The corridors of Sunspear had grown quiet. The lords, ladies, and city delegates who had filled the high chamber were making their way back into the palace, their voices reduced to hushed murmurs as word of House Peverell's staggering pledge spread from mouth to mouth.
Two hundred thousand gold dragons was a sum enough to make even the wealthiest merchant pause, and for a city lying in ruins, it promised the means to rise again.
Dareya walked beside Thaddues in silence, the hem of her silk robes whispering across the patterned tiles. The pride of House Martell warred with the gratitude she could not quite bring herself to voice. At last, she stopped beneath an arched opening overlooking the Summer Sea, where blue waters glittered beneath the Dornish sun.
"Lord Thaddues, wait."
He stopped and turned.
"Two hundred thousand gold dragons," Dareya said. "That is no gift. It is a fortune. The coffers of House Martell may be strained, but we are not beggars waiting upon another lord's generosity. We will not have Dorne rebuilt by coin handed to us as alms. Take back your pledge. We shall raise the gold ourselves. Tax the merchant houses. Call in what debts are owed to the crown. Seek a loan from the Iron Bank, if need be. But this burden is ours to bear."
Thaddues regarded her with quiet amusement.
"Take it back?"
His brow lifted slightly.
"Princess, do you truly think so poorly of my coffers? Two hundred thousand gold dragons is but a fraction of what House Peverell possesses."
Dareya narrowed her eyes, already suspecting there was more to his answer.
Thaddues stepped nearer, his voice taking on a note of mischief.
"Truth be told, it is not even a fifth of the dowry I intend to offer when I take your hand."
For perhaps the first time that day, Princess Dareya was left without an answer.
Her breath caught, and heat rushed into her cheeks.
"You speak nonsense," she muttered, though the softness of her voice betrayed her.
A faint smile touched Thaddues' lips.
Then it vanished.
The warmth left his expression, replaced by a quiet seriousness.
"Princess Dareya."
She looked up.
"I need to see your grandmother's artifacts."
Her embarrassment faded at once.
"My grandmother's relics? Why?"
"I need to examine them."
There was no jest in his voice now.
"It is not curiosity that brings me to them. What I find may concern the fate of Sunspear, and perhaps the survival of Dorne itself."
Dareya studied him for several heartbeats. There was no uncertainty in his face, no trace of the man who had teased her moments before. Whatever had drawn his attention to Deria's possessions was grave enough to command his full attention.
At last, she nodded.
"Follow me."
She led him from the sunlit halls and down into the older parts of the Sandship. The stairways grew narrower as they descended, carved into ancient stone beneath Sunspear. Torchlight flickered upon walls blackened by age, while the warmth of the Dornish sun slowly gave way to the chill of the earth.
They passed beneath carved arches and along narrow passages until they reached the deepest reaches of the palace, where the crypts lay beneath Sunspear. Here, the princes and princesses of Dorne had been given their final rest.
Marble effigies watched from the darkness, their stone faces stern and solemn, their names worn smooth by generations of reverence. The air smelled of old dust, myrrh, and cold stone.
Princess Dareya walked among them without speaking.
At the far end of the crypt stood a heavy vault door reinforced with iron. Thaddues raised a hand and waved it once. The door groaned open.
The chamber beyond belonged to Princess Deria.
Jewels rested upon velvet-lined stands. Ceremonial daggers lay within carved cases. Ancient scrolls and letters had been preserved beneath layers of cloth and wax, each relic bearing some fragment of the woman Dorne had called the Peacebringer.
Thaddues scarcely looked at any of them.
His attention went immediately to a long bundle resting upon a stone altar.
Dareya followed his gaze.
He approached and carefully pulled away the dark cloth.
The spear beneath it was unmistakable.
It was the same weapon Deria had carried during the battle against the Old Mother's Vessel—the weapon Thaddues had seen her use to invoke the prayers to Mother Rhoyne.
"Interesting," he murmured.
A pale glow appeared at the edge of his vision.
Host detected an artifact. The Spear of the Sun: Forged from the scorpion that slew a dragon invading Dorne, it was made to honor the King of Sunspear. Its blood-soaked history left it cursed: every use drains the wielder's life force.
Analysis swept over the spear, revealing its nature and lingering magic.
Thaddues did not touch the weapon.
He had no need.
Even from several paces away, he could feel the wrongness clinging to it.
Something lingered within the steel. The spear was no longer merely a weapon. It was a vessel of hatred.
Thaddues turned toward Dareya.
"Never use this spear."
His voice was quiet, but there was a firmness beneath it.
"Not in battle. Not in ceremony. Not for any purpose. And see that no other member of your bloodline ever takes it into their hands."
Dareya glanced at the weapon.
"What is it?"
"Something that should have been destroyed long ago."
He raised his right hand.
The air above the spear shivered.
Ancient runes appeared around his fingers, one after another, their violet light casting strange shadows upon the walls of the vault. They spiraled around the weapon before sinking into it. One rune followed another until a lattice of magic had wrapped itself around the spear.
The weapon gave a faint, almost inaudible tremor.
Then it fell still.
Thaddues lowered his hand.
"The seal will suppress what remains within it."
Dareya gave a solemn nod.
"Then it shall remain here, locked away."
His gaze settled upon another pedestal. There, upon black silk, rested the relic he believed Deria had received from Mother Rhoyne herself.
He studied it for only a moment.
Its power remained dormant.
That was enough.
"We are finished."
They left the vault behind and made their way upward. With every step, the chill of the crypts receded. Soon they emerged once more into the warmth of Sunspear, where sunlight poured across pale stone and the sea breeze carried the scent of salt and orange blossoms through the open courtyards.
Someone was waiting beside the marble fountain.
Princess Rhaenys Targaryen stood beneath the afternoon sun.
Her hair caught the afternoon light, and though the last few days had left their mark upon her, she carried herself with the pride expected of the blood of Old Valyria. Her eyes settled upon Thaddues the moment he entered the courtyard.
"Lord Thaddues."
He stopped.
Rhaenys approached, her expression composed.
"I have considered your terms."
For a moment, neither spoke.
Then the Queen Who Never Was extended her hand.
"I have made my choice."
Her gaze did not waver.
"I accept your offer."
TBC
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