit my throat next! And that's to say nothing of the fact that an enormous burden has now been laid across my back! And I did not even agree to bear it!"
"Perhaps not," Balerion countered calmly, folding his hands behind his back as he gazed up at Illyen. "But if you do not wish to bear that burden, then you may not need to."
"…Indeed?" Illyen asked warily.
"As I said, magister titles are often treated like deeds. Though Regoro may have named you his heir before he died, if you did not agree, then his title may not yet be yours, and you might have the opportunity to refuse it," Balerion pointed out. He then shrugged. "Either way, you should visit the Iron Bank on the morrow. They are the final authority on all property inheritance in Braavos, so they should be able to settle this matter, one way or another."
"I see," Illyen said slowly, looking away as he began to feel queasy again. "And until then-"
"Until then, you are spending the night in my manse," Balerion interrupted. Illyen glanced at him, slightly surprised. The courtesan's tone brokered no argument. "It seems the city watch refused to assign you an escort, yes? And you fear that your uncle's assassin may come for you next?" When Illyen nodded uneasily, Balerion folded his arms over his chest. "As do I. To that end, I shall not allow you to remain unguarded, at least tonight. No assassin shy of a Faceless Man would be foolish enough to attempt to infiltrate our manse. Until tomorrow, at least, you may rest easy."
"I…." Illyen hesitated, then sighed and inclined his head. "Very well," he murmured. "You have my thanks."
"Think nothing of it," Balerion replied with an easy shrug. "After all, I have no intention of leaving you at the mercy of a murderer. Though I am afraid that I will likely only be able to offer my hospitality for a night or two. After all, my kin have made it quite clear that our manse is not an inn. We must always prioritize entertaining our patrons. Thus, I sadly cannot allow you to simply stay in one of our rooms until your uncle's killer is arrested."
"Rest assured, I would not accept that sort of offer even if you were to extend it," Illyen replied, managing a weak grin. "After all, it may be that this assassin only sought my uncle, and has no interest in me. Nor would I wish to hide in your manse for eternity anyways."
"You wound me. Do you know how much I usually demand from a patron for them to spend even one night in my palace?" Balerion asked, sighing dramatically. "Yet I offer you this boon for free, and what sort of gratitude do I receive?!"
"I don't recall ever calling myself a patron of yours," Illyen retorted drily.
"Nor would I ever wish you to, as I would rather call you a friend," Balerion replied with a genuine grin. He then turned to Saera. "Would you care to join us as well?" he offered. "If I am opening my manse to those I am fondest of, I must extend the offer to the both of you."
"I…." Saera hesitated, then glanced over her shoulder at her ship with a reluctant sigh. "I cannot. I am truly grateful for your offer, but I must see to my ship. With all this excitement, we have made very little coin today, and I cannot spare another moment away from my men."
"Very well," Balerion shrugged. "Though the offer still stands."
"And my apologies," Illyen added sheepishly.
"For what? For sharing blood with a man who was slain?" Saera asked, frowning. "For being wrongfully accused of a crime you could not have committed? You have nothing to apologize for." She stepped a bit closer and reached up, putting her small but surprisingly strong hands on his shoulders and squeezing them. "But do look after yourself, aye? It may be that you are in no danger, but until we are certain, please watch over your shoulder. I would hate to hear that my favorite playwright fell to an assassin's blade."
"I shall certainly try to avoid that," Illyen assured her with an uncomfortable chuckle. "And once this matter with the Iron Bank is sorted, I do intend to return and properly finish my drink. So please save at least one cup of apricot wine for me?"
"I swear," Saera replied with a grin, and she gave his shoulders another squeeze before letting go. "We will be moored here for a few weeks anyways. I've always enjoyed doing business in Braavos, after all. There's no danger of running afoul of slavers, and you pay generously. Please come visit again whenever you have the opportunity."
"I shall. After all, I still need to deliver your tickets to you, don't I?" Illyen pointed out, matching her grin.
"That you do," Saera agreed. She then waved him away lightly. "Now, both of you be off. I don't need customers to wonder why I'm spending so much time speaking with a prisoner. Look after him, will you, Bale?"
"Until tomorrow, at least," Balerion replied with a grin and a wave. He then reached up and clapped Illyen on the shoulder. "Come. You have not eaten since breakfast, have you? Our servants should nearly have dinner prepared. You enjoy lamb, yes?"
"The few times I've had it," Illyen admitted.
Balerion's grin broadened. "Well, now that you've become a magister, you should expect to dine upon it more often, mm?"
Balerion had to duck as Illyen swiped at him, and he quickly danced out of reach, cackling.
After spending the night on silken, perfume-scented sheets, Illyen awoke early the next morning. Though he accepted Balerion's offer of a breakfast of warm bread, fresh berries, honey, and cream he ate swiftly and departed from his friend's opulent manse as soon as possible. While the Otherys clan was quite used to his presence, they had always made it clear that he was always considered – at best – a temporary guest within their walls. He also doubted their opinion of him would ever change, even with his supposed inheritance of a magister's title. To them, he would always be little more than a mere commoner whose presence was only tolerated because Balerion considered him an amusing pet.
As the Otherys manse was near the Purple Harbor, Illyen did not have to travel far before he arrived in front of the front steps of the Iron Bank. Nearly everyone in Braavos was familiar with the monolithic granite building, with its stoic yet ornate façade, bronze-capped domes, and columned entrance. Illyen, however, had never once had cause to set foot inside the bank, and he had long hoped he would never need to. Though the Sealord was the nominal ruler of Braavos, it was the Iron Bank that truly dominated the nation. Due to its absolute control over the flow of commerce throughout the city, the Bank could influence policy, elevate dynasties… and ruin those who dared cross it. Its power extended far beyond Braavos' shores as well, as the Bank also loaned money to foreign kings and princes. In the past, certain rulers had dared to default on debts owed to the Bank, or renege on trade agreements. Said rulers had soon found themselves replaced as the Bank sponsored claimants to their titles, and once the new rulers had claimed their thrones, they made certain to repay the debts their predecessors had refused to honor.
It was, in short, the last institution in Braavos that Illyen wanted to notice him. And now, it seemed, he had no choice.
Illyen inhaled deeply, then took a moment to straighten the deep violet doublet that Balerion had lent to him. He then squared his shoulders and slowly made his way up the steps of the Bank, his legs feeling as heavy as lead.
Once through the double doors, he found himself standing in a cavernous entrance hall. Like the exterior, it was largely made of granite, with smooth pillars supporting the towering, vaulted ceiling above. The floor was made of pristine white marble, which echoed under Illyen's feet as he approached a long mahogany counter, where over a dozen bankers sat, with scales, weights, and parchment strewn before them. Fortunately, it was early in the morning, so there were few customers vying for the bankers' attention, and one who was not presently occupied quickly spotted Illyen and waved him over.
"How might I help you?" the man asked in a flat but polite tone as Illyen approached.
"Good morning," Illyen greeted the man nervously. "I… recently inherited a magister's title from one Magister Regoro Telerys. I was told that the Bank might wish to sort out the details-"
"Ah! Yes, I recall one of my colleagues mentioning you," the banker interrupted suddenly. He then leaned over the counter and pointed to his right. "Please walk down this hallway and knock on the fifth door on the right. That is Varyn Soryaan's office. He wished to speak with you."
Illyen blinked. "I see. Thank you," he said quietly, somewhat surprised that he was apparently expected. The banker smiled automatically and nodded before picking his quill up again and returning to his work.
Illyen turned and followed the banker's instructions, walking away from the main lobby and turning down a long, narrow hallway, with wooden doors lining the walls on either side. Illyen's footsteps barely made a sound on the long, dark blue rug stretched across the marble floor as he quietly counted the doors before stopping in front of the fifth. As instructed, he knocked on the door, then stepped back and folded his hands behind his back as he struggled to calm his nerves.
A few moments later, the door swung open, and Illyen found himself gazing down at a squat, middle-aged man dressed in a grey felt coat. He stood no taller than five-and-a-half feet, and his body was quite rotund, with a pronounced potbelly hanging over the belt of his breeches. His thinning hair was mid-brown, laced with streaks of grey, and his hazel eyes were bloodshot, making it seem as though sleep was foreign to him. Frowning, he squinted as he peered up at Illyen.
"Yes? May I help you?" the man asked in a slightly raspy voice.
"I… was told to come speak with one Varyn Soryaan?" Illyen asked hesitantly. "My name is Illyen, I am here about Magister Regoro's title-"
At those words, the man's face broke into a broad smile. "My dear boy!" he exclaimed in a delighted tone. "Welcome! Yes, I have been expecting you. Come, sit," he added, stepping aside and holding his arm out to invite Illyen inside.
Illyen did as he was asked, nervously stepping inside the office as the banker shut the thick door behind him. The room was small, likely only about eighty feet across, but despite its size, the banker had managed to fit two bookshelves against one wall, while the other was dominated by an unlit brick fireplace. These flanked a heavy oaken desk that dominated the center of the room. A pair of chests sat against the back wall behind him, and a large glass window above them allowed the pale morning sunlight to illuminate the small space. The man made his way back to his high-backed leather chair, while motioning for Illyen to take one of the two green velvet chairs situated in front of his desk.
"It is a pleasure to meet you at last, my boy, though I do wish it was under happier circumstances," the banker continued as he settled into his seat and laced his fingers on top of his desk. "Allow me to properly introduce myself. I am Varyn Soryaan, senior banker for the Iron Bank. I am also the personal financier for Regoro Telerys, and have overseen his accounts for over twenty years now. Or… I suppose it is more appropriate to say that I was," he added, his tone turning somber. "I was quite saddened to hear of his demise. In truth, I considered him a good friend."
"Indeed?" Illyen asked, his tone slightly surprised even as he inclined his head politely. "You have my sympathies."
Varyn smiled slightly. "You did not expect us to have a close personal relationship, I presume? It is rare that two people work together for over two decades and not forge some sort of bond, whether friendly or otherwise. In truth, it was I who signed the deed transferring ownership of his first ship to him after his adventure in the Stepstones many years ago. I was a mere junior clerk at the time, and he a novice captain, so we decided a partnership would be mutually beneficial. Ever since then, I aided him in all matters financial, whether it was applying for a loan, settling debts, or acquiring property. I watched as he rose from a mere sailor to a rather wealthy magister." He chuckled softly. "I must confess that I took some measure of pride in his accomplishments, as he would not have risen so high without my assistance." He sighed as he turned towards one of his chests, which he opened and rummaged through for a few moments, before withdrawing a crystal bottle filled with amber liquid. "The world is truly darker with his passing," he added as he set a pair of glasses on his desk. "Would you care to toast his memory with me?"
"I… will join you in a toast, certainly, though you will forgive me if I refrain from drinking so early in the morning," Illyen replied quietly. He hated the taste of alcohol before noon, before his tongue was fully awake. Varyn responded by silently pushing an empty glass towards him, while filling the other and holding it up. "To Regoro… my uncle, and your friend," Illyen added, lifting the glass in the air.
Varyn gently touched his glass to Illyen's and took a sip of the liquid, then let out a heavy sigh as he peered down at it for a moment. He then set the glass down and nodded. "Now then," he continued, looking up at Illyen again with a more stoic expression on his face as he opened a desk drawer and pulled out a stack of paper. "With Regoro's passing, there is the matter of the succession of his title and properties. You were named as Regoro's heir-"
"A moment, if I may?" Illyen interrupted. Varyn paused, then motioned with one hand for him to continue. "Why, exactly, am I considered his heir? Regoro approached me a couple nights ago, offering me the opportunity, certainly. However, I never formally agreed to his offer," he said, not bothering to hide the confusion, irritation, and unease in his tone.
"Yes, I am aware," Varyn chuckled as he settled back in his chair, tapping the papers on his desk before pushing one towards him. "If you will read this? This is Regoro's will, which he submitted to me a few days ago. Here, it states that Regoro wishes for you to inherit his title and property. Thus, we must consider you his heir."
Illyen felt his blood starting to boil. "Even though I did not give my consent?" he asked in a low, furious tone.
"Your consent was not required," Varyn replied simply. "Regoro was free to name whomever he wished as his successor." He paused for a moment as Illyen turned pale. "I suspect that he simply presumed that you would accept. If he was mistaken, then I am sorry that his rash assumption has angered you. If it is any consolation, however, we require your consent before you may inherit his estate. Therefore, if you wish to refuse now, you are free to do so."
Illyen sat back in his chair slightly, feeling his anger simmering. While he was still irritated by Regoro's arrogant assumption that Illyen would simply accept his decision, the fact that he was not bound by his uncle's decree mollified him somewhat. "Very well," he sighed. "Then what did Regoro leave me?"
"To begin with, you are to inherit his title of Magister," Varyn explained, pushing another paper towards him. "Henceforth, you shall be the patriarch of House Telerys, until such time as you surrender your rights to the name."
Despite himself, Illyen could not help but smirk slightly. "Patriarch, am I?" he murmured. "My father will be furious to hear that."
Varyn chuckled. "Your father will remain the head of his own household, but the House of Telerys is now yours. He cannot seize that from you unless you gift or sell it to him."
"How droll," Illyen commented, his smile fading. "What else, then?"
"You will also inherit all properties left behind by Regoro," Varyn continued, pushing a map towards him. "You are now the owner of his manse, which you will find located at-"
"Here, yes?" Illyen asked, pointing to the second building from the right on a street near the Purple Harbor.
"Just so," Varyn nodded. "That manse, along with every item you find within, are now your own. However, I must inform you that with Regoro's death, the staff that previously worked there are no longer obligated to continue serving you. You may rehire them if you wish, but you will be required to negotiate the terms of their employment."
"I see," Illyen said slowly.
"Regoro also owned a fleet of five trading vessels," Varyn continued, pushing another sheaf of paper towards him. "They are currently docked in the Purple Harbor, though if I recall, they have not been put to sea in quite some time. They may require repairs, though I cannot say for certain, as I am no shipwright. As with the staff of your manse, if you wish to crew the vessels, you must hire sailors yourself."
"This is beginning to sound rather expensive," Illyen commented as he frowned deeply.
Varyn glanced away with a slight grimace. "Yes, well… that brings me to my final point, I'm afraid," he said in a low voice. Illyen felt his stomach turn as Varyn pushed a final piece of paper towards him. "I am uncertain how much Regoro told you, but over the past few years, he has encountered… troubles in his mercantile pursuits. Of late, he has been unable to turn an adequate profit, and I am afraid that he has become indebted to the Iron Bank."
Illyen felt bile rise in his throat as he reached out and reluctantly took the paper from Varyn. "And I presume that I am to inherit those debts as well?" he asked grimly.
"As the head of House Telerys, yes, I am afraid so," Varyn nodded.
Illyen sighed heavily, clutching the paper in one hand, but not yet looking at it. "And how deeply in debt was he?" he asked, gritting his teeth to brace himself.
Varyn touched his tongue to his lips, then replied slowly, "I am afraid that at the time of his death, he owed the bank just shy of thirty-five thousand."
"Thirty-fi-?!" Illyen cried, his eyes bulging out of his head, before he slumped back in his chair, reeling. In his entire life, he did not think that he had ever possessed even a thousand coins, and he was considered moderately wealthy for a commoner. Thirty-five thousand was an amount that he simply could not fathom. "How could he possibly owe so much coin?!" Illyen exclaimed.
"In short? The way in which Regoro conducted business was simply unsustainable," Varyn replied simply.
"How so?" Illyen asked, lowering his voice as he tried to calm himself.
Varyn tilted his head. "He truly told you nothing of how he amassed his wealth, did he?" he asked.
Illyen shook his head. "A companion of mine mentioned that he did not trade in any one item, that he made his fortune by observing the market and selling goods where they were dearest."
"Well… that is part of it, yes," Varyn sighed, settling back in his chair and lacing his fingers over his round stomach. "Allow me to explain, then. Regoro was made captain of his first vessel shortly before Essos and Westeros descended into a period of utter chaos. About twenty-five years ago, the Sunset Kingdoms became embroiled in a civil war that they called the Blackfyre Rebellion, when a claimant to their throne led an uprising against the reigning king. During the war, both sides found themselves in dire need of supplies – food, weapons, medicine, and so forth. Regoro seized that opportunity.
"His usual practice was to apply for a loan from the Iron Bank – which I nearly always provided to him, with rather generous terms of repayment – which he would then use to purchase supplies and sail them from Essos to Westeros, where he was able to sell them at very high prices, more than enough to repay the loan and still retain a substantial profit for himself. While he was far from the only merchant to do so, he found continued success where others failed due to his remarkable skill as a sailor. He was able to avoid enemy vessels, run blockades, and smuggle supplies into besieged ports, where he could sell his goods at any price he wished. His buyers had little choice but to accept his offers because few other captains were able to even make it to shore."
"Yes, I have heard tales of that rebellion. Though I was far too young to personally recall anything significant about it," Illyen admitted.
Varyn smiled faintly. "Then do you remember the Great Spring Sickness?"
"I do," Illyen nodded grimly. "That was about ten years ago, yes?"
"It was," Varyn confirmed. "While the plague did not spread here to Essos, the Sunset Kingdoms suffered horribly. It is said that one in three fell victim to it. There were terrible tales of diseased corpses rotting in the streets, of men waking up healthy at sunrise and dying by nightfall, of families forcing the ill from their very homes as they begged and pleaded not to be cast out. Even the King of Westeros was taken by the disease, as were a few of his princes, if I recall. Trade between Essos and Westeros all but ceased."
"…Yet Regoro was one of the few who made the voyage," Illyen concluded.
A pleased grin spread across Varyn's face. "Astute," he remarked. "Yes. Once again, Regoro risked contracting the disease in order to deliver much-needed supplies to the afflicted ports, especially food and medicine. The denizens of the cities he visited lauded him as a hero. They were grateful for any aid, and they cared little about how much coin he demanded in return. Gold has far less value to the dying than medicinal herbs and clean water, after all."
"Regoro said the same," Illyen commented, remembering what his uncle had told him about the price a man was willing to pay for a mouthful of water in the desert.
"Furthermore, at the same time, we were also engaged in our last war with Pentos," Varyn added. "Once again, Regoro distinguished himself by slipping through the Pentoshi blockades to bring arms and food to our warriors. By the end of those two conflicts, Regoro had become a very wealthy man, able to purchase a magister's title and a manse of his own."
"Very well… but that does not explain why, if he was so wealthy, he fell so deeply into debt," Illyen pointed out.
"Does it not?" Varyn replied. "Let me ask again – why was Regoro able to set such expensive prices?"
Illyen considered the question for a moment, and then his eyes widened. "Because their need was so great. Because they were ravaged by war and plague. But in times of peace…."
Varyn grinned and pointed at him. "Precisely," he said. "After the Spring Sickness passed and the war with Pentos ended, we entered a period of relative peace that has lasted for the past ten years. There were no great crises, no catastrophes for him to exploit. Trade began to flow steadily once again, and Regoro was no longer able to extort those who had once been in such desperate need of his goods. What's more, those he exploited did not forget how much he demanded of them when their need was greatest. While he did obtain a vast fortune in a very short time, his ruthlessness caused a great deal of resentment, even outright enmity. As such, he found himself isolated once normal trade resumed, and quickly began falling into debt."
"But he still had much of his fortune then, yes?" Illyen asked, frowning deeply. "Why did he not simply use his wealth to find a product to invest in and become a proper merchant?"
"Because, as I said, Regoro was not a merchant. He was a sailor," Varyn replied with a deep sigh. "In truth, I suggested the same to him. Regoro, however, could not find a market to invest in that was not already dominated by a rival. That, combined with the ill will he had garnered during the crises of the previous years, meant that few were willing to entertain a partnership with him. Thus, he could never properly transition from sailor to merchant." A wry smirk spread across his face. "It did not help that he was also a rather poor negotiator. Even those who initially held a neutral opinion of him found him stubborn and abrasive. He was used to dictating, rather than compromising. If he desired something, he expected his will to be fulfilled, regardless of whether the other party agreed. As you have already discovered," Varyn added, tapping the decree that had named Illyen his heir.
"Quite," Illyen agreed coldly.
"Even so, Regoro was at least able to continue paying the interest on his debts, so the Iron Bank had no reason to seize his assets. Over the past two years or so, however, he suffered a great deal of misfortune. In short order, his son was lost, and then a particularly ruthless band of pirates seemed to take an especial interest in attacking his ships. He lost a great deal of cargo in a short period of time, and found himself unable to recoup his losses. At the beginning of this year, he anchored his remaining ships in the Purple Harbor, and had not set sail since. He has been sinking ever deeper into debt for the past year, and did not appear to have found a solution to his woes before his demise."
"I see," Illyen sighed, slumping back in his chair. He stared despondently at the documents strewn before him for a few moments, before looking up with an almost hopeless expression on his face. "Then… what am I do about this?"
"That is a difficult question," Varyn agreed, frowning slightly. "Unless you have thirty-five thousand coins that I have not been told about, I am afraid this debt will cripple you."
Illyen laughed bitterly. "I have never even seen that much wealth in my life, and I doubt I ever will," he muttered.
"You are a mummer, yes?" Varyn asked, tilting his head. "If I recall correctly, you've penned a few plays yourself?"
"Yes, but even if I performed in front of a completely full theater three times a night, every day, for a full year, I doubt I could even amass five thousand. Even before Derro took what was rightfully his as the owner of the theater," Illyen sighed. He rested his elbows on the desk and dug his fingers into his scalp. "What of Regoro's other properties?" he asked, peering up at Varyn as strands of his tawny hair fell into his eyes. "Could I perhaps sell his ships?"
"You could, though I doubt you would receive more than three thousand for each, especially if those purchasing them from you became aware of how desperate you are," Varyn replied. "Although even if you could fulfill the terms of the debts with those ships alone, I would not recommend it. Ships are invaluable, as they allow you to earn coin. Their worth far exceeds the value of their hulls."
"What about his manse?" Illyen asked.
Varyn shook his head. "You would not be able to use that as collateral," he replied. "Regoro had not yet paid off the mortgage that allowed him to purchase his manse in the first place. It remains the property of the Iron Bank. In fact, if you are unable to repay his debt, it will be one of the first items that we seize."
Illyen groaned and let his head fall onto the hard corner of Varyn's heavy desk. "So how much might the interest payments per month be?" he asked in a low, hopeless tone.
"At present?" Varyn replied as he picked up one of the sheafs of paper and looked it over. "Two-hundred and fifty per month. Should you accumulate no further debt, and the interest remains the same."
Illyen hissed through his teeth as he raised his head, a bleak expression on his face. "And what will happen if I cannot meet the payments?" he asked.
Varyn settled back in his chair again, folding his hands on his stomach. "If you cannot repay the Bank, we will begin seizing Regoro's properties. One way or another, the Iron Bank will have its due."
Illeyn shook his head as he lowered his hands. "But… I know already that I cannot possibly earn that much coin. Especially right now. So… what am I to do?!"
Varyn gazed at Illyen silently, a sympathetic expression on his face. He then quirked his mouth and looked up at the ceiling, as though contemplating something. After a few moments, he abruptly pushed himself up out of his chair. "Would you allow me to leave you for a few moments?" he asked softly.
Illyen nodded weakly. Varyn smiled and briefly rested his hand on Illyen's shoulder as he passed by, before walking out of the office and shutting the door behind him, leaving Illyen alone. He continued staring at the scattered papers before him, struggling to find an answer. Regoro had doomed him by naming him his heir. How could he possibly pay off so much debt?! Even if he sold all of his belongings, and his parents', he doubted that he could repay more than two months' worth of interest, to say nothing of actually beginning to repay the debt itself! He would have to sell himself into indentured servitude! How-?!
Just as Illyen was truly beginning to panic, the door opened again, and Varyn walked back into the room. In his hand was a new sheet of paper. There was a faint smile on his face as he made his way back behind his desk and settled comfortably into his chair with a soft sigh.
"I have spoken with one of the keyholders," Varyn announced, placing the paper on his desk before leaning forward and lacing his fingers together over it.
Illyen frowned as he looked up. The keyholders of the Iron Bank were descendants of the original founders of the bank. They often held positions of great authority, both within the Bank and in Braavos itself; they even had a hand in electing the Sealord of the city. As such, their word was law, and their decisions were final. "And?" Illyen asked apprehensively.
"She has determined that, given the circumstances of your inheritance of Regoro's estate and your current profession, it would be unreasonable for us to assume that you can repay his debts at the moment," Varyn stated flatly.
Illyen winced and looked down, his face flushing. "Well… I cannot dispute that," he muttered reluctantly.
"However," Varyn continued, and when Illyen looked up again, he was surprised to see that the banker was smiling. "I also assured her that if Regoro chose to name you his heir, then he must have believed that you could repay what is owed. In truth, the Iron Bank does not wish to repossess his property. All we wish is to see that our loans are repaid. We only seize assets when we are certain that there is no other method of recouping our losses. We prefer that our clients to repay us in coin. To that end, we have decided to give you the opportunity to resolve this matter yourself."
Illyen blinked, his eyes widening. "What do you mean?" he asked hoarsely.
Varyn's smile widened as he pushed the piece of paper towards Illyen. "Please read this," he said. As Illyen hesitantly picked it up, he explained, "We are willing to offer you a reprieve. For the next six months the Iron Bank will place a hold upon all payments. You need pay nothing during this grace period. In the meantime, you will be expected to find a method of ensuring a stable flow of income at least exceeding the monthly interest payments on Regoro's loans. If, in six months, you are able to successfully deposit a full interest payment, and you can demonstrate that you will be able to continue doing so, then we will transfer full control of Regoro's estate to you – both his assets, and his debts. On the other hand, should you fail, the Iron Bank will repossess all of his properties, including his title." Varyn smiled faintly. "However, in that event, you will suffer no penalty for failing to repay his loans. In short, it will be as though Regoro never extended his offer to name you his heir. You will be free to return to your life as a mummer and playwright, and the Iron Bank will not hold you responsible in any way for Regoro's mismanagement of his estate."
Illyen's mouth fell open slightly, his heart starting to pound painfully against his ribs. "Is that so?" he half-whispered. If that was the case, then there was no need for him to fret about beggaring himself in order to repay his uncle's debts.
Varyn chuckled softly as he settled back in his seat again. "In the meantime, during this grace period, we will honor Regoro's wish to name you heir of his estate. You will be permitted to style yourself as Magister Telerys, and you may reside in his manse if you wish. The Bank will ask you to submit a complete inventory of all items within his manse and aboard his ships, so that in the event that we must begin seizing his assets, we will be able to count such items towards settling his debts."
Illyen frowned as he looked up. "Which means that if I were to sell them myself…?" he asked hesitantly.
"I would not advise it. Those items are to be considered the temporary property of the Iron Bank, and if they go missing, you will be expected to compensate us for their loss," Varyn warned him. "Should they be stolen, however, and if you have already marked them as part of the existing inventory, we will not penalize you for their loss, so long as you notify us. We simply request your honesty."
"I understand," Illyen said slowly, looking down at the paper again with a slight frown. "These are… rather generous terms," he commented as he began reading.
Varyn's smile turned melancholy as he looked down at his desk. "As I said, Regoro was a close friend of mine. In fact, I am likely one of the few who proudly called him my friend. After all, it was my partnership with him that led to my own rapid rise through the Iron Bank. Few would dare offer a rash, inexperienced captain loans to purchase shiploads of goods to sail across the Narrow Sea and sell them in a war-torn land. Regoro, however, was bold and skilled enough to succeed, and he always swiftly repaid any loan I granted, with interest. Thus, my peers viewed me, a mere junior clerk with a scant few years of experience, as an uncommonly savvy banker with an eye for talent. I was swiftly promoted to my present station in a mere decade, when it would have taken others at least two or three to match my success, and I owe nearly all of it to my friendship with Regoro. No matter what anyone else might say of him, I will always consider him a dear friend." He then looked up at Illyen and winked. "As such, it's only right that I do all that I can to aid his heir as well."
Illyen set the paper down on the desk and laced his fingers together, staring intently at it. He knew that he could not receive a more generous offer, especially given the utterly ruthless nature of the Iron Bank. In truth, the terms were outright charitable. However, he still found himself hesitating.
Even discounting the debt, this was not a decision to be made lightly. If he accepted, he would officially be a member of the aristocracy of Braavos. He would be inducted into a world of cutthroat politicking and intrigue, where every other magister was seeking to enrich or empower themselves at his expense. Worse, even without the Bank burying him in debt, he would still be bereft of many of the benefits and protections the other magisters enjoyed. Comparatively, he had almost no coin to his name, and given his profession as a mummer, that was unlikely to improve. He also had no mercantile training to rely upon, and few assets.
Worse, it was almost a certainty that Regoro's reputation would hamper him. He feared that when others saw the name Telerys, they would associate him with an up-jumped commoner who had attained his coin through unsavory, nigh-dishonorable means, and that they would expect Illyen to do the same. Negotiating business contracts with other merchants was certain to be a challenge, both because of Regoro's reputation and because he knew that he had almost nothing to offer himself. He was also still worried that whoever killed Regoro might pursue him next, if they were seeking not only Regoro's demise, but the end of his entire line.
However, Illyen also knew that he would be a fool to refuse Varyn's offer. The banker was all but begging him to assume the mantle that Regoro had left for him, and to attempt to restore the honor of his uncle's line. Balerion and his father's words also whispered in the back of his mind. He could not know for certain if he was ill-suited for the life of a magister without first attempting it, and perhaps he might surprise himself by discovering that he did indeed have a talent for it. At the very least, even if he was a poor merchant, he would suffer few consequences, as if he failed, he lost nothing save for what was not even truly his in the first place. He may as well at least try.
Exhaling slowly, Illyen reread the document one more time to ensure that there were no hidden clauses or turns of phrase that might further indebt him to the Bank, or allow it to hold sway over him in some other fashion. When he found nothing, he swallowed hard and braced himself as he reached for Varyn's quill. The banker grinned broadly and pushed the pen and inkwell towards him, whereupon Illyen dipped the point in the ink and pressed it to the paper. His heart pounding in his ears, he quickly scribbled his name on the line at the bottom of the document.
Varyn nodded with satisfaction as he took the document back and pressed a small cylinder of red wax into the paper next to his name, before pressing a signet ring into it to seal it. "Very good!" he exclaimed, beaming with approval as he looked up to meet Illyen's gaze. "Allow me to be the first to properly congratulate you, Magister Illyen Telerys."
"Thank you," Illyen replied softly, looking away. Despite Varyn's enthusiasm, he still could not help but wonder if he had made the right choice, and he was certain that he would continue questioning himself for at least the next several days. However, it was too late to regret his decision now.
Varyn's smile faded as he noticed the uneasiness on Illyen's face, and he silently rolled up the document and tied it with a length of violet ribbon. "Now then," he said in a more sober tone. "As I mentioned earlier, you may consider Regoro's manse your official residence for the next six months, if you so choose. Here," he added, pushing an iron key towards him. "This is the key to his manse. It was recovered from Regoro's body, and given to us by the city watch for safekeeping."
A bolt of fear suddenly lanced through Illyen's chest. "Could the one who murdered Regoro have made a copy of this key?" he asked in a low voice, his heart starting to pound again.
"Unlikely," Varyn assured him gently. "In fact, according to the watch, all that Regoro seemed to be carrying on his person remained untouched, including his purse. It appears that whoever was responsible for his death truly only wished to kill him. They had no desire to burgle him." A more somber expression crossed the banker's face. "Which… brings me to one other matter."
"And that is?" Illyen asked warily.
Varyn chuckled at his suspicious tone and held up his hand. "Rest assured, this is more personal. If you would allow me, I can make arrangements for Regoro's funeral on your behalf. After all, you will need all the coin you can spare if you wish to begin repaying his debts. Furthermore, while you are his relative, I understand that you only knew him for a very short time, and therefore likely have little personal connection to him. I, on the other hand, was his friend for decades, and thus have a much greater desire to see that his death is properly honored. Therefore, if you so desire…."
Illyen relaxed at Varyn's explanation, and he couldn't help but feel slightly guilty. In truth, the strongest emotion he felt towards Regoro was resentment for forcing him into this situation without even waiting for him to agree. Even so, he deserved a proper funeral. Especially since he had gifted Illyen an opportunity that nearly any other commoner in Braavos would have given anything for. The least he could do was ensure that he was respectfully laid to rest by a friend who appeared to have truly cared for him.
"I would deeply appreciate that, and will gladly accept your offer, then," Illyen agreed softly. "And rest assured, once you have made the arrangements, I will be certain to attend as well. It's only proper, after all."
Varyn smiled softly. "If I might be so bold? It's clear that you hold doubts about whether you should have accepted Regoro's offer. However, despite having only known you for a short time, I do not feel he erred by choosing you as his heir."
Illyen felt heat rush to his ears, and he cleared his throat. "You flatter me," he muttered.
"I am speaking honestly," Varyn replied simply, flashing another warm smile as he pushed himself up from his seat. "Now then. Much as I would like to continue speaking with you, I do have other matters I must attend to today. However, if ever you have questions, or if you find yourself in need of financial services, please do not hesitate to ask for me. As I was Regoro's banker, so shall I serve as yours."
"You are too kind," Illyen murmured, a slight smile spreading across his face as he rose from his chair. "Thank you."
"Not at all," Varyn replied easily as he walked around to place a hand on Illyen's shoulder and usher him out the door. Once in the hallway, he extended a hand out, and Illyen clasped his forearm, while Varyn did the same. The banker gave him one final, encouraging nod, then turned back around and shut the door behind him.
Illyen took a long, slow breath as he gazed at the door for a long moment, and then he slipped his hand into his belt pouch and closed his fingers around the iron key that Varyn had given him. "Right," he murmured to himself as he strode back towards the entrance of the Iron Bank. "Let's see what my uncle left for me, then."