The welcoming banquet had transitioned seamlessly into a wake for Vaemond's fading prospects.
Aegon and the Velaryon clinked heavy silver tankards, the Prince offering practiced platitudes while praising Vaemond's "unrecognized" steel. Drunk and desperate for an ear that didn't belong to a sycophant, Vaemond spilled his bile. He cursed the Seven for their silence, mocked the Sea Snake for his senility, and finally aimed his venom at King Viserys himself.
"The King's fault!" Vaemond roared, slamming a fist into the table. "Had he taken Laena to his bed instead of that Hightower girl, the blood of Old Valyria would be as pure as winter snow. Instead, we have Rhaenyra and her... confusion."
Aegon's lip twitched. The man was as outspoken as a sellsword in a cupshop. He doubted marrying Laena would have changed the Sea Snake's ambition; Corlys would have still shackled Laenor to Rhaenyra to ensure his grandson sat the Iron Throne. And had Laena birthed Viserys a son, Aegon knew the Sea Snake would have played the game of succession with more ruthlessness than Otto Hightower ever dreamed.
But the gods had played a different hand. Laenor had sired no heirs of his own body, leaving the Sea Snake to build a dynasty on a foundation of lies. Jacaerys to the Iron Throne, Lucerys to the Driftwood Throne—a desperate attempt to scrub the "Strong" stain from the history books.
Night fell like a heavy velvet shroud, the moon retreating behind a wall of coal-black clouds.
After the revelry, Aegon found Aemond standing in the shadow of a dragon-pavilion, his face a mask of youthful sulking.
"Still nursing a grudge, little brother?" Aegon laughed.
"I am ten years of age," Aemond pouted, refusing to meet his brother's gaze. "And you treat me like a babe in the nursery. You let the others drink their fill while I am toasted with water."
Aegon reached out, giving Aemond's head a sharp, brotherly rap. "I hold you in higher regard than a cup of wine, you little fool. I didn't keep you sober for lack of love. I kept you sober because I have a task that requires a steady hand and a cold heart."
Aemond's eyes snapped to Aegon's, the sulking vanishing in a heartbeat. "A mission? For me?"
Since arriving in the Stepstones, Helaena and Daeron had been busy as couriers, but Aemond—impulsive and prone to a temper that burned hotter than dragonfire—had been kept on a short leash. Aegon knew the boy's volatile nature could be a ruinous blow to the Greens' reputation if he were loosed on the wrong lords. But tonight, they weren't dealing with lords.
"A mission of blood and shadow," Aegon said, his voice dropping. "I feared that if you were addled by ale, you'd miss your mark. Drinking ruins the focus, Aemond. And tonight, we cannot afford a single mistake."
"I am ready! Just tell me!" Aemond was nearly vibrating with excitement. To him, Aegon's lectures were more tedious than their mother's prayers; he wanted the sky.
"Mount Vhagar," Aegon commanded. "We strike Tyrosh under the cover of the moon."
Aemond's eye lit up. "Just the two of us? What of Helaena and Daeron?"
"They sleep. This is a secret between brothers. A night raid to remind the world why the dragon-lords once ruled the earth. Do you have the stomach for it?"
"Tonight," Aemond promised, his voice hard as Valyrian steel, "Vhagar will make the Tyroshi pay their debts in fire."
"Then move," Aegon signaled. "Let us show them the true meaning of the Dragon's Wrath."
The two dragons—the golden Sunfyre and the mountain of bronze that was Vhagar—slipped into the sky with a predatory grace, their wings beating a silent rhythm against the howling wind.
They crested the horizon above Tyrosh soon after. The city was a galaxy of orange sparks, far brighter than Aegon had expected for a city recently mauled. At first, he thought the Tyroshi were fools, drowning their sorrows in wine and revelry while their walls were still smoking.
But as they dove closer, the truth was revealed in the flickering torchlight.
It wasn't a festival. It was a labor camp. Thousands of slaves were being driven by overseers with whips and brands, forced to rebuild the shattered battlements before the sun rose. The cracks of the whips echoed up to the clouds.
"The masters are busy at their work," Aegon whispered, a cold smile touching his lips. "Let's give them a reason to stop."
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