King's Landing was a behemoth of stone and filth, a sprawling square of ancient masonry that crouched along the Blackwater. Its seven gates stood like the throats of a dragon, swallowing a never-ending stream of merchants, knights, and beggars: the Dragon Gate, the Lion Gate, the Mud Gate, the Old Gate, the Gods Gate, the King's Gate, and the Iron Gate.
Within those walls, the city was a tangled spiderweb of shadow and light—of timbered inns, stinking cemeteries, and gilded brothels.
Carlo Schmidt stood on a rise in the distance, his gaze fixed on the dark silhouettes of the watchtowers. He had spent years in this city. Most of his memories were bright, but the unpleasant ones sat in his chest like a cold stone.
"We enter at dawn," Marin Sharp said, pulling his horse alongside Carlo's. "The Gold Cloaks won't unbar the Gods Gate for two wandering knights in the middle of the night—not without a Lord's seal or a heavy purse."
"Aye," Carlo sighed. "We camp here."
The journey from St. Maur's should have taken ten days, but Marin's cousin, Ser Alder of House Buckler, had insisted they stay a night at his tower. The feast had been loud, but it couldn't drown out Alder's grief.
"Marin, you live!" Alder had cried, his face wet with wine and tears. "You stand here, while my William is cold. You are a knight of the Trident, and I am a knight of the Crownlands. Why is the world so cruel?"
Alder's brother had taken the black after Rhaegar fell at the Trident. To save the family, Alder had ceded half his lands, keeping only enough to support his servants. He had hoped for a quiet life, but Tywin Lannister's hounds—Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane—didn't care for loyalty. They cared for meat. Lorch had found William during a patrol and butchered him without a word.
"Lorch is dead," Marin had tried to comfort him. "The Northmen threw him into a bear pit. I heard the beast left nothing but the soles of his boots."
"But I didn't kill him," Alder had wailed before collapsing under the table. "How can I face my son? Must I tell him I relied on a Stark to do a Buckler's work?"
Carlo watched the stars, thinking of Alder. "A pitiful man."
"There are thousands like him," Marin noted bitterly. "I didn't expect the Old Lion to turn on his own."
"Ser Alder is the King's man, not Lannister's," Carlo corrected. "Lord Tywin is the Warden of the West, not the god of this world."
"I hope King Tommen knows the difference," Marin muttered.
They had heard the news at a roadside inn: King Joffrey had been poisoned at his own wedding by the Imp. Some said Tyrion slit the boy's throat; others said he drank his nephew's blood from a golden chalice. The smallfolk whispered of a blood-dripping direwolf ghost haunting the Red Keep.
"A king who never had his wedding night," Carlo remarked indifferently. "Pathos in the mud."
At dawn, the Gods Gate groaned open. Languid Gold Cloaks, yawning behind their spears, began the morning's taxation.
"Arik Cohen!" Carlo called out with a grin as they approached the line. "Don't tell me you've forgotten who lent you the coin for your first trip to the Street of Silk."
The officer's eyes went wide. "Captain Carlo! I heard you went back to the mud of the Riverlands to play Lord. What brings you back to the stench?"
"Business for the Hand," Carlo lied smoothly. "Important reports."
Cohen waved them through. "You're late to the party. Half the Riverlands is here to kneel. Go on, get to the castle. We'll drink when you're off the clock."
The Red Keep was a hornet's nest. Guards in burnished plate stood at the gates, spears leveled. Viktor, the Alliance's treasurer, recognized the commander immediately.
"Sir Kaden!"
Kaden Storm, a Gold Cloak officer with a Sunwalker's secret, beamed. "Brother Viktor! A fine day to see a friendly face."
He looked at Carlo and Marin. Viktor gave a knowing wink. "Lord Carlo and Lord Marin. They represent the vassals of the Gods Eye. They are here to pledge fealty to King Tommen and present... tributes."
Kaden's smile faded into a grimace. "You've chosen a black day. Lord Tywin is presiding over the trial of the Imp. The Father judging the Son. The whole castle is in a frenzy. No petitions today. Find a bed and try tomorrow."
"Father judging son?" Carlo whispered. "I wouldn't mind seeing that farce."
"Not today," Kaden said firmly. "Try the 'Lucky Four-Leaf' in Eel Alley. It's clean, cheap, and close to the Great Sept. Tell them I sent you."
With their men settled, Carlo and Marin headed for the Street of Silk. Half the brothels belonged to Littlefinger, the other half to the court. Carlo, who considered himself a connoisseur, led them to The Happy Knight.
"I can't give this up," Carlo sighed, his arm around a dark-skinned girl as he sipped Arbor Gold. "Aldric never touches a woman. He drinks bitter-leaf tea without sugar. I don't know what kind of joy he finds in the Light. I couldn't breathe in that cage."
Marin, with a blonde girl on his lap, laughed. "That's why he's the Lightbringer and we're just the help, Carlo. Some men want the sun. I just want the shade."
"Sarah, love," Carlo whispered to the girl. "Tell me the news. What's the gossip of the Red Keep?"
The girl giggled, tracing his jaw. "Oh, so many things! The dwarfs at the wedding... the Queen's screaming... they say the Stark girl vanished into a puff of sulfur!"
The girls of The Happy Knight were better at pleasure than intelligence. By the time Carlo returned to the inn, he knew little more than he had at the gate. But as he stepped into the courtyard of the 'Lucky Clover,' he found Kaden Storm waiting, surrounded by laughter and the smell of roasting meat.
The real meeting was about to begin.