In the Braavosi afternoon, sunlight shattered into countless shimmering golden scales across the canal.
An opulent pleasure boat glided over the water, its gilded figurehead carved in the shape of a seahorse.
Bellegere Otherys sat opposite Aegon, her deep blue skirts spread across the teak bench like a carefully unfurled night sky.
The boatman rowed from the stern, his wooden oars dipping into the water and rising again with a steady rhythm.
"The festival of masks."
Bellegere spoke, her voice wrapped in the warm breeze and faint strains of music.
Her gaze drifted toward the banks.
Street vendors called out over one another, their wooden racks hung with masks: weeping noblewomen, grinning devils, majestic kings, hollow skulls.
People thronged the streets, many already wearing masks.
"It comes around this time every year and lasts ten days."
Bellegere continued in her characteristic languid tone, though every word was clear.
"By day, there are markets, parades, and plays. By night, feasts and balls, and boats set afloat with lanterns on the canals. Then, at midnight on the tenth day, the Titan of Braavos roars..."
At last, she turned to Aegon, her amber eyes almost translucent in the afternoon light.
"At that moment, tens of thousands of revelers across the city remove their masks together. A symbolic ritual, meeting one another without pretense."
The corners of her lips lifted slightly, in a smile that might have been mockery or admiration.
"Very Braavosi, isn't it? Celebrating a fleeting moment of truth with the most elaborate disguises."
Aegon watched quietly without answering.
He saw through two sets of eyes.
His human eyes saw the revelry; his dragon's eyes looked down from above.
King Ghidorah hovered high beneath the clouds, his six molten-gold eyes taking in the canals below, the movements of boats, and the gathering