ULF
Silverwing was struggling.
I could feel it in every wingbeat—the strain of muscles pushed beyond their limits, the labored rhythm that spoke of exhaustion approaching. Five people was too many. Far too many. Even for a dragon of her size and strength.
Below us, the kingswood stretched into darkness. Behind us, King's Landing burned—a distant glow on the horizon that wouldn't fade for days.
We need to land. Soon. But where?
The children clutched each other in the overcrowded saddle. Helaena held Maelor against her chest, shielding him from the wind. Jaehaerys sat rigid, trying to be brave. Jaehaera had her face pressed against her mother's back, refusing to look down.
And behind us, Vermithor followed.
The Bronze Fury flew with the determination of a creature too stubborn to quit. His damaged wing dragged slightly with each stroke, the healing membrane torn open again during our escape. But he kept pace. Refused to fall behind. Refused to be left.
Loyal. Even in agony.
I shifted my weight forward, compensating for the uneven load. Then, quietly, I triggered my Kilo Kilo power.
1 kilogram.
My body became light—impossibly light—reducing the burden on Silverwing by my full weight. She felt the change immediately, her wingbeats steadying, altitude climbing slightly.
I can't maintain this forever. The strain will catch up.
But it bought us time. An hour, maybe two.
Think. Where can we go?
The options cycled through my mind like a broken wheel.
Oldtown—too far, and the Hightowers had been wavering in their loyalty even before the fall. They might shelter us. They might sell us to Rhaenyra. The risk was unacceptable.
The Reach—scattered lords, divided loyalties, no guarantee of welcome. And any castle that took us in would become a target.
The Vale—Black territory. Suicide.
Dragonstone—laughable. Flying straight into Rhaenyra's stronghold.
What else? What else?
Then it came to me.
The fishing village. The remote settlement where Dalla raised our secret son. Where Harwin had established a network of loyal guards disguised as fishermen. Where I'd stockpiled gold and supplies months ago, preparing for exactly this kind of catastrophe.
Risky. If we lead enemies there, we expose Aegon.
But what choice did we have?
The village was defensible. Remote. Unknown to anyone outside my personal network. We could hide there while we regrouped, healed, planned.
And Helaena could see her son.
The thought struck with unexpected force.
She's been separated from him for three months. If we go there, she'll see him. Hold him. Maybe even—
No. We'd have to maintain the cover story. Pretend he was just another village child. She couldn't acknowledge him publicly without destroying everything we'd built to protect him.
But at least she'd see him. At least she'd know he's alive and well.
I adjusted our course eastward.
"Where are we going?" Helaena shouted over the wind.
"Somewhere safe. I promise."
She didn't ask more. Didn't have the energy.
Young Maelor started crying an hour into the flight.
The three-year-old had held himself together through the escape, through the terror, through the impossible experience of fleeing his home on dragonback. But exhaustion and fear finally broke through his defenses.
"Mama! Mama, I want to go home!"
"Shh, sweetling. Shh." Helaena pressed him closer. "We're going somewhere safe."
"I want my bed! I want my toys! I want—"
His sobs dissolved into incoherent wailing.
Jaehaera reached over, took her little brother's hand.
"It's okay, Maelor. We're on an adventure. Like the stories."
"I don't want an adventure!"
"Neither do I." Jaehaera's voice was remarkably steady for a five-year-old. "But we have to be brave. Like Mother. Like the Lord Protector."
Maelor's crying gradually subsided into hiccups and whimpers.
Jaehaerys, silent until now, finally spoke.
"Where are we going? Do we have a home anymore?"
The question cut through the wind like a blade.
I turned to look at him—this seven-year-old boy who was technically King of the Seven Kingdoms, though his kingdom had just burned and his throne had just fallen.
"We're going to a village on the coast. It's safe. People there are loyal."
"Loyal to who? The Greens are—" He stopped. Reconsidered. "The Greens don't have much left, do they?"
Too smart. Too observant. Too honest.
"No. We don't. But we have each other. We have the dragons. And we have time to figure out what comes next."
"What does come next?"
"I don't know yet. But I'll figure it out."
Jaehaerys studied me for a long moment.
"You always say that. 'I'll figure it out.' Do you actually believe it?"
"I have to believe it. Otherwise, what's the point?"
The boy nodded slowly.
"Okay. I'll believe it too."
He fell silent, staring at the horizon.
Seven years old and already learning to survive on faith.
Vermithor crashed two hours later.
We'd descended toward the coastline—I could see the Narrow Sea glinting in the moonlight—when the Bronze Fury's wing finally failed completely.
One moment he was flying. The next, he was falling.
"Vermithor!"
I couldn't turn Silverwing back—not with this load, not at this altitude. But I watched, helpless, as the massive dragon spiraled toward the beach below.
He hit the sand with a sound like thunder.
Dust and sand exploded outward. For a terrible moment, I thought he was dead.
Then his head lifted. A weak roar echoed across the water.
Alive. Hurt. But alive.
"We need to land," I told Silverwing. "Near him. Now."
She dove toward the beach.
The village appeared in the darkness—a cluster of rough buildings huddled around a natural harbor. Fishing boats pulled up on the shore. Smoke rising from chimneys.
Home. Or the closest thing we have left.
Silverwing landed on the beach, her legs folding with relief as she finally stopped carrying weight she was never meant to bear. The children tumbled from her back—Helaena catching Maelor before he fell, Jaehaerys helping Jaehaera down.
I dismounted last.
My legs nearly buckled. Maintaining 1-kilogram weight for two hours had drained me more than any battle. Everything hurt. Everything was exhausted.
But we'd made it.
Vermithor lay fifty yards away, half-buried in the sand he'd cratered on impact. His breathing was ragged. His wing hung at an unnatural angle.
Broken this time. Not just torn.
I'd deal with that later.
"Stay here," I told Helaena. "I'll wake the village."
She nodded, gathering her children close.
I walked toward the lights.
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