Daeron turned the prismatic shard over in his hand, watching the colors shift. He had a feeling these shards could break the old rules that kept knights and wizards from mixing their power. Maybe they could even push past the limits of the gem sequence itself.
He slipped the shard and the iridium into his pouch. When Davos finally hit the wall and couldn't absorb any more gems, Daeron would hand him one of these and see what happened. For now he kept the discovery quiet. No sense spreading it around until he tested it himself.
They left the mine and stepped back into the sunlight on Bloodstone. Daeron was about to mount Caraxes when two soldiers from the royal fleet dragged a soaked, half-drowned man up the beach.
"Wet-Haired" Euron.
The young priest looked half-dead, hair plastered to his skull, salt crusted on his face. Daeron had him carried inside at once, stripped out of the freezing clothes, and wrapped in blankets with hot broth forced down his throat.
Euron coughed hard, eyes flying open. When he saw Daeron he tried to speak through the spasms.
"Victarion sent me," he rasped. "The Iron Fleet needs help."
The story came out in pieces. Victarion had taken the fleet into the Summer Sea, raided where he could, and set up on the southern end of Cedar Island. Then the three Slaver's Bay cities had joined forces and come after him. The fighting had turned ugly fast, and now they were running low on supplies and men.
Euron had been sent back for aid. A storm had smashed his ships on the way. Everyone else drowned. Only he washed up on Grey Gallows.
Daeron glanced at Jaehaerys. His brother's eyes were already bright with the chance to fight.
"Tell Victarion I'm coming," Daeron said. "The Iron Throne doesn't leave its people hanging."
He sent ravens the moment he reached King's Landing. Specific lords were ordered to gather their men and sail for the capital. War was coming to the east, and he wanted the right people at his back.
---
In the North, Eddard Stark read the raven scroll in silence. Catelyn watched him from across the solar, one hand resting on the swell of her belly.
"You're not seriously thinking of going," she said.
"I have to," Eddard answered. "The king is calling the banners. If I stay here, the Boltons and every other house that still resents us will say the Starks are finished."
Catelyn's mouth tightened. "Your father and brother died in King's Landing. You want to walk into the same trap?"
"They died because they acted without thinking," Eddard said quietly. "I won't make that mistake. But I also won't let the North stay broken while everyone else moves forward."
He told Maester Luwin to send the ravens. Three thousand men. Enough to matter, not enough to look like he was trying to start something.
At the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton read the same scroll and smiled faintly at his son.
"Domeric," he said, "you'll go. Show the king what a Bolton can do when he's given a real chance."
Domeric nodded. He had already been thinking the same thing.
---
On Dragonstone, Daeron and Jaehaerys found Viserys exactly where they expected—half-drunk and loud in one of the lower halls. A pretty silver-haired girl stood nearby, staring at Daeron like she had just seen the sun rise for the first time.
Diana Pojiali.
She dropped into a quick curtsy, cheeks flushed. "Your Grace."
Jaehaerys stepped between them without being subtle about it. Daeron gave the girl a polite nod and kept walking. He had come for his brother, not to collect another admirer.
Viserys was dragged out a moment later, still complaining. Daeron looked at him, then at the girl watching them with wide, hungry eyes, and sighed.
Some problems, it seemed, never stayed simple for long.