The morning mist still clung to Three Towers, and the silver chalice and black rose banners of House Costayne glinted coldly in the dawn light at the pier.
Daemon stood at the prow of the Arbor Queen, the sea breeze of Whispering Sound ruffling his silver-gold hair. The three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder still held the lingering warmth from the hearth fire at Three Towers the night before.
On the pier, Count Costayne and his family waved goodbye. His second son, flanked by squires carrying crates of freshly loaded freshwater casks, shouted, "If the Prince passes through the Sea of Dorne, remember to steer clear of the reefs on the southern bank!"
The blue and white sails of the Redwyne fleet unfurled one by one in the wind, the grape sigils undulating like waves.
The cliffs of Three Towers gradually receded. The gray-brown stone walls and the lookout tower atop the cliff shrank into a distant dot, leaving only the quartered banner of House Costayne fluttering at the pier, like a frozen silhouette.
Alyn Redwyne stood by the helm, his orange hair plastered to his cheek by the wind. He shouted to Daemon, "Prince, it takes two hours to cross the Redwyne Straits. We'll reach Sunhouse before noon!"
The Cannibal and Dreamfyre circled above the fleet. The black shadow of the male dragon and the pale glow of the female intertwined, causing the followers on deck to look up frequently.
Garmund Hightower leaned over the gunwale, spinning the astrolabe that Acolyte Bernard had given the children. He pointed to an island on the west side of the straits. "Sister, look at that island. Is that 'Grape Isle' marked on the Citadel map, where Horace's family lives?"
Bethany leaned in, her pale lavender dress brushing the sawdust on the deck. She pointed to the vineyards on the island's edge. "Yes, the Redwyne family grows their grapes there. The Arbor vintage we bought in Oldtown last year was brewed from grapes on that very island."
---
When the midday sun pierced through the clouds, the outline of Sunhouse finally appeared on the horizon.
This seat of House Cuy was situated on the southern coast of the Reach. Pale blue stone walls extended from the edge of Cuy town to the sea. The banner flying atop the keep—six yellow flowers on a blue field—snapped in the wind like six dancing flames.
The pier was already crowded. Lord Cuy wore a blue robe embroidered with yellow flowers, the sigil on his chest echoing the flag. Behind him, servants carried wooden crates filled with freshly baked oatcakes and salted meat—supplies prepared for the fleet.
"Prince Daemon! Princess Gael!" Lord Cuy hurried forward, clutching a peach freshly picked from his orchard. "Sunhouse is your last supply point before the Stormlands. Count Hightower sent a messenger yesterday, so I had the kitchen prepare fresh food. There's tuna just caught by the fishermen of Cuy, and peaches picked this morning. Please, you must try them!"
He led everyone into the town. Besides fawning over Daemon and Gael, he frequently tried to curry favor with the Hightower siblings. The stone streets of Cuy were paved smoothly, and wooden houses on either side were draped with fishing nets and drying seaweed. The air was filled with the scent of sea salt and oatcakes. "House Cuy has been loyal to the Hightower of Oldtown since ancient times. During last year's trading season, it was Count Hightower who pulled strings to open the trade route to the Summer Isles for us."
In the courtyard of Sunhouse, long tables were already laden with supplies: sacks of rye, barrels of freshwater, salted meat, and smoked fish piled like small mountains. Cuy handmaidens were packing peaches into wooden crates, ready to load them onto the ships.
Bethany walked to a stall displaying fabric and picked up a bolt of light blue cloth. "This is a specialty of Cuy. It's soaked in seawater so it doesn't rot easily. Perfect for sails."
Garmund hovered around a smithy, watching a blacksmith forge fishhooks with curiosity. "The maester at home says the fish in the Summer Sea of Dorne are the fattest. We'll definitely catch big ones with these hooks!"
Daemon followed Lord Cuy to inspect the lookout tower of Sunhouse. From the top, one could see the entire junction of the Redwyne Straits and Whispering Sound. The salty sea breeze was invigorating.
"From here south is the Sunset Sea," Lord Cuy pointed to the distant horizon. "Past Sunhouse, you can see the coast of Dorne. But there are many reefs there. The Prince must tell the Redwyne captains to be careful. Also, the Ironborn and Dornish fleets haven't been behaving lately."
---
By evening, the fleet prepared to depart Sunhouse. Lord Cuy and his kin saw them off at the pier. He handed Daemon a cloth bundle. "Inside is jerky dried personally by my wife and her handmaidens. We usually only dry a little of the best meat for ourselves each year. It keeps for half a month at sea. The Prince can eat it as dry rations or have the cook add some spices to stew it."
Daemon took the bundle and bowed slightly in return. "Thank you, Lord Cuy. These supplies are a great help."
The fleet's sails rose again, the blue and white fabric glowing in the twilight. The blue banner with yellow flowers of Sunhouse gradually shrank, eventually becoming specks of starlight on the horizon along with the lights of Cuy town.
For the next few days, the Redwyne fleet sailed along the Sunset Sea. The coast of Dorne unfolded like a brown ribbon in their left field of view.
Acolyte Bernard moved a wooden stool to the center of the deck. Being only five feet tall, he had to stand on his tiptoes, but he waved a hand-drawn map enthusiastically. "Look here, everyone," he pointed to a winding river on the map. "This is the Brimstone. The Hellholt of House Uller is built near the source. I heard the water smells of sulfur, and the fish are fatter than elsewhere, but drinking the water gives you the runs."
The followers on deck gathered around. Myles River, carrying his precious Northern battle-axe as always, leaned in. "Maester, what about the Salt Shore we're passing next? Is the castle of House Gargalen really like a big pile of salt?"
Bernard laughed and nodded, pulling a dried salt crystal from his robe. "Look at this salt. It's dried on the salt flats of the Salt Shore. Three times saltier than King's Landing salt. Perfect for curing meat."
He then pointed to a green area on the map. "That's the Greenblood. The water is green because of the silt at the bottom. It's shallow enough to wade across. The Orphans of the Greenblood live on rafts on the river, making a living by fishing."
Daemon leaned on the railing, looking at the distant Salt Shore of Dorne—brown beaches stretching from the sea to the inland. The castle of House Gargalen stood like a gray-brown rock on the edge of the beach, the salt crystal sigil on its flag glinting in the sun.
Gael walked to his side, the coastal scenery reflected in her pale violet eyes. "Acolyte Bernard knows so much. He even knows about the fish in Dorne." Mysaria, holding a wooden box of fresh berries, added, "Just now he told me the lemons from Lemonwood are the sourest. House Dalt uses them to brew fruit wine that's much stronger than the Arbor's."
---
Every afternoon, the deck would come alive with lessons organized by Daemon and Gael, featuring several maesters and Alys Rivers, serving as a diversion from the boring voyage.
Acolyte Bernard's classes were always the liveliest. Sitting on a barrel, he would mimic Lord Cuy's tone when talking about the history of Sunhouse, as he did the day they left, making everyone roar with laughter.
When discussing Dornish customs, he would pull out a parchment scroll from the Citadel and point to an illustration of Sunspear. "Look at these three winding walls. The Rhoynar built them. The innermost gate can only be opened by a Martell. The Spear Tower and the Tower of the Sun—one represents the Martell spear, the other the Rhoynar sun. Like twin brothers."
His humorous and engaging storytelling made it seem like he had personally traveled to these places. Combined with his approachable demeanor, his classes were not only the most boisterous but also the most popular.
Alys Rivers held her lessons in the shadows of the stern. Wearing her dark green dress, she would hold a herb picked at Sunhouse between her fingers and explain its uses.
Most of the boys gathered around, though their eyes often drifted to the hem of her dress and her chest. Alys's every smile and frown captivated them. Of course, there were exceptions, led by Larys Strong and Jarmon Waters.
This teaching method sparked a rivalry between the three academics and the "witch." Although Acolyte Bernard didn't show much, Vaegon Targaryen and Lyonel Strong frequently expressed their disdain for her "indecent" ways.
However, when Archmaester Vaegon asked Lyonel about the source of his fellow Riverlander's knowledge, Ser Lyonel would always frown, rub his bald head, and avoid the topic as if facing a great enemy, causing his second son Larys to cover his mouth and snicker in the shadows.
Thus, Alys Rivers' class was mostly attended by Mysaria, who took serious notes and occasionally raised her hand. "Sister Alys, can this herb really cure a cold? Acolyte Bernard mentioned something similar at the Citadel."
Alys would smile and nod, answering her questions and handing the herbs to Mysaria, drawing cheers from the boys. "Try it next time. My recipe is guaranteed to work better than their Citadel soups." Bethany Hightower would also find time to listen; she was quite interested in this mysterious "witch" who also favored green dresses.
At the request of Prince Daemon and his second son Larys, Lyonel Strong held his classes in the cabin. Wearing a simple black robe, a stark contrast to his usual image, he held a copy of Laws of the Seven Kingdoms and explained the differences between Riverlands and Reach laws.
Jarmon Waters initially joined only because his "friend" Larys dragged him along. Seeing Lyonel's powerful warrior build, he thought he could ask about combat techniques. But as he listened to Lyonel analyze the "conflicts between First Men law and Andal law," he gradually put away his nonchalance, his single eye shining with serious interest in the candlelight.
Larys Strong, habitually leaning on his cane in the corner, watched with knowing eyes. He would occasionally add a few comments, earning rare nods of praise from his father.
Gradually, on Jarmon's recommendation, others like Myles, Lyn Corbray, and the Royce twins joined Lyonel's class.
The most deserted class was obviously Vaegon Targaryen's. perhaps out of a rare request from his sister Gael; perhaps out of disgust for Alys Rivers' "indecent" peddling of wild knowledge; or perhaps out of some inexplicable recognition of Daemon, the royal Archmaester had "come out of retirement" to teach at the invitation of his student Bernard and his junior Lyonel.
He sat in the shadows of the prow, silver-gold hair trailing down his gray robe, holding New Theories on Celestial Orbits. His tone was caustic, frequently mocking, "You don't even know basic stellar angle calculations."
His only audience consisted of Bernard, Larys, Rayford Rosby, and a few others. Rupert Crabb and Corwyn Celtigar tried listening once, but after being blasted with "You can't even read a star map and want to learn astronomy?" they turned beet red and never went back.
---
The voyage was exceptionally smooth. Ironborn longships turned and fled north the moment they spotted the Cannibal's shadow from afar.
Dornish patrol ships circled the fleet's perimeter, but seeing Dreamfyre skim low over the water, they immediately retreated into the mouth of the Greenblood.
Merchant ships from the Triarchy kept their distance, daring not bring their cargo anywhere near the Redwyne fleet's route.
The captain of this Redwyne fleet was Alyn and little Horace's uncle, Ser Horace the Elder. A seasoned captain, he stood by the helm and sighed to Daemon, "Prince, I've sailed for thirty years and never had such a smooth trip. The deterrent of a true dragon is more effective than the fleets of the Seven Kingdoms combined."
The sunset on the seventh day was exceptionally brilliant. Golden-red light spilled onto the cliffs of the Broken Arm of Dorne, dyeing the brown rocks the color of honey.
The sails of the Redwyne fleet were gilded by the setting sun. The Cannibal and Dreamfyre circled high above, the black shadow and pale light falling on the sea like two flowing flames.
Ser Horace pointed to the waters ahead. "Prince Daemon, once we pass the Broken Arm of Dorne, we leave Dornish waters and enter the Stepstones!"
Daemon stood at the prow, looking at the darkening horizon.
The coast of Dorne had disappeared on the left. Only the silhouette of Sunspear's triple winding walls and the Spear Tower remained faintly in his memory.
Acolyte Bernard walked up to him, holding a newly drawn map. "Prince, although the Stepstones are unstable right now, with your dragons here, they certainly won't dare to come."
Gael leaned against Mysaria, the sunset reflected in her pale violet eyes. "We're finally reaching the Stormlands. I wonder if the wind there is fiercer than in Whispering Sound."
Mysaria nodded, clutching a lemon leaf that had drifted from the direction of Lemonwood. She whispered, "I hope the lemons there aren't as sour as the one Acolyte Bernard pulled out from who knows where."
The sun gradually sank into the sea. The last light fell on the sails, dyeing the blue and white fabric golden red.
The Cannibal let out a long, resonant roar. Dreamfyre responded in kind. The two dragon cries echoed over the sea, marking the end of a smooth journey and playing the overture for the approaching Stepstones.
The followers on deck leaned against the railings, looking into the distance darkness. No one spoke, but everyone knew—the next leg of the journey might bring new challenges. But as long as the dragons were there, and as long as that young man was at the prow, they feared no storm.