Chapter 18 – A Debt in Silver
The Iron Bank's name carried a kind of reverence in King's Landing — the kind men usually reserved for gods and executioners. To owe them was to live under a polite death sentence, measured not in blood, but in interest.
Aden stood on the pier at dawn, watching the gray ships of Braavos anchored far from the main harbor. They rarely came closer — trade was conducted through proxies, papers, and the fear of their letters.
He held one of those letters now. Its seal was silver, unbroken, found in the late Varyn Myrel's desk. The writing inside was brief, elegant, and final.
The debt of Petyr Baelish stands at three thousand gold dragons. Payment deferred upon discretion of the Bank. Default shall result in collection.
Collection. A word that meant ruin. Or worse.
Aden slipped the parchment into his coat and turned as footsteps approached. A voice, smooth as oil, spoke behind him.
"Strange hour for a clerk to be wandering the docks."
The man who emerged from the mist wore simple robes, yet his eyes missed nothing. Bald, soft-spoken, and dangerous in the way silence is.
"Lord Varys," Aden greeted, bowing his head.
The spymaster smiled faintly. "Ah, so word travels faster than spiders these days. You've caused quite the flutter in the webs beneath the city."
"I keep records, my lord," Aden said. "Records have a way of revealing what people hide."
Varys tilted his head. "Indeed. And what do you seek to reveal now?"
Aden hesitated. "Debts. The ones that bind men more tightly than oaths."
Varys chuckled softly. "Then you and I play similar games. But be cautious — when one tugs too many threads, the web can collapse."
He began to walk away, but paused after a few steps. "If you truly wish to understand debts, Master Holt, look not at the Tower of Coin. Look at who owns the tower."
Aden watched him fade into the fog. His fingers tightened on the silver-sealed letter.
That evening, he returned to his chamber and began mapping connections — Baelish, the Iron Bank, the Myrish envoy, and now Varys. Lines, circles, debts, names.
When the pattern took shape, he realized something chilling: Baelish's influence reached far beyond the Crown's coffers. But his debts reached further still.
The next day, Aden quietly met with Gerro Mylen again. "I want confirmation," he said. "Baelish's loan from Braavos — who brokered it?"
Mylen hesitated, then whispered, "A shipmaster from Gulltown. Works under the Bank's shadow. Calls himself the 'Collector of Silver.'"
Gulltown. Far beyond King's Landing. Baelish's roots stretched east — and Aden would follow them.
For the first time, he was no longer thinking like a clerk. He was thinking like a contender.
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