59: Chapter 59 The Judgment Seat

Noon. The Plaza of Freedom.

The sun baked the obsidian stele until it was scorching hot. The word "Freedom," inscribed on the stele in nineteen languages, looked like knife scars in every stroke under the intense light.

The plaza was packed with people—freed slaves, Unsullied, Dothraki Cavalry, and the nobles of the surrendered city who had been forced to attend the execution.

The nobles stood in the front row, with those they had once bought and sold standing right behind them.

No one spoke. Even coughs were stifled.

A temporary judgment dais had been erected beside the stele. A black stone throne sat upon it.

One hundred Unsullied were lined up below the dais, their spears like a forest.

White Mane led fifty cavalrymen to maintain order on the periphery of the plaza, a giant blade slung over her shoulder, her amber eyes scanning the edges of the crowd.

Jorah and Barristan stood on either side of the throne, hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

Daenerys walked in from the entrance of the plaza. Her black dragon-scale armor fit snugly, her waist cinched tight, and her pauldrons tilted slightly upward.

Her silver-gold hair was tied into a high ponytail that swayed gently behind her shoulder with every step she took.

An emerald necklace shimmered at her neckline, and the black silk scarf was still on her wrist—the edges were frayed, but she hadn't replaced it.

Her pace was not fast. Every step was steady. There was no hesitation in her violet eyes.

Drogon followed half a step behind her. In human form.

Today, he was uncharacteristically wearing a formal black and gold robe—fished out of a Great Master's wardrobe, with the hem shortened to avoid tripping on his tail.

The buttons were fastened up to his collarbone. His tail maintained a solemn rhythm behind him.

His slit pupils were constantly scanning the surroundings of the plaza—he was searching for any potentially hidden enemies.

"The fourth noble in the third row on the left has something in his sleeve. It's not a weapon. It's a small flask. He drinks whenever he gets nervous."

"Leave him be. Let him drink."

"The fat woman in the second row on the right keeps glaring at you."

"She is a representative of the freed slaves. She isn't glaring at me; she's glaring at the three kneeling there."

"Fine. Then I'll continue scanning."

White Mane personally escorted the three Great Masters undercover agents onto the dais.

Her movements were not gentle.

The valyrian steel chains rattled loudly as they shook in her hands.

The three men's wrists were chained together as they were dragged onto the dais, stumbling. They knelt before the judgment dais.

The white-haired elder at their head—Grazdan mo Eraz—still had the terror of being dragged from his bed etched on his face, but a hint of unwillingness was hidden in the depths of his eyes.

Missandei stepped forward. She unfurled a scroll of papyrus. She cleared her throat.

Her voice was clear as she recited in three languages in turn—Common Tongue, dothraki language, and Old Ghiscari.

"Grazdan mo Eraz, former Great Master of Meereen.

Three charges. First, after the fall of Meereen, you secretly communicated with the Abyss Demon Realm and set up thirteen invasion Sub-runes.

Second, you conspired to detonate the Sub-runes while the Mother of Dragons was inspecting the estate, attempting an assassination.

Third, you refused to hand over the slave registry, hiding thirty-six slaves who should have been freed in an underground secret chamber. The evidence is conclusive. The other two accomplices face the same charges."

A commotion began in the plaza. Some were shouting, "Hang them!"

Others were crying—the families of those thirty-six slaves were in the crowd. An old woman holding a child was pushing forward, only to be blocked by the shields of the Unsullied, but she kept pushing forward.

Drogon watched the old woman. His slit pupils contracted slightly.

"The child in her arms is wearing the maid's uniform of a Great Master's house. Her daughter might be on that list of hidden slaves."

Daenerys stood up from the throne.

She didn't rise slowly. She stood up decisively. She walked over to the three kneeling sinners.

She wasn't much taller than Grazdan, but the old man was kneeling while she stood. He had to look up to see her face.

"Grazdan."

Her voice was not loud. But it penetrated the entire plaza.

"Three days ago, you complained to me at the morning meeting. You said your estate was requisitioned. That your family had suffered injustice. At the time, I thought—perhaps you were truly just an old man abandoned by the times."

A pause. Her violet eyes stared into his. Grazdan's lips began to tremble.

"But you exploited that sympathy. After my morning meeting ended, you walked into the underground secret passage and carved that rune to summon the Abyss in the center of the subterranean river."

Grazdan wanted to argue. He opened his mouth. Under the gaze of her violet eyes, all that came from his throat were a few gasps.

"You did not betray me. You betrayed everyone in this city who has been sold, whipped, and treated like livestock by you. You promised them freedom. Then you buried runes under their wells."

She turned. Facing the crowd in the plaza. Her voice was not excited. But every word was clear enough for those at the edge of the plaza to hear.

"I, Daenerys Targaryen, Stormborn, Mother of Dragons, and Liberator of Meereen—in the name of freedom, I sentence Grazdan mo Eraz and his two accomplices to death."

"All their property shall be confiscated and used to settle the thirty-six slaves they hid. Their family members, if there is no evidence of their participation in the infiltration of the Abyss, shall be released, but stripped of their noble titles and must make their own living."

She paused for a moment. She turned her head. She looked at Drogon.

"Execute the sentence—carried out by Drogon."

Drogon walked onto the judgment dais. His slit pupils swept over the three people kneeling on the ground. Then he turned to Daenerys. The corners of his mouth curled up slightly.

It was not bloodthirsty excitement. It was another kind of excitement. He lowered his voice and whispered to Daenerys. His tone was as if he were still discussing the dinner menu.

"Have their vaults been emptied? If not, I won't kill them yet; let them confess everything first and then—"

Daenerys was expressionless. She also lowered her voice.

"They've already been emptied. Missandei cleared them out overnight last night. Three estates, twelve chests of gold coins, forty-six gemstones—they've already been added to your treasury."

Drogon's tail flicked under his robe. He nodded with satisfaction.

"Then I can proceed without worry."

He walked up to Grazdan. He crouched down. His slit pupils were level with the old Great Master's eyes. He didn't act immediately. He spoke in a tone that was almost conversational.

"Old man. When you were carving runes in the underground secret passage—did you ever think that once those rune signals were sent out, the things they summoned might turn your own granddaughter into a wight?"

Grazdan shuddered. His lips trembled. He couldn't speak.

"You didn't. Because you didn't think the Abyss would harm you. You thought you were their 'partner'."

"But the Abyss doesn't cooperate with people. The Abyss only uses people—and then tosses them aside when finished."

"Your granddaughter—if the ice spear on the city wall that day had struck my mother instead of my wing—Meereen would have already been slaughtered by the vanguard of the Abyss. Your granddaughter would have been in the first batch. Understand?"

He didn't wait for Grazdan to answer. His right hand transformed into a blade. A ghostly blue Ice Fire shimmered at his fingertips. He casually pierced through the old Great Master's chest.

There was no screaming. There was no blood. The Ice Fire froze the wound the moment it touched the blood. A thin layer of ice formed where his chest had been pierced. Beneath the ice, the outline of the heart's final spasm could be seen.

The other two accomplices, same hand blade, equally clean and efficient. The three corpses knelt on the ground. Their chests covered in frost. They began to slowly melt under the noon sun.