ULF
Vermithor's wing was ruined.
The new wound had torn the healing membrane wide open. Blood seeped across bronze scales, dark in the moonlight. His breathing was ragged, each exhale accompanied by a low groan of pain.
"I'm sorry," I said, kneeling beside him. "I should have gotten you out sooner."
An amber eye fixed on me. No blame there—just exhaustion and hurt.
"Rest. You're safe now."
He settled his massive head onto the grass and closed his eyes.
I turned to look at King's Landing.
The city was dying.
From this distance—maybe two miles out—I could see the Dragonpit's silhouette against the flames. Or what remained of it. The dome had collapsed, sending pillars of fire and smoke into the night sky. Smaller fires burned throughout the city, spreading from district to district as the mob's rampage continued.
Screams carried on the wind. Not distinct—just a constant, distant chorus of human suffering.
How many are dying right now? How many will die before dawn?
And Helaena is in there.
The thought struck like a physical blow.
Helaena. The children. In the Red Keep. Surrounded by this chaos.
I was already moving toward Silverwing.
"Guard Vermithor. Don't let anyone approach."
She rumbled protest.
"I know. But I have to go back. She's in there."
Another rumble. More insistent.
"You can't carry both of us. Your wings aren't strong enough for Vermithor's weight, and he can't fly." I touched her snout. "Stay. Protect him. I'll bring her out."
Silverwing's eyes held mine for a long moment.
Then she stepped aside.
I climbed onto her back and we launched toward the burning city.
Flying over King's Landing was like flying over hell.
The streets had become rivers of fire and shadow. Mobs moved through them, carrying torches, dragging victims, leaving destruction in their wake. Buildings collapsed. Bodies lay in doorways. The sound rose to meet us—screaming, roaring, the constant crackle of flames.
The Red Keep stood apart on Aegon's Hill, its walls illuminated by the surrounding fires. From above, I could see fighting at the gates—Gold Cloaks trying to hold back a mob that vastly outnumbered them.
The Keep is breached. Or about to be.
"Jikagon. Central courtyard."
Silverwing dove.
Landing in the Red Keep's courtyard was dangerous.
Arrows flew up from panicked guards who couldn't distinguish friend from foe in the chaos. I flattened against Silverwing's neck, letting her scales deflect what her maneuvers couldn't avoid.
We hit the cobblestones hard. Silverwing roared challenge, and suddenly the courtyard was clear—men fleeing in every direction from the massive silver dragon that had appeared in their midst.
I dismounted with weapons drawn.
"Stay here. I'll be back."
She rumbled unhappily but settled into a defensive posture, watching all approaches.
I ran for Helaena's chambers.
The Red Keep had become a battlefield.
Gold Cloaks fought rioters in the corridors. Bodies lay across thresholds. Blood slicked the ancient stones. I moved through it using every technique I'd mastered—Soru for speed, Kami-e to dodge attackers, Shigan when dodging wasn't possible.
Three rioters blocked a hallway. I went through them in seconds, leaving groaning men behind. Two more at a stairwell—these ones armed with actual swords, probably looted from fallen guards. They died quickly.
No time for mercy. No time for hesitation.
Helaena's wing was ahead.
I could hear fighting from that direction—not the random chaos of the riot, but organized resistance. Her guards, probably, making a final stand.
I rounded the corner and found them.
Six guards held a barricade of furniture and bodies.
Beyond them, more rioters pressed forward—maybe thirty, maybe forty, armed with everything from kitchen knives to gold-plated swords. They'd already killed two guards; the bodies lay among the debris.
The survivors saw me coming.
"Lord Protector!"
"Hold your positions!"
I hit the mob from behind.
Soru carried me into their ranks before anyone could react. Shigan dropped the first three. Rankyaku cleared a path through the middle. The survivors turned to face me—and the guards surged forward from the barricade, catching them in a crossfire.
It was over in thirty seconds.
Bodies everywhere. Blood pooling on marble floors. The stench of death mixing with smoke from distant fires.
"Where's the Queen Regent?"
"Inside, my lord. Barricaded with the children."
I pushed past them.
Helaena stood in the center of her chambers with a knife in her hand.
Young Jaehaerys held a poker from the fireplace, trying to look brave. Jaehaera clutched her younger brother Maelor, shielding him with her body. Three more guards—the last of her personal detail—flanked the doorway.
When she saw me, the knife fell from her fingers.
"Ulf."
"We're leaving. Now."
"The city—"
"Is lost. The Dragonpit's destroyed. Dragons are dead. The mob controls the streets." I crossed to her, took her hands. "Silverwing's in the courtyard. We fly out."
"All of us? With the children?"
"She can carry everyone. It'll be difficult, but she'll manage."
"And Vermithor?"
"Wounded. Waiting outside the walls." I looked at the children—terrified, exhausted, too young for any of this. "We need to move. The rioters are still coming."
Helaena nodded once. Steel replacing fear.
"Jaehaerys. Stay close to me. Jaehaera—hold Maelor's hand. Don't let go no matter what."
"Yes, Mother."
"Guards—form around us. The Lord Protector leads."
They moved into position without hesitation.
I picked up young Maelor—three years old, too small to keep up if we had to run. The boy clutched my neck, silent and wide-eyed.
"Follow me. Don't stop for anything."
The route to the courtyard was different than I'd come.
Secret passages—the ones I'd mapped years ago, when I was just a guard trying to understand the Keep's mysteries. Narrow corridors hidden behind tapestries. Servant stairs that bypassed the public halls. Tunnels that most people didn't know existed.
The mob hadn't found these paths yet.
We moved quickly but quietly. Helaena held Jaehaera's hand, Jaehaerys walked beside them with his fireplace poker still gripped like a sword, and the guards brought up the rear.
Maelor buried his face against my shoulder.
"It's going to be okay," I told him. "We're going somewhere safe."
The boy didn't respond. Just held on tighter.
We emerged at the side gate—a servants' entrance that opened onto the lower courtyard where Silverwing waited.
She saw us coming. Rose to meet us. Her silver scales caught the firelight from the burning city, turning her into something from legend.
"Everyone on. Now."
Loading four children—including Maelor in my arms—and Helaena and three guards onto a single dragon was madness.
But Silverwing was strong. Willing. She understood the stakes.
I helped Helaena onto the saddle first. Handed her Maelor. Lifted Jaehaera up behind her mother. Jaehaerys climbed with surprising agility for a seven-year-old. The guards squeezed into whatever space remained.
I climbed on last, positioning myself at Silverwing's neck where I could guide her.
"Sōvēs. Gently. We're heavy."
She rumbled acknowledgment.
Her wings beat—once, twice, three times. We lifted slowly, unsteadily, the overcrowded saddle shifting with each movement.
Below, rioters poured through the gate we'd just exited. They screamed and threw things, but we were already too high.
King's Landing fell away beneath us.
Helaena looked back at the city—her home, burning. Her husband's throne, lost. Everything she'd known, destroyed in a single night.
"Are we ever going back?" Jaehaerys asked quietly.
No one had an answer.
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