In the afternoon of Braavos, the sunlight shattered into ten thousand shimmering golden scales upon the surface of the canal.
An ornate pleasure boat glided across the water, its gilded figurehead carved into the shape of a seahorse.
Bellavery Osserys sat opposite Aegon, her deep blue skirts spread across the teak bench like a meticulously unfurled night sky.
The boatman pulled the oars in the stern, the wooden blades entering and leaving the water with a rhythmic splash.
"The Mask Festival."
Bellavery spoke, her voice wrapped in the warm breeze and the faint strains of music.
She turned her gaze toward the banks.
The cries of street vendors rose and fell, their wooden stalls hung with masks: weeping noblewomen, leering demons, majestic kings, and hollow skulls.
The crowds were bustling, and many had already donned their masks.
"It happens every year at this time, lasting for ten days."
Bellavery continued, her tone holding its signature languor, yet every word was crystal clear.
"By day, there are markets, parades, and plays; by night, there are banquets, balls, and lanterns set adrift on the canal, until the midnight of the tenth day, when the Titan of Braavos lets out its roar..."
She finally turned her face to look at Aegon, her amber eyes nearly transparent in the afternoon light.
"At that moment, the tens of thousands of revelers throughout the city will remove their masks together—a ritualistic symbol of meeting one another with honesty."
The corners of her lips quirked up in a smile that was hard to define as either mockery or appreciation.
"It is very Braavosi, is it not? To use the most elaborate disguises to celebrate a fleeting truth."
Aegon watched her quietly, offering no response.
His vision was twofold.
His human eyes saw the revelry, while his dragon's eyes saw from high above.
Ghidorah perched high beneath the clouds, its six molten-gold pupils taking in the canals below, the flow of ships, and the gathering and dispersal of crowds.
The two perspectives overlapped, intertwined, and complemented each other.
The boat passed under an arched bridge.
The bridge's shadow loomed over them, and the light suddenly dimmed.
In that instant of transition between light and dark, Bellavery's voice dropped several degrees, that layer of languid sugar-coating quietly peeling away:
"My family has an epithet that has been passed down for a long time."
The boat slid out from the bridge's shadow, returning to the light. Her face appeared almost starkly cold in the sunshine.
"'The Black Pearl'."
She paused, observing Aegon.
No reaction, as expected.
"The first Black Pearl," she continued, her voice lower now, carrying a strange magnetism.
"Was the mistress of His Majesty Aegon IV."
The boat swayed gently, avoiding a barge laden with fresh flowers.
Petals fell into the water, drifting downstream.
The corner of Bellavery's mouth curled into a faint, almost self-deprecating arc.
"Quite a coincidence, isn't it? The era of another Aegon."
She raised her left wrist and, in the sunlight, pushed her sleeve up half an inch.
Her skin was very fair, and beneath that paleness, faint purple veins wound like delicate vines along the inside of her wrist.
"They say," she continued, her fingers lightly brushing that patch of skin, "that I have dragon blood in my veins, diluted by a hundred years. That is why they appreciate me, like one appreciates the peeling gilded patterns on an antique vase... precious, but serving only as decoration."
Aegon's gaze fell upon her wrist, lingered for a moment, and then moved back to her face.
"Serving only as decoration."
He repeated the words. "Are you telling me this because you hope I will believe it makes you more reliable than other decorations?"
Bellavery's smile deepened slightly, though the tension in her eyes did not dissipate.
"No, Your Highness."
"It is precisely because of this insignificant connection that I am exceptionally sensitive to the stories of the true dragon, and I have... no fondness for those who wish to stifle that story."
She lowered her sleeve and leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping even lower, nearly drowned out by the sound of the oars and the ripples.
"I have certain channels, and I have heard some rumors."
"Regarding Pentos, regarding a sum of money flowing toward the many-faced god, and also regarding some orders in the shadows, placed at a lower price, to purchase a 'test'."
Aegon's gaze fixed on Bellavery's face, his violet eyes appearing bottomless as they reflected the shimmering light of the canal.
"Speak plainly."
"The Magister of Pentos's fifty thousand gold dragons is the price for the Faceless Men, to buy an absolute death."
"But there is other money flowing from more obscure accounts, buying a look at... what he is worth."
Bellavery's speech quickened. "A number of desperate outlaws have been gathered in Braavos by different people using various excuses."
"The orders they received may vary, but the core is only one: to test your quality, Your Highness. Before you reach a conclusion with the Iron Bank."
"How will they test me?"
"By forcing your hand, forcing you to draw blood—ideally, forcing you to call down that dragon."
Bellavery's voice turned cold.
"In the central canal of Braavos, amidst the crowds of the Mask Festival. As long as you kill in public or let dragonfire ignite the ships, no matter how justified you are, you will be seen as a tyrant creating chaos in Braavos."
"The conservatives within the Iron Bank would then have a perfect excuse to postpone indefinitely or even reject your loan application."
"The Sealord would also come under immense pressure. They don't want your life; they want to muddy the waters and drive you out of this game."
Her analysis was methodical, stripping away the insidious purpose of the 'test' completely.
Aegon listened in silence, his gaze seemingly unfocused as he scanned the surroundings with that inhuman dual vision.
High in the sky, Ghidorah had already locked onto three ships with abnormal trajectories. They were slowly closing in from different directions in a loose formation toward the pleasure boat's likely path.
"Your information is timely."
Aegon finally spoke, his voice betraying no emotion.
"But your boatman is not rowing fast enough."
Bellavery's pupils constricted.
She understood almost instantly... the assassination wasn't 'possible,' it was 'happening'!
Right here in broad daylight, on the busiest ceremonial canal of Braavos!
No, that wasn't right.
Thoughts raced through her mind.
The Mask Festival, the empty streets, the noisy chaos, everyone wearing masks... it was the perfect breeding ground for an assassination! The celebratory moment of removing masks was also the best cover for death's arrival!
"Boatman!" Bellavery barked, her voice striving to remain steady, yet the end of her sentence held an imperceptible tremor.
"Speed up, pull toward the right bank!"
"Get down!"
Aegon's low shout was like the clash of cold iron.
Before the words had even faded, he was already moving.
Ahead, a barge laden with wooden barrels suddenly swerved sideways, blocking the waterway.
To the left and right, flat-bottomed boats and cargo ships rapidly closed in.
The side panels of a flat-bottomed boat fell with a bang, revealing four crossbowmen with bowstrings taut.
Aegon had already made his judgment the moment the panels fell. He couldn't retreat, for the cabin was too narrow; nor could he lunge toward Bellavery, as that would make them both targets.
He chose to move forward.
His left hand grabbed the tablecloth and yanked it up. The heavy brocade cloth unfurled like a great banner, briefly obscuring the crossbowmen's line of sight.
Simultaneously, his right hand had already drawn dark sisters. He stayed low, pouncing toward the pillar on the left side of the cabin like a hunting leopard.
"Whish, whish, whish!"
Four crossbow bolts tore through the air. Two pierced the unfurled tablecloth and thudded into the cabin wall behind Aegon, sending wood splinters flying. The third grazed Aegon's shoulder, and the fourth missed entirely, the crossbowmen's aim disrupted by the sudden upheaval of the cloth.
Aegon used the pillar as cover, glancing out. On the cargo ship, three dark figures were vaulting over the railing, their wet feet hitting the deck as they lunged with short blades like water-parting spikes.
The first assassin reached the pillar and thrust his blade.
Aegon didn't retreat but moved forward instead, sidestepping the point. His left hand grabbed the opponent's wrist and snapped it downward while his right knee slammed into the man's abdomen.
The assassin groaned and doubled over, and the hilt of dark sisters smashed into the back of his neck, sending him slumped to the floor.
The second assassin attacked from the right, his short blade slashing toward Aegon's throat.
Aegon ducked to avoid it, the blade of his valyrian steel sword sweeping upward. The edge sheared off the tip of the opponent's blade and followed through to pierce the assassin's thigh.
The assassin fell to his knees with a scream, only to be kicked in the face by Aegon and knocked unconscious.
The third assassin was the most cunning; instead of charging directly, he circled around the side of the cabin, attempting to ambush Aegon from behind.
But he failed to notice that Aegon had already seen his shadow in the reflection of the copper trim on the cabin wall.
As the assassin lunged from the shadows, Aegon had already spun around, dark sisters carving a half-arc.
The blade did not strike the assassin but instead cut the copper ship's lantern hanging above the man's head.
"Crack!"
The iron chain snapped, and the heavy copper lamp fell. The assassin instinctively looked up, his movements slowing by half a beat.
In that momentary delay, Aegon's sword hilt had already smashed into the wrist holding the blade, sending it flying. Immediately after, the hilt swung back, striking heavily against his temple.
The third assassin collapsed.
From the firing of the crossbows to the subduing of the three close-quarters assassins, no more than a dozen breaths had passed.
On the flat-bottomed boat to the left, the crossbowmen were scrambling to reload.
Aegon gave them no chance.
He snatched up the short blade dropped by the first unconscious assassin and, without even looking, hurled it toward the flat-bottomed boat.
The short blade spun through the air, hitting no one, but instead severing a rope on the boat's side that held up a sail.
The thick hemp rope snapped, and half the sail came crashing down, covering the heads of two crossbowmen.
The two struggled in panic, their vision obscured and their formation in total disarray.
Aegon took the opportunity to dash to the railing. At the moment the cargo ship collided with the pleasure boat, he leaped onto the narrow junction between the two and then lunged onto the flat-bottomed boat.
The nearest crossbowman had just pulled the canvas from his face when he saw the black-clad figure already before him.
He raised his crossbow to fire, but Aegon's left hand grabbed the weapon and shoved it upward.
"Whish!" The bolt shot into the sky.
The hilt of dark sisters smashed into the side of the man's neck, and he went limp without even a groan.
The other crossbowman struggled out from under the canvas and drew a short knife to strike.
Aegon sidestepped, his right hand catching the wrist holding the knife and twisting it back. The knife fell, followed immediately by an elbow strike to the man's ribs.
The crossbowman doubled over in pain and was struck in the back of the head by the sword hilt, falling unconscious.
Seeing things were going south, the remaining two turned and dove into the canal, swimming desperately toward the shore.
Silence returned to everything.
There were only three stationary boats, unconscious assassins, a floating sail, and the figure standing at the bow of the flat-bottomed boat, his black clothes slightly mussed but his breathing steady.
The tip of dark sisters pointed toward the deck. Sunlight hit the blade, and the ancient ripples cast a dark luster.
This section of the canal fell into an eerie silence.
The distant sounds of revelry drifted over, forming a chilling contrast with the wreckage before them.
Aegon sheathed his sword and checked the subdued crossbowmen. They were all still alive, merely unconscious; he had intentionally left survivors.
He did not call for Ghidorah to descend. Dealing with these few small fry who worked for coin was not worth making Ghidorah go to such trouble.
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