Pyke was so ancient that no one could say exactly when it had been built. People could only vaguely guess that it was originally constructed on a cliff jutting into the sea for defensive purposes, achieving a similar effect as the Red Keep and Storm's End. Surrounded on nearly three sides by the sea, any attackers could only launch an assault from the landward side.
The idea had been sound, but unfortunately, the cliff upon which it stood was not as solid as the rock foundation beneath the Red Keep or Storm's End. Over the years, the sea had eroded the supporting cliff rock until what had once been a promontory gradually transformed into the legendary Broken Arm, splitting the original Pyke into scattered towers. The largest section stood on what remained of the headland, still connected to the mainland, and surrounded by high walls. This part held the stables, kennels, and most of the living supplies. It also guarded the stone bridge leading to the largest of the islets, where the main castle sat. From there, enclosed archways and rope bridges linked it to the guest hall and kitchen tower, ending with the solitary Sea Tower standing alone in the sea.
Although she had seen her former home from afar earlier, the castle and towers were all built upon massive sea rocks, making it impossible to dock directly below Pyke and walk in. Instead, one had to land at nearby Lordsport, then make a long detour to approach the castle from the only direction possible by land. The same direction from which any land-based attack would come.
It took time to follow the winding road she had traveled countless times. After passing through the headland and its high walls, leaving her mount in the stables, and crossing the stone bridge she had walked thousands of times, Asha returned to the main islet of Pyke. A mute servant was waiting for her and led her into the castle where she had been raised and once played.
The hall was thick with smoke and unexpectedly noisy. Fiddles and drums played harsh, unmelodious tunes. Lords, captains, and their retainers filled every bench. These were men Asha knew but had never been close to. With a glance, she spotted Jon Myre the Longface, Torwood the Brown Tooth, Lucas Codd the Left-Hand, and Germund Botley. Slaves and servants moved between the tables, serving dishes and pouring wine. In a space cleared by shifting benches and tables, a group of brawny sailors were playing a game unique to the Iron Islands — the finger dance.
As a true Ironborn and former captain, Asha naturally knew the rules. Several participants stood still while short-handled axes were tossed back and forth between them. Each person had to catch and return the axes thrown by others while keeping their feet planted. Those who wished to show off would catch the axe by the handle. Those with less nerve would dodge instead, but doing so reduced the number of axes in play and eventually stalled the game. The timid were looked down on, and the contest often ended only when someone lost a finger, or several. That was why it was called the finger dance.
Amid this loud and raucous atmosphere, the current King of the Iron Islands sat calmly at the head of the hall, on the Seastone Chair. The throne was carved from a block of black stone. His right eye, uncovered by the patch, watched the doorway with a chilling gleam, a smile curling on his lips as he welcomed his niece with his gaze.
Everyone in the hall who was not playing the game turned to look as Asha entered, escorted by the sailors.
The King of the Iron Islands had not summoned the entire realm's nobility to welcome his niece home. Those present now were Pyke's nobles who had sworn allegiance to Euron the moment he returned. They had been invited to watch the fallen woman return and bear witness to her disgrace.
There were no friends here.
With this realization, Asha suppressed her usual proud posture and unhurried stride. She lowered her eyes, sharpened her hearing, and raised her guard, walking step by step toward the center of the hall.
As expected, whether it was an accident or a deliberate humiliation, just as she passed the first pillar, a low shout came from the finger dance crowd. An axe came flying from the side, headed straight for her.
Once, as a finger dance veteran — proven by the fact that she still had all ten fingers after hundreds of rounds — Asha would have turned her head, coolly caught the handle, cursed, and hurled it back. This time, she restrained her instinct. Without even glancing at the weapon, she stopped and leaned back slightly. The axe flew past her cheek, slicing the air and brushing her hair before burying itself in the main pillar. She walked forward as if nothing had happened, stopping a few steps from Euron. She knelt on one knee and lowered her head in greeting.
"Uncle."
"Welcome home, my dear niece," said Euron with an oily smile. Under the hall's dim light, his lips twisted darkly. He had clearly drunk more shade of the evening than before. "No, that's not right. This is no longer your home. Your new family is over there, waiting to escort you to your husband."
Laughter broke out in the hall, but Crow's Eye was not joking. After being crowned at the kingsmoot, he had quickly discovered that his niece had sailed away and returned to Deepwood Motte. As both her uncle and her king, he had taken it upon himself to arrange her marriage. In her absence, using her seal as proxy, he had wed her to Ely the Breaker of Anvils, the aged Lord of House Emmock, a man of ninety. By the law of the Iron Islands, the king had the right to do this.
If the marriage was legal, then Asha was no longer Asha Greyjoy. She was Asha Emmock.
This union had effectively removed her claim to the Seastone Chair. A clever move. It earned him the loyalty of House Emmock and dealt with a rival in one stroke.
The laughter in the hall grew louder. Asha turned her head to find its loudest source. A group of men had stood up, laughing and waving. They were likely her "husband's" grandsons or great-grandsons. Perhaps both.
Suppressing the scorn and curses that surged to her lips, Asha turned away from these graybeards who called themselves kin and looked again at the cold stone floor, struggling to steady her breathing.
She was Balon's daughter. And under certain laws, her claim had once outranked her uncle's. As long as she lived, she remained a threat. At this moment, the only way to avoid being killed or shipped off to House Emmock to be tied to a bed, used, and forced to bear children, was to acknowledge Euron as king and make him believe she no longer posed a threat.
"Your Grace, please forgive your foolish niece," she said, forcing herself to bow lower. She did not lift her head to look at Euron, and her voice became more subdued with each word. "Blinded by ambition, I disobeyed the sacred outcome of the kingsmoot. I abandoned my kin and sought danger out of resentment. I made grave mistakes and paid a bitter price. Now, having narrowly escaped, I am honored to accept Uncle's arrangements and serve my lawful husband. To live the rest of my life as a free woman is already a blessing. I dare not ask for more. However, there is one matter that weighs on my heart. I beg Uncle's consent, or else I will never sleep in peace and will not be able to serve my husband with a calm mind."
The laughter in the hall faded. These men had come to see her humbled, expecting defiance and curses. Had she fought back, they would have mocked her even more viciously. But she had admitted defeat, bowed her head, and even accepted the name of Lady Emmock. The words they had prepared now had no place. They looked toward Euron, sitting on the Seastone Chair, unsure of how to proceed.
Euron still wore a smile. His right eye gleamed with amusement. Asha clearly wanted something. But the situation was entirely under control. He was curious. What trick did his niece think she could still play?
"Speak," he said.
(To be continued.)
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