Inside Tyrosh's castle.
Hugh stood before the window, looking out at the distant sea.
A week had passed. A week had passed since he had staged the coup. In these past few days, he had barely closed his eyes. Too many matters to handle, too many people to placate, too many dangers to guard against.
But now, he was in a good mood.
Dragonstone had not yet responded, but he knew they would agree. They had no choice. Lucerys and the two girls were in his hands—three trump cards that made him invincible.
Footsteps sounded outside. Ulf pushed the door open with a fawning smile. "My lord, that woman Sara has been brought."
Hugh turned and nodded. "Let her in."
Sara entered. Her hair was disheveled, her face pale, but her eyes still burned with anger. She stared at Hugh, as if wanting to burn him alive with her gaze.
"Hugh," her voice was hoarse, "you traitor! What have you done to my son?"
Hugh smiled. "Your son is very well. He is sleeping in the next room. There is a special person attending to him—he eats well, sleeps well, better than you."
Sara tried to lunge forward, but two soldiers held her back.
"Let me go! You bastard! You—"
Hugh walked to her, raised his hand, and struck her across the face.
Smack!
Sara was knocked aside; blood seeped from the corner of her mouth. But she did not scream—she simply stared at Hugh with an even more venomous gaze.
"Be sensible, Sara," Hugh said quietly. "Your son is in my hands. You are also under my control. If you still want your son to live, be polite to me."
Sara's body trembled, but her gaze did not waver. She spat contemptuously, a mouthful of bloody spittle.
Hugh looked at her and suddenly smiled. "You know, Sara, I like your spirit. It's strong enough. When I have finished everything, I will marry you. When the time comes, you will be my queen, and your son will be my heir. What do you say?"
Sara looked at him coldly. "You're dreaming again."
Hugh shrugged. "As you wish. But now, I need your help with something."
"What?"
Hugh looked at her indifferently. "I need the secret to taming dragons. I want you to teach me how to tame Vermithor."
Sara's eyes widened. "You actually dare to think of that?"
Hugh smiled. "Your brother—Ulrich—could tame dragons. I'm sure I can tame one too."
Sara looked at him with complex eyes. "You want me to teach you?"
"Yes."
"Why should I teach you?"
Hugh smiled, a hint of cruelty in the smile. "Your son is in my hands. If you don't teach me, I will cut off one of his fingers every day. When the fingers are gone, the toes. When the toes are gone, the hands and feet. Think it over."
Sara's face went pale.
She gritted her teeth and was silent for a long time. Finally, she closed her eyes and nodded.
---
Over the next few days, Sara began to teach Hugh the song of dragon taming.
The melody was undulating, the rhythm of the song unusual. Hugh studied diligently, practicing again and again until every syllable was precise.
Three days later, he finally decided to try.
On a hill outside Tyrosh, Vermithor was lying near Silverwing. The bronze dragon was enormous, a full circle larger than Silverwing. He lay on a rock, his eyes closed; the wounds Vhagar had inflicted on his body were still visible, but much improved. At this moment, Vermithor was already dozing.
Hugh led dozens of men to the foot of the hill. He told them to wait at a distance and went up the hill alone.
Ulf nervously followed him and said cautiously, "My lord, it's too dangerous to go alone..."
Hugh glared at him.
"What? You want to come with me?"
Ulf quickly shook his head.
Hugh sneered and continued climbing.
The mountain wind howled, whipping his cloak. Hugh climbed step by step toward the summit, closer and closer to the dragon.
A hundred paces. Fifty paces. Thirty paces.
Vermithor opened his eyes.
The enormous dragon's eyes, like two golden lanterns, stared at this silver-haired creature that dared to approach. It was a very familiar blood aura; the Bronze Fury did not regard Hugh as an ordinary man. Then he let out a low roar, echoing through the valley, so loud it shook stones loose.
Hugh stopped and drew a deep breath.
Then he began to sing.
Old Valyrian flowed from his lips, with its undulating melodies and unusual rhythms. Vermithor's eyes narrowed. He seemed to understand something. He no longer roared, simply watched Hugh quietly, his golden pupils flickering with complex emotions.
Hugh sang, moving slowly forward. Trying to get closer to the Bronze Fury.
Twenty paces. Fifteen paces. Ten paces.
Vermithor suddenly stood, spreading his enormous wings, blotting out the sky. He let out a deafening roar and suddenly loosed a blast of dragonfire!
Hugh was terrified but did not dodge. The dragonfire passed by him, scorching the stone behind him red. He felt the searing heat, smelled his own singed hair.
But he did not flee.
He stood and continued singing.
Vermithor lowered his head, his enormous dragon eyes watching him. In that look was something like appraisal. Not long ago, there had been a little thing, and the reason the Bronze Fury recognized this man was that the dragon had been without a rider for a long time. He loved gentle Silverwing, but also craved battle—that was his dragon nature. He was also very optimistic about another little silver-haired thing...
But the dragon's pride would not let the Bronze Fury submit to this brat. You should know, he hated the smell of his mother, especially that nagging old she-dragon Vhagar... Although Vermithor was Vhagar's eldest son...
Hugh continued singing, walking forward as he sang.
Three steps. One step.
He slowly reached out his hand and placed it on Vermithor's snout.
Vermithor's breath washed over his face, hot and fierce.
He did not move, simply looked at this boy who did not seem to know whether he would live or die.
Hugh's singing did not stop.
He finished the last line, then slowly opened his eyes and looked at Vermithor.
One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.
Vermithor moved.
He lowered his head slightly, so that the cultivator's hand touched his forehead.
Hugh's heart pounded wildly.
He had succeeded. He had truly succeeded!
Suddenly, Vermithor's breath exhaled a sulfuric blast, and he snorted heavily. The Bronze Fury's exhalation made Hugh step back. Then Vermithor roared at the sky, spread his wings, and soared into the air.
The Bronze Fury—his mood was good now. Normally, he would have taken a bite.
Hugh, left standing on the spot, was very confused.
Why? Why? Why did he not recognize me? I must have made a mistake! Or that bitch Sara secretly left something out!
Hugh was furious at this moment and decided to let that bitch see the dragon's wrath.