A streak of crimson tore through the clouds and dropped low over the glassy blue water of the Summer Sea. The long red tail skimmed the surface as Caraxes leveled out.
Two more dragons followed close behind. Valar's bronze wings caught the wind while the black one stayed tight on their flank.
It was brutally hot.
Daeron glanced sideways at Jaehaerys, who looked half-melted, and pulled a cold Joja Cola from his pack. He cracked it open and took a long drink.
The can was ice-cold. For a few seconds it almost made the heat bearable.
The Summer Sea lived up to its name. Under the Long Summer the temperature sat at fifty-five degrees Celsius during the day and still hovered in the mid-forties at night. The sun hammered down on the water, turning the air thick and wet. Even Targaryens felt it.
Jaehaerys caught the second can Daeron tossed him and drained half of it in one go.
"Almost there," Daeron said, tugging at his collar. Even with his natural resistance to heat, the humidity was brutal.
They had ditched the heavy black Targaryen coats days ago. Now both of them wore light Valyrian-style clothes—loose linen shirts, open vests, and soft boots. It was the coolest thing that still looked decent.
Jaehaerys had tied his long hair back in a braid to keep it off his neck.
Daeron's eyes tracked the gray haze in the distance. Even from miles away it felt wrong, like the air itself was holding its breath.
The Smoking Sea.
They had gone out of their way to avoid flying over it. Three-Eyed Crow's warning still sat in the back of his mind.
Ships were moving into the haze up ahead. Daeron recognized the hulls—Volantene adventurers, probably chasing rumors of dragons and dragon eggs.
"Let them go in," he said. "The more idiots poke around in there, the more we'll learn without lifting a finger."
A sudden boom rolled across the water, followed by distant shouting.
Jaehaerys pointed. "Fight."
Daeron's expression sharpened. "Let's take a look."
---
"Take what you want and burn the rest!"
Victarion stood on the deck of the Invincible Ironborn, one arm hooked around a mast as the ship's ram slammed into the side of a New Ghis warship. Wood splintered and men screamed.
The New Ghis commander, covered head to toe in old-style iron plate, barely had time to shout before Victarion's greatsword split him from shoulder to hip.
"These fuckers fight like they've never seen real iron before," Victarion snarled, kicking the body aside.
His nephew Rodrik was already looting the deck while Maron tried to keep their own ship from getting boxed in. The New Ghis fleet was bigger and better armed, but the ironborn were faster and meaner in a boarding fight.
Then the first catapult stone smashed through their railing.
Maron took a glancing hit to the back and went down hard, coughing blood.
"Maroon!" Victarion roared.
He was about to order a full retreat when the sky above them darkened for half a second.
A massive shadow swept over the water.
"Dragonfire!"
The shout came from somewhere behind him, half-terrified, half-hopeful.
Caraxes dropped out of the clouds like a red spear. The long crimson body twisted once, then opened its jaws.
A river of bright orange fire poured down onto the nearest New Ghis ship. Men in iron armor turned into torches in seconds. The deck caught instantly.
Victarion's bloodstained face split into a savage grin.
"The King's here!" he bellowed, voice carrying across the water. "You hear that, you slave-fucking cowards? The Dragon King just joined the party!"
He raised his sword toward the sky as Caraxes banked for another pass, wings casting a long shadow over the burning ships.
The tide had just turned.