Chapter 46

"Not bad. At that time I was the liberator of Winterfell." The Duke of the Dreadfort slowly murmured, "So, the King Beyond the Wall is a friend, a good friend. Or do you think the King Beyond the Wall can defeat my army?"

"Of course not. Your only enemy is the Starks?"

"The Starks and the Boltons have harbored hatred for thousands of years—people shouldn't have hatred, so both are enemies."

"It seems that to help you deal with the second enemy, I must first help you deal with the first. I will help you, my lord."

"Just pay with blood?" the Duke scoffed.

The red-robed monk said nothing more.

"Your talent as a staff officer has already amused me, just like the red-robed monk of King's Landing, Ross, often amuses King Robert. Now properly tell me what you've gained from being a monk!"

"What I want to say is probably not what I've gained from being a monk."

The Duke sighed. "There's no perfect collaborator, right?"

"Forget it. I said before, there's still plenty of time before going to bed to sleep; if you insist on being a staff officer, I can listen."

After a while, the Duke felt it wasn't so cold anymore; the firewood in the fireplace was burning brightly, so he rose, took off his cloak, hung it on the back of the chair, then took a wine jug from the wall cabinet, poured two glasses of wine, and gave one to the red-robed monk before him.

"I saw Sansa Stark appear on Sweet Sister Island; Sweet Sister Island is ruled by the Bolton family— they had prepared to send the girl back to Winterfell, but because of the storm in Biteperson Bay, Viscount Bolton temporarily hasn't sent the girl to White Harbor."

"So what's your idea?"

"My lord, reporting the information to King's Landing won't work. Having the Iron Throne order Viscount Bolton to return the girl takes too long, and the Iron Throne would also doubt your source. But, Viscount Bolton's liege, the Marquis of Sunderland... I've heard he has seven sons, each wanting to be a knight, so he would be willing to sell Sansa Stark to anyone who can pay the price, to support his sons."

He revealed a satisfied smile. He drank a little wine and began to grin.

"That Sansa Stark child, no matter how stupid, wouldn't reveal her identity openly in the Three Sisters Islands; the Sister Islands aren't exactly gentle sisters, and Sweet Sister Island has nothing to do with sweetness, so why would Viscount Bolton happen to find that girl, and how would he let them leave?"

"My lord, I don't know; this is all fate's arrangement. But you don't want Sansa Stark to return safely to Winterfell, do you?"

"Perhaps." Given the Marquis of Sunderland's character, he would sell that girl for more than several times her weight in gold, but that's not the most important point; the important thing is, compared to gold, he'd rather avoid the swords of White Harbor, and this method simply wouldn't work.

"So, my lord, you should send a raven to the Marquis of Sunderland, to have him bring people to Sweet Sister Island to prevent the girl's return."

"Sweet Sister Island is very close to White Harbor. There's no time." He directly vetoed it, hoping he would come up with a not-so-bad idea.

"Unless the storm in Biteperson Bay continues until the Marquis of Sunderland can timely stop Viscount Bolton."

"Absurd to the extreme." "Are you sure a raven can cross a stormy sea and still deliver the letter intact into the marquis's hands?" He hoped the guards would come in and drive the red-robed monk away.

The bell was close to him; shaking it would make them come in. But the Duke didn't know why he still restrained himself.

"Only an experienced raven can cross the storm." He still wore a smile.

"So then?"

"Don't talk about experienced ravens; even if I knew the way to the Three Sisters Islands, I don't have a single one."

"Hehe, you can borrow one from the Count."

"Then I might as well tell the news to Xiaozhitou, pretending I've fulfilled my obligation to him—he doesn't think Sansa has already returned to Winterfell, does he?"

"Does the Count's raven have experience?" The Duke had already decided inwardly; if the monk's next sentence was still this foolish, he would shake the bell to drive him out.

"No." He laughed, and before the Duke could scold him, he spoke up, "But the Count's raven can have magic."

The Duke looked toward Asaluo by the candlelight and fireplace glow. "So, you can send the letter to the Three Sisters Islands; to hold up Viscount Bolton, you'd need to stir up a storm there—is that your purpose?"

"My lord, this is my method."

Lord Bolton clenched his fist.

"Price?"

"One sacrifice for a day's storm." His eyes full of desire, he stared fixedly at the Duke, "The same—no fire sacrifice needed, blood will do."

The Duke picked up the wine cup and drained the red wine in one gulp.

"The Marquis of Sunderland isn't a fool; he won't block the girl's return to Winterfell, otherwise his business couldn't be done. Moreover, abducting the Stark daughter would also invite the swords of White Harbor and the Starks' retaliation. That place isn't far from White Harbor or Winterfell."

In the distance came the rumble of thunder; the storm was gathering far away.

The Duke rose, opened the room's window, letting the cold wind from the mountainside pour in. The iron chandelier hanging in the room began to sway; several candles were blown out, the room grew darker, and the fire in the fireplace kept swaying left and right.

"As long as the Marquis of Sunderland keeps it secret, that's enough."

"The Marquis of Sunderland might easily seize and sell his vassal's guest, and Viscount Bolton is unlikely to raise a rebel flag like Qiongen Arryn did, but do you want him to keep it secret?"

The monk should just chant his sutras properly.

The wind messed up the Duke's hair; he was sure this was wind from the ocean, smelling of seaweed and salt.

"I'll have the Viscount of Misty Island do this." He is not only poorer, but also has a blood feud with the she-wolf, "Only he is willing to sell the Stark girl to me."

He shifted his gaze from the darkness outside the window into the room, toward the red-robed monk. Lightning shot down, through the window, illuminating the Duke's side profile and Asaluo's pockmarked smiling face.

"So?"

"So, Viscount Talbot will have his subordinates or the hounds he keeps disguise as pirates, hijack the ship that Viscount Bolton sent the person on, then bring the girl back to Misty Island. Afterwards, Viscount Bolton will raise an objection to him, and he will say the pirates have already left. To cover up the mistake, Viscount Bolton will pretend this never happened. And I will from Viscount Talbot..."

The rumbling thunder rolled in, drowning out the Duke's words.

The red-robed monk had better not suggest again that the Marquis of Sunderland organize people to pretend to be pirates, otherwise the Duke will have someone push him off the cliff. The Duke won't cooperate with fools.

"You will send the girl to Lord Baelish?"

"Perhaps, if she isn't dead."

"Will she die?"

"If I meet the Stark army in the wild, draw up battle lines, that girl will be useful. She might die on the battlefield."

Asshara showed a thoughtful expression, "The Starks wouldn't lose their formation just because a girl appears on the battlefield, would they?"

"Who knows? Parents who invest too much emotion in their children will bring defeat to the family. Lady Catelyn is a prime example; Lord Eddard also didn't do better, and further back there's Aegon V. As for that she-wolf? Who knows?" The Duke closed the window; a little cold wind already made him feel much more comfortable.

He walked back to the desk and filled his wine cup with red wine.

"Kin is the Starks' soft spot. If the girl could survive such a battlefield, I would of course send her to Lord Baelish—hehe, I swore an oath to his face."

The wine was sour, far inferior to the red wine offered by Count Grafsen, but enough to quench thirst.

"My lord, you've expended so much mental effort, spent so much money, just for such a simple goal." Asshara stared at the fireplace's roaring flames, "Lahero can provide you with more convenient and efficient assistance. It can even directly eliminate Meyers Stark and..."

"Stannis's red woman probably also said that to Stannis, promising even more extravagant results." The Duke stared at him, "Tell me, has Stannis sat on the Iron Throne? Does he still have a chance to take King's Landing?"

He doesn't have it, and he has no chance to attack King's Landing again. He replied seriously.

He burned the godswood of Dragonstone Island, the Seven Gods statues, and all disobedient officers and nobles to please your god, but he failed, and he told me, is your god helping him just to mock him?

Of course not. The true god's intentions cannot be guessed.

If I were Stannis, seeing this result, I would burn that red-robed woman to death. The duke stared at him, "What is that woman's name?"

Melisandre.

Tell me, as fellow red-robed priests, is your rank higher or hers higher, and in the so-called magical level, are you stronger or she stronger? The duke would not miss any expression of the red-robed priest.

My lord, she is a priestess of the temple, and I am as well. My position is not lower than hers, but she seems to have greater influence, perhaps because she is older and more senior, but that does not mean she can command me, or that I need to obey her; as for magic, my lord, I have never seen her perform magic, but there are some legends. He did not look like he was lying.

Let me tell you. When Renly was killed, Lady Catelyn was by his side, according to her account, a shadow with Stannis's face pierced Renly's steel gorget. Lady Catelyn, though foolish as a woman, would not fabricate a story to excuse her failure, and moreover, Brienne of Tars's account agrees with hers, that woman is even more foolish, foolish to the point of not lying, so the red-robed woman you speak of, Melisandre, could easily take the life of a king.

My lord, that is shadow-binding, requiring the caster's essence and blood or the life force of a person with king's blood.

I don't need to care what that is. But Stannis obviously couldn't use it to win the war. Perhaps you could too, but I don't think I am superior to Stannis militarily, nor can I use sorcery to win the war.

My lord, you are prejudiced against magic. Moreover, weren't you satisfied with the earlier calming of the storm?

The duke had to fall silent for a moment. "Because, it's to save people." Because, the storm concerns his own safety.

This time too it can save people. After all, once completed, there will be no need for war, and many fewer will die. He said earnestly.

The duke laughed. "You are adorably stupid. Perhaps someday I will use your power to help destroy the enemies of the god."

Yes, my lord.

Tomorrow, I will go borrow ravens from Count Grafsen.

Of course, my lord. The sooner the better; if delayed, more sacrifices will be needed. Candlelight left a shadow on his face, but his smile was wanton, he spoke in a relaxed yet heavy tone, "So, my lord, as long as you quickly go borrow, fewer will die."