With that, she turned and left. I watched her go for a few seconds before entering the room. The servants moved quickly once inside. My filthy clothes were taken away; fresh water was hauled in steaming buckets, and soon enough a great copper tub had been filled. The smell of herbs and flowers suffused the entire room.
I eased myself into the bath with a hiss as hot water closed around my ribs. The ache in my chest that had been a constant pain dulled. I still needed to see the maester soon, but it was manageable.
I leaned back, on the tub letting my head rest against the rim. When I closed my eyes to relax, all I could think about was the fighting. The ringing of metal. My heart thundering in both fright and genuine excitement in similar measures. How it felt when the tip of my blade bit into flesh. The way the world narrowed until there was nothing but my sword and shield and the certainty that if I stopped moving, I would die.
And the smell of it. Gods, the smell of it. Whatever nice herbs they'd put in the tub faded like a distant memory when I thought back of the Fair Winds' and the Western Will's deck. So many dead. So many I killed.
It wasn't guilt that stirred in me. I couldn't feel it for men who had come to rob or kill us. Or worse. The coast of the Stormlands had suffered slave raids for generations. Tarth was not an exception.
No, what I thought of was the old captain, Jerek of Feastfires, falling to an opponent thrice as good as him. He never stood a chance, but he fought regardless. I thought of Daven, barely more than a boy, with two sisters waiting for him in Lannisport. I remembered his grin, how fondly he spoke of home.
I would need to help the girls, somehow. I swore it quietly to myself.
And now Gerion. Poisoned and fading fast. Could I have reached him sooner? Fought harder through the press of bodies? I shook myself. No, I couldn't think like that. Not everything was my fault, my responsibility.
Even if I'd reached him sooner, even if I'd run through that blue-haired bastard with my sword, Ser Gerion had already been nicked half a dozen times over. The fight for his life was here, now.
I sank lower into the water, breathing carefully, and let the heat take hold of me for a little while longer.
xxx
I woke with a start, water sloshing faintly against the sides of the tub. For a disoriented moment I didn't know where I was. But the thick scent of herbs, combined with my skin wrinkled worse than a raisin, brought it all together.
I let out a sigh. The ache in my chest had dulled to a distant throb, but my neck protested sharply when I shifted. Should've known better than to fall asleep like the hunchback of Notre Dame.
The light spilling through the shutters had softened into something reddish gold. The shadows stretched long across the floor. Dusk, then, or close it. I dragged myself from the bath, dried, dressed with the more somber of the choices the servants had left for me—dark pants with a cream-colored shirt and doublet combo—and quickly made my way back into the palace halls.
My body still felt heavy and sluggish, but I could breathe better than I expected. Or I just wanted an excuse to delay seeing the maester again. I could think of a thousand better things to do than sit half-naked while an old stooped man looked me over.
I found Ser Sarek Hill standing guard outside the maester's healing room, arms crossed over his mail, helm tucked beneath one arm. His face was drawn, but his eyes brightened when he saw me.
"He lives still, Ser Galladon," he said before I could ask.
Nodding, I opened the door a crack and poked my head into the room, trying to be as silent as possible. Inside, the air smelled sharp and unpleasant, like bad blood and some kind of medicine I couldn't name. Leeches clung darkly to Gerion's skin, fat and glistening as they fed. The old maester didn't seem to notice me, murmuring to himself as he worked.
I didn't think all Dornishmen were sly poisoners, but I had some historical backing for keeping a close eye on Ser Gerion.
I slid the door close with a click. "Any word on the pirate?" I asked.
"Nothing," Ser Sarek said quietly. "I have a man in the room to make sure questions are being asked, but the scum is mad, thinks it's all some big joke."
I swore under my breath. Things just could not be simple in this world.
"But," Sarek continued, "the Western Will was spotted just a few hours ago. She came in with the galley in tow."
That made me perk up.
"Where is she now?"
"Should be docked at this point, but that's all I know."
Saying my goodbyes, I went down to the stables and arranged a horse for myself. Ser Sarek had searched over the captain's quarters for anything related to the poison before we ever set sail back to Sunspear, but I wanted to go look for myself. I knew him too little to trust his competence.
xxx
The ride down through Sunspear felt longer than it should have. The city was beginning to settle into the evening. I thought it would've gone less busy as daylight dwindled, but it was the other way around. Lamps were being lit, vendors restocking wares, and the smell of cooked food drifted through the streets. People's anxious countenances hadn't changed, but I supposed some respite from the heat did help with foul humor.
The smell made me want to stop and shop around a little, but I had a task that needed doing. At the docks, the Western Will was easy to spot. Her hull bore long, ugly scrapes along one side where the pirate galley had struck her. Sailors moved about the deck in silence, pulling up buckets of sea water and rubbing down its planks with brushes and sponges.
I spotted a few of the Fair Winds' surviving crew going into a dockside tavern nearby. Earlier, I had spared some silver for them before I left for the castle, for a hot meal and enough ale or wine to dull the senses. I didn't know when exactly we'd be leaving, but they had earned a day or two ashore and in comfort.
A Lannister guardsman stepped into my path as I approached the gangplank of the Will. He was short and broad, the red cloak draped over his shoulder near rent into pieces. His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping.
"Ser Galladon," he said grimly. "You should see this."
He did not lead me up onto the Western Will. Instead, he took me to the pirate galley moored beside her.
I had not yet seen the galley beyond looking down onto her deck from the Will. Up close, the ship looked worse than I'd expected. Her railings were broken here and there, her oars cracked in half as they hung over the side.
The Lannister men must've not wanted to have any more filth than needed on their ship, as the two dozen pirates we'd captured on the carrack were here now, bound about the hands and with their backs to the mast or lashed to benches. They looked at us with open fear as we boarded. Whatever bravado they had was burned away, and their eyes flicked nervously to every armed man who passed.
A trio of dornish dockmasters along with a squad of yellow-vested soldiers moved among them, asking questions and noting down answers in low voices. None of them looked pleased.
The Lannister guardsman motioned me toward the hatch. "We didn't find it," he said quietly. "Not on the voyage here. Would've sworn the hold was empty."
Below deck, someone had lit a lantern to give us some light. The hold looked mostly empty besides some supply barrels and crates, but a false bottom had been cut onto the planks in a corner, well-hidden and cleverly done. I wouldn't have noticed it myself had I looked right at it.
Beneath it, the space was cramped and airless, low enough a man could barely sit up. The smell was worse, a mix of salt and piss and other human waste trapped together for too long.
My teeth ground together once I realized why. There were people down there. I squinted into the hidden hold. Thirty, perhaps more, huddled together in the dark, chained in pairs or threes, eyes wide and reflecting the lantern light like animals caught in a snare. Someone cried out when a board was lifted up and the wood cracked. Others shrank back, covering their heads.
"Children," I whispered.
A few Lannister men were already at work inside, straining at shackles with knives and tools.
"No keys, ser," the guard who accompanied me preempted the question. "Bastards threw them overboard, I'll wager."
"Don't think they were meant to be found," another said. "Dockmasters spotted the seams when they inspected the hull. Common trick in slave ships, they said."
I clenched my fists so hard my nails bit into my palms. "Let's get them water and food. Only a little for now. Do not let them eat too much too fast, despite the hunger."
One of the men nodded sharply and turned to shout orders.
The Dornish workers brought more appropriate tools after a minute. The chains came off, and we helped the people up onto the deck one by one. They blinked at the sunlight as if under a smoldering noon instead of the dim dusk, clutching one another.
They were families, I realized quickly. Mothers dragging children close, a man with a broken nose shielding a girl with his body. Twelve children, by my count. Maybe more.
I approached a tall man as he steadied himself against the rail. His hair was dark but threaded heavily with gray, his skin was sallow on a face hollowed out by hunger.
"Where are you from, good man?" I asked him.
"Estermont," he said hoarsely.
After I introduced myself as the heir to Tarth, the others were quick to tell me their stories. They were Stormlanders one and all. Beyond two families from Estermont, most were from a nameless fishing village in the southeastern tip of Cape Wrath. The pirates had raided them at night, killing those they thought wouldn't fetch a good price and keeping the ones more likely to be sold. The village was torched.
I worked my jaw to keep it from popping. Slavers. The scum of this earth and worse than pirates by half, though they are usually one and the same around the Stepstones. I would need to send a raven to Lord Baratheon explaining what was happening, and it reminded me to write to my family as well.
They would all be pissed if I forgot to send a message when I could have.
Before I could speak again, heavy boots thundered across the deck behind me. I turned as a messenger pushed through, a Lannister man I recognized from the group guarding the captured pirate back in the Spear Tower.
His face did not inspire confidence that it would be good news.
"Ser Galladon," he said, breathless. "The pirate's dead."
Everything seemed to freeze for a moment. My mouth worked on its hinges but no sound came out.
After a moment, I finally managed to ask, "How?"
"As he was being questioned, ser," he said. "But they think… they think he was poisoned too.
xxx
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