Finding a man's family was harder when he refused to tell us his name.
Fortunately, people lied better than objects did.
His boots had been repaired twice.
His cloak was local wool.
His knife had a bone handle carved with three small circles.
His accent was King's Landing, but not entirely.
There was something else beneath it.
I couldn't place it.
So I found someone who could.
"Say something."
The prisoner stared at me.
I stood outside his cell with an old Lannister guardsman named Ser Addam Bettley.
"Go fuck yourself."
I looked at Addam.
"Anything?"
"Riverlands."
The prisoner went still.
There.
"Where?"
Addam shrugged.
"South, maybe. Near the Blackwater."
"That's not very specific."
"You want specific, bring me a maester."
"I brought you."
"Poor decision."
I was surrounded by men like Ser Harys.
Wonderful.
I looked back through the bars.
The prisoner had recovered from his arrow wound enough to sit upright.
"You have family in the Riverlands."
No response.
"Probably."
Still nothing.
I smiled.
"Thank you."
His eyes narrowed.
"For what?"
"For confirming it."
"I didn't say anything."
"Exactly."
He realized what he'd done.
People thought interrogation meant questions.
Sometimes it meant watching which questions frightened them.
I walked away.
Tywin had given me six men.
Not twenty.
Not fifty.
Six.
"If you cannot find them with six, you will not find them with sixty."
That had been his explanation.
Annoyingly reasonable.
I began with the knife.
Three circles.
Maybe decoration.
Maybe not.
The castle armorer recognized the style.
"River work."
"Where?"
"Could be Maidenpool. Could be around Harrenhal. Lots of bone handles there."
Not enough.
The boots were better.
The leather had been repaired with reddish thread.
The cobbler who examined them laughed when I asked.
"You nobles think thread comes with a map?"
"Can it?"
"No."
I paid him.
He looked again.
"Still no."
I liked honest craftsmen less than corrupt ones.
They were expensive and unhelpful.
By evening, I had learned almost nothing.
Rhaegar found that amusing.
"I thought you were clever."
"I am clever."
"Your family remains unfound."
"His family."
"That's what I said."
"No, you said—"
Rhaegar smiled.
I stopped.
"You did that deliberately."
"Perhaps."
We were eating in one of the smaller halls.
Rhaegar had somehow acquired an entire plate of lemon cakes.
I stole one.
He slapped my hand.
"You can have one when you solve your mystery."
"I'll confiscate them when I'm Hand."
"You aren't my Hand."
"Not yet."
He paused.
That childhood promise passed between us without words.
Then Rhaegar pushed one cake toward me.
"Half."
"Generous."
I bit into it.
Then noticed something.
Rhaegar wore a ring.
Not royal.
Simple silver.
Three small dragons circling one another.
"New?"
He looked down.
"Mother gave it to me."
"Why three?"
He stared at me.
I stared back.
"Oh, don't."
"The dragon has three heads."
"You have a problem."
"It appears everywhere."
"Because your family puts dragons on everything."
Rhaegar looked offended.
I pointed at a nearby tapestry.
Dragons.
His cup.
Dragons.
His clothing.
Dragon.
"Your boots probably have dragons."
"They do not."
"They absolutely do."
He checked.
I laughed.
Then stopped.
Three circles.
The knife.
I had assumed they were circles.
"What?"
I stood.
Rhaegar frowned.
"What?"
"Your ring."
"What about it?"
I grabbed his hand.
"Tycen."
The three dragons were so worn and stylized that from a distance they almost looked like circles.
I felt suddenly stupid.
Not circles.
Something curled.
Something repeated.
"Come."
"I haven't finished eating."
I took another lemon cake.
"Now you have."
"Thief."
The armorer looked at the knife again.
This time I brought Rhaegar's ring.
He compared them.
"Hm."
I hated hm.
"Well?"
"Could be dragons."
Rhaegar looked smug.
I ignored him.
"What kind of person puts Targaryen dragons on a cheap knife?"
"Someone loyal."
"Or someone who sells knives to loyal people."
The armorer turned it over.
Then scratched dirt from a groove.
A tiny mark appeared beneath the handle.
Not a dragon.
A letter.
S.
"Maker's mark?"
"Likely."
"How many smiths use S?"
"In the Seven Kingdoms?"
He laughed.
"Thousands."
Progress immediately died.
Then Rhaegar said:
"Not if we know the Riverlands."
I looked at him.
He smiled.
"My turn to be clever."
The Red Keep kept records.
More records than any sane person should create.
Taxes.
Petitions.
Contracts.
Purchases.
Licenses.
Lists of craftsmen who had supplied royal armies.
We searched until midnight.
Not alone.
I wasn't stupid enough to personally read a thousand names.
I used six clerks.
Each received a different section.
None knew what the others were searching.
That was Tywin's influence.
Information divided was harder to steal.
Three hours later, we had twelve smiths in the Riverlands whose names began with S and who were known for knives or small blades.
By dawn, seven.
By breakfast, four.
Then Ser Addam looked at the list.
"Simon of Stoney Sept."
"Why him?"
"I've seen his work."
"Three dragons?"
"No."
He tapped the page.
"Bone."
Good enough.
We sent a raven.
Not to Simon.
To a Lannister household knight traveling near the town.
Quiet questions.
No arrests.
No banners.
Then we waited.
This time I didn't mind.
Because the board was moving.
Aerys summoned me before the answer returned.
Alone.
That worried me more than the prisoner.
The king sat in a smaller chamber overlooking Blackwater Bay.
No court.
No Tywin.
Two Kingsguard stood outside.
Aerys poured wine himself.
"Your father doesn't know you're here."
That was an interesting opening.
"He'll probably notice eventually."
Aerys laughed.
"Still bold."
"I try not to be, Your Grace."
"That's a lie."
Probably.
He handed me wine.
I looked at it.
Aerys noticed.
Then laughed harder.
"Ah! Of course."
He drank from his own cup.
"Do you think I would poison you?"
"No, Your Grace."
"Another lie."
I didn't drink.
He seemed to enjoy that.
"Sit."
I did.
Aerys walked toward the window.
"Your father believes I am surrounded by fools."
I said nothing.
"Do you?"
Danger.
"I haven't met everyone yet."
Aerys turned.
For one terrible second, I thought I'd gone too far.
Then he laughed.
Loudly.
"Gods, you are Joanna's son."
There it was again.
But this time I didn't react.
That was what the prisoner wanted.
That was what someone wanted.
Aerys watched me carefully.
"You don't ask about her anymore."
"I remember her."
"That wasn't what I said."
"No."
He walked closer.
"Tywin told you not to."
"My father tells me many things."
"And do you always obey?"
"No."
That answer pleased him.
Interesting.
Aerys sat opposite me.
"Your father thinks loyalty means obedience."
"No."
His smile faded.
I had contradicted the king.
Carefully now.
"He thinks obedience without usefulness is worthless."
Aerys stared.
Then leaned back.
"Of course he does."
I realized my mistake.
I'd defended Tywin.
Not dramatically.
But enough.
Aerys's mood cooled.
Someone wanted these two men suspicious of each other.
I had nearly helped.
So I changed direction.
"Why did you summon me, Your Grace?"
Aerys rolled the cup between his fingers.
"The men who tried to poison you."
"What about them?"
"I want their names."
"We don't have them yet."
"Your father has a prisoner."
Shit.
How?
Only Lannister men knew.
Barristan.
Rhaegar.
Tywin.
Me.
And somehow Aerys knew.
I kept my face neutral.
"Then Your Grace knows more than I do."
"Do not play games with me."
His voice changed.
The warmth disappeared.
"You are in my city. My castle. Someone attempts murder beneath my roof, and my Hand hides prisoners from me."
There it was.
Exactly what the letters wanted.
Aerys against Tywin.
I could deny it.
Bad.
He'd know.
I could blame Father.
Worse.
So I used the truth.
"I asked him to."
Aerys stopped.
"What?"
"I asked Father not to bring the prisoner before you yet."
That wasn't exactly true.
But it moved the conflict.
From Aerys versus Tywin.
To Aerys versus me.
Dangerous.
Useful.
"Why?"
"Because I think someone wants you to see him."
Silence.
I continued before courage failed.
"We found letters."
Aerys's eyes sharpened.
"What letters?"
"Letters accusing lords of treason."
"Names."
"I don't trust them."
"Names."
The command cracked through the room.
I thought of the Darklyn letter.
Duskendale.
Wrong year.
Wrong moment.
One false accusation could become real blood.
"No."
The word escaped.
Aerys stood.
My heart hammered.
I remained seated.
"You deny your king?"
"I'm trying to prevent someone else from choosing who Your Grace considers an enemy."
That stopped him.
Barely.
I stood now.
Slowly.
"Someone poisoned my cup knowing I would probably notice. They left evidence for us to find. They planted letters accusing powerful men."
Aerys stared.
"If I give you those names before we know which are true, whoever created them gets exactly what they wanted."
His anger didn't disappear.
But something else joined it.
Suspicion.
Useful suspicion.
Directed outward.
"Who would dare?"
"I don't know."
Aerys stepped closer.
"Tywin?"
There it was.
Of course.
"No."
"You answered quickly."
"Because poisoning his own heir would be a very complicated way for Father to insult you."
Aerys almost smiled.
Almost.
"Tywin enjoys complicated insults."
"Not that complicated."
Aerys turned away.
For a moment, I thought I'd survived.
Then:
"Bring me the letters when you know which are true."
"I will."
"And the prisoner."
"When we've questioned him."
Aerys turned.
"That was not a request."
I bowed.
"Yes, Your Grace."
I left.
Only after the doors closed did I realize my hands were sweating.
Being smarter than a twelve-year-old did not make talking back to a king less terrifying.
Tywin was waiting in my chambers.
Wonderful.
"How angry are you?"
"Very."
"Before I explain—"
"The king summoned you without my knowledge."
"Yes."
"You went."
"He's the king."
"You withheld information."
"Also yes."
Tywin stared.
Then:
"Why?"
I explained.
The letters.
Aerys demanding names.
My refusal.
His suspicion.
Everything.
Tywin listened.
When I finished, he was silent.
Then he walked to the window.
"You moved his suspicion."
"Yes."
"From me."
"Yes."
"Toward an unknown conspiracy."
"Yes."
"Which may not exist in the form we believe."
I paused.
"Yes."
He turned.
"Then you manipulated the king using an uncertainty."
That sounded worse when he said it.
"I told him the truth."
"You selected which truth."
I didn't answer.
Tywin approached.
"Useful."
Praise?
"But dangerous."
There it was.
"You believe because you understand how a man thinks, you can control how he acts."
"I don't."
"Good."
He stopped in front of me.
"Never forget it."
Aerys.
Pride.
Fear.
Suspicion.
I could guide.
Not control.
Same as sword fighting.
You created openings.
The opponent still chose.
"I won't."
Tywin studied me.
Then handed me a raven message.
"Your smith answered."
I forgot Aerys immediately.
Simon of Stoney Sept recognized the knife.
He had made twelve like it.
Seventeen years earlier.
All for one customer.
Not the prisoner.
A landed knight.
Minor.
Dead now.
Ser Willem Darry's cousin, a man named Ser Lucam Darry.
House Darry.
Targaryen loyalists.
Rhaegar read the message beside me.
"Darry."
"Yes."
"My family's men."
"Traditionally."
Tywin's face remained unreadable.
Ser Lucam had died nine years ago.
But his household hadn't vanished with him.
"Where did his family go?" I asked.
Tywin pointed to another line.
A widow.
Two daughters.
One son.
The son was alive.
And living near King's Landing.
I read the name.
Marq Darry.
"Find him?"
"Already done."
Of course.
"Where?"
Tywin looked toward the door.
"Downstairs."
I smiled.
"I love when you're efficient."
"I have been doing this longer than you."
"Give me time."
Marq Darry was twenty-eight.
He wasn't our prisoner.
That became obvious immediately.
He entered voluntarily.
Well dressed.
Confused.
And annoyed.
"My lord Hand."
He bowed to Tywin.
Then Rhaegar.
"My prince."
Then me.
"Lord Tycen."
We showed him the knife.
His face changed.
He recognized it.
"That belonged to my father."
Not cousin.
Father.
The records had been wrong.
Or deliberately altered.
"How many?" I asked.
"Twelve."
"Who received them?"
"My father's men."
"Names."
Marq hesitated.
"Most are dead."
"Most?"
He gave us eight names.
Then stopped.
"What?"
Marq looked uncomfortable.
"The remaining four weren't soldiers."
"What were they?"
"My father called them watchers."
The room went quiet.
"Watchers of what?"
"I don't know. I was a child."
Rhaegar leaned forward.
"Who did they serve?"
"My father."
"And your father?"
Marq looked at him as though the answer was obvious.
"King Aerys."
Silence.
That changed everything.
Maybe.
Evidence first.
"What did the watchers do?" I asked.
"I told you, I don't know."
"Where were they sent?"
Marq thought.
"Different places."
"Which?"
"Dragonstone."
Rhaegar stiffened.
"King's Landing."
Expected.
"Casterly Rock."
My stomach tightened.
"And?"
Marq looked directly at me.
"Lannisport."
Tywin's voice became very quiet.
"When?"
Marq swallowed.
"Before Lady Joanna died."
No one moved.
I felt something cold crawl along my spine.
The network might not have begun with me.
It might not even have begun with Rhaegar.
It was older.
Aerys's men.
Watchers.
Joanna.
But something still didn't fit.
"If they served Aerys," I said, "why undermine him now?"
Tywin answered.
"Men outlive purposes."
Exactly.
A spy network created for one king could become something else.
Loyalty could shift.
Leaders could die.
Secrets could become leverage.
Rhaegar looked toward the cells below.
"The prisoner."
I understood.
If his knife came from one of those twelve—
We didn't need his name.
We needed the original owner's.
"Marq."
He looked at me.
"Can you identify the remaining watchers?"
"Perhaps."
"Bring him."
The prisoner was dragged into the room.
Marq Darry went white.
Not recognition.
Fear.
The prisoner looked at Marq.
Then smiled.
"Little Marq."
There.
Marq stepped backward.
"You."
"Hello."
"You were at our house."
"Many times."
Marq looked at Tywin.
"His name is Othmar."
Finally.
A name.
"What was his role?" Tywin asked.
Marq's breathing had quickened.
"He carried messages for my father."
"To whom?"
"I don't know."
Othmar laughed.
"Still useless."
Marq's fear turned to anger.
"You served him."
"I served many men."
"Who do you serve now?" I asked.
Othmar looked at me.
That smile again.
"Your mother asked better questions."
Everything stopped.
Tywin moved so quickly I barely saw it.
He grabbed Othmar by the throat and slammed him against the wall.
"Father!"
Othmar laughed despite Tywin's hand around his neck.
"You remember."
Tywin tightened his grip.
This was exactly what they wanted.
Emotion.
Reaction.
I grabbed Father's arm.
"Stop."
He ignored me.
"Father."
Nothing.
So I said the one thing that might work.
"He's controlling you."
Tywin froze.
Othmar's smile weakened.
I felt Father's arm loosen.
"Every time they say her name, we react."
Tywin released him.
Othmar collapsed, coughing.
I crouched in front of him.
"No more games."
He looked up.
"Joanna knew you?"
Silence.
"Fine."
I changed direction.
"What did Aerys originally order the watchers to watch?"
Othmar's expression shifted.
Small.
But enough.
Not Joanna.
Not specifically.
I thought.
262 AC.
Aerys newly crowned.
Young king.
Ambitious.
Tywin rising.
Targaryen dynasty.
Dragonstone.
King's Landing.
Casterly Rock.
Lannisport.
Locations.
Ports.
Power.
"Not people," I said.
Othmar's eyes narrowed.
"Places."
Tywin looked at me.
"Trade?"
No reaction.
"Armies?"
Nothing.
"Ravens?"
There.
Tiny.
I smiled.
"Messages."
Othmar stopped smiling.
We finally had him.
"The watchers intercepted messages."
Marq stared.
"My father—"
"Probably managed part of it."
I looked at Tywin.
"Aerys built an intelligence network."
Father's expression darkened.
"Without his Hand."
That would have appealed to young Aerys.
Something of his own.
Something Tywin didn't control.
Rhaegar understood.
"And after the watchers stopped serving him?"
"They kept the network."
I looked at Othmar.
"Didn't you?"
Silence.
That was answer enough.
The Broken Dragon wasn't some ancient prophecy cult.
At least not originally.
It was something much more believable.
Spies.
Messengers.
Informants.
People who had spent years collecting secrets.
And somewhere along the way, they'd stopped belonging to the king.
That made them more dangerous.
Because whoever controlled them now possessed years of private letters, rumors and weaknesses.
Including Joanna's.
Including Tywin's.
Maybe Rhaegar's.
Maybe mine.
I stood.
"Find his family."
Othmar's face changed.
For the first time completely.
"No."
There it was.
"Where are they?"
"No."
Tywin smiled.
It wasn't pleasant.
"We will."
Othmar pulled against his restraints.
"They'll kill them."
"Who?"
He stopped.
Too late.
I crouched again.
"Help us reach them first."
His eyes found mine.
Fear.
Real fear.
The same fear I'd seen before.
I didn't threaten him.
Didn't promise gold.
Didn't mention torture.
I simply gave him the thing his masters hadn't.
A choice.
"Tell us where."
Othmar stared at me for a long time.
Then his shoulders dropped.
"My wife is in Maidenpool."
Finally.
"And your children?"
His voice broke slightly.
"With her."
"Names?"
He closed his eyes.
"Marya. Jon. Ellyn."
I stood.
Tywin was already giving orders.
Riders.
Fresh horses.
No ravens.
Too easy to intercept.
As men hurried from the room, Othmar looked at me.
"You think you've won something."
"No."
That surprised him.
"We've made one move."
He stared.
I thought of the board forming around us.
Aerys.
Tywin.
Rhaegar.
The old spy network.
Joanna.
The coming years I remembered only in fragments.
Duskendale still ahead.
Harrenhal.
Lyanna.
Rebellion.
The Trident.
History wasn't one road.
It was thousands of people making choices until suddenly everyone called the result inevitable.
That was useful.
Because I didn't need to control history.
I needed options when it arrived.
Othmar lowered his head.
I turned toward my father.
"If we save his family, he'll talk."
"Likely."
"And if they reach them first?"
Tywin's face hardened.
"Then we learn how quickly our enemy moves."
Not comforting.
But true.
For once, we had forced the Broken Dragon to react to us.
Now we would see how prepared they really were.