Davos's attendants scattered the copper coins from their bamboo baskets as if throwing water.
Coins falling from above stung a little when they struck people, but they were still money, and no one disliked that.
Very quickly, the area around them became packed so tightly that it was impossible to move.
Only by the soldiers pushing and shoving with all their strength did the group manage to advance at all.
Davos smiled as he watched the scene unfold.
His eldest son, Dale, spoke excitedly. "His Majesty is truly brilliant. Now everyone knows the king is coming to Volantis.
Their rulers won't dare mistreat us so casually anymore."
"Volantis has triarchs, not a king," Davos reminded him.
Then he suddenly thought of a Targaryen king from history—the one known as the Young Dragon, Daeron.
Daeron's great achievement had been the conquest of Dorne.
But in Davos's eyes, Viserys far surpassed that Young Dragon.
Before departing, Viserys had told Davos that if Volantis failed to offer the proper courtesies, it meant they harbored ill intentions.
Davos had been alarmed at the time and asked what he should do.
Viserys had then given him this plan.
Just a few baskets of copper coins were enough to shatter Volantis's scheme.
It was truly ingenious.
'No, no, no—His Majesty must not be compared to the Young Dragon. His Majesty will certainly live a long life.'
Remembering that Daeron had died at just nineteen, ambushed and killed by the Dornish, Davos immediately banished the unlucky thought.
News of what was happening at the harbor quickly reached Malaqo and the others.
"What? Scattering money?"
Malaqo and his peers had originally intended to detain Viserys. They had no intention of killing him—his dragonlord blood was far too valuable.
The people of Volantis all fancied themselves Valyrians in spirit.
Among the triarchs themselves, only those whose bloodlines could be traced back to ancient Valyrian nobility were eligible to stand for office.
Viserys, as a descendant of the dragonlords, possessed blood of far greater worth.
Keeping him as breeding stock might yield profits no less than those of the fleet.
But now, with the situation exposed, they could no longer lay hands on Viserys. If they could even keep the fleet, that would already be a success.
"Lord Malaqo, I think we should abandon any designs on this Viserys," one of the triarchs said. "I hear he is quite young. Once the transaction is complete, we should let him go."
Malaqo had previously relied on secrecy to win the others' support.
Now that was no longer possible.
If Volantis harmed a 'guest' under these circumstances, the damage to the city's reputation would be devastating.
Though they had not yet met, Malaqo had to admit that Viserys had already won a round.
By the time Davos left the harbor, most of the copper had been scattered.
Led by the slave-soldiers, they came to a massive bridge.
This was the Long Bridge, a structure with centuries of history. It spanned the Rhoyne, linking the old and new districts of Volantis.
It was said to have taken forty years to complete.
At the entrance stood an archway carved with griffins and dragons.
On both sides of the bridge, carpets were laid out in dense rows, and soldiers patrolled constantly.
Though Davos kept his eyes forward, his peripheral vision took in everything around him.
In some places, sharpened wooden stakes had been erected, each impaling a severed hand—some swollen, some dried and shriveled.
This was how Volantis punished thieves.
Merchants passed back and forth, filling the bridge with an air of prosperity, yet the severed limbs by the roadside and the slaves carrying palanquins lent the scene a savage, bloody undertone.
Davos found it hard to describe the feeling.
The bridge was long, but not long enough to tire his legs.
Soon, however, he realized something else—the Targaryen envoy had still not been provided with a carriage.
It seemed the news of House Targaryen's fall had spread across the world. The people of Volantis did not hold him in high regard.
'Or perhaps this is simply their way of driving down the price,' Davos thought.
Years of smuggling had given him sharp professional instincts.
But it did not matter.
Viserys had no intention of truly selling the fleet.
Beforehand, Viserys had told him to negotiate any price with the triarchs. But Davos did not want the price to be too low—that would diminish his own worth.
At the very least, he had to argue convincingly enough that Volantis would believe the king truly intended to sell the warships.
As Davos was thinking this, he spotted a black fortress ahead.
The Black Wall.
It dated back to the Valyrian era.
It was said to be one of Valyria's earliest colonial strongholds, built after the Freehold reached its height.
Like Dragonstone, it was a work of sorcery, and after thousands of years it still stood as if new.
Inside the Black Wall lived the nobility—this was his destination.
At that point, someone brought over two horses, finally giving Davos proper transport.
Riding forward, Davos noticed several dried-up fountains, clearly neglected for many years.
'Is this place declining?' a thought crossed his mind.
Even so, Volantis, which styled itself the First Daughter of Valyria, far surpassed King's Landing, let alone Viserys's fledgling Gohor.
Davos remained cautious with every word and gesture, afraid of diminishing the dignity of Viserys and House Targaryen.
His earlier actions had likely already offended some people.
As he drew closer to the Black Wall, the sense of oppression grew heavier.
It felt as though an enormous hand pressed against his chest, or as if a dragon might burst forth from behind the wall at any moment.
Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened.
At the gate, Davos's identity was verified, and he was allowed to pass.
Once inside the Black Wall, a strange sense of familiarity washed over him.
"Father, it feels like we're back on Dragonstone," Dale whispered.
"That's it—Dragonstone," Davos realized.
The architectural style within the Black Wall was nearly identical. It felt as though people lived inside sculptures.
Streetlamps, walls, and roads were adorned with stone dragons or carved with dragon reliefs.
Dragon imagery was everywhere.
Dale could not help but turn his head to look around.
Davos wanted to do the same, but forced himself to suppress his curiosity. He found his breathing growing slightly labored.
'The lingering might of dragons,' Davos thought.
Father and son continued on until they reached a building shaped like a coiled dragon.
The dragon's tail merged seamlessly with the steps leading inside, with soldiers standing guard on both sides.
This was where Volantis received foreign envoys.
It was also the heart of Volantis's power.
They entered by walking up the 'dragon's' tail. Led by serving slaves, they were brought into a great hall.
The walls and floors were covered with dragon reliefs.
Davos only glanced briefly, noticing that the carvings seemed to depict a story. He had no time to study it further.
Three men in magnificent robes emerged.
From left to right, they were Malaqo, Nessiso, and Dofas.
They seated themselves on three high-backed chairs atop a raised platform, looking down at Davos and his son.
The triarch in the middle, Dofas, spoke first.
"Envoy of House Targaryen, I hear you have come to sell warships. Is that correct?"
He spoke in fluent High Valyrian.
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