Chapter Text
One would never know the Grand Maester’s chambers resided in the Red Keep. Unlike the rest of the ornate castle, with its gilded artwork, Grand Maester Orwyle had only a large wooden bookshelf, a sturdy wooden work table, and a simple straw-filled mattress on a wooden frame. The stone walls were bare, and the only thing on the small hearth was the seven-pointed star of the Faith.
Yora found herself bored as she attempted to focus on something interesting while Orwyle prepped a strip of bandages with smelly herbs. Her arm lay across his work table presenting the back of her left hand and the welt across it. Maybe she was too optimistic thinking it would fade within a few days. It wasn’t the first time a bowstring had snapped across her hand, but usually, the swelling would be down by now, not making it impossible to close her hand.
“You should have come to me the second this happened,” Orwyle chided and began to wrap the bandage around her hand. “Had you waited another week, then you would likely be in here losing this hand.”
She fought not to roll her eyes, having heard the exact same remark from Bryna earlier. And sure, they were right, but that didn’t mean she had to be happy about it.
“Will it heal before the tourney?” She asked. “I’m competing.”
The lords and ladies of Westeros had already begun to flood the city for the twins’ name day celebration.
Orwyle gave her a look as he tied the bandage off. She winced at the pressure it applied to her hand. “Come find me in the morning and we shall see.”
The pungent odor of medicinal herbs burned her nose as she retracted her hand. Gods, she didn’t know if she could handle this smell for the next few days.
“Thank you, Grand Maester,” she said, dismissing herself.
Stepping out of the Orwyle’s chambers she was immediately joined by Seamus who had been waiting by one of the large windows. “Gods, what is that smell?” He groaned and plugged his nose.
“It’s what I have to wear to keep the swelling down for the next few days.” She forced her bandaged hand into his face, laughing when he jerked away.
“I want to pity your husband, but him sleeping next to that is the closest thing to revenge I can enact.”
He was back at her side once more after several days of coaxing and promising she and Aemond had worked things out. She didn't promise an apology from her husband though, and Seamus was smart enough to know he likely wouldn't get one. The swelling of the bloody nose he received in his fight with Aemond disappeared, but the bridge had healed crooked and changed the shape of his nose.
He shrugged when she saw him again. “Your husband did me a favor. The women think I look rugged.”
“What women?” She scoffed.
Oh, how she had missed him.
“I’ll send him your regards,” she said as they exited the maester’s corridor into the larger interior of the castle.
Dozens more nobles crowded the halls than usual; they poured through the gates increasingly by the hour. She didn’t understand how the city could hold the thousands of people already living here plus the hundreds of nobles and their households. All the places in the keep where she found comfort and quiet quickly became overrun by the influx of people. She tried keeping her spirits high by reminding herself the tourney was only five days, but that just made the hours frustratingly long.
She cut through the crowd with much difficulty, trapped behind lords and ladies who wouldn’t move out of the way. They whispered to each other as she passed. It could’ve been about anything, but she had a sneaking suspicion it was about her. Her status as a prince’s wife afforded her little more recognition than she was granted as the daughter to the lord of Runestone.
Queen Alicent, however, was afforded all the luxury. Obviously. A large path cleared for her the instant she stepped into the main hall, a path leading straight for Yora.
“Your Grace.” She curtseyed when Alicent stopped in front of her.
She looked stunning in her emerald green dress, a beacon of wealth the ladies around them could never hope to possess, herself included. Ser Criston stood inches away, his eyes flitting between the queen, Yora, and the nobles surrounding them.
“Lady Yora,” Alicent greeted, “I was looking for you. ‘Tis a beautiful day, might we take a walk?”
She blinked in surprise at her request, but said, “Of course, Your Grace.”
Alicent led the way, cutting through the stifling mass of bodies from the main hall and into the lower garden courtyard. The sun glared down on them from its high position in the sky. No cloud was in sight, a good sign for the next several days of competition. Yora kept an even pace beside the queen, hands fisted in her skirt to dry the sweat from them. She couldn’t count the number of times the queen invited her into her company because there hadn’t been a first. Was she in trouble? Had she found out about Yora’s practice sessions with Seamus? She did explicitly say that Yora wasn’t allowed to practice the sword, even if that sharp glint in her eye told a different story.
Pink and yellow flowers blossomed off the tall hedges lining the garden path. It was less crowded in these parts, but every so often a lord and lady would pass and acknowledge the queen.
“I heard you went to see the Grand Maester,” Alicent eventually said as they turned past another row of hedges. “I hope everything is alright.”
There was no breeze, yet a chill went down her spine. The hidden eyes of the Red Keep never failed to unnerve her.
She played off her unease with a smile. “Thank you for your concern, Your Grace. I injured my hand while practicing archery, but Maester Orwyle assures me I will heal quickly.”
Alicent hummed, a sound reminiscent of Aemond. She raised her hand to Ser Criston trailing behind them and he stopped in his steps alongside Seamus. Unexpectantly, she threaded her arm through Yora’s, and the pair continued alone.
“I confess I grew excited over another possibility for your visit. Like a friend for Maelor to grow up with.”
It took a second, but the crashing weight of her words quickly overcame her like the incoming tide. Alicent thought she went to the maester because she was pregnant. She was suddenly grateful their guards were stationed at the other.
The glaring sun turned unbearable, even in the light linen dress she wore the heat clung to her like a second skin. Her voice was strangled when she spoke. “Not yet.”
“But can we expect an announcement soon? You and my son have performed your marital duties after the wedding night, yes?” She sounded far too casual, like someone discussing the weather.
Over Alicent’s shoulder, a colorful bird descended on a spider sitting in its web, tearing into the thing with a crunch before flying off.
Yora tried to say something, anything, but the words caught in her throat. Instead, she shook her head as her face burned hotter than the sun.
Alicent’s fine features became muddled with disappointment. “Lady Yora, I don’t have to remind you of the weight of responsibility you now have.”
“No, Your Grace,” she said, thinking of the letter her father sent some weeks ago. “I’m aware of my duty.”
Their course looped around a central hedge and brought them back to their guards. “I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable with this conversation, but it was necessary.” Alicent patted her hand. “As women, this is our lot in life. We cannot ignore it.”
“I understand, Your Grace.”
“Good.” Alicent dropped her arm and returned to Ser Criston’s side. “Enjoy the rest of your day, my lady.”
She disappeared into the garden leaving Yora with the weight of their conversation. Seamus said nothing, though his hand fidgeted over the pommel of his sword desperate to ask what they discussed. Even their long friendship couldn’t force the information out of her.
Lyla Beesbury quickly came into the gardens, her hair haphazardly flying from her tight braid.
“There you are, my lady,” she greeted, breathlessly, “the horses are ready for our trip to the market.” She paused, her nose wrinkling. “What is that smell?”
Yora hid her hand behind her back. “Nothing. Shall we go?”
The market bustled with activity, vendors spilling out of the seams to capitalize on the large crowd drawn in for the tourney while common and highborn alike perused everything from food to exotic pets. She walked arm-in-arm with Bryna while Lyla and Seamus were several steps ahead of them. He regaled her with stories of growing up in the Vale as the girl’s cheeks turned redder and redder. It was no secret she developed a crush on Seamus, and he entertained it with glee knowing no harm would come from it.
She examined the merchant's booths; Pentoshi fabric was sold next to gold trinkets from Qarth, and Arbor wine was sold near colorful dyes. She didn’t exactly need anything, but the market was the one place she hadn’t explored in its entirety, and it was better than spending all day in the keep. Especially after her conversation with Alicent.
After the initial embarrassment faded and the horse ride into the market cleared her head, it was impossible not to be frustrated. Her not being with child wasn’t solely her fault, it took two to make one happen. She wanted an heir just as much as Alicent, she needed one if there was any chance Runestone would be passed to her. But she and Aemond only recently became on good terms, if one could call it that, how could she go about enacting such a request? And who’s to say he would even accept? Their wedding night was nothing more than them fulfilling a duty, however, she couldn’t deny the slight sense of pleasure she experienced just before the end. Even as a maiden, she wasn't unaware of the feeling. Several books, hidden beneath blankets and locked away in a chest, were her teacher back home. Books with romantic stories of knights and fair maidens, or simply salacious ones that offered no plot. She had prayed to the gods every day that her septa wouldn't go snooping and find them, or else she’d be shipped off to the Silent Sisters.
“Right then,” Bryna proclaimed, snapping her from her thoughts. “The vendors likely have raised their prices because of the tourney. We must stay vigilant.” She stalked forward, heading for a man selling bundled spices and fruits.
“That poor man,” Seamus mumbled.
Yora forced the dark cloud of her previous conversation away, choosing to lose herself in the variety of wares each vendor sold. She started on the opposite side of the market, yet was still close enough to intervene should Bryna make a vendor cry.
She slowly passed a stall with dozens of crystal bottles, each filled with a colorful liquid. One in particular caught her eye, a bottle with dark pods resting in a clear liquid. She picked it up and uncapped the top, taking a large whiff of the familiar scent. Vanilla. Oh, it was heavenly. She owned a perfume like this years ago, but the Braavosi merchant who sold it never returned to Runestone.
She waved over to Lyla, who held her coin purse and purchased the bottle from the sweet smiling merchant.
“Would you like one, Lyla?” She asked.
Lyla looked surprised but smiled and examined the bottles of perfume, eventually choosing a dark blue bottle that held a citrus scent.
They journeyed on, past stalls covered in silk or spices from cities across Essos.
“My lady!” A merchant called, beckoning her over. His stall boasted hundreds of necklaces, rings, bracelets, and headpieces inlaid with colorful jewels. “A beautiful neck like yours deserves an exquisite necklace around it.”
He held up an intricate three-tiered one made of jade. It continued to surprise her the amount of excess in this city. The Vale was harsh and practical, even the few pieces of jewelry she owned were locally made with resources found nearby. She nearly laughed, how could she justify purchasing that? None of her dresses would pair with it, and there weren't many circ*mstances she could think it would be appropriate for it. Now, if she were the Empress of Leng…
Whatever her reservations were, Lyla had none and she gleefully began trying on ruby rings and crystal necklaces.
Yora examined them, humoring the man. They were all beautiful creations but far too eccentric. However, in the back row of necklaces lined across a blue velvet board, was a simple silver chain encircling a sapphire set into a silver oval. She picked it up and ran her thumb over the smooth gem. The sunlight reflected it, making it shimmer like a thousand stars in the night sky.
“How much for this one?” She asked.
“My lady, please,” he shook his head, “I insist on one of my finer creations. Like this!” He held up a gold choker with a large ruby in the center. “Its gem is imported from the shadowlands of Asshai.”
Then it was likely cursed, Yora thought. The last thing she needed was to be turned into a toad; as if she didn't stand out already.
She shook her head, adamant. “I want this one.”
The merchant sighed, likely realizing if he pushed any harder she might not buy anything. “Twenty silvers.”
She handed over the money as Lyla slowly, and pathetically, pulled off the pieces of jewelry she adorned herself with. It took even longer for them to leave the stall with Lyla needing to say goodbye to each and every one of them, but they soon moved along and the sapphire was clasped around Yora's neck.
“I think if you pout, your grandfather will buy you one for your name day,” she told Lyla as they walked.
The girl's face brightened and she could already see the wheels spinning in her mind.
The other merchants were just as pushy with their products: “This snake venom will cure any mole you find,” or “Three of these seeds under your tongue at night will heal any ache.” However, the Summer Island merchant made a decent argument for the lemur he sold.
While Lyla busied herself with a woman’s miniature figurine stand, Yora searched for any stall she didn’t approach. Tucked away from the others was an old woman, her booth decorated with a plain white cloth, and upon it was a variety of books. Leather bound and jeweled clasp books lay beside animal hide ones, their titles ranging from the fairy stories read to her as a child to old age treatises on war. She looked over the titles, not sure she needed another book. Maybe she would find one Aemond might like, a gift to begin mending their poorly stitched marriage
Hidden beneath a book with an incredibly detailed cover highlighting the adventures of a Sothoryos pirate, she found a plain leather-bound book with no title whatsoever. A journal? Flipping it open, she held back a gasp at its contents. Inside, detailed drawings of explicit acts littered every page. On one, a man and woman were in the throws of passion, euphoric pleasure perfectly drawn on their face as their bodies coupled together. On another, at least a dozen people lay together, their faces buried between legs, their hands touching different parts of different people.
Her face burned. She slammed the book shut and glanced around, hoping no one was looking over her shoulder.
“Something catch your eye, my lady?” The woman spoke an accented common tongue, but Yora had no idea where to place it.
“No,” Yora croaked, then cleared her throat. “I was just caught off guard by the contents of this book.”
She smiled. “Yes, A Caution for Young Girls usually elicits that type of reaction from you Westerosi.”
Yora turned the book over in her hand, understanding now why the cover was so inconspicuous. It wasn't banned, but reading it among social circles would only bring scandal. Her septa spoke of the book once, how girls without a strict upbringing would become wanton like Lady Corywne Wilde, the supposed author of the original copy, and fall into all manners of depravity. No doubt her septa believed that was the heathenry she was headed for as a child.
“I'll sell it to you for twelve coopers,” the woman said. “Got hundreds of copies for curious women like yourself.”
“Who says I wanted it?” Yora asked, her jaw flexing at the assumption.
The woman’s dark eyes glowed with bemusem*nt as if she were nothing more than a petulant child. “How can you know what you want until you’ve experienced it?”
“What did you find?” Bryna suddenly materialized at her side.
She held in her yelp, slamming the book to her chest. “Just a journal. Nothing exciting.”
Under the woman’s milky, watchful eyes she grabbed the book on the Sothoryos pirate's journey, a treatise on trading rights in old Yi Ti, and a fairytale book. She refused to acknowledge the woman's smirk as she slid the leather book beneath the stack. Bryna pulled money from the coin purse at her side to pay, none the wiser to what just happened.
She deposited the books in a bag at Bryna’s side, already filled with purchases from other vendors. “I think I’m done for the day,” she told her, “let’s find Lyla and Seamus and—”
A loud smack echoed across the market and dozens of people converged on a nearby stall. Curious, Yora drew closer, slipping through the crowd until she was at the center of the scene. A large vendor stood near his produce stall, screaming at a young girl sprawled out on the ground, and at her feet was a bruised peach. The girl couldn’t have been older than nine, her linen dress was covered in layers of dirt like her face and hair, and a large red handprint blossomed on her cheek.
“They’ll have your hand for this, you little thief!” The merchant shouted.
He reared back his foot as if to kick her, and Yora shouted, “Enough!”
She felt the eyes of the crowd on her, but she kept her attention on the man. His lip curled into a sneer. “This isn’t your business. Stay out of it!”
“She is the wife of your prince, it’s her business if she wishes it,” Bryna snapped at him.
The man’s hackles slightly lowered, but he still heaved with anger. She came closer and knelt at the girl’s side to offer her hand. She was a tiny thing barely weighing anything when she hauled her up. “What happened?” She asked the girl.
“This little thief thought she could take from me,” he interrupted. “She and the rest of the urchins are always stealing things.”
She glared at the man, wishing he would just shut up. Passing the girl over to Bryna, she picked up the bruised peach. “I will pay for this. How much?”
He stared for a hard moment before he scoffed, “Ten coppers.”
Bryna muttered under her breath, “Ten coppers for dirty fruit? Please.”
He continued, “But fat load of good that will do, her grubby hands were all over the basket. She’s likely infected the rest of them.”
A woven basket sat on the table, filled with about twenty peaches. She did a quick tally in her head. “I’ll give you three silvers for the whole basket.”
“Five.”
“I don’t think so,” she chuckled, “You said ten coppers for a peach. That makes the whole basket three silvers. Of course, I could just buy the one peach and leave you to try and sell the rest of your dirty and bruised produce.” She raised her voice at the end, strengthening the attention of those gathered around her.
The crowd began to murmur, and some backed away from the man’s stand entirely. Seeing his business slide away like rain on a window, he begrudgingly accepted her offer practically tearing the coins out of her hand when she offered them.
The remnants of the crowd slowly trickled back to their respective corners of the market, though some seemed disappointed that the City Watch wasn’t called to chop off the girl’s hand.
The girl still looked shaken when she returned, the basket of peaches nestled to sit on her hip. “Where are your parents? Surely they don’t want you getting into any more trouble.”
Her head dropped and she kicked a dirt clod with her sandal. Her very worn and frayed sandal. “They’re gone,” she said, her voice flat. “The pox.”
Yora’s heart shattered into a hundred pieces thinking of the girl alone on the streets, fighting daily to stay alive at the risk of being caught by another cruel merchant or the City Watch. She worried her lip between her teeth, not eager to let her wander back into the streets.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said. “My mother is gone too, and I miss her every day.” She held out her hand to the girl. “I don’t wish to see you out on the streets. Come, I’ll get you some food, new clothes, and a hot bath.”
The girl hesitated but after a moment put her hand in Yora’s and smiled. Bryna took the basket from her and they made their way back to where the horses were tied up. Seamus and Lyla already loitered around them, their items loaded into saddle bags. They didn’t seem to know what to make of the new addition to their group, a hundred thoughts visibly filtering over their face, but they voiced no objection.
Yora fitted her in front on the saddle, loosely holding her as she took the reins. She dug her heels into her horse’s flank and led the charge back to the castle, unexpected items from that day in tow.
Sunlight streamed in from the painted windows making an array of colors dance across the brothel floor. Men steadily flowed through the doors, the upcoming tourney bringing in more patrons and coins for the workers. It was only mid-day, yet the brothel had already made more than it did in three successful nights of business.
Moans and grunts of pleasure echoed in the halls from behind erotically carved doors, while stifled noise came from within the walls from those who found their pleasure in watching people f*ck. Laughter and music drifted upward from the lounge area, the workers plying the patrons with wine and food to make them comfortable.
Situated in a private room with a balcony overlooking the city, Mysaria listened to it all. Growing up in this life she learned to block out the sounds of flesh slapping and gasping breaths, but every so often she allowed herself to hear the noise. It wasn’t only the sound of pleasure, but the sound of money. The Blue Rose had become the most successful brothel in the city, visited by lords and knights, and even some ladies. Their coin ran through her fingers like a waterfall spilling into a lake of shimmering gold, and that gold would soon find its way into people’s pockets across the city as they did her bidding. They were all puppets dancing for their master.
She brought a steaming cup of tea to her lips, taking a moment to relax before returning to the demands of her business, the sweet floral taste returning energy to her body.
A gentle knock came to her door, and she made them wait as she took a few more sips before she set her cup down. “Enter,” she bade.
One of her workers entered, bare-breasted with a jade belt hanging low on her hips. Following in behind her was an unremarkable-looking woman, a linen shawl covering her head. There were beautiful people all over the world, but Mysaria found it was better to be unremarkable. It made you less likely to be remembered, and her other business thrived on that.
“White Worm,” the woman bowed her head.
“Leave us,” Mysaria told the whor*.
The door clicked closed behind her, and the woman removed her shawl. She fidgeted under Mysaria’s calculating gaze, eager to give her information, collect her coin, and leave.
“The girl did her job, the entire marketplace saw Lady Yora come to her aid. She even brought the girl into her household.”
Mysaria released a rigid breath at the accomplishment of her newest little bird. Her string-pulling was always a gamble and every time it paid off the rush was euphoric. Her spies in the castle had their own jobs, she couldn’t spare them to watch the Royce girl’s every move, but an orphaned girl with no place in the world was the perfect bait for a soft-hearted woman.
She stood, smoothing the thin fabric of her stunning white dress. Opening a nearby desk drawer, she pulled out a small coin purse and passed it to the woman. “Your service is always appreciated.”
With shaky hands the woman tucked the coin purse into a fold of her dress. She gave a sloppy curtsy and hurried from the room.
Mysaria returned to her chair and her cup of tea. It would be a few days before the girl she hired could escape her new life and give her report, but she was a patient woman. Her entire life had been about waiting. Waiting for the slave ship to finally make port. Waiting at the pleasure of cruel men who only valued her for her body. Waiting for the city to fall to chaos so she could finally claim what was owed to her. But before that could happen, she needed more people to her side, and Yora Royce would make an excellent pawn in the games to come.
How fortunate the daughter of Daemon Targaryen lurked right beneath the Green’s noses.
