Chapter 172: Rhapsody of Pentos (6)
The carriage, escorted by a full retinue of fifty Unsullied, turned the corner of Barrel Street.
Mounted on a tall, maroon charger, Ian rode at the head of the procession, encircled by knights. As he passed the corner, he recognized a familiar figure in the shadows and caught his gaze. With a subtle motion, Ian parted the carriage curtain just enough for the man to see the silver-haired boy and girl seated within, then gave a slight, confirmatory nod.
In the next instant, the group of figures gathered at the street corner melted away, dispersing in all directions.
***
Within the Parliament Palace, all semblance of calm and confidence had drained from Governor Tetrus. He stalked from the podium in a panic, his eyes fixed on Prince Trigg's seat. He had to know why Trigg had betrayed him.
The great hall was devoid of guards, so no one moved to stop him. He reached the prince, who was mopping sweat from his brow, and grabbed him by the collar, his voice a raw roar. "What is the meaning of this? Was this all your doing?"
"No, it wasn't me," Trigg said, shaking his head frantically. His voice came out as a hoarse croak. "This is his trick!"
"Then clarify it! Now!" Governor Tetrus hissed through gritted teeth, no longer caring if Illyrio overheard. "Tell them! Tell your people that we are allies!"
"Oh! Yes, to clarify, I can just—" The prince, held aloft by Tetrus's grip, stopped mid-sentence. A sudden gout of foam erupted from his lips. His face turned a deep purple, and he collapsed.
"Your Highness?" a council member shouted, leaping to his feet.
The man closest to the prince's seat pointed a trembling finger. "It was him! I saw it! Governor Tetrus murdered His Highness the Prince!"
The accusation acted as a spark in a tinderbox.
"Murderer! Murderer!"
"He killed the prince!"
"Tetrus is avenging his son!"
"Murder!"
"Guards!"
"Come! Seize him!"
The council hall erupted in a cacophony of panicked shouts. Governor Tetrus, stunned, held the dead weight of the prince. He fumbled to check for a pulse, a breath—anything. Finding nothing, he was about to shout his own defense when he saw it.
A tiny, glinting needle was embedded in Trigg's neck.
Tetrus's head snapped up. His eyes found the ceremonial officer who had just stepped away from the prince's retinue, a silver whip still in his hand. A mocking, playful smile danced on the man's face.
He had been standing behind Prince Trigg the entire time.
In a horrifying flash of insight, Governor Tetrus understood. He looked across the hall to Illyrio, who met his gaze with an impassive expression and gave a slow, deliberate nod.
*It was him?*
"Impossible," Governor Tetrus murmured, his mind reeling. "Impossible. He struck first? But how could he know? How?"
*Our plans were kept so secret. How could he possibly know?* A cry of pure despair rose in his heart.
"Illyrio!" Unwilling to accept this catastrophic reality, Tetrus roared. He ripped the poison needle from Trigg's neck and lunged toward the magister.
But he was too late. At the council's frantic summons, guards from the palace corridors were already flooding the hall. Tetrus had barely taken a step from the prince's dais before a swarm of armored men slammed into him, pinning him to the floor.
"Bind him," Illyrio's voice boomed across the now-silent chamber. "We shall begin the trial at once."
As the guards dragged Tetrus away, Illyrio allowed himself a moment of grim satisfaction, recalling the plan Ian had proposed only yesterday. It was a scheme so audacious that even he, a veteran of Pentoshi politics, had been forced to admire its brilliance. It all hinged on exploiting the rumors that had surfaced during the tournament—the whispers of an alliance between Illyrio and Hazan—to create a fatal information gap within the Grand Council.
The true alliance, the secret one between Hazan and the Tetrus family, had to be kept absolutely hidden from him. This meant they could never reveal it to their own allies among the lesser families. The official reason for the Grand Council, as far as anyone knew, was for Governor Tetrus to 'demand an explanation' from the prince and his son. Thus, in the eyes of nearly every council member, Hazan and Illyrio were partners, while the Tetrus family stood as their common enemy.
Leveraging this crucial misunderstanding, he and Ian had worked through the night to perfect the trap.
First, Illyrio had his little mice spread the news of his pact with the prince, reinforcing the public perception of his 'alliance' with Hazan. Next, he contacted Prince Trigg's ceremonial officer—a man long since on his payroll—and delivered the poison needle. The instructions were simple: kill Prince Trigg at the very climax of Governor Tetrus's staged outrage. The murder of the prince would then be laid squarely at the feet of the Tetrus family, and the uninformed Braavosi council members would have no choice but to vote guilty.
Afterward, Illyrio himself would propose Hazan as the next prince and petition the council to grant the title greater powers, cementing the illusion that he and Hazan were inseparable allies.
When the sons of Governor Tetrus received the news from the Grand Council, they would inevitably conclude that their father had been betrayed by Hazan. By that time, their armies would already be converged in the XC District. Conflict would be immediate and bloody.
To ensure the Tetrus family would win that internal struggle, Illyrio had already deployed his own forces in the buildings lining Hazan's planned route of attack. They would first bleed Hazan's army, then emerge again to block his retreat once the two forces were fully engaged, giving the enraged Tetrus sons the perfect opportunity to kill Prince Hazan.
When the dust settled, Illyrio would absorb the remnants of the leaderless Braavosi faction and join forces with the old governor, Lotalus, who controlled the First Standard Guard, to eradicate what was left of House Tetrus.
If all went according to plan, Illyrio would not only eliminate every one of his political rivals but would also pin the blame for Hazan's death firmly on the Tetrus family. The Iron Bank, at least openly, would have no one to hold accountable.
***
The XC District had descended into chaos.
Shortly after Ian had successfully escorted the Targaryen siblings from Illyrio's manse, troops from the north and south of the city poured into the west, led by Prince Hazan and the eldest son of Governor Tetrus. The district's military forces—the city guard, the merchant militia, and the port watch—were on high alert for civil war, but Illyrio had kept them in the dark so as not to tip his hand. They had no idea that both armies marching on their streets were, in fact, marching against them.
It wasn't long before the fighting erupted. Illyrio's isolated forces quickly lost control of the district, falling back to defensive positions in the Chamber of Commerce headquarters and his various residences to await reinforcement.
***
Meanwhile, Dorian the 'Black Falcon' and Bronn had followed Ian's instructions to the letter. When the attack order came from Marthe Tetrus, they ignored it. Instead, they took a detour to the port, where they occupied an inn overlooking the docks and awaited their next command.
"Can someone tell me what in the seven hells is going on?" Bronn complained, taking a long pull from a wineskin. "This morning at the palace, the Tetrus family and Prince Hazan were enemies to the death. Now, Marthe Tetrus is ordering us to fight alongside Hazan against Illyrio. What kind of madness is this?"
"Patience, my friend," Dorian shrugged. "Why trouble yourself with it? Sir Ian told us to wait here, so we wait. When his order arrives, we work, we get paid, we enjoy life. It's that simple."
He smirked. "Look at this morning's tournament. I told you, didn't I? We fight for whichever side Sir Ian tells us to, and we win. And Prince Hazan's side won by a landslide, didn't it? Just think, if you had taken that bet for a thousand gold dragons, I'd be collecting your commission for you right now."
"You bastard. Wait," Bronn started to retort, but he caught sight of a familiar shape in the sky and clapped Dorian on the shoulder. "The order's here."
Dorian stepped swiftly to the window as the falcon landed. He untied the small scroll from its leg and watched it soar back into the sky.
"What does it say?" Bronn asked eagerly.
Dorian read the parchment. "In twenty minutes, we start spreading a rumor in every inn near the port. The Pentoshi council has ordered the confiscation of all ships." He paused, then added, "And we're to set fires in the nearby streets."
"You think those captains and sailors will believe news that ridiculous?" Bronn scoffed.
"In the middle of a war?" Dorian replied. "They'll believe anything."
"Fine. And then what?"
"Patience," Dorian said, unrolling the rest of the scroll. "There's more."
---
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