Chapter 1
SYNOPSIS
The ship rocked in the dark, cold, and unforgiving waters of the Narrow Sea. Inside a small cabin, the only light came from a single lantern swaying side to side. A child of no more than four or five winters lay sleeping in his mother's lap, his head shaved bald—whether for protection or concealment, no one truly knew. He looked serene, save for the involuntary tremors of what seemed like a nightmare. His mother kept rocking him. Wrapped in tattered, ragged robes, she shivered against the cold, yet held her child close, having long since lost track of how many days had passed since she last saw land.
Both mother and child were hungry, surviving only on whatever leftovers were tossed their way. Most of the time she worked in the galley while the boy scrubbed dishes with his small hands. An innocent smile always played at his lips—a sight that brought a bittersweet pang to his mother’s heart, a dull, throbbing ache for all that was lost, and all that was yet to come.
CHAPTER 1
The dawn spread pale pink and rosy light through the small windows of the ship’s cabin. Alys’s eyes fluttered open; she had fallen into a troubled sleep last night, but somehow, a sigh of relief escaped her when she noticed her son, Aeraraeys, still sleeping in her lap. A ghost of a smile touched her lips as she stroked the boy’s hair.
Feeling his mother’s warmth and touch, Aeraraeys instinctively drew closer to her, mumbling, *"Mother... mother... water... water..."*
Hearing her son’s voice, Alys slowly stood up, easing the boy to sit back on the bunk. She moved to the water pitcher, but as she picked it up, she found it completely empty. Holding the pitcher, she walked upstairs to the deck to refill it.
As she emerged on deck, two scarred and rugged sailors were standing nearby. They saw her, and an evil glint immediately came into their eyes.
A heavy-set sailor grabbed hold of her arm, pulling her close. *"Hello, pretty! Have you come to keep me warm?"*
She tried to pull away, but his grip was iron.
*"You’re strong for such a little thing,"* he sneered, the stench of stale beer heavy on his hot breath.
*"Let go of me,"* Alys said in a low voice. Pushing hard against his chest, she repeated, *"I said, let go of me!"*
*"Not just yet, lapushka,"* he crooned with a chuckle. *"We can have some fun, you and me—"*
Before he could do anything else, a clean, sudden arc of a sword severed his head cleanly from his neck. Blood spattered across the deck boards as his body collapsed.
*"Bloody rascals... how dare you do such a thing with a woman on my ship,"* a booming voice roared.
It was Captain Celtigar, who had been watching closely from the shadows.
---
The severed head rolled against the heavy timber of the bulwark, leaving a thick, dark streak across the sun-bleached wood. Alys did not flinch, though her knuckles turned white around the handle of the empty ceramic pitcher. She kept her body angled, hiding her trembling frame behind an unyielding posture.
Captain Celtigar stepped out of the morning shadows, wiping the dark edge of his steel blade against the sleeve of his heavy doublet. His iron-gray beard was trimmed tight, and his cold, calculating eyes swept over the remaining sailor, who had scrambled backward on his hands and knees, stammering apologies.
*"Clean up this filth,"* Celtigar barked, gesturing with the point of his sword toward the headless corpse. *"If I catch another man forgetting who commands this vessel—or forgetting the laws of guest right on my deck—you’ll join him over the side."*
The surviving crewman frantically dragged the body away, leaving Alys alone with the captain.
Celtigar turned his gaze upon her. Up close, the House of Claw Isle showed in his pale, sharp eyes and the hard line of his jaw. He looked at her ragged gown, the salt-crusted hems, and the unmistakable exhaustion carved into her face. Yet, he also saw the unyielding focus in her eyes—the look of a creature protecting something far more precious than her own life.
*"You carry yourself with too much steel for a woman in rags,"* Celtigar said, his voice low, sounding like grindstones. *"Most would be screaming. You didn't even drop your jug."*
*"Fear doesn't fill a pitcher, Captain,"* Alys replied, her voice steady Despite the adrenaline surging through her veins. She held up the empty vessel. *"My son is below deck. He has a fever, and he needs fresh water. That is the only reason I am on your deck."*
Celtigar stared at her for a long, heavy moment, measuring her worth and her danger. A woman with nothing left to lose was far more unpredictable than a greedy sailor. Slowly, he sheathed his sword with a sharp snap.
*"The barrel by the mainmast has sweet water from the last port,"* he said, nodding toward a covered casing near the center of the ship. *"Fill your jug. Then get back below. The narrow sea is unkind to passengers, and my men are restless."*
*"Thank you, Captain."*
Alys did not waste a second. She moved to the barrel, her heart thumping against her ribs, and filled the pitcher to the brim with cold, clear water. She kept her eyes low, sensing the watchful gazes of the rest of the crew who had gathered on the upper deck, murmuring in low tones about the sudden execution.
Holding the heavy pitcher carefully against her chest, she retreated down the narrow wooden stairs into the dim safety of the cabin.
She bolted the wooden latch behind her and sank to her knees beside the bunk. Aeraraeys was tossing fitfully, his lips parched and pale.
*"I have it, sweet boy,"* she whispered softly, lifting his head with one hand while trickling a tiny stream of water between his lips.
The boy swallowed eagerly, his small hands clutching at her wrist. As the cool water revived him, his breathing began to slow, the deep fever-flush on his cheeks softening into a quiet sleep.
Alys leaned her head against the wooden frame of the bunk, letting out the breath she felt like she had been holding since they fled the shores of Westeros. They had survived the night, and they had survived the crew. Out on the open sea, bound for the Free Cities, the shadows of Harrenhal were finally slipping behind the horizon—but the true struggle to protect the last dragon prince had only just begun.
