"How could my father attack the North?!"
Theon was practically vibrating with panic. "Eddard Karstark! Do you have any idea what you're talking about? I'm going to the Iron Islands to save Robb's skin! You'd better let me go right now, or he'll have your head on a spike. He'll feed you to Grey Wind, piece by piece!"
He was shouting, trying to use his "brotherhood" with the King as a shield. But as he looked at my face and I wasn't smiling the bluff started to crumble. His voice went from a roar to a pathetic, trembling whine. "No... no, you can't do this. I'm a Stark. An adopted son. Robb's brother. You can't just..."
"A Stark? You really think you're one of them?"
I let out a short, dry laugh. I'd been overthinking this. I'd actually spent five minutes wondering if I should spare him just to mess with the Iron Islands' succession later. But let's be real: Theon was never going to be loyal to me. The guy had "backstabber" written in his DNA. He was a Greyjoy, and in this world, that meant he'd jump ship the second the wind changed.
Changing him would take years. It would cost a fortune in time and energy I didn't have. Keeping him alive was just a liability I couldn't afford.
"Theon, look at yourself," I said, my voice dropping to a cold whisper. "You don't have a drop of the Wolf's blood in your veins. You've got no honor, no spine. Forget being a Stark you aren't even a real Northman."
Theon went quiet. The cutting words seemed to hit harder than the punch. His lips trembled, and a look of total, freezing despair filled his eyes. He realized then that I wasn't playing. This wasn't a kidnapping for ransom. This was an ending.
I stood up and drew the notched longsword from my belt. It was a standard-issue Westerlands blade I'd looted after the camp raid the hilt was engraved with the ox horns of the Prester family. Thousands of guys in the Riverlands were carrying these things now.
"And honestly? You aren't even a good Ironborn," I added, testing the edge of the blade. "You call yourself the heir to the Sea Throne, but where's your grit? Where's the 'iron'? You're not even as good as a common bastard. At least they don't choose to be losers. You? You chose to live your life like a joke."
Theon let out a guttural roar. "No! That's not true! It's not!"
"Yeah, it is."
I didn't give him another second to argue. "In my name, Theon, I'm sending you to meet that Drowned God of yours. Let's see if he's as ruthless as the stories say."
I swung the sword in a clean, horizontal arc. The notched blade bit deep into his throat. There was a wet, choking sound, a few frantic whimpers that slowly faded, and then those wide, horrified eyes went dull.
I looked at the corpse, then extended my right hand.
Burning Hand.
A blast of orange-red flame erupted from my palm, hitting a thousand degrees in a fraction of a second. The heat was intense, singing the hair on my arms, as the magical fire licked over the body. In five seconds, the heir to the Iron Islands was nothing more than a charred, unrecognizable hunk of charcoal.
Abel, standing by the door, looked like his heart had stopped. He stared at the ashes, then at me, his mouth hanging open. He didn't say a word, but I saw the system update in the corner of my eye.
[Abel Qashtak Loyalty Reason added: Fears your mysterious and powerful strength.]
Well, that's one way to keep him in line, I thought.
"Keep this between us, Abel. Got it?"
I wasn't going to hide my magic from my inner circle. It was impossible anyway, unless I did everything myself. But for the rest of the world? I needed to stay "normal" for as long as possible.
"Understood, Young Master," Abel whispered, finally finding his voice.
I nodded and walked out of the room. "Dita, cut the girl's ropes," I told her. "She'll wake up and run. We need to be halfway back to Riverrun by then."
Dita hadn't seen the fire, just a red glow through the door, but she didn't ask questions. She just did her job. We mounted our horses and vanished into the night, leaving Fairmarket behind.
A few hours later, the Earl of Seagard, Jason Mallister was standing in that same stone room, holding a torch. He was a tall, lean man with a face like a hawk and a reputation for hating the Iron Islands.
He stared at the charred remains on the floor. It wasn't a pretty sight, but in the Riverlands, people burned all the time. Wildfire, pitch, maester's fire there were plenty of ways to turn a man to ash.
Jason didn't know Theon was heading his way, but he knew the King's "brother" had been carousing with his son, Patrek. If a high-profile hostage died on Mallister land, it was going to be a diplomatic nightmare.
"Patrek," Jason said, looking at his son. "Did the girl say anything? What kind of guys were they?"
Patrek looked a bit hungover and a lot rattled. "I asked her, Father. She said there were three of them. One had a Southern accent sounded like a middle-aged guy. The leader only said one sentence, so she couldn't tell where he was from. The third guy didn't say anything at all."
"A Southerner?" Jason rubbed his chin.
"They were wearing black cloaks, pretty worn-out gear," Patrek added. "Looked like hedge knights. But they paid her with a gold dragon, so they had money."
Suddenly, Patrek remembered something. "Wait. The swords. She said the hilts had ox horns on them. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't place it."
"Those are Prester swords, you idiot," Jason grumbled. "Every soldier and farmer from here to the Golden Tooth has one after the Karstarks looted their camp. It tells us nothing."
Jason sighed, looking at the charcoal. "Look, wrap this up in a cloth and bury it somewhere quiet. Tell the men it was just a merchant who got robbed. I'll write a letter to the King about Theon being 'missing' or 'overdue.' No need to start a panic."
He never even considered the Karstarks. Why would he? Eddard Karstark was a hero of the camp raid. Killing the King's favorite hostage? It was unthinkable.
Meanwhile, the three of us were pushing our horses to the limit. We'd made the trip to Fairmarket in three days, but we were doing the return leg in one.
We hit the north bank of the Stone River as the sun was setting. The area was packed with farmers and merchants again, all trying to capitalize on the army being in town. After we changed back into our proper gear in the woods, we rode into the camp like we'd just been out on a long hunt.
We ran into Karas Snow near the village, who was currently surrounded by a group of laughing women. He looked at us, confused. "Young Master? Where've you been? What'd you hunt?"
"We found a wild boar that looked like a squid," I said, barely breaking a smile. "Chased it for miles until it fell into a fire pit and burned itself to death."
Karas scratched his head. He wasn't the brightest bulb, and a "squid boar" didn't make much sense to him, but he just shrugged it off. "Whatever you say, Boss."
As we were heading to an inn to crash, I saw a familiar figure slipping out of a back room.
Edmure Tully.
He saw me and immediately looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He ducked his head, hopped on his horse, and bolted back toward the castle. It was pretty clear the "Lord of Riverrun" was spending his nights in places he shouldn't be.
The next evening, the camp was buzzing. The truce was over.
Everywhere I looked, guys were sharpening swords, checking horseshoes, and loading up on supplies. We were moving out.
"Young Master, you're finally back!"
Konn, the smart kid from my new squad, was waiting for me. "The Earl has been looking for you. He's been sending messengers every hour."
"I'm on my way," I said.
I'd already recruited the other five guys into my system. Their loyalty was high they saw a future with me. I wasn't just a second son anymore; I was a war hero with a title and a squad that was growing stronger by the day.
McKen, the oldest of the bunch, trotted over. "Sir, everything's ready. Your warhorse is fed, your armor's polished, and the weapons are sharp. We're ready to move."
"Good work, McKen," I said, feeling the weight of the axe on my back.
The Westerlands were calling. It was time to see if those gold mines lived up to the hype.