Candlelight's dragonfire engulfed Melisandre, yet she was not reduced to ashes. Instead, she was surprised to feel the ruby at her throat regain its warmth, though the blood within her veins remained cold.
"Melisandre, let the Lord of Light tell you what you should do. He has granted you immortal magic and eternal fire, but not enough wisdom. What a pity."
With a wave of Draezell's hand, flames surged and swallowed Melisandre whole. In the next instant, the fire condensed into a single point before bursting apart. Most of the flames turned into tiny sparks, seeping through the castle and merging with the mountain itself, while the rest—along with Melisandre—vanished entirely from the hall.
Candlelight blinked its large eyes, staring in confusion at the bizarre scene before it. Sniffing the spot where Melisandre had disappeared, it found nothing, only to glance at Draezell with a puzzled expression.
"Brother, this…" Rey quickly approached where Melisandre had vanished, but like Candlelight, he found nothing.
"I sent her below to reflect for a while. Hopefully, she'll come to understand the will of the Lord of Light."
Draezell shook his hand, a hint of regret in his eyes. That ruby was indeed a remarkable artifact, brimming with powerful fire magic. If he wasn't mistaken, it contained not only protective spells capable of burning away disease and poison but also enchantments that enhanced fire magic, and most importantly—magic tied to resurrection and immortality.
But the cost was severe. Melisandre's soul was permanently bound to that ruby. As long as the ruby remained intact, she would live; but if it shattered, she would perish with it, regardless of how young she appeared.
"What a madwoman," Valar muttered, sheathing his sword. With a curious look, he asked, "Brother, where exactly did you banish her? If I remember correctly, beneath us is the Dragonpit."
Draezell cast a glance at his younger brother. "Someplace even deeper. That place…" He hesitated for a moment before falling silent.
Deep within the Red Mountains, in an ancient hollow of unknown origin, a small flame suddenly ignited. It grew larger and larger until it roared into a blazing inferno. From within, Melisandre stumbled out, disoriented.
She warily scanned her surroundings, finding herself encased by smooth, pitch-black stone walls. Faint markings seemed to be etched onto them, but they were too obscure to make out. Not far from her feet, molten lava flowed sluggishly, hardening into a small patch of land where she now stood.
"This…" Melisandre was bewildered by the strange sight.
Hesitantly, she removed the ruby from her throat. The moment it left her body, her once fiery copper hair and crimson eyes dulled, and her youthful beauty faded into an appearance of greater maturity.
After confirming that the magic within the gemstone remained intact, she carefully placed it back in its original position, restoring her youthful visage once more.
Yet, she remained deeply unsettled by Draezell's actions. In her past experiences, neither her former master nor her mentor during her training would have easily forgiven her after being provoked. And yet, despite having offended Draezell, she had only been stripped of a portion of her magic, while her most precious possession remained unharmed.
This left Melisandre filled with doubt.
She also discovered that within this hollow, she could not use fire to escape, nor could she wield her vaunted shadow magic or fire magic. Left with no other choice, she slowly sat down, watching the sluggish flow of molten rock.
"Lord of Light, the one true god, grant your servant your guidance." The Red Priestess began to pray.
---
The luxurious wheeled palanquin en route to Dragon's Nest traveled steadily along the Prince's Pass, which linked Brandyport to Dragon's Nest. This road was smooth and broad, wide enough for six carriages to ride abreast. Lysandro Rogare gazed out the window at the constant stream of people and vehicles while continuing to pen his letter to Lys.
"To Magister Rendal Lysio,
I have arrived in the frontier principality. By the grace of the Goddess, we encountered neither the Reachers nor the Ironborn fleet along our journey.
After crossing the Stepstones, we were escorted by nine warships of the Silver Fleet. Among them were a four-hundred-oar sail-and-oar warship, a large sailing vessel, and seven two-hundred-oar sail-and-oar warships. Their commander was a young knight clad in silver-scaled armor, his helmet engraved with the relief of a sea serpent. I swear upon my honor, the value of that commander's armor alone is no less than ten gold dragons.
Upon inquiring with his crew, we learned that this young commander holds a castle and a sizable domain. What is even more astonishing is that he is merely the commander of a single squadron within the Silver Fleet. This confirms our intelligence—far from weakening after their long journey to foreign shores, House Vaelarys' Silver Fleet has only grown stronger. Your Excellency, I firmly believe that if Lys is to be preserved, the support of Prince Draezell is indispensable. Trust me, I am fully prepared to persuade him.
After a long voyage, we arrived at Brandyport, a harbor city under Prince Draezell's rule. To speak frankly, though this city lacks the grandeur, beauty, and opulence of Lys, it is nevertheless orderly and prosperous. Our vessel, the Revelry Maiden, docked at the harbor's outer edge. Since we had not sent envoys or ravens to Westeros in advance, the port's customs officers mistook us for Lysene merchants. By the Goddess, they were able to deduce our origin simply by the design of our ship, our appearances, and the goods we carried.
However, Brandyport's tariffs are not particularly high—markedly different from King's Landing, Oldtown, Gulltown, Lannisport, and even White Harbor. The grain tax is the lowest, while tariffs on certain luxury goods reach as high as one-fifth.
By the Goddess, I assure you, the Myrmen would loathe these tariffs, for their exports are far too similar to those of House Vaelarys—yet vastly inferior in quality. Based on my own observations and those of my sons, I can confidently assert that this port alone generates no less than two hundred thousand gold dragons annually in customs duties.
If House Rogare and your esteemed family were to establish a bank here, I am certain we would secure even greater profits, for I have found only a single banking house in the city.
The port district features a vast square, its ground paved with marble. At its center stands a statue of a dragonrider. I cannot say for certain whether it depicts Prince Draezell himself, for the statue emphasizes the dragon rather than its rider. However, to be candid, the craftsmanship is mediocre, far inferior to the artisans of Lys. I believe that should we succeed in forging an alliance, we could dispatch our own sculptors to craft a few exquisite statues as tribute.
By the Goddess, I truly hope to witness a living dragon with my own eyes. It is, after all, the dream of all Valyrian descendants. To the east of the square lies a great number of warehouses. Pressed for time, I could not count them all, but judging by the steady traffic of carts entering and leaving, they store an immense quantity of spices, silk, and fine wines."
At this point, Lysandro couldn't help but lift his sleeve to his nose—even now, the scent of wine from Brandyport still clung to their clothes. The Magister of Lys continued writing:
"To the west of the square lies the district of the sailors' temples, home to numerous shrines dedicated to the gods of Essos. It reminds me of Lys' own temple district and that island in Braavos. Among the temples I recognized by their architecture were those of the God of Light, the Shepherd, and the Moon Singers. I even spotted a temple of the Many-Faced God. But the most conspicuous by far was the Great Sept of the Seven. I have heard there is an even larger, more opulent sept within the inner city, though we lacked the time to visit it.
Other merchants tell me that Brandyport's outer city has thirteen gates, while the inner city has seven. Due to our time constraints, we did not enter the inner city, only observing its towering walls from a distance. But I can assure you—those walls were built for war. Even from afar, I could see the scorpions and trebuchets mounted along them.
It is said that all the master vintners, master smiths, and skilled weavers trained by Claelorius Vaelarysall reside within the inner city. From our observations, both the inner city and all of Brandyport itself were constructed around the hill on which the inner city stands. Atop that hill sits a castle with three towering spires. Even from the harbor, I could see it clearly. I suspect that the castle also serves as a lighthouse, though I must have been mistaken, for I saw no beacon lit on the night we stayed in Brandyport.
The outer city is divided into districts by streets and canals. I was pleased to find no slums like Flea Bottom in King's Landing—every street was clean and orderly. Yet perhaps due to the sheer number of distilleries in this city, the scent of alcohol lingers everywhere. Draezenko and the little ones, however, were quite pleased. Lysaro even made a wager with Moredo over who could identify more types of wine by scent alone. Only my sweet little Larra was displeased, begging me to find lodging as soon as possible.
The city's population is diverse. While searching for an inn, I encountered a fair number of Valyrians—silver-haired, purple-eyed—as well as many Westerosi natives, the so-called 'barbarians.' Though they seem to coexist peacefully, I can still sense the primal savagery in these Westerosi, something ingrained in their very blood. They are nothing like us Valyrians. It is difficult to fathom how our kin who once lived in Volantis ever managed to coexist so harmoniously with such brutes.
We are staying in a four-story inn. The second floor houses a fine tavern, where even Lysene sweetwine, red wine, and white wine are sold. Here, we can even enjoy Lysene cuisine, and at prices lower than in Lys itself. According to Draezenko, even dock workers can afford exotic delicacies on occasion and enjoy a serving of wine once every seven days. Alas, there are no charming girls and boys from my Perfumed Garden to accompany the drinks, nor the alluring fragrances of Lys to enliven the experience.
Draezenko ventured into the underground tavern, where more common folk gather, and we obtained further intelligence. It seems that King Aegon is selecting new Kingsguard knights, and Prince Draezell's sworn brothers have just completed their ranks. The people of Brandyport are celebrating the occasion.
By the Goddess, Draezenko could scarcely believe his eyes—he saw a Dothraki paying for drinks for the entire tavern with a belt of solid gold, in celebration of one of they being named as one of Prince Draezell's sworn brothers. From the mouths of these drunkards, we also learned that both Prince Draezell and King Aegon are preparing for a grand tour of their lands. We must finalize all aspects of the alliance before they depart Dragon's Nest."
What shocked me most was that this city has a dedicated city guard patrolling the streets, enforcing curfews across most districts—only a few streets are permitted to remain open at night, including the one where we are staying. As for law enforcement, I witnessed a thief having his right hand chopped off on the spot, and another criminal first losing his manhood before being beheaded—all carried out publicly on the streets. The city guards travel with magistrates, who deliver swift judgments and immediate punishments, ensuring an iron order prevails over the entire city.
Magister, in light of this, I strongly recommend that we establish an alliance with Westeros, particularly with House Vaelarys. Only through such an alliance can Lys hope to withstand the depredations of the Red Kraken and the wars that could erupt at any moment.
May the Goddess watch over us both.
Lysandro Rogare, the third magister of the Magister's Conclave.