The mornings in Pentos always carried the mingled scent of sea salt and spices.
The city's history began in the age of Valyria.
Back then, dragons still dwelled among the Fourteen Flames, and this place was merely a trading outpost of the Valyrian Freehold.
Square brick towers rose along the coast, terracotta tiles covered sloping roofs, and the harbor was always crowded with ships from every corner of the world.
Spice ships from the Jade Sea unloaded their cargo here, while the black masts of Ibbenese whalers towered like a forest.
Every day, galleys crossed the Narrow Sea to King's Landing, returning with wool and grain from Westeros, along with the latest rumors from the far side of the continent.
But today, trade was not the focus of the sailors and merchants on the docks.
"Have you heard? Governor Illyrio's feast."
A merchant in a brocade coat lowered his voice, his eyes darting toward the palace with nine tall towers beside the bay.
It was a gift from the governors to the Dothraki Khal, its ivy-covered brick walls glowing dark red in the morning light.
"Another governor's birthday feast?" a spice merchant beside him asked casually.
"It's the Dothraki."
The merchant lowered his voice further. "Khal Drogo's envoys have arrived. They're staying in the Palace of the Nine Towers."
"Governor Illyrio arranged it. He's holding a feast in his private courtyard."
"They say ten gold coins will get you through the tradesmen's gate. All the wine you can drink, and a chance to see the princess in person."
Someone perked up. "The princess? The Beggar King's sister? Is he really selling her to the Khal?"
"It's a marriage alliance."
The merchant corrected him, though his tone carried much the same meaning. "A princess in exchange for blades."
"That beggar who