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Limpick stood in the doorway, fingers tight around the heavy piece of dragonglass, and watched Melisandre pray.
The fire in the hearth climbed higher. Orange turned to gold, gold to blinding white. In the brightest heart of the flames something moved—not the fire itself, but something deeper, forming, watching. He blinked once. The flames dropped back to ordinary orange-red. Nothing there.
Melisandre finished her chant. She turned, copper-red hair sliding over one shoulder like liquid fire. "You may begin today. The holy fire burns here for you. Stay as long as you wish." She walked toward the door. As she passed him she paused, looking down. She was a full head taller; he had to tilt his neck to meet her eyes.
"You carry a strange scent," she said quietly. "Not the scent of ordinary men."
Limpick's heart skipped. "It's probably Harrenhal. I lived there a long time. The place is nothing but bones and ash."
Melisandre studied him a moment longer, red eyes unreadable. Then she left, the hem of her robe whispering across the stone like scales on rock.
Limpick waited until her footsteps faded before he let out a long breath. He looked down at the dragonglass in his hand—jet black, glassy, heavier than it had any right to be. One point one to one point four percent. One stone like this would be worth months of hunting for Ember and Plume.
He slipped it inside his robe with the dragon bone and the smaller piece from the red temple in King's Landing. Three stones now pressed against his chest: one cold, two warm. He crossed to the hearth, sat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall, and buried his face in his knees.
She had smelled them.
She had smelled Ember and Plume on him.
He didn't know how, but the priestess had caught the scent of dragons. What else had she seen in the flames? His heart hammered against the three stones.
He lifted his head and stared into the fire. It crackled steadily, orange and ordinary once more. His mind drifted north, across Blackwater Bay, past King's Landing, to the deep woods where two shapes—one black, one white—waited for him. Were they eating? Had anyone spotted Plume circling too high? He touched the dragon bone through the cloth; it was warm, pulsing faintly in time with his heartbeat.
He closed his eyes. The sea crashed against the cliffs outside, steady as thunder. Sulfur and salt drifted through the window slits. Limpick clutched the new dragonglass and, at last, slept.
His first night on Dragonstone was uneasy.
The hearth fire burned all night, but he kept waking with the feeling that something was watching him from inside the walls, under the floor, above the ceiling. Each time he opened his eyes the flames danced and shadows stretched across the black stone. He heard distant chanting, low and constant, like bees inside his skull. After the third waking he gave up, sat with his back to the wall, and laid the three stones in front of him.
The big dragonglass from Melisandre caught the firelight like fresh blood.
The tiny one from the plump woman in King's Landing looked dull and harmless.
The dragon bone was smallest, gray-white, but warm in his palm.
He stared at them a long time, then tucked them back against his skin. When dawn finally came, someone knocked.
A young man in Baratheon yellow and black entered carrying a tray: soft white bread sprinkled with salt, a thick wedge of cheese, and a bowl of porridge drizzled with honey. "Lady Melisandre says you begin your studies today. Eat, then go to the library." He set the tray down and left without another word.
Limpick stared. White bread. Real cheese. Honey. In eighteen years in Riverrun he had never tasted honey in porridge. He drank the bowl in four swallows, scraped the bottom with his fingers, and licked them clean. The bread and cheese followed until nothing remained.
He wiped his mouth, straightened his faded red robe, and stepped into the corridor.
The library was two floors up, a round room with arched ceilings and walls packed floor-to-ceiling with books. A long table stood in the center, oil lamp glowing, paper, quill, and ink ready. A brazier burned low and steady beside the chair.
Limpick stood in the doorway and felt his stomach drop.
He could not read.
Not a single letter. Dockside signs with pictures of fish or grain he could manage, but the squiggles on these pages might as well have been bird tracks in mud.
He sat anyway, opened the top book, and stared at the rows of tiny black marks until they swam.
Footsteps sounded. Melisandre entered, robe whispering. She saw the unopened book and the blank look on his face and lifted one copper-red eyebrow.
"You do not read?"
Limpick's ears burned. "I don't know the letters."
No surprise crossed her face. She simply sat across from him, took the book, and opened it to the first page. "Then I will read to you."
Her voice was low, even, each word measured like a prayer. "In the beginning the world was darkness. There was no light, no heat, no life—only endless cold and endless night. Then R'hllor came from the east, bringing fire and light. He kindled the sun so day might dawn. He kindled the moon so night would not be complete darkness. He kindled the flame in the hearts of men so they might know warmth, hope, and faith."
She looked up. "Do you understand?"
"Light and heat," Limpick said. "The Lord of Light made them."
"Yes. But he did not make the darkness or the cold. Those have always existed. R'hllor's work is to drive darkness back, not destroy it. When the light grows weak, darkness returns. That is the Long Night."
She read on. Limpick listened, hands on his knees, eyes fixed on her face. Some words—redemption, prophecy, eternal—he did not know, but he did not interrupt. Her voice filled the round room, rising and falling like the sea outside.
After nearly an hour she closed the book. "That is enough for today. Tomorrow we continue. This is the prologue of The Book of R'hllor. Memorize it. I will test you."
Limpick nodded.
Melisandre stood. At the door she paused and looked back. "You cannot read the letters, yet you listen and understand. That is more than many who read but never truly hear."
Then she was gone, red robe vanishing down the corridor.
Limpick sat alone with the closed book, the low brazier, and the distant crash of waves. He touched the three stones against his chest and whispered the first line he had heard.
"In the beginning the world was darkness…"
Somewhere far north, two dragons waited.
He had work to do.