Chapter 74 — Or… Someone Else?
"I need to leave the city for a while—right now, in fact. I've already kept that eunuch waiting far too long. Hopefully his unique temperament still finds pleasure in being kept waiting…"
Tyrion sighed as they stepped out of the private chamber.
"Perhaps I should be grateful—everyone in King's Landing knows the Spider ought to appear and vanish like a phantom. And you heard how furious Cersei was that he didn't show up at the council."
"I simply can't fathom why she cares so much about whether a eunuch knows she's a whore. Does she seriously believe that's a well-guarded secret?"
His voice carried fatigue beneath the sarcasm.
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Podrick ignored Tyrion calling his own sister a whore. A man could curse his own blood all he liked, but joining in would only show a lack of sense—so Pod let those words pass as if they were wind in the rafters.
However, something in Tyrion's mention of leaving the city—and of Varys—made Pod glance sideways, as though a thought tugged at him.
"You're going to a brothel?" Pod asked casually.
"Indeed," Tyrion replied, a dry laugh slipping out. "It will be my second romantic rendezvous with a eunuch inside a brothel."
He slowed, turning his mismatched eyes back toward Podrick.
"Do you want to come along? In fact, it would be ideal if you did."
Podrick had no interest in knowing what Tyrion and Varys had done the first time they met in a brothel—and he understood well enough what Tyrion meant by inviting him.
He stroked the short beard that had begun to grow on his chin, considered, and shook his head.
"I'll pass. But if you happen to unfortunately run into Allaia, or Mary, or the others—please tell them I apologize for my absence. Say I've exhausted every ounce of strength in service to Her Majesty the Queen Dowager, and have none left for love. Hopefully they'll forgive me."
He paused, his tone shifting a touch.
"And besides, I received an even more unfortunate piece of news today. Two of the mercenaries you sent to escort Barra and her mother to Storm's End… have returned early."
"Someone spotted them in the city—and brought them straight to me."
As Podrick spoke, the casual ease on his face faded, replaced by a growing seriousness.
The news struck Tyrion like a hammer blow. His limping steps halted at once, all trace of weary resignation swept away.
"What happened?" he demanded, brows drawn tight. "And don't tell me this is another of our beloved king's heartfelt surprises."
He didn't specify which king—no need. Podrick didn't bother playing coy. He waved a hand dismissively.
"This time, it has nothing to do with Cersei."
But then he let out a cold, humorless laugh.
"So I invited those two—quite politely—into a cell and asked a few questions. They told me they were intercepted right after crossing the Blackwater, but before reaching the Kingswood."
"They weren't stopped by Gold Cloaks, nor by Lannister guards. They were flagged down by sailors from a trading vessel out of Lys—the Thousand Colors."
"The Lyseni claimed they were willing to pay to take the girl and her mother, promising to deliver them to Lord Stannis on Dragonstone. They said a great man like Stannis would reward them far more generously."
Tyrion shut his eyes.
"And they sold them," he said flatly—not a question.
Podrick nodded once.
"You sent eight men. The other six took the coin and headed south to serve King Renly. Only those two fools thought the journey too long and the coin too heavy to carry—so they came back to King's Landing to enjoy it. They were spotted in a gambling den and dragged straight to me."
Tyrion's jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached.
"Then I suppose a damp, freezing dungeon will do wonders for their headaches," he muttered bitterly.
In Westeros, slavery is outlawed—but across the Narrow Sea, in Essos, it thrives.
Lys is among the worst offenders.
Its slave markets teem with desperate souls. Miners, laborers, gladiators, bedwarmers—there's a price for every life, and an appetite for every vice.
A babe not yet a year old, and a mother who abandoned her trade the moment she bore that child—why would a Lyseni ship want them?
Tyrion didn't need Pod to answer.
Lys isn't just known for its slave markets—it is infamous for its pleasure houses.
There, slaves are trained—taught the arts of desire—before being sold to nobles as consorts, bedslaves, courtesans.
And Barra, bastard daughter of King Robert Baratheon, and her mother?
To the right buyer, they would be far more than common slaves.
They would be curiosities. Trophies.
"Yes," Podrick said softly, as if reading his thoughts. "I will see to those two who returned. They will live out their years on the Wall—if they behave."
"And the other six?" Tyrion asked, voice hollow.
Podrick's eyes gleamed with a cold resolve.
"I've already sent riders south to hunt them down. If they cooperate, they may yet breathe northern air again. If not—well, the Gold Cloaks can always bring back their heads."
His words did nothing to ease Tyrion's torment.
The dwarf stared out at the falling dusk—purple clouds gathering over King's Landing like bruises.
After a long silence, he spoke:
"I'll write to Dragonstone myself. If there is still time…"
His voice tightened.
"Stannis Baratheon despises Robert's bastards—but he despises dishonor more. He will not tolerate Robert's child being trafficked across the sea as a… commodity. I will make that clear."
Without another word, Tyrion turned and descended the stairway, boots striking stone with new urgency.
Podrick remained where he was.
Then, remembering something, he called out:
"Wait—my lord!"
Tyrion halted, shoulders tense, voice thin and frayed:
"Seven hells, Podrick—if this is another piece of bad news, I swear I'll—"
"It's not that, my lord. Only a… helpful warning. Since you're going to meet our friend the Spider, perhaps he can tell you more."
Tyrion turned slowly.
"You're suggesting…?"
Pod's eyes sharpened.
"Lyseni slavers do not sail into King's Landing by chance—not now. And when there is commerce, our Master of Coin always knows something."
"And about how Barra and her mother became known targets?
If the news didn't come from the eunuch…"
Podrick's gaze darkened.
"Then there must be someone else."
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