The seven hundred honors clinked pleasantly in Kaelan's purse as he made his way through the winding streets of Qarth. The weight of the coins brought a smile to his face—his first true taste of independence.
Qarth's currency was as complex as the city itself. The honor was the primary coin, a flat disc of silver stamped with the city's seal—a ship passing between two pillars, representing the Jade Gates that were the source of Qarth's wealth. Each honor was roughly equivalent to a quarter of a Westerosi gold dragon, making Kaelan's new fortune worth about one hundred and seventy-five dragons. Not a king's ransom, but more than most smallfolk in Westeros would see in a lifetime.
He'd need to be prudent with his newfound wealth. Qarth was a city where fortunes were made and lost with astonishing speed. The marketplace teemed with beggars who had once been merchants, their riches dissolved by a single bad voyage or a poorly chosen alliance.
As Kaelan walked, he extended his awareness through his swarm, pushing the boundaries of his control. He'd noticed that with practice, his range seemed to increase—not dramatically, but perceptibly. What had been two blocks yesterday felt closer to three today.
The sun was beginning its descent toward the horizon, casting long shadows across the marble streets. Qarth transformed in the changing light, the white stone taking on hues of amber and rose, the countless fountains catching fire with the sunset. It was beautiful, in its opulent, ostentatious way.
But Kaelan knew better than to be seduced by beauty. Beneath its gleaming surface, Qarth was a city of predators, where the unwary were quickly devoured.
He needed to understand when he was. The world of ice and fire stretched across thousands of years of history, and the Qarth he found himself in could belong to any number of eras. Was this the time of Aegon's Conquest? The Dance of Dragons? The reign of the Mad King? Or perhaps even the War of the Five Kings?
A good starting point would be to determine if Daenerys Targaryen had yet arrived with her dragons. If she had, the city would be buzzing with talk of the Mother of Dragons. And if she hadn't... well, that would narrow things down too.
And there was one man who would certainly know: Xaro Xhoan Daxos, one of the Thirteen and, if Kaelan's memory served him correctly, the merchant who would host Daenerys upon her arrival in Qarth.
First, though, he needed a proper place to stay. The port district had several hostels that catered to sailors and merchants, but Kaelan had his eye on something more private. As he walked, he directed segments of his swarm to explore empty buildings within his range, searching for potential accommodations.
Near the edge of the merchant district, his scouts found a promising location: a small building tucked between two larger homes, apparently vacant. The structure consisted of a main room, a tiny bedroom, and a small courtyard in the back—modest by Qartheen standards, but palatial compared to his father's house.
Kaelan approached it carefully, sending bugs inside to confirm it was truly unoccupied. Finding no human presence, he slipped through the unlocked front door.
The interior was dusty but surprisingly intact. Simple furnishings remained: a low table, a few cushions, a sleeping pallet, and some basic kitchen implements. The previous occupant had clearly left in a hurry, or perhaps had died without heirs to claim the property.
A thorough search by his insect scouts revealed no obvious dangers or traps. There were, however, several dead roaches and spiders—suggesting the place had been treated with some kind of insect repellent. The irony wasn't lost on Kaelan.
"This will do nicely," he murmured to himself, already calculating what he'd need to make it properly habitable.
The next step would be to legitimize his occupation. In Qarth, that meant money changing hands—either through a proper purchase or, more commonly, through bribes to the right officials who would look the other way.
Stepping back outside, Kaelan made his way to a small square where, according to his swarm, a number of local merchants gathered in the evenings. There, seated around a fountain depicting some ancient Qartheen hero, were several well-dressed men engaged in animated conversation.
Kaelan approached with measured confidence. "Good evening, gentlemen," he said, inclining his head respectfully. "I find myself in need of local knowledge. Might I trouble you for a moment of your time?"
The merchants looked up, assessing him with the practiced eye of those who evaluate worth at a glance. His simple clothing didn't impress, but the way he carried himself—and perhaps the audacity of his approach—seemed to pique their interest.
"What sort of knowledge does a Dornish boy seek in Qarth?" asked the eldest, a corpulent man with jeweled rings adorning every finger.
"I'm half Dornish," Kaelan corrected mildly. "Born and raised in Qarth. And I seek information on acquiring a modest residence—that small building on the corner of Spice Street and the Alley of Whispers. It appears unoccupied."
One of the younger merchants laughed. "Old Orton's place? The miser died last moon. No kin to claim it, but the property taxes are due to the Pureborn. You'd need at least three hundred honors to settle those before anyone would acknowledge your ownership."
"And who would be the proper person to speak with about such a transaction?" Kaelan asked, unfazed.
The fat merchant stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Magister Irros handles such matters for that district. You'll find him at the Hall of a Thousand Thrones until sunset, then at the Golden Peacock thereafter."
Kaelan nodded, dropping ten honors onto the table with a casual gesture. "I appreciate your counsel, gentlemen. Perhaps we'll speak again."
As he walked away, he heard one of them mutter, "Eran Dhasir's boy, isn't he? Seems the apple fell very far from that withered tree."
The Hall of a Thousand Thrones was one of Qarth's most imposing structures, a massive dome supported by columns carved to resemble the ancient kings and queens of the city. Inside, on terraced levels rising toward the center, sat the Pureborn of Qarth upon their ornate thrones—the descendants of the old kings who still claimed authority over civic matters.
Kaelan didn't enter the hall itself. His business was with the bureaucrats who occupied the surrounding chambers, processing the endless paperwork that kept the great machinery of Qarth functioning.
He found Magister Irros in a small office cluttered with scrolls and ledgers, a thin man with a pinched face and ink-stained fingers. The man barely looked up as Kaelan entered.
"State your business," Irros said, continuing to scratch notations on the parchment before him.
"I wish to acquire the residence at the corner of Spice Street and the Alley of Whispers," Kaelan replied. "I understand the previous owner, Orton, died without heirs, and there are taxes due."
Now Irros did look up, his gaze sharp and calculating. "Three hundred and fifty honors in taxes, plus a filing fee of fifty. Do you have such sums, boy?"
"I do." Kaelan counted out four hundred honors, placing them on the desk between them. "And an additional fifty for your trouble, given the late hour."
The magister's eyes widened slightly—not at the amount, which was trivial by Qartheen standards, but at the efficiency of the transaction. He had clearly expected haggling, or perhaps a plea for a payment plan.
"Very well," he said, scooping the coins into a drawer. He pulled a blank parchment from a stack, dipped his quill, and began writing. "Your name?"
"Kaelan Dhasir."
"Occupation?"
Kaelan paused, considering. "Merchant of information," he said finally.
Irros raised an eyebrow but noted it without comment. He continued writing for a few moments, then sprinkled sand over the wet ink, blew it clean, and affixed a seal at the bottom.
"This grants you ownership and right of residence," he explained, handing over the document. "Present it to any who question your presence. The property taxes will be due again in one year."
Kaelan thanked him and left, document securely tucked inside his tunic. He now had a legitimate residence in Qarth—a base of operations from which to expand his newfound business.
The next morning, Kaelan rose early, eager to begin establishing himself properly in his new life. The first order of business was to acquire silkworms. While his powers gave him control over any insects within his range, he couldn't create them from nothing. For his plans, he needed a steady supply of specific species.
The great gardens of Qarth, famed throughout the known world, were his destination. The wealthy of the city maintained elaborate paradise gardens within their estates, filled with exotic plants from across Essos and beyond. Many of these gardens included mulberry trees—the essential food source for silkworms.
Rather than attempting to breach the estates themselves, Kaelan positioned himself near the garden district and extended his awareness, searching for the telltale clusters of Bombyx mori—the domesticated silkworm moth. He found them in abundance, particularly in the garden of a merchant he recognized as a member of the Ancient Guild of Spicers.
Careful not to alert the gardeners, Kaelan directed a small contingent of his swarm to gather silkworm eggs and young larvae, transporting them piece by piece back to his new home. The process was slow but steady, and by midday, he had established a modest colony in his courtyard, carefully hidden beneath mulberry branches he'd purchased from a market stall.
With the silkworms settled, Kaelan turned his attention to a more ambitious project: extending surveillance to Xaro Xhoan Daxos's palace. The merchant's palace was well beyond his current range, but Kaelan had developed a strategy. By establishing relay points—clusters of insects positioned at the edge of his range—he could gradually extend his influence across greater distances.
He began by walking toward the palatial district, using his power to gather and organize insects at strategic locations. Every few blocks, he would pause, establish a new relay, and then continue, maintaining his connection to each previous point. It was mentally taxing, requiring a level of multitasking that pushed the limits of his ability, but by late afternoon, he had managed to extend his awareness to the outer walls of Xaro's compound.
The palace was a riot of luxury. Kaelan's insect scouts reported gold-inlaid fountains, exotic trees bearing fruits unknown in Westeros, and countless treasures displayed openly throughout the grounds. Security was present but not excessive—a handful of guards patrolled the perimeter, while skilled servants tended the gardens and maintained the palatial interiors.
Most importantly, there was no sign of Daenerys Targaryen or her entourage. No mention of dragons among the whispered conversations his flies overheard. If the Mother of Dragons had not yet arrived in Qarth, then Kaelan had a better sense of his place in the timeline.
Knowledge was power, and now he had more of it.
With his intelligence network expanding, Kaelan returned to his new home, mind turning to his next priority: security. The wealth he was accumulating would make him a target, and while his powers gave him certain advantages, he wasn't invulnerable.
The obvious solution in Qarth would be to purchase slaves trained as guards—perhaps even Unsullied, the legendary eunuch soldiers from Astapor. But the thought turned Kaelan's stomach. His previous life had instilled in him a profound distaste for slavery, and he had no intention of participating in the practice, no matter how normalized it was in Essos.
Instead, he would rely on his unique abilities. The scorpions he had found in the older sections of the city would be his first line of defense. He gathered several dozen, breeding pairs of the most venomous species, and established colonies in strategic locations throughout his new home. They would remain hidden unless needed, but could be mobilized instantly at his command.
It wasn't a perfect solution—he still needed to sleep, after all—but it would suffice until he could develop more comprehensive protection.