Chapter 19: The Spider in the King's Court, A Whisper of Dragons
The offer from Larys Graceford, to become the Greens' unseen inquisitor within the very heart of the Red Keep, was a poisoned chalice of the most exquisite vintage. Rico Moretti, a connoisseur of power in all its treacherous forms, accepted it with a predator's relish. The risks were monumental – discovery meant a swift, brutal end in the black cells, or perhaps a starring role in one of Aegon II's more inventive public executions. But the potential rewards… access to the deepest secrets of the Green regime, the chance to manipulate the levers of power, and a hunting ground teeming with unique, high-value essences. It was irresistible.
His negotiations with Larys were conducted in a series of furtive, late-night meetings in supposedly secure locations that Rico, with his enhanced senses and The Scales' absorbed paranoia, knew were anything but. He demanded, and received, a hefty upfront payment in gold, a discreet suite of rooms within a lesser-used wing of the Red Keep itself (ostensibly as a "recently appointed minor functionary in the Master of Coin's office," a cover Perwyn's forgeries made immaculate), and, crucially, a degree of operational autonomy. He would report his findings, or selected portions thereof, directly to Larys, who would then filter them to Otto Hightower or Queen Alicent as he saw fit. This buffer, Rico knew, was essential for his own deniability.
"You understand, Razor," Larys had whispered, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of fear and excitement, "you are to be a scalpel, not a bludgeon. We need information, confessions, the neutralization of threats. Panic is… unhelpful."
"Panic, Lord Larys," Rico had replied, his voice a silken rasp that carried the chilling authority of The Scales, "is a tool, like any other. It will be used with… surgical precision."
His new quarters in the Red Keep were surprisingly well-appointed, if somewhat dusty from disuse. They offered a breathtaking view of the city sprawling towards the Blackwater Bay, a constant reminder of the empire he was building from below. More importantly, they provided a legitimate reason for his presence within the castle's heavily guarded walls. His "staff" – Shiv and Vorian, now dressed in the sober livery of a minor official's household guards – were his eyes, ears, and immediate muscle. Finn's network, with considerable difficulty and expense, managed to cultivate a few terrified informants amongst the lower echelons of the Red Keep's servants – scullions, stablehands, laundry women – providing a trickle of useful, if often mundane, gossip.
The Red Keep was a viper's nest. The Green victory had been swift, but their grip on power felt tenuous, their rule underpinned by a pervasive paranoia. Every shadow seemed to hold a conspirator, every whisper a potential treason. Queen Alicent, her face a mask of grieving piety and fierce maternal ambition, rarely left her chambers, reportedly spending hours in prayer or in quiet, intense consultation with her father, Otto Hightower, the reinstated Hand. King Aegon II himself was proving to be a reluctant and increasingly dissolute monarch, more interested in wine and women than matters of state, leaving the burden of rule, and the ruthlessness it required, to his mother and grandfather.
Prince Aemond, however, was a different matter. The one-eyed prince, now rider of the colossal Vhagar, was a figure of terrifying presence. He stalked the castle corridors like a caged predator, his sapphire eye burning with an intensity that made even seasoned knights quail. He was the Greens' most potent weapon, and their most unpredictable one.
Rico began his "inquisitions" with a subtlety that would have impressed Varys himself. He drew upon Ser Tommen Lannister's absorbed investigative knowledge, The Scales' manipulative cunning, and his own burgeoning "blood sense" – that unsettling ability to sometimes feel the currents of fear, loyalty, or deceit emanating from those around him, a talent perhaps amplified by the Valyrian lore he and Alaric were so painstakingly deciphering.
He didn't initially resort to torture or overt violence. His first targets, selected from Larys's list, were approached indirectly. Rumors were spread. Perwyn's forgeries created trails of fabricated evidence – a misplaced letter hinting at Black sympathies, a ledger showing unexplained payments. Then, Rico would arrange a "chance" encounter, his demeanor one of concerned, low-level officialdom, offering a sympathetic ear, a chance to "clarify misunderstandings" before matters reached the ears of… less understanding individuals.
Some, terrified by the atmosphere of paranoia and the subtle pressure, broke quickly, confessing to minor indiscretions, offering up names of others, often based on nothing more than fear or personal grudges. Rico sifted through this chaff, occasionally finding a grain of truth, a genuine Black sympathizer, whom he would then "deliver" to Larys with a carefully curated report. These minor victories built his credibility with his Green employers.
For others, more direct methods were required. A merchant known to have supplied Rhaenyra's Dragonstone household was invited for a "discreet conversation" in Rico's Red Keep rooms. Lyra the Lyseni had provided Rico with a subtle inhalant, derived from a rare Essosi flower, which, when introduced into a closed room, induced a state of heightened suggestibility and loosened the tongue without leaving a trace. The merchant, under its influence, revealed far more than he intended – details of Rhaenyra's supply lines, names of her agents in the city, her contingency plans for smuggling messages and funds. Once the information was extracted, the merchant suffered an "unfortunate collapse" attributed to a weak heart. His essence, a bland mix of commercial acumen and terror, was a footnote to the intelligence gained.
Rico even dared to use the obsidian mirror, Vējesy Kēlio, within the Red Keep, though the risks were immense. The castle thrummed with ancient magic, the legacy of Targaryen dragonlords, and he feared that any significant arcane working might be detected. He chose his moments carefully, usually in the dead of night, in his heavily warded (using principles gleaned from Malatesta's notes and the Valyrian scrolls) inner chamber. He focused on specific individuals Larys had marked as high-priority targets for investigation. The visions were often fleeting, distorted by the sheer concentration of human will and emotion within the Keep, but they sometimes yielded crucial insights – a clandestine meeting, a hidden compartment, a look of fear or guilt. The mirror was a draining, dangerous tool, leaving him feeling hollowed out and vulnerable, the whispers from its depths more pronounced here, but its potential was undeniable.
His first truly significant "catch" was a Septa named Lyraelle, a woman known for her eloquent sermons and her quiet, compassionate nature. Larys suspected her of being a conduit for messages between Black sympathizers within the city and Rhaenyra's agents. Rico, using a combination of Finn's informants, a carefully planted (and forged by Perwyn) "intercepted" letter, and a "concerned" visit where he subtly employed his "blood sense" to gauge her reactions, confirmed Larys's suspicions.
The interrogation of Septa Lyraelle was not conducted with crude torture. Rico, drawing on The Scales' understanding of psychological manipulation, used her faith, her compassion, and her fear for those she was protecting against her. Lyra's truth-inducing draught played its part. The Septa, broken and weeping, confessed to her role, revealing a small but significant network of Black loyalists operating within the guilds and even amongst the lower ranks of the Septonry.
Her essence, when Rico finally, regretfully (for she had been a woman of genuine, if misguided, conviction), took it, was unique. It contained not just her network of contacts and her deep understanding of the Faith's inner workings, but also a surprising wellspring of empathy, a profound ability to read human emotion, and a gift for soothing oratory. These were not martial skills, but in the game of intrigue and manipulation, they were potent weapons. The empathy, however, was an unsettling addition to his psyche, a flicker of alien warmth amidst the cold calculation. He found himself experiencing flashes of understanding for the fear and desperation of his victims, an unwelcome and promptly suppressed sensation.
The "successful" resolution of the Septa Lyraelle case greatly pleased Larys Graceford and, through him, Otto Hightower. Rico's reputation as a discreet and effective "inquisitor" grew. He was granted slightly more access, his movements within the Red Keep less scrutinized. This allowed him to expand his own intelligence gathering. He wasn't just hunting Blacks; he was mapping the Green power structure, identifying their strengths, their weaknesses, their internal rivalries. He learned of the growing friction between Otto Hightower, who favored a cautious, strategic approach to the war, and Ser Criston Cole, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, whose hatred for Rhaenyra bordered on the pathological and who advocated for swift, brutal military action. He observed Queen Alicent's unwavering determination to see her son secure on the throne, and King Aegon's increasing retreat into drink and debauchery, leaving the true exercise of power to others.
Prince Aemond remained an enigma, a figure of brooding menace. Rico, using his new access, made it a point to subtly observe the one-eyed prince whenever possible. He saw Aemond in the training yard, his skill with a sword already formidable, his ferocity terrifying. He saw him with Vhagar in the Dragonpit, the ancient dragon responding to his commands with a terrifying, possessive loyalty. The Valyrian scrolls spoke of the dracarys ēdrus, the dragon dream, the deep bond. Aemond clearly possessed it. The thought of Aemond's essence, combined with Vhagar's, was a dizzying, almost heretical ambition that Rico entertained in the deepest, most secret corners of his mind.
Alaric, meanwhile, confined mostly to the warehouse sanctum for his own safety (though he occasionally ventured out in disguise, his thirst for knowledge insatiable), worked tirelessly on the Valyrian scrolls, his research now informed by the snippets of Red Keep gossip and political intelligence Rico relayed via their raven network. He became particularly obsessed with the Dragonpit itself.
"The Dragonpit is more than just a stable for beasts, Master Razor," Alaric explained during one of their coded raven exchanges. "It was built by Targaryens, on a site of older power. The Valyrian scrolls hint at rituals performed within such structures, rituals to enhance the bond between rider and dragon, even to… influence… the temperament of unridden dragons, or those whose riders are… absent." He also warned Rico that such a place would be warded, perhaps even by fading Valyrian spells, and that any attempt to use his own arcane abilities too close to it could be disastrously detected.
The wider war, the Dance of the Dragons proper, began to cast its bloody shadow over King's Landing. News arrived, often delayed and distorted, of battles fought in the Riverlands, of ships clashing in the Gullet. The smallfolk grew restless, their initial fear of the Greens now mixed with a growing dread of the escalating conflict. Prices rose. Food became scarcer. Rico's smuggling operations, ironically, flourished even more in this environment, though the risks also increased.
He knew he couldn't remain a mere tool of the Greens indefinitely. His ultimate loyalty was to himself. He needed to be ready to shift his allegiances, or to play both sides, when the time was right. The intelligence he gathered on Green weaknesses, on their troop movements, on their supply lines, was as valuable as any gold he was paid.
One evening, Larys Graceford, more agitated than usual, brought Rico a new, urgent task. "There is a master armorer within the Red Keep, a Tyroshi named Horonno, Razor," Larys whispered, his eyes darting nervously. "He has been… less than enthusiastic… in his support for King Aegon. Worse, we have reason to believe he has been approached by agents of the Black Queen, perhaps to… sabotage… the King's own armor, or to pass secrets of its forging to her commanders." Larys's voice dropped further. "He is also said to possess certain… unique Tyroshi steel-folding techniques, secrets his guild would pay dearly for, or that our own armorers could greatly benefit from. Ser Otto believes Horonno is a security risk. He needs to be… silenced. And his secrets… acquired."
A master armorer. Tyroshi steel secrets. This was precisely the kind of high-value essence Rico craved – a practical, immensely useful skill set that would directly benefit his own growing forces. The risk of operating against a master craftsman within the heavily guarded workshops of the Red Keep was immense, but the potential gain…
Rico felt the familiar, cold thrill of the hunt. He also saw an opportunity to test the limits of his growing power, to combine his mundane skills of infiltration and assassination with the subtle arcane arts he was beginning to explore.
"Consider it done, Lord Larys," Rico said, his mind already racing, planning the intricate steps of this new, dangerous dance. He would silence Horonno for the Greens. But he would acquire the Tyroshi's secrets, his very essence, for himself.
The Red Keep, with its whispering shadows and hidden daggers, was a dangerous game board. But Rico Moretti, the spider in its center, was learning to pull the strings, his gaze fixed not just on the immediate prize, but on the dragons themselves, and the Valyrian power that might one day allow him to command them. The city was on the brink of tearing itself apart, and Rico intended to be there to pick up the pieces, and perhaps, to forge them into a crown of his own making.