Ivika looked at Igalas, his mouth slightly agape. He wanted to speak, to demand answers, but found himself utterly at a loss for words. A dragon. The reality of it, a living, hissing creature in this very hall, was so profound it defied immediate comprehension.
Cayman, however, was utterly unfazed. With a simple gesture, Igalas obediently soared from the floor and settled into the crook of his arm.
"Governor, it is my honor to introduce my new family member, Igalas," Cayman said, a smile playing on his lips. "A black dragon, hatched from an ancient Valyrian egg. I deem this nothing short of a miracle. Do you not agree?"
"Where did you procure the dragon egg?" Ivika managed, his voice regaining some of its sharpness as he fixed a penetrating stare on the creature. "That wench, Saera Targaryen! She stole—"
"Mind your language, Ivika." Cayman's eyes turned to ice, cutting him off. "Lest you become the first governor in Lys's history to have his tongue severed." He despised the term 'theft'. The egg that hatched Igalas was his by right of conquest and a decade of sacrifice, wrested from fate itself.
Ivika's expression fluctuated between shadow and light, fury and fear. In that moment, the final piece clicked into place. He finally comprehended the source of Cayman's uncharacteristically assertive demeanor, the armed guards, the sheer audacity. The boy wasn't just a merchant; he was a dragonlord in the making. Before the dragon's arrival, Ivika had been confident Cayman would not dare harm a sitting governor. Now, he was no longer sure of anything. For the common folk of Lys, securing the protection of a dragonlord would be a dream come true, compelling them to support the removal of any who stood in his way.
"Apologies," Ivika immediately conceded, his posture deflating. "I merely got carried away with excitement at the prospect of Lys also being under a dragon's protection." He had come with only two servants. His priority was now survival.
"I understand. It's quite all right. I forgive your rashness," Cayman said, his smile returning as if a cloud had passed. "Let us continue to drink. It would be a pity to waste such exquisite food."
As the banquet resumed, a semblance of merriment forced into the air, Ivika's mind raced. He suddenly realized that from the moment he arrived, Cayman had been in control, deliberately revealing the salt and the dragon. There was a hidden agenda here.
His suspicions were correct. Cayman rose and personally poured a glass of wine for the older governor. "Governor," he began cheerfully, "I believe you are right in saying that in the tides of time, those who do not band together are doomed."
Ivika took a sip and nodded, wary.
"I am preparing to select a few trade partners to jointly expand the production of beauty soap. What do you think?"
A glimmer of understanding flashed in Ivika's eyes. With the more profitable 'fresh salt powder,' the significance of the soap had diminished. Using it as a tool to win allies was a shrewd move.
"A splendid idea," Ivika said, a calculated smile creeping across his face. "Have you identified suitable candidates?"
"Indeed, I have. In Lys, you are one, along with Chiolier and Destin. You are my dearest friends."
"Oh, it seems I am not the only one who perceives our relationship favorably," Ivika replied, satisfied that his faction was being courted.
"Of course, I too believe our relationship is quite amiable."
They clinked glasses. The rest of the banquet was a performance of forced joviality and endless toasts. As night deepened, Cayman saw a thoroughly inebriated Ivika to his carriage.
Once inside, the drunken stupor vanished from Ivika's face. His eyes, now sharp and clear, stared into the darkness. His index finger tapped incessantly against the armrest as he contemplated the day.
The dragon changed everything. As a former Valyrian colony, the people of Lys would view it with reverence, not fear. The dragon could allow Cayman to effortlessly seize popular support. Given the boy's ambition, he would undoubtedly transform Lys into a realm governed solely by his whims, establishing a hereditary monarchy centered on his new bloodline.
This had originally been Ivika's own secret ambition. After twenty-nine years as governor, he had long dreamed of founding a dynasty, of seeing his son and grandson rule Lys for generations, instead of leaving supreme power to the fickle votes of commoners and the petty squabbles of a council.
Now, a bastard with a dragon threatened to steal that dream. The game was no longer about commerce or governorships. It was about a throne. And Ivika had just looked upon his most formidable rival.