Chapter 169: Rhapsody of Pentos (3)
"Who is she?" Mills asked the moment he stepped out, his eyes falling on the unfamiliar face beside Ian.
"Hazan's sister," Ian said, inventing a reason on the spot. "I've brought her back as a hostage."
If it were possible, Ian would have preferred not to bring Celia along at all. But his next plan required him to control both his own body and a falcon, leaving no mental energy to spare for the cat he used to monitor her. To ensure Celia remained within his sight, he had no choice but to take her with him.
"A hostage?" Butler Mills was stunned. This was not part of their plan.
"An order from Governor Illyrio. The Governor also said…" Ian's eyes narrowed as he glanced at the pair of slaves meant to act as decoys. "Take them out first." He waved a hand, and Rohr stepped forward to lead the two away.
Mills had no objection. The two slaves had no inkling they had been chosen as stand-ins for the Targaryen siblings, nor were they qualified to know of the plans surrounding them.
"So, what else did the Governor order?" Mills pressed.
"That no longer matters," Ian said, shaking his head. "What matters is this."
He drew his dagger in a blur of motion. With lightning speed, he slashed it across the neck of the butler standing beside him. The blade severed the man's aorta, and a fountain of bright red blood erupted from the wound.
At the exact same instant, the water dancer Atari's blade hissed from its sheath, instantly slitting the throat of one Unsullied. Case drove his own sword deep into the chest of another.
"Move these bodies to the inner room," Ian ordered Case.
With that, Ian stooped to retrieve the whip—the tool for commanding the Unsullied—from Steward Mills's corpse. He gave Yada a silent, pointed look, a clear signal to keep his eyes on Celia, before turning and heading for the second floor.
That was where the Targaryen siblings had their chambers.
***
The parliament hall was a monument to high-profile luxury. Exquisite marble floor tiles were softened by carpets from Myr, and the ceiling overhead was a shimmering tapestry of glass mosaics. Colorful murals adorned the four walls, while one hundred and twenty-eight gilded chandeliers hung high above. In eight directions, eight enormous stained-glass skylights pierced the ceiling, bathing the hall in colored light.
Illyrio Mopatis leaned back into his chair, its cushions wrapped in soft animal hides. He tilted his head, watching the light pouring through the skylights gradually dim as the day waned.
"Lord Illyrio."
He heard someone call his name and lowered his gaze. The speaker was a young man, barely in his twenties, though he dressed with a maturity that made him seem older than some of the half-centenarians in the chamber. His expression was serious, but it couldn't quite hide the youthfulness of his face.
Illyrio knew him. He was the head of the Servassi family, one of the forty great families of the council. After the previous family heads had died in unexpectedly quick succession, the house had been forced to choose its most talented scion from the younger generation to lead them.
This particular boy had hitched all his hopes for his family's revival to Hazan's star. He was considered one of the most prominent mouthpieces for the Braavosi faction in the Grand Council.
Now, this young man stood before him. Illyrio smiled. "Good day, Bidasini. What can I do for you?"
"There are rumors, my lord… that you and His Highness Hazan have formed an alliance. Is it true?" the young man asked anxiously.
"Pentos is due for a change." Illyrio's answer evaded the question, but in Bidasini's eyes, it was a clear confirmation.
"Oh," Bidasini said, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Your Excellency, I have admired you for a long time. I greatly look forward to the day we might cooperate."
"I am sure that day will not be long in coming," Illyrio replied with a smile of his own.
Just then, the sound of bells echoed through the council chamber, signaling that the representative of the final family had taken his seat. Prince Trigg Moharis of Pentos officially declared the Grand Council in session.
After a quick bow to Illyrio, Bidasini hurried back to his place and immediately began whispering to his allies about what he had just learned.
The first to speak was the man who had called for this congress: Governor Guerrero Tetrus.
Guerrero stood in the center of the hall, dressed in a simple, functional suit of armor. He was unarmed; according to Pentoshi tradition, all who entered the Palace of Parliament were required to surrender their weapons to the guards.
But despite his lack of a blade, no one dared to underestimate the governor. His army was already gathered in the North City. If the day's affairs were not settled to his satisfaction, Pentos would face a catastrophe.
"Members of the Council," Governor Tetrus began, his voice loud and clear, carrying to every corner of the vast hall. "I regret that I must delay you all by bringing you together on such an occasion. I stand before you today with great sorrow and anger to accuse Hazan, son of His Highness Prince Trigg, of the crimes he has committed against my son, Suda, and the honor of House Tetrus!"
"I come to you today in three capacities. First, as a father. Just this morning, my son lost both his hands and his feet. He will live the rest of his days a cripple. This grieves me more than words can say, but I will not seek revenge for this. He was wounded on the field of honor, in an upright contest."
"But Prince Hazan should have killed him on the spot! He should have granted him a clean death, not subjected him to humiliation! He should have respected the traditions of Pentos, respected his opponent, and respected the duel itself!"
"So I stand here now as the head of House Tetrus. I demand to know from our Prince, what did Hazan mean by toying with my son on the battlefield? He could have claimed his victory with ease, yet he chose the most humiliating method imaginable! This was not merely an insult to my son, Suda, but a direct challenge and a stain upon the honor of the entire Tetrus family!"
Governor Tetrus raised his voice, his tone impassioned, and he pointed a finger toward Prince Trigg on the high platform. "Am I to understand this as a provocation from House Moharis against House Tetrus?"
The prince's eyes darted away for a moment. He did not answer. According to his son's instructions, he was to remain silent until he received word that the Targaryen siblings were under his control. The task of stalling for time had been left to Governor Tetrus.
"Finally," Tetrus boomed, "I stand here as a Governor of Pentos! I wish to ask His Highness what Prince Hazan meant by the phrase he repeated again and again during the contest: 'Kneel down and swear your surrender to me.' As we all know, only slaves kneel in Pentos! What does Hazan want? Is he trying to humiliate every free citizen of this city?"
As expected, Tetrus's words sent a shockwave through the hall. The dozing members of the circular council suddenly sat upright, and the entire chamber erupted into a cacophony of noise.
***
"Your Highness? Princess? Are you in there?"
Ian had just knocked on the door to Viserys's chambers and received no response. A bad feeling began to creep into his heart.
He remembered a small detail he had read in the histories—that Viserys, while eager for the bride price Drogo would provide, was deeply unwilling to simply give his sister away. According to the Targaryen tradition of brother-sister marriage, Daenerys was supposed to have been his.
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