Kevan's expression darkened further at those words.
He nodded. "Let him in."
The doors opened, and Noho Dimittis, envoy of the Iron Bank of Braavos, stepped inside.
He wore a finely tailored dark Braavosi outfit, his features cold and impassive, devoid of any trace of emotion. Noho Dimittis offered a formal bow to those present.
"Your Grace, Lord Hand. The patience of the Iron Bank is not limitless. The Iron Throne's immense debt is now seriously overdue. We understand the difficulties the realm currently faces, but business remains business. We require that before the next new moon, the Iron Throne repay at least one third of the principal, along with all interest accrued to date. Failing that, the Iron Bank will be forced to consider further measures to protect our investment."
What those "further measures" entailed needed no explanation.
The cessation of all loans, and perhaps even funding the enemies of the Iron Throne.
Kevan's face turned ashen at once.
The Lannister gold mines of the Westerlands had once been the very symbol of the Seven Kingdoms' wealth. But Lucion's prolonged war in the west against Dothraki raiders had devastated many of the mines. Skilled miners had been killed, wounded, or carried off.
Restoring production would take time, and the enormous sum demanded by the Iron Bank was simply impossible to assemble in the short term.
"Master Dimittis…" Kevan said, his voice tight with strain. "The gold mines of the Westerlands are working at full effort to recover, but that takes time…"
Noho Dimittis cut him off, his tone glacial.
"Lord Hand, the Iron Bank does not concern itself with the process. Only the result. The next new moon is the final deadline."
There was no room for negotiation in his words.
The atmosphere in the hall sank to an icy low.
The quagmire in the Vale and the Iron Bank's relentless demands weighed on Kevan like twin mountains.
Noho Dimittis glanced briefly at the silent councilors, offered a polite excuse, and withdrew.
Not long after, the doors to the hall opened again. Ser Adam Marbrand and Ser Damion entered, their expressions grim.
"Your Grace, Lord Hand."
Ser Adam bowed. "Confirmed news has arrived from the south. Stannis has won the war. Viserys has been captured."
When Stannis had broken through the lines, Adam and Ser Steffon Swyft had fled across the river with only a few surviving men, unable to wait for the battle's outcome. Adam had suspected Stannis's victory ever since, but lacked firm proof.
Only today had definitive reports arrived from the Reach and the Stormlands, confirming his suspicions.
Not only had Stannis won, he had taken Viserys captive.
That stubborn, cold-blooded Stannis was now preparing to consolidate the Stormlands, becoming the Iron Throne's most dangerous enemy.
What would he do next? March north? Or…
Kevan's brow furrowed even deeper. This was misery piled atop disaster.
He let out a sigh. "It seems we must have Jaime end the fighting in the Vale as quickly as possible and return to Duskendale."
Then he turned to the matter of finances.
"Adam, the wealth you brought back…"
Ser Adam's expression grew strained. He had already heard the Iron Bank envoy's demands.
"Lord Hand, most of the spoils were used, as you ordered, to prioritize soldiers' pay and compensation for the families of the fallen. What remains would not even cover half of what the Iron Bank is demanding this time."
What he had brought back was little more than a drop in the ocean compared to the massive debt.
The newly appointed Master of Coin, Lord Renfred Rykker of Duskendale, spoke urgently.
"Lord Hand, Stannis has consolidated the Stormlands and could march north at any moment. Our treasury is stretched to the limit. The most pressing task is to raise troops at once and strengthen the defenses of the Crownlands and the Westerlands. I suggest we immediately seek outside assistance and hire a powerful mercenary Company."
Cersei had been waiting for precisely those words.
She set down her goblet, her emerald eyes gleaming with sharp intelligence.
"Uncle, Lord Renfred is right. I suggest we borrow troops from the Easterner and hire his Dothraki…"
"Enough! Cersei! I am the Hand!"
Kevan could restrain himself no longer. He sprang to his feet, his voice thundering through the chamber.
"Hire Dothraki?! Have you forgotten what they did in the Westerlands and the Stormlands? Burning, killing, looting, every atrocity imaginable. They are beasts, not soldiers! Hiring them would be inviting wolves into our home. And that Easterner, Lo Quen, is more dangerous than Stannis. His ambitions go far beyond mere gold. This proposal is utterly unacceptable. Now leave. The Small Council must discuss practical, workable solutions!"
He pointed sharply toward the doors, his tone final and uncompromising.
He had had enough of his niece's wild fantasies and reckless ideas.
The elegant smile on Cersei's face froze instantly, her emerald eyes igniting with fury.
The Queen Regent of the Seven Kingdoms, expelled from the Small Council in public?
By her own uncle, no less!
She stared at Kevan with naked hatred, spat out a threat, and stormed out.
"Uncle Kevan, you will regret this!"
Cersei stormed back to her lavish chambers in Dun Fort, sweeping vases and silverware from the table in a violent rage. They shattered loudly across the floor.
The maidservants dropped to their knees, trembling.
"Out! All of you, get out!"
Cersei screamed.
The maids fled as if granted a royal pardon, scrambling away from the heart of the storm.
Cersei's chest heaved violently, madness burning in her emerald eyes.
Damn him.
How dare he treat me like this!
She seized a wine bottle and drank straight from the neck, trying to drown the fire raging inside her. The burning wine scorched her throat, yet the pain brought a strange, unsettling clarity to her thoughts.
Suddenly, a cold idea surfaced.
Those treacherous nobles in the Vale… weren't they incredibly wealthy?
Cersei's eyes lit up, gleaming with greed and cruelty.
Especially Gulltown.
One of the most prosperous ports in the Seven Kingdoms.
Wealth piled there like mountains.
A perfect plan took shape in her mind with startling speed.
Cersei began to pace, excitement rising.
All she had to do was declare the Royces of Runestone and the other houses of the Lords Declarant, along with House Arryn of Gulltown, even House Grafton, traitors. Then announce the confiscation of all their lands and wealth.
Those enormous fortunes could be used to repay the Iron Bank.
There would even be plenty left to hire an elite Company in Braavos.
She could already see it: heaps of gold coins, glittering jewels, and endless port taxes flowing into her coffers.
But there was a problem.
Jaime was still in the Vale with the army.
She knew her brother well. That ridiculous sense of knightly honor still clung to him.
He would never agree to slaughter nobles who had already surrendered, nor to sack their castles and towns. He would oppose it outright.
Cersei frowned, then suddenly another name rose in her mind.
Gregor Clegane.
A cold smile spread across her lips.
The Mountain, that beast who knew only killing and obedience, answered to no one but her. And at this very moment, he was with Jaime's army.
A flawless plan fell into place.
Jaime would capture Mya Stone and then immediately return to Duskendale with her and a small escort.
Wasn't Uncle Kevan eager to have him back to deal with Stannis?
Perfect.
Then she would order the Mountain to remain behind to "handle the aftermath."
Under the excuse of "purging remaining rebels and confiscating rebel property," he would lead the rest of the troops to take control of the traitors' holdings.
Cersei could already envision the flames rising to the sky, blood flowing like rivers.
"Genius… I really am a genius. Those men on the Small Council should be wearing skirts. I'm the one who should be wearing armor."
She laughed softly to herself, the sound eerie in the empty chamber.
Cersei walked to her desk, spread out a sheet of parchment, picked up a quill, dipped it in ink, and began writing rapidly.
When she finished, she sealed the letter carefully with wax and had it sent out.
She took another sip of wine, feeling thoroughly pleased.
Her thoughts turned to the Iron Bank's envoy.
She summoned a maid.
"Go invite Noho Dimittis. Tell him I have an important proposal concerning the debt."
When the stern-faced Braavosi envoy stood before her once more, Cersei wore a confident, alluring smile.
"Master Dimittis," she said calmly, "I've thought of a solution to the debt. One that benefits us both."