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An assassin?
Stannis had actually sent an assassin to kill her?
Melisandre's mind was buzzing.
She had just woken from that terrifying nightmare.
In the dream, the Lord of Light she had believed in for over a thousand years felt exactly like the Cold God who brought the Long Night and death.
And that god had told her Stannis was the true chosen one.
That Lynn was nothing but a false believer who had stolen divine power.
If the Lord of Light had delivered a revelation to Stannis, he would see himself as the savior in every fiber of his being.
And regardless of the reason.
She had betrayed the Lord of Light. That made her his first target.
Melisandre was not afraid of death.
She had just died once.
What she feared was that the new life she had barely found for herself would be torn apart by that madman's hands.
No.
She would not let that happen.
Melisandre's head snapped up. She didn't even stop for her shoes. She ran barefoot out of the bedroom.
She had to find Lynn.
She had to tell him everything.
...
The Hand's Tower hall.
Lynn sat at the head of the table. Cersei and Liana flanked him on either side, docile as a pair of maidservants, working their hands across his shoulders. Sansa stood nearby, quietly setting out his breakfast.
Everything that had happened yesterday had transformed these three women. Cersei most of all.
Then the doors burst open.
"My lord!"
Melisandre blew in like a gust of wind.
Her face was white. Her hair was loose and wild. Her feet were bare. She looked half-wild.
"What's wrong?"
Lynn set down his cup and looked up.
Cersei and the others went still, watching the red-robed woman who had just crashed into the room with cool, measuring eyes.
Melisandre ignored them.
She crossed to Lynn and pressed the crumpled parchment into his hands.
"My lord. Look."
Her voice was breathless.
Lynn took it and scanned it.
His expression didn't change.
Stannis was sending an assassin to kill Melisandre?
Wasn't that just standard procedure.
"I know."
He set the note casually on the table.
Melisandre stared at his face. Not a flicker. Not a trace of alarm. A huge, bewildered frustration rose in her chest.
He... that was his reaction?
This was Stannis. That stubborn, mule-headed madman. If he was sending assassins, he wouldn't stop. He never stopped.
"My lord, you—"
"Don't worry."
Lynn cut her off.
He reached out and pointed to the candle burning on the nearby table.
"Come here. Look at the flame."
"See what he'll do."
Melisandre obeyed.
She walked to the candle and fixed her gaze on the small flame.
Lynn moved to stand beside her. He placed his hand gently on her shoulder.
"The flame will tell you everything," he murmured close to her ear.
Melisandre closed her eyes.
She tried to do what she had done a thousand times before , to reach out, to commune with the fire, to catch fragments of the future flickering in its light.
She felt nothing.
She had given all her power to Lynn. The Lord of Light no longer looked her way. She was ordinary now. Just a woman standing in front of a candle.
The emptiness was worse than she expected.
Then a warmth poured through Lynn's palm and flooded her entire body.
The next second, the darkness behind her eyes shattered.
A roaring wall of fire blazed in its place.
Flame divination.
Lynn was using the power he had taken from her.
Melisandre's breath stopped.
She saw.
Within the flames, an image took shape.
Dragonstone.
In the cold gloom of the castle hall, Stannis Baratheon stood before his great map table. His face held a ferocity and fanaticism she had never seen on him before.
"The Lord of Light has delivered his revelation!"
Stannis's voice rang through the fire, vast and resonant.
"That Lynn in King's Landing , he stole the god's power! He defiled the god's glory!"
"And I, Stannis Baratheon, am the messenger the Lord of Light has chosen!"
"I will wield the holy fire and purge every last heretic from this earth!"
The image shifted.
Stannis walked out of the castle and onto the training ground. Nearly five thousand soldiers stood in neat formation, stag-antlered helms gleaming in rows.
"Soldiers!"
Stannis drew his longsword and pointed it at the sky.
"Will you follow me? Follow the one true god, the Lord of Light?!"
"Will you take up your swords and defend his glory?!"
Silence.
The men exchanged glances. No one spoke. They didn't understand what had come over their lord.
Since when did he preach?
Stannis swept his gaze over them. He showed no disappointment. He sheathed his sword.
"I need one soldier. The most loyal among you."
"A warrior willing to give his soul completely to the Lord of Light."
A murmur ran through the ranks.
Then a young soldier stepped forward. He looked sixteen, maybe seventeen. There was still something boyish in his face.
"I will, my lord!"
He dropped to one knee, his eyes bright with open devotion.
"Good."
Stannis walked to him. He touched the tip of his sword lightly to the boy's forehead.
"In the name of the Lord of Light."
"I bestow upon you the power of flame."
The words had barely landed.
A cluster of orange-red fire appeared in the young soldier's open palm. Out of nothing. It wasn't large, but the heat it threw off was extraordinary.
The boy stared at his own hand.
The entire training ground went silent.
Then five thousand pairs of eyes went wide. Mouths dropped open.
A miracle.
This was a gods-damned miracle.
"Do you see!"
Stannis's voice crashed through the air like a thunderclap.
"This is the blessing of the Lord of Light! Believe in him — truly believe — and every single one of you can have this power!"
"You will no longer be mortal men!"
"You will be holy fire knights walking among the living!"
The training ground detonated.
"A miracle! An actual miracle!"
"I want it , give me the power of flame!"
"Long live the Lord of Light! Long live Lord Stannis!"
The soldiers lost their minds. Weapons clattered to the ground. Men fell to their knees in droves, screaming, reaching upward. They chanted the Lord of Light's name. They chanted Stannis's name. The noise was beyond anything a religious gathering had ever produced.
And then the image cut out.
In the Hand's Tower hall, Melisandre's eyes flew open.
She was gasping. Her face was pale and shaking, raw with fear and shock.
Now she understood.
Stannis didn't just want her dead.
He wanted Lynn dead too.
He had gone completely mad. He was using the power the Cold God had given him to build an army, and he was filling it with fanatics.
"My lord!"
She spun around.
"We have to prepare immediately. Stannis's army, "
"I know."
Lynn looked at the fear written across her face. He smiled.
"It's an army that can play with fire."
He turned toward the window, his gaze drifting in the direction of Dragonstone.
"What is there to be afraid of?"
A pause.
"I'm more curious, honestly."
"Just how many men Stannis can pull together with a trick like that."
➤ Next: Trapping and Killing the Faithful of the Seven
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