"Who told you we're going to war with Volantis?"
Jules's first question wasn't why Tiberius wanted to help Lysandro find his missing daughter Seraphys, or how any of it tied to the White Company getting wiped out. It was cold and sharp—how the hell did the kid even know the Three Daughters were about to fight Volantis?
The current contract with Lysandro was indeed tied to that coming war. But Jules had only told a handful of his most trusted officers. No one else in the company knew yet…
He swung his gaze to Vito, face like thunder.
"You told him?"
Only possibility.
Vito shook his head so hard it looked like it might fly off.
"The kid figured it out himself. I didn't say a damn word."
"Vito really didn't tell me anything about Volantis," Tiberius said. "Lord Lysandro's hospitality gave it all away."
He pointed at the purple silk robe Jules was wearing—gold thread glittering at the cuffs and hem.
"Look at what he's giving us, Uncle: slaves in silk and gold, this palace of a villa, food fit for a triarch, and free run of the Rogare family's famous Perfumed Garden…"
"And if I'm not mistaken, the first payment on this contract is at least three—maybe four—times our usual rate."
Tiberius gave a small, bitter smile.
"Dear Uncle… why do you think those girls in the Perfumed Garden are spreading their legs for Vito for free? Because he's handsome? Because of his yellow teeth? Or his terrible poetry? And the slaves waiting on us—by their clothes and jewelry, they look more like masters than we do."
"Besides an invasion from Volantis, I can't think of a single thing worth Lysandro sinking this much coin into us. Unless the Three Daughters are planning to sail west and poke the dragon in King's Landing?" He snorted. "If that's the case, my advice is run—everyone burns the same in dragonflame."
Jules raised an eyebrow.
He knew his nephew well: loved hero tales, hot-headed, always looking for a fight. Killing that unlucky Ironborn had probably only fed the fire.
But the way the boy had just pieced together an entire secret war from nothing but luxury and gold? That was new. That was… impressive.
Had the oar actually knocked some sense into him? Or had the Crone herself whispered wisdom in his ear?
Still…
Jules shot Vito a sideways look.
He and Vito went way back. He knew the man inside out—loose tongue, not the sharpest, horny as a goat, but loyal to the bone and damn good at drilling troops.
[Vito… the kid probably sweet-talked the truth out of him without Vito even realizing it,] Jules thought.
"Tiberius, I'll admit—that analysis impressed me. But what does his missing daughter have to do with the coming war against Volantis?" Jules frowned, thick black brows knitting together. "You said the company could get wiped out? You're not just being dramatic, are you?"
"If you've been listening to too many bard songs about knights saving princesses and you want to play hero, I'll crack you over the head with an oar again—knock some sense back in."
"I've seen plenty of pups like you. Kill one man and suddenly you think you're a warrior—"
"Uncle, I know you think I'm just being impulsive," Tiberius said, meeting Jules's eyes steadily. "Please—just hear me out before you decide."
"We can refuse Lysandro. The contract doesn't mention finding his daughter. Walking away wouldn't break any written terms, and no one could accuse us of bad faith. And theoretically, once the war with Volantis starts, he'll still need the White Company to protect his slaves, plantations, and fortune—and to win him glory and seats at the triarchs' table. So he wouldn't dare touch us lightly."
"So?" Jules asked, voice low. "What does any of that have to do with saving his girl? I already know all this, Tiberius. I want to hear why not helping her means the whole company dies. Give me the reason."
Tiberius took a deep breath.
"Lysandro is a smart, rational man. But how many people stay smart and rational when it's their own blood that's vanished? What I fear is his resentment."
"In Westeros, plenty of lords don't even like their daughters. They sell them off like horses to bannermen or traders. If one disappears, it's just 'unfortunate.'"
"But this is Essos. The culture is different. And it's obvious Lysandro loves his daughter—otherwise he wouldn't have come here in person, swallowing his pride to beg you."
"Right now he doesn't actually need us to find her. He needs an attitude. A hope. The hope that his daughter might still come home—even if he knows deep down it's probably a lie. And your title 'the Honorable' is the perfect comfort. Everyone knows when you sign a contract, you deliver."
Tiberius spoke slowly, calmly, like one of those highborn Lysene boys trained in debate.
Jules found himself thinking the kid sounded like a damn scholar.
[No—I must be losing my mind. Tiberius barely reads…] Jules thought.
"But that's not a reason for me to risk my reputation, Tiberius," Jules shot back.
"His hope, his love for his daughter—none of that is in our contract. He gives gold and terms; I give blood and steel. That's fair. I won't throw my men and my name at a puzzle the entire city of Lys couldn't solve."
"True—his hope isn't in the contract," Tiberius replied. "But Uncle, you turned him down flat. That's the same as personally snuffing out that hope. For the sake of appearances—and because he still needs us for the war—he won't explode at you right now. But later? Especially once the fighting with Volantis starts and our food, supplies, everything depends on this man…"
Tiberius drew a finger across his throat.
"If he holds a grudge, that's when he strikes. He doesn't need swords. One quiet word to the logistics officers, one suggestion to the Lysene generals to put us on the meat-grinder front line—that's all. For Lord Lysandro, that's nothing."
"And if he does, plenty of people will be happy to use the White Company as their stepping stone to climb higher."
Jules's face darkened.
He hadn't thought of that angle, but…
"Bullshit, Tiberius," Vito cut in. "He's counting on us to kill Volantenes and guard his wealth. Why would he sabotage us in the middle of a war?"
Jules nodded. "You think he'd cut our supplies? During wartime? He wouldn't dare—the triarchy would call it treason."
[Got them,] Tiberius thought with quiet satisfaction.
The line about "refusing equals total annihilation" had been a deliberate exaggeration—just enough to jolt them out of their usual thinking and force them to consider the real danger. The fact that they were now arguing specifics instead of dismissing him as "just a kid" meant he had them hooked.
"Uncle, Vito—you both make good points," Tiberius said, nodding respectfully. "But even if he doesn't move against us during the war… what about after?"
"All he has to do is whisper a few words in the right Lysene salons: 'Honorable' Jules refused to help a desperate father… cold, selfish…" Tiberius let the words hang. "Uncle, sometimes words cut deeper than Valyrian steel. They can destroy your reputation in the time it takes to finish one banquet. Once the 'Honorable' label is gone, will the big clients still come running?"
"And let's be honest—Lysandro's word carries a lot more weight in the Three Daughters than yours."
"If that story spreads—and it will—it'll be ten, twenty, a hundred retellings. In the sellsword market we'll lose the best contracts overnight."
Tiberius looked straight at Jules's sweat-slick face.
"The White Company survives in this chaos, lands the richest contracts, because of one thing. Not because we have the most men. Not because we have the best gear."
He spoke quietly but firmly.
"It's because of you, Uncle—'Honorable' Jules Mord. Your word is iron. You finish what you promise even if it costs every drop of blood. The great lords don't trust a pack of sword-swinging thugs. They trust that golden name."
Jules's expression changed completely.
How had he missed it?
What if Lysandro did hold a grudge?
Even if the man played the long game and didn't sabotage them during the war… afterward?
Tiberius stole a quick glance at his uncle.
Perfect. The man was sweating.
Because a company with good credit gets the big jobs—but the clients also need to believe the company will deliver, or no one signs.
"Uncle, I know how much 'the Honorable' means to you. It's why we succeed. But no matter what, you have to take this job."
"At the very least, even if we fail—wouldn't 'the Honorable' who tried with everything he had to save a girl be far more respected than 'the Honorable' who was too careful to even try? Your name won't be stained by not finding Lysandro's daughter. It will be elevated."
Jules stared at the boy in front of him, face unreadable.
Until today, the Tiberius he knew was a hot-headed little shit who let his spear and lance do the talking. If the kid hadn't been so young, Jules figured he'd have dueled half the sellswords in Lys and ended up floating in a gutter.
But now…
"Very well, Tiberius." Jules gave him a long, measuring look. "You've convinced me. Looks like you really have become a man… may the Crone's wisdom stay with you."
"I'm going to tell Lord Lysandro right now that the White Company—and 'Honorable' Jules Mord—accepts his contract."
"No, Uncle—not right now!" Tiberius stopped him quickly.