"We meet in the river to wash the blood from our hands."
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In the riverlands, where ancient bloodlines converge, Lucera Waters walks a treacherous path as a bastard dragon seed of House Targaryen. Her duties intertwine with Lord Benjicot Blackwood...
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"Fate's a stable lesson after all: the trees can't grow into the prevailing wind - the bird-like hands can't fly. Where the waves fold back and the high cliff guides - this elegy keeps the heart beating and the blood from going cold while the nerves that web the body the body dream." - Jane Mead
The sun climbs- breaks of light through clouds that blur the world at the edges and make the blackwater look as if it has been pulled all of the way back to Essos. Muted sloshes of waves hit the surrounding rocks, but it lacks conviction. It seems all lands owned by the crown are unwilling to rage with their owner's war.
The horses will not touch the bridge to Dragonstone Castle, and they shouldn't. Some creatures are far more intelligent than men, and the Staunton horses are of that lot. The two remaining guards from the Staunton residence hold the banners proudly and will do so until they are dead. They are bastards like me, and once we find a determined route, there is little point in attempting to pull us from it. We have so little to lose.
For a fleeting moment, I wish Lydia were by my side. She would disapprove so heavily of the thin armor at my elbows and the donning of a black gown I plucked from the mistress's closet. But, her wit outshines the men that surround me. And it is easy to grow bored in tired company.
Our welcome party is not a dragon but a man. With shoulder-length hair and a high brow, I would recognize Prince Daemon anywhere. We have never met, and I am sure he knew nothing of me before my mother's secret-keeping sister alerted him to my existence. But what can I say? I enjoy research, and I do it well. I know more about these people than they could ever decipher themselves from peering into a mirror.
I swing my legs over the horse's side and feel the earth bite back against my ankles. This land is composed of rock, harsh and unforgiving. I do not yet forgive it either.
"My prince. I bring you many bastards."
Daemon peers past me and the guards to Jalen Storm on the mount of a white horse, then to Karrin Pyke and her long dark hair. They are both older than I by a speck of years, but we have not lost the glow of adolescence. I can see in his flickering gaze that he questions not only what bloodline they could be disposed of but also how competent they could be in their youth.
"Staunton," he says.
I cannot bite back a smirk, "My prince, you mistake me for the Lord of the Rook. He was the ugly, stupid cunt with the beard. I am much better looking and more intelligent as well."
He cocks his head toward the castle, imploring me to follow him. I waste no time following. I have been promised a great deal.
"Who are they?" He asks.
Jalen Storm is close behind me, as he has been since we left the stormlands. I have yet to meet a man more loyal, but I ache to meet one who can stand on his own merit and not seek constant approval. He is shy, with a freckled nose and light hair that cups at the hollows of his cheeks. I start with him.
