Beneath the shade of one tree, conveniently plucked clean of all falling fruit, was Trystane with his new wife, like ivory and ebony. They sat opposite each other at a stone table, a cyvasse board between them.
No, Oberyn thought as he watched her share a smile with her husband, she surely cannot be the spy.
...
Doran watched all this with his shrewd, sunken eyes. He was sat in his rolling chair with his gouty legs propped up, a fine myrish blanket thrown over his lap to hide his swollen joints and limbs, wrapped in bandages soaked in soothing lotions.
Maester Caleotte knelt beside his prince, tending to one last matter, his head as smooth and round as an egg. He was so fat it was hard to tell his age, though Oberyn knew he had once served his own mother. And yet, in spite his age, at Doran's command he was quite nimble, and fled the terrace meekly.
"I suppose congratulations are in order," Doran began as Oberyn found a seat for himself, eyes still affixed to the children below. "Your victory over the Mountain was very well-received in Sunspear, or so I am told."
"Oh, brother," Oberyn boasted, "it was glorious! You should have seen it. All the lords of the realm arrayed, the king watching closely, the Mountain's massive sword sweeping overhead. The spectacle of the century! And all the better that Lord Tywin lost his favourite tool and had no choice but to sit and watch. I took the Mountain's skull as well, brother, but I decided to leave that in Sunspear."
Doran turned laboriously in his chair to look at him, and Oberyn noted how much older he seemed than his age. His hair was greying fast, his body soft and shapeless beneath his robes, his legs noticeably swollen, his knees lumps under his blanket. His eyes were tired, and yet also alight, hard with a quiet fury.
"I note Arianne is not with you," he finally said.
"I left her in Kings Landing," Oberyn answered. "To sit the small council in my stead."
"You left my heir with the Lannisters," Doran said quietly, and Oberyn resisted the urge to wince and rear back at his brother's softly-spoken words.
"She needs to learn," Oberyn explained. "Viserys is dead, and if she is to be the heir to Sunspear then she will need to learn more about the rest of the realms. And with Arianne's lust for excitement, I thought Kings Landing might suit her well."
"You left my heir with the Lannisters," Doran repeated.
"They won't hurt her," Oberyn insisted. "Not now we have Myrcella."
A silence fell over the two of them as they watched Myrcella play against Trystane. Her golden hair cascaded down her pale shoulders, over her crimson gown. Her full lips were slightly parted, emerald eyes narrowed in concentration as she gazed at the jade pieces on the board. They looked like night and day, the two of them together. Trystane with his olive skin and straight black hair, Myrcella with her milky complexion and mop of curls. One was five-and-ten, the other four-and-ten, and both were at just the age where when they caught each other's eyes they'd break out into blushes and look away shyly.
"She bled for the first time a little while after you left," Doran said. "It'll only be a matter of time before the two are abed. We can't hurt her, not now that she has become one of us. And so an empty threat protects my Arianne in that pit of snakes people call a city."
"The king does not seem to think so," Oberyn said, glancing around to ensure they were alone. "He took care to tell me as such before I left. Made some veiled, and some not so veiled, threats to try and keep us in line, to ward us away from his sister and his grandfather. Even went as far as to tell me something he couldn't possibly know."
"What was that?" Doran asked, curious.
"Viserys," Oberyn said. "Arianne and Viserys. He knew. Mentioned it in casual conversation, as though he were not discussing a grave treason. And then the king had the gall to offer his forgiveness and tell me it was all forgotten, so long as such plots were not continued and his precious princess was kept safe."
Doran sighed and licked his lips. "We have a turncoat," he concluded.
Oberyn nodded in agreement. "My thoughts as well," he said. "It must be someone significant, and someone close to us, else the king would not know such things."
"Did the king give any indication anyone else knew?" Doran asked. "Does he have some new Master of Whispers? Does Lord Tywin know as well?"
Oberyn shook his head. "Not so far as I could tell."
Doran watched Myrcella more closely at her seat below the orange tree in silence. "She sends letters to her brother often," he noted offhandedly. "I presumed it was how he knew of Arianne's plot to have her crowned, and yet..." Doran sighed. "I wonder if she knows who among us belongs to her brother?"
"Perhaps," Oberyn remarked. "Regardless, only a handful of people knew our true intent. It should not be too hard to sift through them and find the culprit."
Doran rubbed his chin contemplatively, the fire fading slightly in his sunken eyes. "If he knows that, then... What else does he know? What of Quentyn?"
"I can only presume," Oberyn said. "Yet if he knew about Viserys, then it does seem likely."
"And so another of my children is at the boy king's mercy," Doran said. "Quentyn is already across the narrow sea, with Ser Gerris Drinkwater and Ser William Wells and Sers Cletus and Archibald Yronwood. He is already too far gone. I cannot call him back now, nor send someone after him who could reach him in time."
"Perhaps Essos is outside the king's reach?" Oberyn ventured.
"Perhaps," Doran agreed. "Yet regardless you are right: the king is indeed cleverer than he seems. He means to secure himself by simply telling us just enough to fill us with uncertainty and doubt, to disrupt our work. The mere idea of his men in Dorne is enough to stay my hand, enough to discourage me away from thoughts of open treason. It matters little whether Daenerys Targaryen has dragons if the king can just order all our throats cut at a moment's notice, never mind that he holds my daughter hostage. With one conversation he has destroyed years of planning."
"So what now?" Oberyn asked. "The Mountain is dead, but Lord Tywin is not. And justice for Elia cannot be had so long so the Old Lion lives."
Oberyn's question was met with silence. Doran stared out onto the pools of the Water Gardens, but Oberyn noted his eyes were mostly affixed to his last remaining son. He and his new wife were sneaking a kiss, thinking themselves alone with all eyes watching the water-battle.
"You went above and beyond what I asked of you," Doran finally said, his eyes gleaming. "I'd call it foolish, except you were fortunate enough to succeed. Can you imagine the uproar if you'd been killed? But now... the Boy King on the Iron Throne has again changed the game, and we are forced to adapt. But one thing is for certain: Now that the stakes have risen again, there can be no more room made for risk."
"Don't worry," Oberyn said. "I told Nymeria and Tyene to be careful. They'll do little more than ingratiate themselves and acquire influence and information, and perhaps even undermine his new regime just a tad. To test the true extent of Tommen's strength. They know to await our orders before they act."
"Let us pray they listen, then," Doran said wanly. "Lest the Boy King sees exactly what kind of an ally he has in Sunspear."
...
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