Volantis summer nights were far kinder than anything Westeros could offer.
Especially inside the Black Wall, in the palace gardens that belonged to one of the three Triarchs—Viserys Targaryen the Third.
Out on the streets the common folk were probably still roasting in the sticky heat, gasping for air.
But here, among the fragrant flowers and shaded groves, cool mist drifted between the trees and the air stayed sweet and damp. One wave of the hand and slave girls or boys would bring whatever drink you wanted. The thick canopy blocked the savage southern sun. After a long day of ruling, where else could a man find the peace he craved?
No wonder Viserys had come straight back to these gardens the moment the day's work was done.
Every report had been read. Every order signed. The preparations for receiving the envoys from Lys and Tyrosh were complete.
Only that last task had drained most of his strength—planning a lavish, lying ceremony for men he would rather meet on the battlefield with swords drawn.
Worse, no one in Volantis could guess what the Lyseni and Tyroshi really wanted.
A trade treaty?
A threat?
Or a plea to stay out of the war over Myr?
Viserys had spent the last hour sparring with Eleonora and Ser Tristifer just to loosen the knot in his shoulders. Only when the familiar ache of muscle and bone crept back in did he know it was time to stop and truly rest.
A cup of light wine in the quiet garden, alone with his thoughts—that would do nicely.
"My lord, forgive this slave for disturbing you…"
A female slave appeared on the garden path.
The Unsullied guards knew exactly who was allowed through, but even a Triarch's moment of peace could not last forever.
"Princess Daenerys asks if she may come see you."
"She may. I'm free now—tell her to come." Viserys waved the girl off. "And bring her a couch. The princess should not have to stand."
He thought for a second, then ordered every other slave out of the garden.
He needed to talk with Daenerys openly and honestly.
He had known for weeks that the dragon-egg business was never going to be simple.
Viserys remembered every ridiculous story of past Targaryens trying to wake those petrified stones.
One hired mages from across the Narrow Sea. Another fasted and prayed for six straight months. A third so-called genius even drank wildfire, hoping to turn himself into a real dragon.
None of it worked.
Aerys the Second had finally given up, burning living men instead of pretending he could command monsters. By then there weren't even any fossil eggs left to pray over.
Yet here, in Khal Drogo's khalasar, the last two true Targaryens had found three dragon eggs.
When an ancient dream beckoned so sweetly, who could simply walk away?
Were he and Daenerys doomed to repeat the same mistakes as every generation before them?
Right now it certainly looked that way.
He remembered Aegon the Third summoning self-proclaimed sorcerers and arrogant wizards. Both Aegons and Viseryses had promised mountains of gold, lands, and titles to anyone who could bring dragons back to House Targaryen.
Maybe Rhaenyra's descendants only met liars. Maybe the spells and screams meant nothing.
Either way, so far he and Daenerys had met nothing but frauds and lunatics—each one offering a crazier method than the last.
They had listened to every kind of nonsense.
Throw the eggs into fire.
Water them with virgin blood.
Chant ancient Valyrian verses.
One fool even suggested… coupling on top of them.
Viserys had not let any of those idiots within a mile of the treasures.
Yet no one truly gifted had appeared on the horizon.
Seven hells, the hope inside every Targaryen heart was growing thinner every single day.
"Brother? Are you alone?"
"Yes, Dany." Viserys gestured to the couch the slaves had already brought. "Just me. Everyone else ran off and left me in peace."
"Oh please, Viserys!" Daenerys laughed as she settled onto the soft cushions. Her gown was bolder than it had been a month ago; bare shoulders glowed softly in the moonlight. "I've been thinking about you all day. Tell me—how was it? The three of you were locked in the hall for hours…"
"Preparing for the Lyseni and Tyroshi." Viserys kept his voice light. "Trying to guess their real purpose and decide how to answer. Dorya wants to show force. Renigar is terrified of provoking them."
"Rabbits will always be rabbits." Daenerys shrugged. "Expecting courage from him was never going to work."
"His caution isn't stupid. Starting a war with the Whores right now would be the worst mistake we could make. My hold on Volantis is still shaky. Rumors of a Westerosi invasion don't help. If Baratheon actually strikes a deal with those cities, our position collapses overnight."
Viserys explained it patiently. "So I lean toward Renigar's idea… But I doubt you came here to talk politics."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because those beautiful eyes of yours are shining with something you can't wait to tell me."
Daenerys couldn't hold his gaze; she giggled like a little girl.
"Go on. What do you want to discuss?"
"Our dragon eggs."
Of course.
Viserys had known it would be this.
Lately the eggs had taken over almost every corner of Daenerys's mind.
She spent hours in the libraries hunting every scrap about dragons and their breeding. She had slaves copy ancient scrolls. She had even tried to get permission to enter the great archive beneath the Temple of Balerion.
Sometimes Viserys thought she only let the subject go when she finally fell asleep.
What she dreamed about after that… only the gods knew.
"Any new candidates today?" he asked, already expecting the answer.
"None." Daenerys shook her head. "It's been nearly two weeks since the last one… the fool who wanted us to lie on top of them."
"I'm told that wasn't exactly what he suggested."
"Doesn't matter! The point is it was useless." Her eyes burned. "How long have we been standing still? We're no closer to waking them than the day we found the eggs."
"Dany, dragons have been gone for a century and a half—since the last poor she-dragon died in King's Landing." Viserys sounded tired. "I don't think a few months will solve a riddle that old. If it were easy, dragons would never have vanished in the first place."
"They didn't vanish! They're only sleeping inside these shells. We just have to wake them."
Daenerys gave an impatient huff. "Sometimes, brother, I think you don't believe me at all. You think I'm just a silly girl chasing dreams and you're humoring me. But I'm not!"
"You're wrong." Viserys's voice turned as hard as Valyrian steel. "I only said this would be difficult and take time. I have never dismissed your ideas."
That was the truth.
A Targaryen could not afford to lose faith.
He had announced his intention to the entire world. There was no turning back.
So he had to believe the riddle had an answer.
The only question was how to find the single true method among a mountain of garbage.
"I'm sorry, Viserys. I'm tired… I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." Daenerys looked at him, the apology shining in her eyes.
"Dany…" Viserys sighed softly. "Do you think I don't want dragons? Soaring over hills, forests, and lakes, burning hundreds of enemies at a stroke? Not just being called a dragon—actually riding one? And in war… gods, what a weapon they would be…"
Every word was true.
Though the longing pointed to another life entirely.
If he had a dragon under him, let Bloodraven try to come for him then!
And Westerosi lords would follow a man who could offer more than just a sword.
Now that he knew the great lizards were truly extinct, the grief had become… bearable.
"We'll keep searching," he promised, to soothe her. "Once the business with the cities is settled I'll send a ship all the way to Asshai. If there is a true sorcerer left in the world who can wake dragons, he'll be at the edge of the world. While the ship sails, let every would-be mage come and try. Among hundreds of frauds, maybe one will actually know something."
Daenerys smiled again—the bright, happy smile of a child who had just been promised candy.
Truly, her smile always warmed something inside his chest.
"Thank you, Viserys! I knew you cared as much as I do! So you think we should—"
Her words were cut off by the sound of running feet.
Ser Tristifer burst into the garden like a whirlwind.
He was one of Viserys's earliest Black Knights and Daenerys's sworn shield. He had strict orders never to interrupt the siblings unless the news was world-shaking.
"My prince! My princess—forgive the intrusion!"
The knight looked ten years younger. Viserys had never seen such pure joy on the loyal man's face. "But this is worth it!"
"What is it, Ser Tristifer?" Viserys braced himself for anything.
He never expected the knight who had fought at the Trident to say what came next.
"The Usurper is dead!" The words tumbled out, voice trembling with excitement. "Stabbed by his own squire like a pig! The lords and traitors of Westeros are already gathering armies—they say they're going to tear each other apart!"
For the first time that night, Viserys Targaryen smiled.