91: Chapter 91 Greed Exposed

The sun had just risen above the horizon. The black sand beach was gilded with a rim of dark gold light, and the black sand of Dragonstone shimmered with extremely fine crystal glints in the morning light—it was the reflection of the shards of dragon glass mixed into the sand.

White Mane had already finished her first round of swordsmanship practice on the training ground, wearing light armor. The dragon-kiss sword felt increasingly comfortable in her hand—the blade was light, suitable for mounted combat, but she discovered that the sword's true advantage was not its lightness.

It was silence. When valyrian steel cut through the air, it made almost no sound, not even a hum. This meant that during a sneak attack, the blade would have already slit an enemy's throat before they could hear the sound of the sword.

Drogon leaned against the low volcanic rock wall at the edge of the training ground. In human form. His tail was coiled around his waist, the tip resting at his hip. He held half a piece of black bread he had taken from the kitchen, chewing as he watched. Breadcrumbs fell onto the front of his tunic, and he looked down and blew them away.

White Mane sheathed her sword.

She inserted the dragon-kiss sword into the scabbard at her waist—the old scabbard she had mended now fit the blade even better than before. The newly stitched leather thread shimmered in the morning light with a lighter color than the old leather, like a scar that had recently healed.

She walked up to him, her amber eyes looking straight at him.

"You didn't tell the truth at the meeting just now. You added wildfire and post-war harvesting—but you missed one thing. You were thinking of something else."

Drogon swallowed the bread. His tail flicked behind him.

"What else?"

"The treasury in King's Landing. The treasury beneath the Red Keep. You stayed in King's Landing for three days; you marked the location of the wildfire, but you surely also marked the location of the treasury—you are a dragon, you can smell gold. If Melisandre's plan is truly executed—the Red Keep will be burned by wildfire, and the things in the treasury will be gone. You can't bear to let that happen."

There was a moment of silence. Then, the corners of Drogon's mouth lifted slightly, and a flash of helplessness at being exposed flickered in his slit pupils. It wasn't the embarrassment of "you caught me," but the frankness of "yes, you caught me, but I will keep thinking about it."

"Beneath the Red Keep, besides the wildfire, there are three hundred years of the Targaryen dynasty's savings. I already recovered the dragon bones and dragon glass cores from the ruins of the Dragonpit last time, but the treasury—The Mad King's treasury was inherited by Cersei. The gold coins inside are probably twice as much as my treasury in Meereen. Not counting the raw dragon glass ore. And there is a crown—Aegon I's valyrian steel crown, set not with gemstones, but with dragon glass. If the Red Keep is blown up, all of this will be gone."

White Mane crossed her arms. Her amber eyes narrowed slightly.

"So you want to empty the treasury before the plan starts."

"I can't empty it. But at least I can get the dragon glass and the crown out. The crown is for my mother to wear—it belongs to her. The dragon glass—I will eat it myself. The gold coins that can't be eaten can be used for military expenses."

"How are you going to move it? You are going into King's Landing to lure the enemy, not to move house."

"Margaery. The House Tyrell grain transport caravan travels between King's Landing and Highgarden once a week. If she can open an underground tunnel from the treasury to the grain wagons within the Red Keep before the plan starts—the things in the treasury can be transported out in batches. The grain wagons are empty when they enter King's Landing, and they should be empty when they leave, which is perfect for loading things. She gets thirty percent. The remaining seventy percent goes to Dragonstone. She should agree—House Tyrell also needs reconstruction funds. Her grandmother owes a mountain of debt."

White Mane stared at him for a long time. There was no disgust or approval in her amber eyes. She was just calculating. Then she turned around, drew the dragon-kiss sword again, and struck a starting pose for a thrust towards the rising sun.

The sword tip remained motionless in the morning light, like a silver star nailed into the air.

"Before going to Storms End, go tell Daenerys first. Don't hide it from her. You can't hide anything from a blood bond."

The ravenry was built on the tower on the east side of the castle. A dozen ravens were cooing in their cages, the smell of feathers mixed with the smell of bird droppings, so thick it could make a person recoil.

The veteran Unsullied responsible for training the ravens was untying a letter cylinder from the leg of a grey-feathered raven that had just flown back from King's Landing. The raven's feathers were still stained with salt spray from the Narrow Sea, and it shook its wings.

Jorah stood to the side. He took the letter cylinder and unfolded the secret letter. The parchment was filled with tiny, fly-head-sized characters written with an extremely fine quill. He finished reading, and his brows furrowed slightly. Then he turned to Daenerys and Drogon, who had just walked into the ravenry.

"Miss Margaery's reply. It's very short. She says—The reply to the covenant has been received, and Grandmother is extremely interested in this. Regarding the underground secret passages—there is indeed an old servant in the Red Keep who still remembers the layout of some secret passages from the time of The Mad King, but this person is over seventy, and their memory is incomplete. If the Mother of Dragons can provide more details about the secret passages, I can complete the dismantling of at least one-third of the wildfire fuses within three weeks. P.S.: Grandmother has a supplementary proposal regarding Lord Drogon's plan."

Daenerys stood at the entrance of the ravenry. The sea breeze blew her silver hair flying backward. She did not come in—the smell of bird droppings in the shed was too pungent.

"What proposal?"

Jorah turned the parchment over to the back. There was only one line of text on the back.

"It's not written on the letter. She says—Grandmother's proposal is inconvenient to put on paper, please let Lord Drogon discuss it in person next time he comes to King's Landing."

Drogon's tail swung slowly behind him. His slit pupils narrowed slightly.

"The Queen of Thorns wants to talk to me in person. She has probably already guessed that I want to empty the treasury. She wants a cut of it."

"Margaery takes thirty percent. The Queen of Thorns takes another cut—how much is left in the treasury?"

"That depends on what the Queen of Thorns can provide. If she can help us dismantle all the wildfire fuses in the Red Keep, and incidentally deliver Aegon's crown into my hands—it would be worth it for her to take thirty percent. The remaining forty percent belongs to us. How to divide it is your business. My business is to move it out."

Daenerys looked at him with her purple eyes. The corners of her mouth lifted slightly in a very faint arc. It wasn't a smile, but a kind of realization of "just as I thought."

"You are already calculating how much of a cut to give House Tyrell."

"Things like splitting accounts—the sooner you figure them out, the better. You can't start until it's figured out. Once you start, there's no room for negotiation."

Storms End stood tall on the cliffs of Shipbreaker Bay. Its walls were extremely thick—rumored to have been built with the assistance of magic by Brandon the Builder in ancient times. The granite walls were iron-gray under the overcast sky, and the cracks in the walls were overgrown with moss blown crooked by the sea breeze. The moss was grayish-green, as if the stone itself was molding.

At this moment, dark clouds pressed down, and a rainstorm was imminent. The sea breeze blew the stag banner on the castle tower until it was almost torn, the corners of the flag flapping against the flagpole, sounding like a whip.

In the camp outside the castle, Stannis's eight hundred defenders were reinforcing their tents. Someone was hammering stakes with a hammer, the iron hammer striking the wooden stakes, splashing mud with every blow.

Someone was tying the corners of the tents with ropes, their fingers frozen red. They had clearly already learned the news of the fall of Dragonstone, and morale was low. An old soldier sat by the campfire sharpening his sword, having sharpened it for a long time; the blade was already sharp enough to shave hair, yet he kept sharpening. The water on the whetstone was mixed with rain.

Drogon chose to visit in complete human form. He was riding a Dothraki horse brought from Dragonstone, approaching the gate of Storms End along the cliff path.

The deep gray traveler's cloak was pressed tightly against his body by the sea breeze, and his hood covered most of his face. The rain hadn't fallen yet, but the wind had already soaked him. He didn't want to expose his dragon traits in front of Stannis—at least not now. Negotiation requires bargaining chips, not intimidation.

The gate guards raised their spears. The spear tips swayed slightly in the wind. Their voices were sharp with tension.

"Stop. Who are you?"

Drogon reined in his horse. He took off his hood, revealing deep brown round pupils and a polite, merchant-like smile. The Dothraki horse snorted beneath him, and its front hoof pawed at the stone slab.

"Gael, a merchant from Meereen. Coming from Dragonstone. I have a message from Daenerys Targaryen for Lord Stannis. Regarding the continuation of the non-aggression pact—and the recovery of an heirloom."