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The black cat Balerion leaped onto the mahogany desk, its weight pinning a corner of the map of Essos. Rhaenys ran her fingers through its fur, and the creature let out a low, vibrating purr, its usual wildness tamed by the familiar touch.
"You are certain those children are Little Birds?" Rhaenys asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
"Ragged, pale-skinned, and mute," Viserys said, his gaze fixed on the icons of the Free Cities. "Varys's signature is written in their silence. They are the ears of the Spider."
"But why here?" Rhaenys gripped the dragonbone hilt of her dagger until her knuckles turned white. "Shouldn't they be in King's Landing, whispering in the Usurper's ear?"
"The Spider didn't hatch in the Red Keep, Rhaenys. He grew in the gutters of Pentos. He still has allies there—one in particular. A man with more cheese and gold than sense." Viserys knew the truth that the rest of the world had yet to discover: the unholy alliance between Varys and the Magister Illyrio Mopatis. He knew they were keeping a "young dragon" in reserve, and that to them, Viserys was merely a distraction—a piece of tinder to be used and discarded.
"Varys," Rhaenys spat. "He was the rot in my father's court. He fed my grandfather's madness until it consumed us all."
"We will have our revenge," Viserys promised. "A true dragon never forgets, and we have many debts to collect. From the lords of the King's Council to the mummers in the shadows."
"Why observe us now?" she asked. "We are exiles in a rented house."
"Because we are gaining value," Viserys replied. "The 'Silver Traveler' has made a name in the city. I am no longer a starving beggar, but a man with gold, a knight, and the ear of the Courtesans. Varys and Illyrio need us to be their puppets—a pretext for the war they are brewing. They don't want us to grow claws of our own."
"But Varys follows the Usurper now," Rhaenys countered. "Who is he truly loyal to?"
"He is loyal to the realm he wants to build, and the boy he wants to put on the throne. To him, we are either tools or obstacles." Viserys pointed to the city of Pentos on the map. "They think they can watch us with impunity, but this is Braavos. The Pentoshi are dogs that have been beaten by the Sealord too many times to bark loudly here."
History was on their side. Braavos had humbled Pentos in six wars, stripping them of their slaves and their right to a true army. The Magisters of Pentos were forbidden from hiring sellswords or maintaining a fleet. They were an undefended city of merchants, hiding behind contracts and bribes.
"They won't dare come to our door," Viserys said. "They will watch from the alleys like the flies they are. Let them. As long as they don't cross our threshold, they are merely ghosts."
"I still hate the feeling of them watching," Rhaenys said, biting her lip. "It feels like his shadow is stretching across the sea."
"Then we shall give them a show worth watching. Let them report that the exiled prince is obsessed with music and sea snails. Let them believe we are harmless." Viserys's mind was already moving toward the next stage of his plan. "When the time is right, we will leave this city. We will find our own land, away from the prying eyes of the Sealord and the Spider."
He knew that Illyrio would eventually reach out. The Magister possessed three fossilized dragon eggs—stones that he believed were mere curiosities. Illyrio would use them as bait to lure Viserys into his web, unaware that in the hands of a Glutton, those "stones" were a source of unimaginable power.
"Dragon eggs, soldiers, territory," Viserys whispered, his violet eyes igniting. "The Pentoshi think they are the masters of the game, but they are playing with fire. And I am the fire."
He turned to Rhaenys. "Tell the cat to keep watching. We won't intervene, but we will know every bird that flies past our walls. Information is a weapon, and for the first time, we are the ones holding it."
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