89 AC. Driftmark
The morning of the first day on Driftmark began for Viserra with the singing of birds drifting through the slightly ajar shutters of the tall windows. The princess slowly opened her eyes, basking in the softness of the massive bed, which was made with the finest silk linens of a deep, midnight blue. The chambers she had been assigned in High Tide castle were breathtaking in their spaciousness and meticulous design. The room was grand, bright, and cozy, owing to its high ceilings and walls finished in flawless white stone. Incredibly crafted tapestries depicting seascapes and ships with wind-crested sails adorned the walls, while a carpet as soft as coastal moss covered the floor. A massive terrace, accessed through glass-paned doors, offered a breathtaking view of the awakening city of Spicetown and the endless expanse of the Narrow Sea stretching to the very horizon.
In the corner of the room stood a full-length mirror encased in a heavy silver frame, carved with intricate seahorses. It was a near-exact replica of the mirror Corlys had gifted her, Rhaenys, and Queen Alysanne in King's Landing when he first arrived in the capital. Viserra threw back the light blanket and stepped up to it, examining her reflection. The previous evening, servants had discreetly unpacked her trunks while she dined with the Velaryon family, and now her entire wardrobe was neatly hung in a massive, dark-wood wardrobe. But Viserra's greatest surprise awaited her outside the bedroom itself.
Adjoining her chambers was a private bathroom, whose opulence would have turned any lord in the capital green with envy. Just the evening before, Lady Alice had given her a brief tour of these strange facilities. Instead of the familiar chamber pot that maids carried out of her royal apartments in the Red Keep every morning with a dull thud, there stood a strange porcelain commode. Lady Alice had called it a water closet and, with a smile, demonstrated how pulling an elegant chain completely flushed everything away with clean water, which instantly vanished down pipes beneath the floor. There was also a separate shower stall and a massive tub carved from a single block of white marble. Lady Alice had taught her how to use the copper taps: turning one valve brought forth scalding hot water, while turning another unleashed icy cold. Viserra did not need to call for servants, waiting for them to heat water in massive cauldrons in the kitchens and lug it up in buckets, splashing it along the way. It was a true marvel of engineering, making everyday life incredibly simple.
Viserra turned the copper valve, and the bath quickly filled with water of the perfect temperature. She sank into the pleasant warmth, feeling the last remnants of tension from the past few weeks melt away from her body. Elegant glass vials stood on a marble shelf against the wall. Lady Alice had explained in detail which of these shampoos and oils were best suited for her long, silver hair. In the Red Keep, Viserra, like all the capital's nobility, already used the soaps and shampoos sold by Velaryon merchants, but the elixirs here in her private bath possessed far more exquisite, subtle fragrances of lavender, sea salt, and wild orchids. The princess realized with admiration just how much more comfortable and cleaner life was in this castle compared to the main palace of the Seven Kingdoms, where domestic inconveniences were often masked by a facade of luxury.
Having finished her bath, Viserra stepped back into the bedroom, where her loyal ladies-in-waiting were already attending her. They helped dry and thoroughly brush her heavy hair, after which the princess chose a light gown of deep blue, embroidered with silver thread along the hem and sleeves. As she crossed the threshold of her chambers, Ser Ryam Redwyne greeted her respectfully in the corridor. The white knight of the Kingsguard looked impeccable, his armor gleaming in the morning sun, his right hand resting habitually and confidently on the pommel of his sword. He had been charged with protecting the princess during her stay at High Tide, and he took this duty with the utmost seriousness.
Together, they made their way through the bright, wide corridors of the castle toward the dining hall. Viserra walked along, carefully examining the statues and paintings by renowned artists from Essos that adorned the deep alcoves. The scale of the structure was staggering. In the dining hall, the entire Velaryon family already awaited her around a long oak table. Corlys rose instantly upon her arrival, greeting the young woman with a warm and open smile. Beside him sat his brother Veylor with his wife Elisa, and a bit further down, Daeron and Thea. The matriarch of the family, Lady Alice, sat at the head of the table, patiently feeding young Corwyn and Aurane, who were nestled in specially crafted wooden high chairs. The toddlers clattered their spoons and babbled cheerfully.
"Good morning, Viserra," Corlys said, helping her pull out a heavy chair to his right. "I hope your first night at High Tide was peaceful, and the bed proved comfortable enough."
"Good morning, everyone," Viserra replied, taking her seat and smiling back. "I slept wonderfully, Corlys. My chambers are simply magnificent. And your bathroom... Truthfully, I am still quite awestruck. Lady Alice showed me immense kindness yesterday, explaining how everything works. Thank you so much."
Lady Alice looked up from the little ones and offered the princess a gentle smile. "I am glad to hear it, my child. To the uninitiated, our engineering innovations may seem peculiar, but one grows accustomed to comfort quickly. Did the shampoos agree with your beautiful hair?"
"Yes, Lady Alice, they are simply magical," Viserra answered sincerely. "We buy your wares in King's Landing, but these oils possess an entirely unparalleled fragrance."
Breakfast passed in a remarkably warm and easy atmosphere. There was none of the suffocating pageantry and veiled intrigue that permeated every gathering in the Red Keep. Veylor was actively discussing mercantile matters with Daeron, frequently turning to his elder brother.
"Corlys, three of our heavy cogs have arrived from Volantis," Veylor reported, spreading butter onto fresh bread. "Their holds are packed with silk and ivory. We will have them unloaded at the port of Spicetown within two days. The harbormasters there have already prepared the warehouses."
"Excellent, Veylor," Corlys nodded. "See to it that the customs duties are processed without delay. Merchants must not waste time at the wharves."
Meanwhile, Elisa and Thea questioned Viserra with interest about capital fashion, sharing their own tales of the latest fabrics brought from Lys. The princess caught herself thinking how exceptionally light and free she felt in their company. Here, she felt like part of a living, tight-knit family rather than a carved piece on a cyvasse board.
After a hearty breakfast, Corlys, true to his word, took her for a stroll into the city. Ser Ryam Redwyne, Ser Adam, and several Velaryon guardsmen followed at a respectful distance. They did not press too close, ensuring they would not disrupt the young couple's private conversation, yet they remained vigilantly alert to their surroundings.
As soon as they stepped past the massive gates of High Tide, Viserra fully grasped the grand scale of the work done here. Spicetown was unlike any city in Westeros she had ever seen or read about. The streets, paved with smooth granite stone, were incredibly wide, straight, and clean. The buildings were constructed of a remarkably durable, smooth gray stone.
"What is this material, Corlys?" Viserra asked, touching the wall of one of the residential dwellings. "It looks so monolithic, as if carved from a single cliffside, yet one can see the impressions of wooden molds upon it."
"It is concrete, Viserra," Corlys explained readily, stopping beside her. "My builders mix a specific volcanic ash, lime, and water, pouring the mixture into wooden formwork. And hidden within these walls are sturdy iron support beams. This allows us to erect durable, multi-story buildings that fear neither dampness, fire, nor time. The architects of King's Landing are still raising flimsy three-story timber frames with mud-plastered walls that collapse in any heavy downpour. We build for the ages."
They emerged onto a vast central square where the main markets of Spicetown spread out. The air here was thick, spicy, and heavy with aromas that made one's head spin. Viserra watched the endless stalls in fascination. Here rose mounds of vibrant fabrics, shimmering silks from Yi Ti gleaming in the sun, there lay bales of the finest wool from Volantis, alongside open sacks of spices of every conceivable color and shade. The air smelled distinctly of roasted coffee beans.
"This coffee is brought from the distant southern lands of Essos," Corlys told her with a smile. "And the tea comes mostly from Yi Ti. They are highly popular beverages among wealthy merchants. Spicetown has become the gateway for these goods into Westeros."
The square buzzed with hundreds of voices. Viserra noticed that many buyers and sellers wore clothes of unfamiliar cuts characteristic of the Free Cities. Corlys, noting her gaze, explained: "Wealthy merchants from Braavos, Pentos, and even Volantis prefer to sail with their goods straight to our wharves. They know that Spicetown boasts the widest assortment on the entire continent, and our duties are transparent and fair. Why should they sail into the congested, filthy harbor of the capital when they can conduct their business here three times faster and more profitably?"
As they walked past the stalls, Viserra noticed more than once how craftsmen, dockworkers, and ordinary passersby bowed respectfully to Corlys as he approached. There was no slave-like terror before a cruel lord in these bows, in the eyes of the people lay a sincere, profound respect for the man who had given them labor and prosperity. Near one shop, where incredibly beautiful, transparent goblets that shimmered in the sun were displayed behind a glass pane, Corlys slowed his pace.
"Good day, Harold," Corlys addressed a slender man in a neat apron standing behind the counter in a friendly tone. "How is business? How fares your son, Thomas? I heard he finally resolved to settle down and found himself a good bride."
The trader's face instantly broke into a wide, beaming smile. He offered a deep, respectful bow first to Corlys, and then turned to Viserra, bowing his head even lower.
"Thank you, my lord Corlys! Your concern is a blessing to us. Trade is blooming, the crystal sells faster than our kilns can cool. And Thomas married just this past moon, when you chose to depart for King's Landing. He took the daughter of the baker from the next street over as his wife. A good, hardworking girl - we could not be happier with her."
"Give Thomas my sincere congratulations and wishes for a strong family, Harold," Corlys replied with a smile, giving the trader a friendly pat on the shoulder. "Have him come up to the castle to see my steward in the coming days, there will be a small wedding gift for him from House Velaryon."
"May the Seven bless you, my lord! Thank you!" the trader called out emotionally as they continued on their way.
Viserra turned back, casting another glance at the glittering shop, and asked with curiosity: "Corlys, is that truly ordinary glass? Those goblets look entirely different from the ones we drink from at feasts in the Red Keep. It is as if they catch every ray of sun and shatter it into hundreds of tiny rainbows. And they appear so pure, without a single blemish."
Corlys leaned slightly closer to her ear to speak over the clamor of the market square: "It is lead glass, Viserra. At first glance, it does resemble glass, but it possesses far greater durability, perfect clarity, and is valued tenfold higher among the nobility. My masters and craftsmen spent several years devising the correct formula, mixing specific types of quartz sand and additives. Today, the secret of crafting this lead glass is one of Driftmark's most closely guarded secrets. Not a living soul outside our island knows how these melting furnaces are constructed. It brings us colossal revenue."
Viserra continued to look around, noting every detail. Soon, her attention was caught by tall men striding through the crowd with a confident, measured pace. They wore neat cloaks of sea-green, and heavy truncheons and long daggers hung from their leather belts. They moved in groups of two or three, closely scanning the market stalls. Their presence was unobtrusive, yet the crowd parted for them with clear deference.
"Who are those men in the sea-green cloaks?" the princess inquired. "They do not look like ordinary city watchmen who doze off at their posts."
"That is the Sea Guard," Corlys explained, following her gaze. "A specialized peacekeeping force I formed a few years ago. They patrol every quarter of Spicetown day and night. I will not tolerate thieves, pickpockets, harbor cutthroat brigands on the streets of my city - the sort who rule Flea Bottom in the capital as if they own it. When a merchant sails to Driftmark, he must be absolutely certain that his purse and his life are entirely secure, whether in broad daylight or the dead of night. Any thievery here is punished swiftly and harshly. Order is the foundation of prosperity."
Soon they came to a wide thoroughfare, where a comfortable closed wheelhouse drawn by a team of four stately horses awaited them. Corlys helped Viserra up the steps, climbed in after her, and took his seat opposite her. The door shut, the driver cracked his whip, and the carriage rolled smoothly over the flat concrete toward the merchant district. Viserra settled by the window, looking out at the neat facades of the multi-story buildings, the bustling signs of the manufactories, and the townsfolk rushing about their business. The clatter of the carriage wheels was dull and even.
"You know, Viserra," Corlys began, leaning back against the soft leather upholstery and looking at her with serious eyes, "most lords of Westeros view trade as something base, dirty, and unworthy of their ancient, noble blood. Lord Stark, Lord Arryn, or Lord Baratheon prefer to sit in their cold castles, collecting modest taxes from peasant fields, counting coppers from grain sales, and taking pride in their lineage. House Velaryon is nothing like those conservative fools stuck in the past century. Trade and our own production yield such a colossal margin between the purchase price of raw materials in distant Essos and the selling price of the finished product here, that it has allowed us to become wealthier than the Lannisters with all their gold mines at Casterly Rock."
He paused briefly, letting the princess absorb the thought, before continuing: "And it is not merely gold for gold's sake. Thanks to this wealth, we have been able to fundamentally transform life on the island. The people of Driftmark are secure in their future. A man working in my shipyards or manufactories knows that tomorrow he will have decent wages, his children will be fed, and should they fall ill, our healers will tend to them. When people are confident in tomorrow, they tend to build large, strong families. Hence, the incredibly high birth rate over the last ten years. Moreover, thousands of skilled craftsmen, engineers, and builders from all over the world are relocating to Spicetown for a better life. According to the latest census conducted by my clerks last year, three hundred thousand people now permanently reside in the city. And I am absolutely certain that in twenty years, that figure will reach half a million."
Viserra listened intently to his every word, catching his inflections. At that moment, the man sitting before her was not merely the young suitor, infatuated with her, who had courted her in the gardens of King's Landing. Before her unfolded a ruthless, pragmatic ruler, a great strategist and politician who calculated the advancement of his domain decades in advance. The sheer scope of his mind fascinated and frightened her all at once.
"Our military might," Corlys continued softly, his voice taking on a steely edge, "a fleet of four hundred warships and the trained army of this relatively small island allow us to stand as equals against any of the Seven Kingdoms in the event of a conflict. And should that prove insufficient, my bank can hire tens of thousands of the finest sellswords from Essos at any moment. Furthermore, our island is truly impregnable from the sea, no fleet could ever manage a landing on our shores."
"It is impressive, Corlys," Viserra said quietly, her eyes locked onto his. "Your grandfather was a great statesman, but what you have created here from nothing over these past years is something entirely different. You have built a new state within my father's realm."
Corlys leaned forward slightly, his violet eyes narrowing, and his voice dropped to a barely audible whisper meant solely for the ears of his future wife: "But if it should ever come to a war of total annihilation, Viserra... If anyone dares threaten the existence of my family or my children, I have other, far more covert methods. In a worst-case scenario, I can always employ my own order of assassins for sabotage, burning enemy ports, or targeted elimination of entire bloodlines who dare raise a hand against us."
Viserra shuddered involuntarily. The final word hung heavily in the space of the luxurious carriage.
"Assassins?" she echoed, straining to keep her voice from faltering and her face a mask of regal composure. "You mean secret hired killers? Like the Faceless Men of Braavos?"
"No, not the Faceless Men," Corlys replied calmly, shaking his head. "My people do not possess their magical arts of changing faces with another's skin, nor do they require it. My order is led by a trusted man named Aguilar, a master of his craft. We operate differently. My eyes and ears seek out homeless, unwanted orphans - abandoned children on the streets of the Free Cities and King's Landing. We take them, bring them to secret training camps, feed them their fill, heal them, and train them from an early age in martial arts, stealth, poisons, tongues, and the deciphering of ciphers. We forge them into an ideal, formidable weapon capable of retrieving any information from the most heavily guarded castles and eliminating any target without leaving a trace. For these children, believe me, it is a far better end than choking on their own vomit or dying of cold and hunger in a gutter in Flea Bottom. They are loyal to me unto the grave, for House Velaryon gave them life, a purpose, and a name."
Viserra felt a faint chill run down her spine. She was seeing this side of Corlys for the first time - ruthless, calculating, prepared to trample over any laws of gods or men to achieve his ends.
"Why do you reveal such secrets to me, Corlys?" the princess asked insinuatingly, narrowing her eyes slightly as she watched his reaction. "As far as I know, in the sessions of my father's Small Council, no order serving Driftmark has ever even been mentioned. Which means not a living soul in Westeros knows of its existence. I presume it is one of your most closely guarded secrets."
Corlys reached out, softly but firmly covering Viserra's hand with his warm, strong fingers. He looked her straight in the eye, and there was not a shadow of hesitation in his gaze.
"Because you are my future wife, Viserra. In half a year's time, you will cease to be merely a Princess of House Targaryen, you will become the lady of High Tide and Driftmark in your own right. You will share this bed, this seat, and this rule with me. You must know what instruments our house possesses to protect its interests and the safety of our future children. I have no intention of building our marriage on lies or omissions. And believe me, this is far from the most dangerous and wondrous secret of Driftmark. In time, after we have exchanged vows before the gods, you shall learn the other secrets hidden beneath this island."
Viserra slowly leaned back against the seat, digesting what she had heard. Her initial dread and astonishment quickly receded, yielding to cold, clear reason. She was a descendant of Aegon the Conqueror by blood, flesh of the dragon dynasty's flesh. Her ancestors had not built their empire with soft hands, they had burned entire hosts, turned immense castles like Harrenhal to ash, and drowned the continent in blood to establish their absolute rule. That Corlys had constructed his own secret network of killers to protect his house did not evoke moral revulsion in her. On the contrary, a deep, solid sense of security took root in her soul. The world around them was cruel, rife with betrayal, poison, and hidden daggers. To know that her future husband was no naive knight from a balladeer's song, but a powerful apex predator capable of tearing out the throat of any foe for the sake of his kin, was the finest consolation for a future mother.
Suddenly, fragments of an old conversation that had taken place in the maiden's chambers of the Red Keep years ago drifted into her memory. Her cousin Rhaenys, who delighted in eavesdropping on the lords, had shared rumors discussed during her father's Small Council sessions.
"Corlys..." Viserra looked right into his eyes, leaning forward slightly. "Those strange, sudden deaths of several wealthy magisters in Pentos and Myr some three years ago... The very ones that for two weeks straight were whispered about in my father's Small Council sessions, suspecting either a curse or an internal conspiracy within the Free Cities. That was... your doing as well, wasn't it?"
Corlys did not even blink. His face remained as untroubled as if they were discussing the weather in the Narrow Sea.
"Yes," he answered simply and matter-of-factly. "Those magisters pursued an aggressive policy against our trade alliances. We attempted to reason with them peacefully three times, sent envoys, offered favorable terms, but they were blinded by their own avarice. Furthermore, two of them went so far as to hire sellswords from Myr to attempt an assassination on my brother Veylor while he was negotiating in Tyrosh. I chose not to declare open war, gather a fleet, and expend the lives of my sailors for those pompous fools. My assassins resolved the matter within a single moon. Drastically, quietly, and without unneeded noise. The replacement magisters proved to be far more compliant and prudent men. Trade has since resumed."
Viserra nodded slowly in approval. Corlys's logic was flawless and entirely clear to her. Real power demanded harsh resolutions, and the Sea Snake knew how to protect his blood and his legacy.
Meanwhile, the carriage slowed and came to a halt with a soft creak. Ser Adam opened the door, helping them step out. They found themselves in a vast, circular plaza, at the very center of which rose a colossal, majestic building of light stone topped by an immense dome. It was the Grand Sept of Driftmark, still under construction. Viserra, who had grown up in the shadow of the capital's shrines and had seen the Starry Sept in Oldtown, had never in her life witnessed anything of such magnitude. The structure seemed titanic, its exterior walls were already entirely complete, but intricate timber scaffolding still surrounded the internal columns, where dozens of laborers were hard at work.
"It will be fully completed in six months," Corlys said with pride, leading her under the cool, wide vaults of the main entrance. "Just in time for the day you arrive here clad in your maiden's cloak."
Inside, the sept seemed even more grandiose. The soaring gothic vaults were lost at an absurd height, casting an incredible echo with every step. Bright daylight streamed through the massive, already fitted stained-glass windows, painting the mosaic stone floor in whimsical shades of blue, crimson, and gold. On the walls stretching dozens of meters upward, renowned artists of Driftmark stood on shaky wooden beams, painstakingly painting sweeping, lifelike frescoes. Holding her breath, Viserra walked slowly along the walls, examining the canonical religious scenes from the lore of the Faith of the Seven. There was the Smith forging the first stars, gifting light and craft to mankind, there was the beautiful Maiden, woven of pure, translucent light, guiding lost souls, there was the stern Warrior with a burning sword smiting monsters to protect the innocent, and beside him, the merciful Mother, stretching her hands over a field of battle.
"This is simply unbelievable, Corlys..." Viserra whispered, tilting her head back to marvel at the painting just beneath the dome, which depicted the Father delivering righteous judgment. "The scale of this place takes one's breath away. Even the Starry Sept lacks such height and expansiveness."
"I wanted our union to be sealed in a place that symbolizes a new epoch for Driftmark," Corlys replied, gently wrapping his arm around her waist and drawing her to his shoulder. "My builders and finest masters labor day and night. By our wedding, all the timber scaffolding will be cleared away, the stones polished to a gleam, and the altars adorned. Our wedding will be the first official event held beneath these majestic vaults. All of Westeros will speak of this day until the turn of the century."
They spent another hour or so in the sept, listening to the master builder recount how the colossal marble columns were transported from Essos and the Vale, before returning to High Tide castle. There, they spent a quiet, cozy evening gathered with the family, sharing their impressions of the first day.
The morning of the second day dawned sunny and fresh. After a light breakfast - during which the little scamps Corwyn and Aurane gleefully tried to share a single wooden toy under the watchful eye of a smiling Lady Alice - Corlys announced that today they would visit the mercantile heart of Spicetown.
The carriage delivered them to a prestigious, heavily guarded quarter of the city. Before them stood a monumental three-story structure built of flawless white granite, featuring massive columns and a wide staircase leading to the main entrance. This was the Bank of Driftmark. Viserra immediately noted the unprecedented level of security: at the massive, steel-bound oak doors and along the entire perimeter of the building stood tall, stern guardsmen in heavy plate armor, armed with long halberds and cranked crossbows. From their sharp, watchful gazes, it was plain they were prepared to slay without the slightest hesitation anyone foolish enough to attempt a robbery of the establishment.
They ascended the steps and went inside. The ground floor bustled with structured, businesslike activity. Behind long rows of massive desks separated by sturdy iron grates sat neatly dressed clerks and accountants.
"Come along, Viserra, do not be shy," Corlys said, guiding her past the rows. "This is where all the daily, routine business with foreign merchants takes place."
They paused near one of the desks, where an elderly clerk was closely examining a small pile of peculiar gold coins brought by a swarthy trader in a silk turban. Viserra watched the process with interest. The clerk picked up each coin with a pair of delicate pincers, inspected it thoroughly through a large magnifying glass to verify the minting, then carefully filed the edge with a tiny rasp and dropped it onto specialized scales, checking his figures against a thick ledger. After that, he submerged the coin into a deep bowl filled with a strange solution, observing the reaction of the metal's color.
"What is he doing, Corlys?" Viserra asked softly, leaning toward her betrothed. "Why go to such trouble over ordinary gold?"
Corlys motioned for the bank's master of coin - a trim, middle-aged man in a formal doublet who had shadowed them since they entered. "Explain to the princess how this process is handled," the lord commanded.
The master of coin bowed respectfully to Viserra and began to explain in a calm, measured voice:
"Your Highness, hundreds of traders sail to our shores daily from Volantis, Lys, Qarth, and other far-off lands of Essos. They carry no Westerosi Gold Dragons or Silver Stags, which are required to conduct lawful business on our island and purchase our wares. They bring their local coinages instead. Our task is to determine the authenticity of these pieces. Many foreign rulers are guilty of debasing their gold with cheap copper or lead, diminishing the true value of the coin. Our clerks meticulously weigh every piece, determine the exact content of pure noble metal using scales and touchstones, calculate its fair worth, and exchange it for the equivalent in the Westerosi coin of House Targaryen, deducting a small fee for our bank. All records concerning the client, the exchange amount, and the weight are instantly recorded in these massive ledgers stored on the shelves along the walls. Not a single copper must slip past our sight."
"Astonishing precision..." Viserra murmured, looking at the neat columns of figures in the open ledgers. "In King's Landing, merchants often argue until they are hoarse, trying to guess the value of Essosi coins by sight, and it constantly leads to brawls and deceit."
"Which is precisely why they prefer to come to us," Corlys added with a smile. "Here, everything is fair, mathematically precise, and transparent. Now, come along, let me show you where our gold is kept."
They moved deeper into the building, descending a winding stone stairway guarded by a double watch post, and found themselves in a deep, cool vault. Before them loomed a colossal, massive door cast entirely from the strongest steel, reinforced with thick bolts, and fitted with an immensely intricate labyrinthine locking mechanism.
"Step forward," Corlys commanded the master of coin and his deputy, who was already waiting for them below.
The men stepped forward in unison. Around each of their necks, hanging from a sturdy iron chain, was a massive, complex key of a unique pattern.
"Our vault cannot be opened alone, Viserra," Corlys explained as the men inserted the keys into two different keyholes placed a significant distance apart. "One key remains with the bank's master of coin day and night, the second is kept by his deputy. Both men are constantly guarded, night and day, by a personal detachment of Velaryon guards that rotates every four hours. Even if one were to lose his wits or be abducted by enemies, he physically cannot open this door without his counterpart. And if the locks are forced by strength, a hidden internal mechanism triggers, deadlocking the bolts completely, and it would take weeks to cut through the door."
With a heavy, dull metallic clank that sent vibrations through the stone floor, the immense steel mechanisms turned within the door. The master of coin and his deputy threw their weight against the massive handles, and the four-hundred-pound steel barrier swung open slowly and soundlessly on perfectly greased hinges, revealing the entrance to the treasury.
Viserra stepped inside and froze in astonishment. Along the long stone corridors of the vault, hundreds of massive, immense iron-chests stood in neat rows, crafted from the sturdiest bog-oak and completely clad in thick sheets of wrought steel with built-in locks.
"What are the limits of this treasury, Corlys?" the princess asked softly, surveying the endless rows.
"An empty chest of this sort weighs nearly two hundred pounds on its own," Corlys replied, rapping his palm against the steel cladding of the nearest box. "And when it is filled to the brim with gold coins, its total weight exceeds half a ton. It becomes utterly unliftable, even for five strong men. To carry it out of here in secret is physically impossible. Opening it without the key is an unfeasible task, and trying to shatter the steel casing with a crowbar or an axe could take a whole day, making a racket through the entire building. But no thief would ever be granted that much time, even if by some unbelievable miracle they managed to bypass the outer guards, pass the watch posts on the stairs, and penetrate this vault. Millions of Gold Dragons rest here."
They locked the vault and ascended to the upper floors of the building. Corlys showed her the second floor, which was arranged with incredible polish and luxury, akin to a royal palace: soft silk couches stood here, expensive paintings adorned the walls, and wealthy clients were offered fine vintages and choice delicacies while major negotiations were underway. On the third floor, dozens of senior accountants and scriveners worked in silence, keeping the general accounts, auditing the balances of the manufactories, and controlling the movement of capital. All of this utterly astounded Viserra. She had never seen anything of this scale or organizational sophistication in King's Landing, which was formally the capital of the entire continent and the seat of the King. The crown's treasury often resembled a bottomless cask where gold was spent without strict accounting, here, however, absolute order reigned.
They boarded their wheelhouse to continue their journey, and Corlys explained in detail the more complex financial instruments he had introduced.
"Our bank does not simply keep gold locked away, Viserra," he said passionately, looking out the window at the passing streets of the merchant district. "We actively force this money to work. The bank issues large, long-term loans to the merchants of Driftmark for building new ships or purchasing goods for distant voyages. They return the debt with interest, which increases our capital. We also accept deposits from affluent residents and foreign traders. They give us their gold for safekeeping, and the bank pays them a small, fair annual percentage of the deposit amount. People know their money is completely safe, and the capital grows on its own."
"But transporting such vast sums on ships across the sea is a colossal risk, Corlys," Viserra noted reasonably, recalling tales of pirates in the Stepstones. "A single fierce storm or an attack by Lysene corsairs, and the bank loses a fortune."
"That is precisely why we devised something that revolutionized all maritime trade," Corlys smiled triumphantly. "Our bank has opened large, official branches in Braavos, Pentos, and Volantis. But they do not operate as ordinary vaults. Look at how the system is structured: a wealthy Braavosi merchant wants to buy a shipment of our crystal and spices in Spicetown for the sum of ten thousand gold dragons. To avoid transporting heavy, clinking chests of coin across the treacherous Narrow Sea - attracting the attention of every pirate from the Stepstones to Crackclaw Point - he simply goes to our branch in Braavos. He deposits the gold there, receiving a receipt from our bank. In return, he receives a carefully marked paper, protected by special watermarks and beeswax seals, which we call a bank note or a promissory note."
Corlys showed her what such a promissory note looked like, drawing it from an inner pocket of his doublet.
"The merchant boards a light, swift ship, sails to Spicetown with nothing but this single piece of paper, comes to our bank, and presents it to our clerk. The clerk verifies the authenticity of the seals and signatures, then issues the merchant the specified sum from our local reserves or immediately arranges the shipment of goods from the warehouses. This is dozens of times faster, and most importantly - absolutely safe. If the merchant's ship goes to the bottom during a storm, the paper will simply ruin, but the gold itself remains safe and sound in the Braavosi vault, and the client can replace the document. By my personal agreement with the Iron Bank of Braavos, our branch there deals exclusively with the merchants of Driftmark and Braavos in this manner, avoiding direct competition in their internal affairs, which makes our coexistence peaceful and mutually beneficial."
That same day, Corlys took her to the Precious Metals Exchange - a spacious, bustling building located nearby. There, at long tables, jewelers, assayers, and major wholesalers gathered. They weighed bars of gold and silver brought from different corners of the world, conducted purity tests on the metal, and based on supply and demand, established a single, fair price for precious metals for the entire island for the current week. Viserra listened to these explanations, feeling her respect for this man's genius grow with every passing hour.
The third day of their stay on the island was entirely dedicated to the infrastructure that sustained the life and grandeur of this place. In the morning, Corlys took Viserra to the colossal port of Spicetown.
They stepped onto a wide granite quay that stretched along the shore for several miles. Before the princess's eyes opened a breathtaking panorama: hundreds of ships of all kinds and sizes stood at perfectly straight, stone piers. The masts of the vessels resembled a giant, leafless forest. The shouts of harbormasters, the creaking of massive wooden cranes lifting heavy barrels and bales from the holds, and the splashing of coastal waves filled the air.
"When I first envisioned the expansion of the port," Corlys said, leading her along the wharves, accompanied by a loyal guard and Ser Ryam, "I carefully studied the design of the Purple Harbor and the military shipyards in Braavos. They are the best in the world when it comes to the speed of ship construction and maintenance. We took their engineering blueprints as a foundation, improved upon them, and built this port, which in its scale and depth of water is now in no way inferior to Braavos, automatically making it the finest and most technologically advanced port in all of Westeros."
They stopped at the edge of a pier, watching a huge three-masted ship smoothly berth against the stone wall.
"Our own merchant fleet of House Velaryon," Corlys continued, pointing toward heavy vessels anchored in the distance, their sails bearing the seahorse emblem, "now numbers over a thousand trading ships plying all the known seas of the world - from Oldtown to distant Qarth and Asshai. And to ensure their safety, we maintain a standing navy of four hundred heavy warships. These warships do not rot idly at their berths, they are divided into permanent squadrons that regularly escort our merchant cogs through the most treacherous waters, fully protecting them from any incursions by raiders, or corsairs from the Three Sisters. Every pirate knows: if he dares attack a Velaryon ship, a punitive squadron of a dozen galleons will come for him and send him to the bottom along with his entire crew."
After a long and enlightening walk through the bustling port, Corlys suggested escaping the city's hustle and bustle. The wheelhouse brought them to a secluded, wide sandy beach north of the castle. The waves of the Narrow Sea lapped softly against the golden sand with a quiet hiss, leaving white foam behind. Ser Ryam Redwyne and the guards remained at the edge of the dunes, allowing the young couple to walk alone by the water's edge. Viserra took off her light shoes, delighting in stepping barefoot onto the cool, damp sand. The wind whipped her silver hair.
"It is so peaceful here, Corlys..." she said softly, gazing out at the endless marine horizon. "The sea seems so gentle, yet I know how many lives it has claimed. Truth be told, I still feel uneasy on a deck. I do not know how to swim at all. They did not teach us that in the Red Keep."
Corlys stopped, turned to her, and gently took her by the shoulders, looking at her with tenderness:
"That can be remedied, my beautiful princess. I give you my word that immediately after our wedding, when the warm summer arrives, we will come to this very beach, and I will personally teach you how to swim. You will cease to fear the deep. For a lady of House Velaryon, the sea must become her native element, a second home, not a source of fear. You will learn to feel the water just as your brothers feel the sky."
Viserra smiled, feeling his confidence wash over her as well:
"I hold you to your word, Sea Snake. Don't you dare forget this promise."
Returning in the wheelhouse through the residential quarters of the city, Viserra continued to observe the townscapes closely. Time and again, she noticed beautiful, soaring fountains in the plazas, clean public bathhouses from which content townsfolk emerged, and a complete absence of that characteristic, suffocating stench of filth that was baked into every stone of King's Landing, especially during the hot moons.
"Corlys, I never cease to wonder," she said, turning to him. "In Spicetown, clean fresh water springs up everywhere, dozens of bathhouses operate, and there are public fountains. Where does so much fresh water come from on a relatively small island surrounded on all sides by the salt sea? In the capital, fresh water is an eternal problem, the smallfolk drink from filthy wells, and the smells in the streets sometimes make one's head spin. How did you solve this riddle?"
Corlys's face lit up with a proud smile, he had clearly been waiting for this question.
"This is a grand achievement of the engineers and builders whom we train and maintain at our University of Driftmark," he explained eagerly. "Our system is designed as follows: far beyond the city walls, deep within the island's hills, lie crystal-clear natural freshwater springs and large subterranean lakes. Our engineers calculated the gradients and constructed a colossal network of aqueducts. These are long, massive stone bridges with a specific deep channel carved into the upper span, lined with waterproof mortar. The fresh water flows through these channels from the hills toward the city under a very slight, meticulously calculated slope, utilizing solely the natural force of its own weight. It requires no mechanisms, it flows on its own."
He traced a diagram in the air with his finger to help the princess visualize the process.
"When the water reaches Spicetown, it flows into immense, enclosed stone cisterns situated at the highest points of the city. From these reservoirs, under pressure created by the weight of the water itself, it is distributed through a complex, sprawling network of underground pipes. The pipes are made of fired clay and special soft lead. They run to every city fountain, to all the public baths, and, of course, to every room of our castle, High Tide, ensuring the plumbing of the baths and privies that you saw. All the dirty waste and rainwater are collected in a separate, deep subterranean system of sewer mains that empty far out into the sea, away from the residential quarters and harbor slips. That is why Spicetown always has fresh sea air, rather than the smell of nightsoil."
"This... this is simply ingenious, Corlys," Viserra was genuinely struck by the scale and foresight of the work done. "My father spends thousands of gold pieces on feasts and tourneys, yet you have invested coins in what makes the lives of thousands decent and clean."
At the very twilight, as the sun began to slowly sink into the Narrow Sea, painting the sky in crimson and purple hues, they returned to High Tide. But instead of proceeding to the living quarters, Corlys led Viserra to a secluded wing of the castle where the entrance to a beautiful, standalone building stood, completely faced with the symbols of House Velaryon - carved seahorses.
They began to descend a wide stone staircase, its walls neatly lined with gray granite and illuminated by the bright flames of torches in iron sconces. They descended deep beneath the castle, dozens of meters down. When they finally reached the foot of the stairs, a colossal, spacious family crypt opened before them. The silence here was palpable and sacred, broken only by the occasional crackle of the torches.
Along the endless walls vanishing into the dark stood rows of masterfully crafted statues of pure white stone, depicting the lords and great ancestors who had ruled this house over the past millennium. Their likenesses were meticulously captured from the family's ancient chronicles and lineage books. With a racing heart, Viserra walked slowly past them, peering into the stone faces, in which noble Valyrian features were clearly discernible - high cheekbones, straight noses, proud brows.
"My family is far older than House Targaryen, Viserra," Corlys said softly, almost in a whisper, the echo of his deep voice gently reflecting off the distant vaults of the crypt. "We were not dragonriders in Old Valyria, we were those who tamed the waves and ruled the seas. But we sacredly remember and honor our roots. I ordered this grand crypt built deep beneath the foundations of High Tide so that all our future descendants could come here, walk these corridors, and know by face the great lords who built the grandeur of our house long before them, rather than simply reading dry lines about them in old, dusty tomes."
He stopped near one of the most majestic statues, which depicted a stern lord holding a ship's cable. According to the inscription, it was Daemon Velaryon, Corlys's grandfather.
"The ancient burial traditions of our House differ fundamentally from those of your royal family," Corlys continued, gently touching the stone pedestal. "The Targaryens consume the bodies of their dead in dragonflame, turning them to ash. We, however, always place a deceased family member upon a special funeral ship with a hull intentionally pierced in several places, set it ablaze, and commit it to sink into the sacred depths of the sea. The sea took them - the sea buries them. But I decided to add a new rule to this ancient tradition for future generations: before setting the ship sail, we carefully clip a lock of the deceased's hair and bury it here, in this family vault, raising this detailed stone statue over the burial site. I believe this allows the living to honor the memory of departed ancestors even more deeply, to remember their roots, and never forget whose blood flows in their veins. This is our place of eternal strength."
Viserra was deeply moved by this sacred, reverent reverence for family history. She looked at Corlys and understood that his desire to immortalize his lineage was a mark of true greatness. When they finally finished their viewing and began to slowly ascend the stairs back to the castle's courtyard, Viserra turned and pointed her hand toward that very mysterious, tall structure of white granite that was being built nearby, but had never been shown to her during the tours.
"Corlys, you have shown me the bank, the port, the sept, and even the sacred crypt of your ancestors," the princess said with a light, sly smile, narrowing her eyes. "Yet you still bypass this tall white building in the courtyard. The laborers there toil under the strictest guard. What is it? What is the purpose of this place?"
In Corlys's violet eyes, a mysterious, triumphant gleam flared for a moment, and a soft smile appeared on his lips:
"I told you on the first day, my dear Viserra: it is my special gift to our shared future. One of my closely guarded secrets. It is a surprise. You will learn all the secrets of this structure immediately after we wed in the Great Sept of Driftmark. I give you my word that when you step inside, you will like this place very, very much, and you will understand just how much the balance of power in this world has shifted. For now - harness your patience."
The morning of Viserra's fourth day on Driftmark broke quiet and unusually warm. The princess decided to walk alone through the magnificent, sprawling gardens of High Tide, which were tended daily by dozens of skilled gardeners. The air was thick with the sweet scent of blooming buds and the freshness of the nearby sea. Viserra walked slowly along a neat gravel path, enjoying the silence and the gentle morning sun.
Turning past a high, dense hedge of wild ivy, she suddenly heard muffled but distinct female voices coming from a marble bench hidden in the shade of a spreading tree. It was Thea and Elisa - Corlys's sisters-in-law, the wives of his brothers Daeron and Veylor. They were conversing intently, unaware of the princess's presence.
"...they say Lady Alice insisted upon it and personally sent them both on a ship to Braavos after Corlys departed for King's Landing last time," Thea said in a low voice, clear curiosity in her tone, as her fingers toyed with the lace of her gown. "I heard it myself from the maids of the main wing that Joanna wept bitterly that morning, refusing to leave the castle, while Alysia... she simply remained silent, but looked utterly devastated. So many years together, and then this..."
"Well, what did you expect, Thea?" Elisa replied reasonably, her tone a bit sharper. "The marriage of our lord to Princess Viserra herself, of the royal House Targaryen, was at stake. Could Lady Alice truly allow her son's former women to linger about the palace of High Tide, breeding idle rumors and shaming the house before royal blood? Corlys had to clear the way for his future lawful wife..."
Viserra took another step forward, and the fine gravel crunched softly beneath her shoes. The women fell instantly, synchronously silent, turning their heads sharply toward the sound. At the sight of the princess's statuesque figure frozen on the path, their faces flushed with deep embarrassment mixed with fear. They did not know exactly how much Viserra had overheard.
The princess, exercising all her courtly breeding, did not let a single muscle of her face betray her bewilderment. She smiled politely, flawlessly at the women, inclining her head slightly in greeting.
"Good morrow, Thea, Elisa," Viserra said, her voice calm and even. "What a splendid morning for a stroll in the gardens, is it not? I am glad to see you in good health."
"G-good morrow, Viserra..." Thea stammered slightly, hastily rising from the bench and smoothing the hem of her gown. Elisa rose right behind her, her face turning crimson. "Yes, the morning is indeed beautiful. We... we were merely discussing household matters and the care of the roses."
"I shall not disturb your privacy," Viserra replied softly, nodding to them before continuing her measured, regal pace down the path past the hedge.
Yet despite her outward absolute composure, a veritable storm brewed within the princess. The words of her sisters-in-law lodged firmly, immovably in her mind, unleashing an avalanche of thoughts. Joanna. Alysia. Two female names she was hearing here for the first time. Viserra was a clever, perceptive girl, raised at the most influential court on the continent. She understood perfectly well, without naive illusions, that grown, powerful men like Corlys - who was already four-and-twenty - rarely lived as monks before marriage, especially when possessing such colossal wealth and power. But the mere existence of women who had lived in this very castle for years and had departed only recently provoked a sharp irritation within her. The unknown and the unspoken were things she tolerated least of all. Viserra firmly resolved that she wished to enter this lawful marriage with absolute clarity, without a single hidden secret between herself and her future husband.
That evening, as dusk slowly descended upon Driftmark and Spicetown lit thousands of brilliant evening fires, Corlys came to her chambers. They settled on the wide, richly adorned terrace of her bedchamber, where a small table held light refreshments and a flagon of old Driftmark wine. A cool sea breeze pleasantly refreshed their faces. For a time, they sat in comfortable silence, watching the movement of ships in the nighttime harbor.
Viserra took a small sip from her crystal goblet, set it down carefully on the wooden surface of the table, turned her head to her betrothed, and looked him square in the eyes - a long, searching gaze. Her violet eyes reflected the lights of the distant city, and her voice, despite its outward softness, carried that cold, unyielding steel characteristic of the finest rulers of the Targaryen dynasty.
"Corlys, this morning during my walk in the garden, I chanced to overhear Thea and Elisa heatedly discussing certain affairs of our castle," she began, keeping her eyes fixed on him. "Two female names arose in their conversation. Tell me straight and true, without concealment: who are Joanna and Alysia? And what are they to you?"
Corlys froze for a moment, goblet in hand. His fingers tightened slightly around the crystal. He did not avert his gaze, nor did he attempt to change the subject or laugh it off, as any courtly man in the capital would have done. Instead, he slowly, carefully set his goblet on the table, exhaled a heavy, deep sigh, knowing that this grave conversation was entirely inevitable and that there was nothing to hide. He turned his whole body toward Viserra, looking at her directly, openly, and honestly.
"I promised you on the first day of our walks, Viserra, that I would always be perfectly honest with you in everything concerning my house and my life," he began firmly and evenly. "I shall keep my word. I did indeed have a long, passionate history with those two women. Both of them served for many years as personal, trusted ladies-in-waiting to my mother. Their names are Joanna Stokeworth and Alysia Tarth."
Corlys leaned back in his wooden chair, fixing his gaze upon the lights of the port, and began his tale, laying open the pages of his past before the princess:
"I will tell you their stories without the slightest evasion, so that you may understand the truth of the matter. Joanna Stokeworth is a woman whom life did not favor. Her fate was tragic from the start: at the age of eighteen, her own father forced her into marriage with a decrepit, ailing old lord simply to secure some petty landed interests of his own. This old man, by the grace of the Seven, lasted a mere moon after the wedding before dying in his bed. After that nightmare, Joanna flatly refused to ever be bartered off to another lord again. Her own father flew into a rage at such disobedience and intended to force her to join the Silent Sisters, compelling her to take vows of silence. My mother knew the poor girl, took pity on her, and offered to bring her to High Tide as her lady-in-waiting. Thus, she saved her from a convent prison."
He took a sip of wine and continued, his voice steady:
"An almost identical, loathsome tale befell Alysia Tarth - one of hundreds in Westeros. She was wed to an old lord in the Stormlands. After three years of a harsh marriage in which she failed to provide her husband an heir, this lord simply cast her out of his castle before the eyes of her entire family, like an unwanted, broken thing, accusing her of barrenness. Yet none of the noble lords, including her own father, cared in the least that her so-called husband was a five-and-seventy-year-old, half-blind greybeard. My mother knew Aysia's late mother well and chose to aid the unfortunate girl, whose own father wished to hear nothing of her. That is how Alysia came to us."
Corlys paused for a moment, his face darkening, and a deep, genuine disgust crept into his voice:
"To this day, Viserra, I cannot comprehend, nor will I ever comprehend, parents who so easily sell their own daughters to old, decrepit corpses for a plot of barren land, a few knights' swords, or a sack of gold."
He looked at Viserra, his gaze softening once more:
"Our hidden relationship with them began long ago, when I was but eighteen. I was a young, hot-blooded youth who spent much of his time at sea, and upon returning to the castle, I was well pleased with my mother's decision to take these girls as her companions. I cared for them, I felt a mutual affection for them, but I did not love them. I never deceived them or gave them false hope, Viserra."
Viserra sat entirely motionless, carefully drinking in his every word. There was no foolish jealousy in her soul, she weighed the situation soberly. She understood that these two broken women had simply sought protection, warmth, and a man's tenderness from the strong, handsome heir of the island after all the humiliations they had endured, and Corlys had given it to them, receiving pleasure and loyalty in return. It was the ordinary life of the men of his station.
"And where are they now, Corlys?" the princess asked calmly, her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at him over her goblet. "If they were here for so many years, why does Thea speak of their hasty departure for Braavos?"
"I last saw them both about two moons ago, here at High Tide," Corlys answered firmly and openly, matching her gaze. "This was before I arrived in King's Landing and realized with absolute certainty that you alone, Viserra, were the only woman I wished to see as my lawful wife and lady. The moment my mother learned of my serious intent toward you, and that the King might grant his assent to our match, she took the matter into her own hands with all her customary resolve. Mother will brook no ambiguity or insult to the Velaryon name. She summoned Joanna and Alysia, spoke with them honestly, and then sent them to Braavos aboard our finest ship."
Corlys leaned forward, taking Viserra's hands, his fingers gripping her palms firmly and reassuringly:
"My mother did not simply cast them out, we do not treat those who were close to us in such a manner. House Velaryon has provided them with royal luxury for the rest of their days. My mother purchased two magnificent, sprawling manses for them in the most prestigious and expensive quarter of Braavos. Furthermore, personal accounts were opened in their names at the Iron Bank with a sum of gold so vast that both will be able to live in absolute comfort and luxury until their old age, wanting for nothing. They have gained complete freedom, wealth, and independence. And they both gave their word to my mother that under no circumstances would they ever return to Driftmark or make themselves known. Their story here is fully and permanently at an end."
He looked into the very depths of her violet eyes, his voice carrying an unyielding power:
"Listen to me very carefully, Viserra. I had a past, a vivid and turbulent one, which I see no sense in hiding. But my present and my future belong to you alone. I give you here and now my sacred word that I will be a true, devoted, and loving husband to you. From the very day we exchange bridal cloaks in the Great Sept of Driftmark, you shall be the only woman in my bed, the only mistress in my chambers, and the only rightful lady in High Tide. There will be no other women in my life. But in return, Viserra, I demand from you that very same absolute fidelity to me and an unwavering, blind devotion to the interests of my family. After our wedding, you will cease to be merely a Targaryen princess. You will become a Velaryon. Your blood will forever remain that of the ancient Valyrian dragon, but your home, your heart, and your duty will henceforth belong to this island. The interests of House Velaryon, the prosperity of our endeavors, and the safety of our future children must come first for you in this life - above the ambitions of your brothers, above the intrigues of your father, and even above the interests of the Iron Throne itself. We shall become one. Do you agree to these terms?"
Viserra looked into his deep, violet eyes, in which the fire of a true lord of the seas now burned. She searched his face for the slightest shadow of falsehood, guile, or flattery, but saw only absolute, crystalline sincerity, immense inner strength, and manly maturity. Over these four event-filled days spent on Driftmark, a true, grand vision of a hidden empire had unfolded before her eyes. She had seen the incredible, clean Spicetown, the monumental castle of High Tide, the colossal Bank managing millions, the invincible port receiving thousands of ships, and even a secret, fearsome order of assassins protecting this house from the shadows. She fully and finally realized that House Velaryon was not merely a collection of wealthy upstart masters of the sea, as the conservative lords in King's Landing sometimes tried to paint them. This was a colossal, monolithic, and incredibly powerful force, capable of single-handedly rewriting the history of all Westeros and altering the destinies of hundreds of thousands of people.
And this strong, pragmatic man was offering her not simply a place at his hearth - he was offering her a share in this colossal power, to become the matriarch of this new empire. Viserra felt the hot, proud blood of Ancient Valyria boil in her veins. To her, a true daughter of dragonlords, the thought of a quiet, undistinguished life in the shadow of her elder brothers was abhorrent. She was born for great things, and here, on this island, she had finally found what she sought.
She squeezed his warm palms in return with all the strength of her fingers, moved closer, and looked at him with unshakeable conviction:
"I accept your vow, Corlys, and I give you my own, no less sacred. I swear to you before the gods and men that I will be a faithful, loving, and devoted wife to you until my very last breath. Your home henceforth becomes my only home. Your purposes shall become my purposes, and your enemies, whosoever they may be, shall become my personal enemies. The interests of House Velaryon and the safety of our future children shall from this day forward be the supreme law of my life. We shall build our future together."
Corlys smiled with relief and joy, lifting her hands to his lips to press a long, burning kiss upon them. The tension dissolved completely into the warm nighttime silence.
Viserra turned back to the terrace railing, gazing out at Spicetown shining in the dark. Absolute peace and exultation reigned in her soul. She was immensely glad that, in defiance of all the capital's gossip, she had made this right choice. At the start of her journey to this island, she could not have imagined in her wildest dreams how powerful the Velaryons truly were and how far ahead of everyone else they stood in their development. Now, fully aware and seeing this colossal strength with her own eyes, she felt a genuine pride at the thought that it was her future children by Corlys who would inherit this incredible empire, this great fleet, this beautiful city, and these untold riches. And she, as a true, proud Targaryen who would soon become a Velaryon, firmly promised herself that evening that she would exert all her strength, all her wit, to multiply this great legacy for the prosperity of their future grand house. A new era was dawning.
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