Stepping across the intricately patterned Myr rug, soft as new spring grass, Rhaegar and Magister Illyrio Mopatis found a parlor with beautiful windows overlooking orange trees and a marble pool.
"Chefs, guards, servants, even beautiful women—I provide the best service for my young friend who has traveled so far."
"Are they slaves?" Rhaegar asked.
"According to the treaty imposed upon us by the Braavosi many years ago, Pentos abolished slavery. We have no slaves here; I merely ensure they will obey you." Magister Illyrio Mopatis's greasy beard made Rhaegar uncomfortable. Even more uncomfortable was the institution of slavery itself.
"Give the order to prepare a lavish feast for me and my young friend, sparing no expense," Magister Illyrio Mopatis instructed the two slightly older, stout cooks.
"Pentos cuisine is not fit for a feast, but these two cooks of mine have been specially trained. I hope they satisfy my young friend." Magister Illyrio Mopatis was now even more obsequious. He was pulling out all the stops to curry favor with Rhaegar.
A Dragon King who possesses three dragons is terrifying enough, especially a Dragon King capable of magic; his value in this world is undeniable. Compared to him, what is a Khal? As long as the magic dragons spread their wings, such powerful support can easily defeat a Khal. Ordinary magic dragons are priceless, let alone terrifying magic dragons nurtured by sorcery. If he continues to develop, challenging Braavos might not be impossible.
The main courses included crab and flat shark soup, and cold egg and lime soup, followed by honey quail, roasted lamb chops, red wine soaked foie gras, buttered turnips, and suckling pig. The dishes, colorful and varied, began to cover the luxurious marble dining table.
What a wonderful meal, Rhaegar thought.
"These dishes symbolize the world's delicacies, treasures of the land and sea." Illyrio invited Rhaegar to eat; ivory plates and gold cutlery were already in place.
Rhaegar tasted a few bites, and the flavor was indeed excellent. Compared to the royal chefs in the Red Keep court, they could certainly compete. This thick soup, in particular, had a distinct Pentos flavor.
"Are these dishes to your liking, my young friend?" Illyrio inquired.
"They are truly excellent. I must thank my Magister friend!" Rhaegar said. He genuinely found it delicious; in comparison, the food in Tyrosh was practically pig feed. Their specialty dish was apparently roasted sausage.
"That's good!" Illyrio laughed heartily. "If you wish to drink, the cellar holds supreme fine wines, including the sweet dry reds of The Reach in Westeros, the summer red of Dorne, our white Pentos Amber Wine, green Myr Mead, Golden Wine from The Arbor, and even wines imported from the legendary East—from Qarth, Yi Ti, and Asshai by the Shadow. If you desire women, I can provide fifty exquisite virgins for my young friend. They would all be thrilled to see a handsome, silver-haired, purple-eyed Prince, and the Prince need not worry about siring bastards. Girls love a pretty face, as it has always been. They would be willing for the Prince, but they are utterly bored with men like me."
"The fine wine I will drink, but women can wait. The vastness of the Eastern Continent is truly enviable! In the Eastern Continent, wine can be drunk, and meat can be eaten. Magister, dreaming amidst such fine wine and delicious food must be a beautiful thing!" Rhaegar replied.
"It is a vast continent, but also a restless one. Especially for a poor Pentosi like me. When I wake up, I find a Magic Dragon on the left, a Khal on the right, and the ferocious Titan above my head. I live in fear every moment." Illyrio fiddled with his greasy beard. The gesture was somewhat vulgar, but his insight was sharp.
"My Fat Friend should relax. My Magic Dragons are very docile. Besides, the Khal and the Titan have been at peace with you for many years, and the Khals happily receive your gifts," Rhaegar said after eating a piece of foie gras.
"I have indeed heard things, but my information is quite different from yours. I heard your three little obedient dragons burned a large number of pirates and Lysene refugees in the Stepstones, and extorted six Myr warships in Tyrosh. How much lace and how many lenses must the Myrmen sell to recoup that cost? My young friend, you are not old, but a dragon is a dragon, born with the scent of blood and fire." Magister Illyrio Mopatis said with a cheerful laugh, stroking his beard, his laughter full of satisfaction.
"You must have been mistaken. My dragons are always very docile. They just occasionally need to breathe a bit of fire," Rhaegar continued to enjoy the food.
The servants brought out more dishes: heron stuffed with figs, veal cutlets with almond milk, creamed herring, sugared onions, pungent cheese, several plates of snails, sweet bread, and a feathered black swan.
Rhaegar was speechless. He really disliked having such large birds as main courses, but it seemed to be the custom of the era that large birds were gifts reserved for honored guests. A swan—that was only fit for a king.
"My Fat Friend is truly hospitable; I can't eat another bite!" Rhaegar said, looking at the table full of good food.
"My young friend is too modest. Judging by your physique, you have eaten far too much," Illyrio chuckled, stuffing a pickled quail into his mouth.
Those who consume Qi, their spirits are immortal. Those who consume meat are robust and strong. Since studying magic, Rhaegar felt he could indeed eat much more than ordinary people. But this was probably normal; he was a Dual-class Sorcerer and a First-rate Warrior, essentially running two or three systems simultaneously.
The two raised their glasses together in a toast to their insincerity.
"Pay attention to these snails. I imported them from Braavos. Braavos made its fortune on sea snails, and this snail meat is quite good." Magister Illyrio Mopatis pointed to the plates of cooked sea snail meat.
"The snail meat is good, but the snails' masters are not to be trifled with," Rhaegar said.
"That was true in the past, but I see a possibility in you," Magister Illyrio Mopatis's eyes began to flicker, and his words were full of seductive power.
"You shouldn't say that, my Fat Friend. Braavos is my dearest friend and relative; they have provided funds directly many times."
"Prince, I can also lend you money, even interest-free, which is more generous than the Iron Bank. Can you truly tolerate the Titan's aggressiveness? I heard your ancestors were not exactly amicable with the Titan. Jaehaerys I even considered military action over three eggs. But you were afraid, because your house had not yet birthed a True Dragon." Illyrio took a large bite of the sea snail.
"My Fat Friend, Braavos has the Faceless Men and a fleet. I dare not offend them." Rhaegar also picked up a piece of snail meat.
"You disappoint me, young friend. As far as I know, you are no coward."
"Let's speak frankly. One world cannot tolerate two great powers—that is a truth all Pentosi understand. If you, Prince, continue to change the general situation, you will soon conflict with the Titan. We, in fact, share a common enemy."
"That is merely one possibility, Magister. One possibility among a thousand rivers," Rhaegar replied.
"This is not just a possibility; it is a highly inevitable trend. Braavos will investigate the signs of the revival of magic and the possibility of the Dragon King rising again. If they discover the True Dragon's grand ambitions, I cannot say how the Braavosi will choose. The world is a web, and we in Pentos move with the tide." Illyrio emphasized.
"Then let's talk terms. My compensation is very high. I need money, intelligence, Runes, and information about the Blackfyres." Rhaegar raised his glass, watching the Magister devour the snail meat.
"Politics is also a transaction, Prince. All conscientious Pentosi hate the peace enforced by Braavos. You will have our friendship." Illyrio smiled even more brightly. In the eyes of the wealthy merchants of the Free Cities, anything can be sold.
The two understood each other tacitly; both harbored malice and hostility towards Braavos.
"By the way, Magister, do you know Illyrio and Varys?" Rhaegar asked.
"Does the Prince know those two?" Magister Illyrio Mopatis was somewhat surprised. "Those two are an emerging thief gang in Pentos—one is a clever rogue from Myr, the other a beggar swordsman. Varys is responsible for spying on incompetent thieves, seizing their loot when the opportunity arises; Illyrio contacts the victims, promising to help them recover their losses for a fee. They have already accumulated some wealth. I hear they now have a group of young children working for them, and Varys even artificially creates mutes. Is the Prince also interested in them?"
"I have no interest, but they tried to steal something they shouldn't have, and a friend of mine is very angry," Rhaegar replied.
"That might be difficult. I could easily have them killed for the Prince, but many Magisters like these two young men. They are subtle and quick, and they have done many favors for certain nobles," Magister Illyrio Mopatis said.
"No matter. I also heard that their business is so successful that half the thieves and cutpurses in Pentos want to slaughter them!" Rhaegar stated this observation.
"Yes."
"With so many enemies, there must be one or two thieves who hate them intensely and possess great strength," Rhaegar said, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
"Then I shall pray for the poor Varys and Illyrio. These Golden Generation youngsters have provoked someone they shouldn't have. I will have my Unsullied go notify them; someone will come to contact you tonight!"
At nightfall, a fat man with a scarred face timidly entered Rhaegar's garden through a small gate. He climbed out of a wine barrel provided by the Unsullied, who then dismantled the barrel. The Unsullied had stuffed him directly into the barrel to bring him in—this was Magister Illyrio Mopatis's gift.
"Your name!" Rhaegar asked from the shadows.
"Fat Miro! My Lord!" Fat Miro said. He was injured, his right hand wrapped in a bandage. He was confused, but seeing the Unsullied Eunuchs, he knew a great personage was summoning him.
"What grievance do you have with Varys and Illyrio?" Rhaegar asked.
"They are my rivals. Since those two appeared, my business has plummeted, and my clients have dwindled. I have clashed with those two bastards twice, but unfortunately, I lost every time! My brother also died by their hands! That Myr clown is mediocre, but Illyrio, that bastard, truly has excellent martial skills." A hint of sadness crossed Miro's face.
"Do you want revenge?" Rhaegar's figure was hidden in the darkness. It seemed Illyrio might not have been lying; he was probably quite formidable in his youth.
"Yes! My Lord! If my hand weren't injured, I'd risk my life to kill them." Miro gritted his teeth.
"Then I will give you this chance! Four Unsullied. Do not disappoint me!" The figure in the shadows clapped his hands, and four Unsullied Eunuchs followed Miro out.
The dagger wrapped at the waist of the Unsullied Eunuch emitted a faint black glow—a touch of the Iron Throne's curse, a single-use Enchanted Dagger.
Those who coveted the Iron Throne dying by a gift from the Iron Throne—that was rather fitting. A eunuch dying by the hand of a eunuch, a marvelous circle.
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