Chapter 192

"You will see my actions!" the queen shouted at them, then turned to the nearby soldier and ordered, "Drag them out!"

Those bound with ropes were the battlefield's prisoners.

The prisoners were linked by ropes, and under the soldiers' whip lashes they trudged into the arena, shackled at feet and hands; when they appeared, they were met with boos from the crowd.

Jorah recognized several of them; as the captain of the Picnic Band, he had the qualifications to meet the Tiger Cloak Army's high command.

The blue‑haired handsome youth was the Tiger Cloak Army's deputy commander Antonios Tesseris, bearing a surname more precious than "Targaryen". It is said that Tesseris and Targaryen are both surnames of the ancient Valyrian dragonlord house; among the fourteen dragonlord houses that hold the Fourteen Flames, Tesseris ranks far above Targaryen, only slightly below Beleris, Mirasae, and Vagnera, placing fourth.

Tesseris walked ahead, clutching an iron chain in silence, his handsome face raised to the surrounding spectators. He was the highest‑ranking officer among the Tiger Cloak Army survivors. No matter what, his bearing did not continue to embarrass the Valyrians, but the other officers and staff could not say the same.

"Your Majesty the Queen," he heard some prisoners cry out, "I am a Valyrian noble, like you a descendant of the Dragon King; I plead for redemption, I am willing to offer gold equal to my weight for my ransom—please let me return to Valyria! Please!" He wept, his back to the direction of march, facing the queen, begging pitifully.

The queen did not turn her gaze toward him.

The soldier raised his whip and lashed his bare, white‑glimmering, pig‑like torso hard; he wept and shouted loudly, his crimson face a mess, tears and sweat mingling, making him look like a swollen pig's head.

Not all the prisoners were of that sort.

The captains of the Cold Wind Band and the Dawn Band, since being dragged into the arena, have hurled insults at the queen without restraint; their mercenary companies have surrendered, but the queen refuses to allow them to ransom themselves according to mercenary rules.

Because of this arrogance, the two received more lashes than the pigs did.

Behind the two mercenary captains were the Tiger Cloak Army's officers of every rank, without exception, all stripped of armor and clothing, walking naked through the arena.

"Whore!" a captain shouted loudly after receiving a lash.

The last time I saw him, he was still the mercenary band's quartermaster.

"Cut out his tongue!" the queen ordered, and the soldier carried it out.

As the soldier approached with a short blade, he seized the iron chain, tightly looped it around an unsuspecting soldier's neck, and began his assault.

"Kill him!" a nearby squad leader ordered.

The Unsullied's spear instantly pierced the captain's chest from behind.

A minor mishap, instantly quelled.

"They are my prisoners from the battlefield," the queen told the audience, "I tell you, next up are the heads of the cowards hiding behind Valyria's black walls, but first I must use the heads of these men before you to honor the warriors who died for me and the other heroes who fell for me, so they know their struggle and resistance were not in vain."

At that moment Jorah saw the prisoners' expressions shift one by one, but it was too late; the Dothraki executioner standing behind them had already raised his arakh and swung it down.

Nearly a hundred heads hit the ground, blood spraying like a fountain.

On this arena's sand, blood is never lacking, but to have so much at once is extremely rare.

The queen watched the execution with a fierce stare; Jorah noticed her gaze did not waver.

She has grown.

"Having punished the enemy, I must also reward the heroes of the war, for this is part of the queen's just cause."

The queen turned her head, nodded to the messenger behind her, and saw a young man stride out from the VIP seats, delighted…

Jorah felt dizzy, could no longer hold himself up, and fainted.

When he awoke again, he lay in a dark, spacious stone cell; he reached for his sword and shield but found nothing, then felt for the pillow behind his head, also empty, and as if struck by a sudden change, he immediately sat up.

The pain from his wound nearly made him faint again.

He realized he had been carried here to rest.

Weakness—that is what he felt.

On the battlefield he was struck by a thrown spear; despite mail, leather, and plate, the force knocked him from his horse and he fainted; when he came to, he found himself already lying in a bed.

He was unable to take part in the most glorious crushing battle.

"The young Prince of Dorne, before the eyes of tens of thousands, was personally knighted by the queen," he heard a voice from the corner say, while pages turned, "The poor old knight, too, was swiftly carried away before the gaze of ten thousand; some say he fainted from the sight of blood."

"Little demon," Jorah swung his legs off the bed, his chest wound bleeding profusely, though the injury itself was not serious; the real problem was two broken ribs, the pain of each breath making him hard to bear, "Who is the old knight?"

"Obviously it's you, who can't even walk," the little demon said, putting down his book and walking over, "know that the knights in this city could be counted on one hand." Ser Barristan, as commander of the queen's iron guard, serves as her Hand; I dare not call him the old knight. Perhaps this office could make him ten years younger.

Or it could make him ten years older. The one who should be the queen's Hand is him, not Ser Barristan.

"When did this happen, and how long have I been unconscious?"

"Only four hours of unconsciousness," he said. "Besides, during your blackout the only one watching over you was me, oh, and occasionally a temple maiden came to check; aside from that, nobody else. If that still doesn't show your standing in the queen's heart…"

"I don't need you to look after me."

"You're truly cold. I'd also like to find something else to do, but the queen still hates the Lannisters and hasn't given me, this servant, an important post—like Hand of the King or Master of Coin—both of which I know well; to this day there's still a legend that I held that office."

"Who would bother with you?" "Maybe it's because your mouth is too venomous and your face too ugly."

If the queen cared nothing for him and had no intention of forgiving him, what would he be doing here? No, she will surely forgive him.

"My mouth is venomous, but I speak only wise words; my face is ugly, that's not my fault—I've used every means to draw attention to my mouth rather than… as you can see."

The little demon finished speaking, closed his book, drew back the curtain, and left. Just as he was carefully preparing to sit down gently, the little demon suddenly stepped back two steps, held the curtain, and said to him: "If you're thirsty, go out and walk two steps to the right—there's always water there; if you want a drink, go two steps to the left—that's where I live, of course the maiden does not recommend drinking; if you're hungry, tell the passing servant girl, she'll take care of everything."

He gave no reply; he was neither hungry nor thirsty, now only wanting to go outside for fresh air, so with his back bare and the bandage the maiden had wrapped around him, he walked out.

Meereen remained Meereen; the reek of blood never lessened, and the evening glow gave the streets a bloody tint.

"Jorah." He heard the call, turned his head, and saw the queen.

She had changed into a new garment, a black‑and‑red tasseled silk robe, making her look more like the legendary queen than the one he knew.

"Your Highness." He bowed, but the pain almost made him cry out.

She was more beautiful than before, yet not the same kind of beauty: no longer delicate, but striking and noble; he didn't know how to describe it.

"I truly wish you had died on the battlefield, so I wouldn't have to break my oath." She sighed, "Earlier I even hoped you'd die in Meereen's sewers, but you refused. Tell me why."

He wanted to go home.

If he had the little demon's mouth, he could use his silver tongue to make the queen laugh and cast all seriousness aside.

He pondered for a long time, yet found nothing to say; when he tried to speak again, the gap had grown too long, freezing his earlier words in an awkward, hard‑to‑let‑go silence.

"You don't know, and neither do I." The queen turned, gazing at the distant clouds, "In any case, you and the Picnic Band have earned merit for me; I cannot ignore it. I once said that if I saw you again, I would have Darrio or other guards kill you, but I cannot slay a warrior who bled and sacrificed for me. Yet I do not permit breaking my oath for you…"

"Your Highness?" This remark made him anxious; it was utterly unfair.

"Hear me out." The queen raised a hand to halt him, her expression allowing no doubt, "I must press eastward as swiftly as possible, east to Westeros, and reaching Westeros requires many, many ships; aside from Valyria, no other city can make up the shortfall."

Volantis is still too far, and Meereen is still threatened by the New Ghiscari army.

We don't need to be in such a hurry.

I must be in a hurry. I heard from the little demon that you encountered a red dragon on the road. That is the reason.

He didn't know how to respond.

When we captured Meereen, the slave masters burned the olive trees, destroying everything they could destroy. This cannot happen again in Volantis—I mean those ships. I want to keep those ships intact, to use them to send my soldiers to Westeros. But I don't have that many trustworthy people nearby, nor that many capable people. After you were driven out of Meereen by me and went to Volantis, living there, you must be very familiar with it. She reached out, paused for a moment, gesturing not to interrupt her, "This is the task I have arranged for you."

"A spy?" A bitter taste spread in his mouth.

"A spy." She said firmly, "But there's more to do than just spying. I don't only need intelligence; I also need you to help me win support inside the walls—I don't care about the forces there, I care about the ships docked at the wharves and harbor. For those ships, you can contact whoever you think can support me, in any way you like. In short, you need to keep those ships safe for me."

"Your Highness..."

"I will use those ships to take you home." The queen interrupted him again, leaving him unable to resist or refuse.

"You still have enemies to the east," they watched tigerishly.

"Ser Quentin has already declared his allegiance to me; with the help of the dragonrider, the New Ghiscari legion's formation is no longer a hard nut to crack, and we are confident we can defeat them."

"Quaith?" You also said you wanted to deal with Quaith.

The queen turned again, as if looking at that dazzling red cloud. She concealed a hint of impatience.

"As for Quaith, I have other ways to deal with it."

The queen turned her back on him; Jorah could not feel how sincere she was. Looking at her, he no longer felt the former affection, only desire: he just wanted to roughly tear off her lace dress, lift her up, and have vigorous sex against the sunset.

His face flushed.

"Yes, Your Highness, your wish is my command."

I heard that little demon performed outstandingly in the Tiger Cloak Army; let him follow you, be a true Yeluó. I heard that Volantis has red-robed monks who support me.

"He has some talent, but he doesn't need to stay by my side."

"I cannot tolerate a Lannister by my side, especially one who killed his own father and denies regicide of the false king."

"He was arranged by Illyrio to come and help you relieve your worries; his talent can assist you."

"Illyrio also sent me a naval admiral, but I think he can't even do a shipyard worker's job. Still, I trust your judgment; I can first let him stay by your side to complete this task, treating it as a test—perhaps by then I won't dislike him so much."

"Yes, Your Highness."

"You used to call me Khalisi." the queen said, "Why change to this title?"

"Compared to Khalisi, you now seem more like a queen."

The queen laughed lightly, more beautiful than before.

"If so, the queen also has a gift for you." Her smile unchanged, at once he thought their relationship had grown closer, "I heard the North is cold; perhaps you'd rather live elsewhere," she withdrew her smile, as if it had never appeared, then reached out again, gesturing not to interrupt, "Listen to me finish: my goal is certainly not just Volantis and Westeros...... on the return we will also pass through Lys."

"You?"

"Once it succeeds, Lys will be yours."