Stepstones – Bloodstone Island
The stone fortress deep inside Bloodstone Island was far more rugged and imposing up close than it looked from the sea. Built right into the dark-red cliffs, its walls were stacked from roughly cut crimson rock several feet thick. Only a few narrow windows high up let in thin slivers of moonlight and sea breeze.
Inside the main hall, torches crackled in iron sconces, throwing flickering shadows across walls hung with pirate loot—faded banners, rusted swords, strange carvings from distant lands, and a wind chime made of shark teeth that tinkled softly in the draft.
In one corner, on a large bed, Lys lay tied in a humiliating spread-eagle position—wrists and ankles bound to the four bedposts with tough leather ropes. A thin linen sheet was the only thing covering her.
The deep axe wound on her shoulder had been cleaned, slathered with fragrant herbal salve, and neatly bandaged. But the way she was stretched out meant every breath pulled at the injury, sending sharp stabs of pain.
Worse was the humiliation. She was completely exposed under five very familiar pairs of eyes.
The five women stood beside the bed. They were the pleasure slaves Lys had carefully collected from every corner of Slaver's Bay—her favorite playthings.
The one on the far left had bronze skin and high cheekbones, a Ghiscari descendant with hair braided in intricate patterns and kohl-lined eyes that slanted upward.
Next to her was a classic Lysene beauty with long silver-white hair and pale purple eyes, her skin almost translucent. She kept her head down, refusing to look at her former mistress.
The third was Rhoynar-mixed—olive skin and amber eyes full of unease, her hands nervously twisting together.
The most striking were the Summer Isles mother and daughter. The mother, around thirty, had smooth chocolate skin and a lush, full figure. Her daughter, barely fifteen or sixteen, had inherited her beauty but in a fresher, more innocent way. Both wore nothing but colorful cloth wraps around their waists and shivered as they clung to each other.
Pierce lounged comfortably in a wide fur-covered armchair across from the bed.
The Ghiscari woman knelt at his feet, skillfully massaging his calves. The Lysene beauty stood behind the chair, her delicate fingers working his shoulders and neck. The Rhoynar woman held a silver platter of sliced fruit, carefully feeding him pieces of honey-melon with a fork.
The Summer Isles mother and daughter waited a short distance away, eyes full of fear, ready for any command. They really were stunning—no wonder Lys had kept them.
"You have excellent taste, Lys," Pierce said around a mouthful of fruit, his gaze sliding over the five women before settling on the bound pirate captain. "Ghiscari pride, Lysene refinement, Rhoynar wildness, and a Summer Isles mother-daughter pair. You really went all out."
This woman's lifestyle was genuinely enviable. Pierce liked collecting beautiful women too, but five personal playthings like these? He had to admit he felt a spark of jealousy.
Lys turned her head away, refusing to meet his eyes. Her voice was hoarse but still defiant. "If you're going to kill me, just do it. Spare the speeches. You think this will break me?"
"Kill you?" Pierce chuckled softly and signaled the Rhoynar woman to feed him another grape. "That would be such a waste. You should consider yourself lucky, Lys Shad—or should I say Captain Lys? I'm actually quite gentle with women. If Blood Scorpion Summers had captured you, you'd already be chained in the lowest hold, passed around as communal property for the entire crew. And One-Eye Moro… I hear he likes making necklaces out of his prisoners' eyeballs."
Lys's body gave the tiniest tremor, but her mouth stayed stubborn. "So what? Pierce Celtigar, I know how you operate. You won't kill me—at least not yet. I'm still useful to you. But you won't get anything out of me. I—"
"You think I can't get anything out of you?" Pierce interrupted, amusement clear in his voice. He waved at the five women. "Bring out all the 'toys' your mistress likes to play with most. I want to see them."
The women exchanged uneasy glances. The Ghiscari woman moved first, walking to a reinforced wooden chest in the corner and opening it. The Lysene beauty followed.
Soon they returned carrying an assortment of items: thin leather straps with tiny bells, flexible whalebone whips, oddly shaped glass objects, and small crystal vials filled with colored powders.
Lys's face finally changed. "Don't touch those! Those are—!"
"What are they?" Pierce stood and walked over to the bed, looking down at her. "The tools you used to 'train' them? Or your personal toys?"
He picked up one of the whalebone whips and gave it a light flick. It cut through the air with a sharp whoosh.
"You five," Pierce turned to the women, his voice calm but carrying absolute command, "use the exact same methods and games your mistress liked to play on you… and do them to her. Show me what the Sea Witch Lys really looks like when she's not in control."
"No! You wouldn't dare!" Lys thrashed against the ropes, the leather cutting into her wrists and ankles. Fresh blood seeped through the bandages on her shoulder. "Aisha! Tyna! I'm warning you—!"
"They belong to me now, Lys," Pierce bent down and lifted her chin with the tip of the whip. "You'd better remember that. The moment your fleet was wiped out and you said 'I surrender,' everything you owned—this fortress, your ships, these women, and your own fate—became mine."
He straightened and spoke more firmly to the still-hesitating women. "Do it. Unless you'd rather be sold to Volantis or thrown to the pirates outside who just lost their captain."
That threat was the final push.
The Ghiscari woman, Aisha, bit her lip and picked up one of the belled leather straps. The Lysene beauty, Tyna, took a deep breath and chose a crystal vial with rose-colored powder. The Rhoynar woman and the Summer Isles mother-daughter pair glanced at each other, then stepped forward with trembling hands.
"No—get away from me, you traitorous bitches! I'll have you all—aaaah!"
Lys's curses quickly turned into sharp cries mixed with pain, humiliation, and something far more complicated.
The bells on the straps tinkled brightly. Sweet, heavy scents filled the air as powders scattered. The very tools and games she had once used to dominate others were now being turned against her.
Pierce returned to his armchair, rested his chin on his hand, and watched like a man enjoying a carefully staged play.
"You see," he said softly once Lys's struggles had weakened into helpless twitches and her curses had dissolved into heavy breathing and whimpers, "I told you I have plenty of ways to deal with you. Simple torture is crude. Destroying someone's pride and sense of control… that's real conquest."
He signaled the five women to stop.
Lys lay there shaking, hair plastered to her forehead, her shoulder bandages completely soaked with blood. Her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling, chest heaving, but most of that old defiant spark had been extinguished.
"That's enough for tonight," Pierce said, standing. "Clean and re-bandage her wound. Give her some water and food. We sail again tomorrow." At the door he glanced back one last time. "Rest well, Lys. We'll… continue our little chat tomorrow."
...
...
Narrow Sea – Golden Crab
Five days later, Pierce's fleet was once again sailing the route toward Dorne. The ships showed almost no signs of the recent battle—the damage had already been repaired.
Noon sunlight poured down onto the Golden Crab's wide quarterdeck. The sea breeze carried salt and warmth. The weather was perfect, matching Pierce's excellent mood.
Bloodstone Island and the surrounding smaller islands had been handed over to Salladhor Saan, along with most of the prisoners, ships, and supplies. Giving them to the Lysene pirate would yield better long-term results.
Pierce had only taken Lys, her five bed-slaves, some valuable documents, and a small amount of treasure. Salladhor had been overjoyed, swearing he would hold the new territory and keep close watch on Blood Scorpion and One-Eye.
Whether the man would actually follow through was another matter—Pierce would remind him from time to time.
The rise of a new power in the Stepstones was something many people didn't want to see. But that was exactly why Pierce wanted it to happen. Any new force in these waters would shake up both Essos and Westeros.
The Stepstones were the critical trade choke point between the two continents. Essos was blocked by the Dothraki on land, making sea routes vital. Westeros, with its geography, relied even more on shipping. Whoever controlled these islands held a knife to the throat of both continents' trade.
Right now, Pierce lounged on a cushioned long chair, his head resting comfortably on something very soft—Lys's thigh.
The Sea Witch now wore a clean linen gown with a dark cloak draped over her shoulders to hide the bandages. Her face was still pale and her wound clearly hadn't fully healed.
But compared to her earlier breakdown, she looked much steadier. The only giveaway was the unnatural flush on her cheeks and the way her eyes kept darting away, unable to hold anyone's gaze for long.
The five women surrounded the chair. Ghiscari Aisha knelt to one side, gently wiping Pierce's arm with a warm damp cloth. Lysene Tyna stood behind him, running her fingers through his hair. The Rhoynar woman held a silver platter of fruit and cheese. The Summer Isles mother and daughter sat on either side, lightly massaging his legs.
To any outsider it would look like the height of decadent lordship. And in a way, they wouldn't be wrong.
"So," Pierce said lazily, eyes half-closed as he enjoyed the attention, "now will you tell me, Lys? Who sent you to intercept me? Where did you get such precise information?"
Lys's body stiffened for a split second. She looked down at the man using her thigh as a pillow and pressed her lips together.
After days of those dignity-destroying "games," combined with Pierce's shifting treatment—sometimes cruel, sometimes strangely gentle—cracks had formed in her stubborn defenses.
This morning, when he had personally changed her bandages with unexpectedly careful hands, the contrast with the cold conqueror from before had left her confused and shaken something deep inside her.
"…It was House Yronwood," she finally whispered, voice dry. "They contacted me through an intermediary. They told me exactly when and where you would pass through these waters. The payment was five thousand gold dragons, plus… a promise to provide 'convenience' if I came into conflict with Summers and Moro."
Pierce opened one eye. "Yronwood? The Dornish house? Weren't they reconciled with the Martells years ago?"
"Reconciled on the surface," Lys said with a bitter twist of her mouth. "Prince Doran used soft power to keep them in check, but the hatred never died. The Yronwoods have always believed they should rule Dorne. Years ago, the Red Viper Oberyn killed old Edgar Yronwood in a trial by combat. Even though Oberyn always claimed he didn't use poison, he still earned the nickname 'Red Viper.'"
A mocking smile touched her face. "Prince Doran has tried to mediate between the families for years, but that humiliation has never been forgotten."
She paused, choosing her words carefully. "News of Prince Oberyn inviting you to Dorne wasn't exactly a secret among the Dornish nobility. The Yronwoods see you as another Baratheon tentacle reaching into Dorne. Killing you would hurt the Martells' attempt to improve relations with the Iron Throne… and serve as a warning to Oberyn."
"Many people in Dorne still remember the Battle of the Trident. They remember Prince Rhaegar. They remember Princess Elia and her children who were smashed against the wall. The hatred for the Iron Throne has never truly faded."
Pierce fell into thoughtful silence. He motioned for Tyna to stop, sat up straighter, and gazed toward the faint outline of the southern coastline on the horizon.
If House Yronwood wanted him dead, what about House Martell? Was Oberyn's invitation genuine cooperation, or something more sinister? And where did the famously cautious Prince Doran stand in all this?
"And you, Lys?" He turned back to the pirate woman. "You're Dornish yourself—a traitor to your own people. Why help the Yronwoods come after me? Was it really just for the gold and those so-called 'conveniences'?"