" nyke prhá'ytor Fôûr'dëænnza be'aerrnos wí'dhnézsva kesīr Kīvo béd'wæéñion my'zélfrys se Vēzosorysor hen Dr'hágonnkëæpërhthtor Ja'ævylonnrys. " [I pray to the Fourteen to bear witness to this Oath between myself and Elder of the Dragonkeepers Jaevylon.]
The blood spilling from the corpse did not pool. It crawled. The dark crimson fluid raced along the chalk outlines, greedily filling the Valyrian glyphs Father and Vaegon had drawn upon the stone. A lurid, bloody light ignited within the grooves, casting long, writhing shadows across the dungeon. The scent of copper and ozone filled the stifling air, thick and suffocating.
Father withdrew his blade with a wet sickening slide and stepped back into his designated circle. The Elder of the Dragonkeepers, Jaevylon, mirrored his movement, stepping into the opposing ring.
" nyke mīsagon Drr'agónkeéperhā, prrô'vidëva pōnte shél'dherrnos se lyvæ'lyhoôdën rȳ māzigon zirȳ dohaeragon nyke drēje se læ'alā. Zirȳ be'aerrnos daor dohaerorys hen nyke se gaomagon nyke daor māzdaghonys. So ūja sagon. " [I shall protect the Dragonkeeper, provide them shelter and livelihood in return he will serve me true and leal. He will bear no secrets from me and do me no harm. So it shall be.]
Both men raised their left hands. Father slashed the Valyrian steel across his own palm, then handed the blade to the Elder, who did the same. Thick droplets of their blood fell into the glowing arrays.
The circles flared blindly. The freshly spilled blood defied gravity, rising from the stone in two thick, liquid ribbons. They snaked through the air, stretching toward the centre of the room, and fused together in a brilliant knot of crimson light. The tether pulsed, a physical manifestation of the binding oath, before splitting again. The liquid light shot back into their hands, sinking deep beneath their skin. I watched in stunned silence as the jagged cuts upon their palms stitched themselves shut in rapid succession, leaving smooth, unblemished flesh behind.
Then, the blinding light died. The chamber plunged back into the dim, flickering gloom of the torches.
My eyes dropped to the third circle. The prisoner's corpse lay crumpled upon the stone, but it was entirely changed. It was completely drained. The skin had pulled tight against the skull, turning a brittle, ashen grey. He was nothing but a dry, shrivelled husk, as if he had been dead for a century.
My stomach rolled. A cold sweat broke out across my brow. He murdered him. My mind fractured, desperately trying to comprehend the scene. The man who had bounced Rhaenyra on his knee, the man who laughed in the sunlit gardens of the Red Keep, had just butchered a helpless captive to fuel a sorcerous ritual. He had condemned a man to death without a trial, wielding the darkest arts the Citadel warned against with practiced ease.
I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to empty my stomach upon the floorboards. There had to be a reason. Father was a just man. He protected our House. The prisoner must have been chosen for a specific purpose. He was a traitor. A monster whose crimes demanded a death far worse than the headsman's block. I clung to that logic, desperate to reconcile the Spring Prince with the cold executioner standing before me.
I looked toward the back of the chamber, seeking some anchor of sanity in the King.
Grandfather sat perfectly still beneath his furs. He was not appalled. A sharp, feral gleam danced in his purple eyes. A thin, satisfied smile curved his withered lips. He had watched his son commit blood magic, and he revelled in the result.
Father wiped the Valyrian steel blade clean on a scrap of the prisoner's tunic and slid it back into its sheath. He turned, his gaze catching the pale horror painted clearly across my face.
"He was a beast of a man, Viserys," Father spoke, his voice calm, devoid of remorse. He gestured toward the desiccated husk with a careless flick of his wrist. "He cornered a baker's maiden in an alleyway in Flea Bottom. He raped her, and then he slit her throat to silence her screams."
Father stepped out of the chalk circle, his boots crunching against the stone. "He was festering in the black cells, scheduled to be shipped north to take the black. Spending the rest of his days eating the Crown's salted beef and shivering in the snow is not justice. It is a waste. Here, his worthless life served a higher purpose. He bought us unyielding loyalty."
I could not argue with his cold logic, but the utter disregard in his voice was jarring. It echoed of a deeply unsettling apathy—the very same apathy Father had worn like a shroud after Mother died in childbirth. In those dark days, he did nothing but ride Vhagar until the beast was exhausted, drink himself into a stupor, and weep for his lost Alyssa. He would neither see nor speak to Daemon and me. Grandmother Alysanne used to tell us how Uncle Aemon had fought with him, shaking him and demanding he not neglect his living sons, but Father had been hurt too deeply to care. When we did manage to see him, he felt dead inside, barely offering a word or two before retreating back into his cups.
Where his eyes had been dead and hurting then, now they held the exact same deadness, but weaponized by a chilling sense of justness. To me, it made little difference. I did not like my father when he wore that look. It brought back memories of childhood loneliness and a keep that felt entirely empty.
"How do you feel?" Grandfather asked, his voice breaking through my grim reverie.
Father flexed his unblemished left hand. "I can feel a tether to Jaevylon. I cannot actively control it, but I know it exists."
"Elder, let us test the oath," Uncle Vaegon commanded, stepping forward. "Try lying to Baelon."
The Dragonkeeper bowed his cowled head and stepped up to the edge of Father's circle.
"My Prince," Jaevylon began, his voice gravelly. "I have stolen bread from the pantry before arriving at your chambers this morning. I intended to—"
His voice choked off. He staggered, his jaw clenching tight in sudden pain. He raised a gloved hand to his face. To my horror, dark blood began to seep from the edges of his cowl, dripping steadily from his eyes. He was crying tears of blood for his deceit.
Father immediately stepped forward, reaching across the array to place a firm hand upon the Elder's trembling shoulder. "It is alright, Elder. There is no need to speak further. I thank you for your pains. Please, take your time to heal and rest for the remainder of the day."