Rift

Crow's Eye's blue-stained lips were still curled.

But his entire bearing had shifted from a spectator's indifference to a hunter's focus.

He looked at Aegon as though he were truly "seeing" the silver-haired boy for the first time.

High Valyrian, that ancient language belonging exclusively to Dragonlords and magic, held power and secrets in every syllable.

His earlier question about whether Aegon was Valyrian or Targaryen had been more mockery than inquiry.

After all, silver hair was uncommon in Westeros, but hardly rare. In the Crownlands, there were plenty of bastards with dragon blood.

The War of the Usurper had not affected them much.

But now...

Not only was this High Valyrian pronounced correctly, it carried an ancient cadence, far easier on the ears than Corlyon's broken Valyrian. This was not something an ordinary mercenary could know.

His blue-stained lips curved into a cloying smile of interest.

Slowly, deliberately, he licked his upper lip, as though savoring the sweet poison that had just entered the air, called "possibility."

"Such... beautiful High Valyrian." His voice was quiet, yet it slipped into everyone's ears like an oil-soaked rope. "So pure it makes my ears itch, boy."

He took a step forward, his lone eye fixed unblinkingly on Aegon.

"Tell me..." He deliberately drew out the words, each wrapped in naked curiosity and greed.

"That nimble tongue of yours, besides licking at old dreams carved in stone... what else does it know how to lick open?"

Crow's Eye paused deliberately, letting his profane, suggestive words ferment in the silence.

"For instance... the secrets hidden beneath dragon bones."

"Those forbidden chapters written in blood, which only Dragonlords are worthy to read?"

"Or perhaps..." Crow's Eye lowered his voice further, filling it with a devilish temptation. "Those ancient rituals that allow mortals... to touch divine power?"

He tilted his head, making no attempt to conceal the madness and calculation in his lone eye.

"Our bastard Dragonlord says only the 'true blood' of Torregar is worthy of understanding these ruins." Crow's Eye spread a hand with blue-stained nails in an inviting gesture, though his tone was full of challenge and probing.

"You look as though you have far more of that 'true blood'... than he does."

Aegon's expression remained unchanged, but his mind raced.

Corlyon... possesses something Euron wants, but clearly, he cannot control it, or is unwilling to surrender it completely.

So what binds them is a bargain, a fragile rope rather than a chain.

His thoughts raced, and Aegon seized upon the crux of it at once. Euron needed a "key" to unlock this place's secrets, and Corlyon was currently its sole holder. But now, he had shown the potential to become another "key." The opportunity... the crack lay right here.

He needed to demonstrate his value, but even more importantly... how easily he could be controlled, and how much more he offered than Corlyon at a lower cost.

A fleeting glimmer flashed deep in Aegon's violet eyes, like a shadow darting beneath the ice.

"Ancient writing is merely a tool. Knowing a few words only means having read a few more books left behind by dead men."

"Unlike bloodlines..." He paused subtly, his gaze sweeping toward Corlyon. "A tool, at least, does not change its original meaning depending on who its master is."

Aegon turned slightly, directing his gaze toward a more indistinct stretch of inscription farther along the stone stele, as though it had caught his interest. His tone became matter-of-fact.

"As for secrets and rituals... the ruins themselves remember them more clearly than anyone. They do not care who reads them, only... whether the reader can afford the price. Some prices are paid in blood."

"Others... in madness no usurper can endure."

He spoke those last few words very softly, yet they pierced Corlyon's taut nerves like needles.

Then he looked back at Crow's Eye, his gaze clear and unwavering.

"I do not know much."

"But at least I can tell the difference between words on stone and the demons in men's hearts."

Crow's Eye tilted his head, his lone eye nailed to Aegon's face. The mockery from a moment ago was gone, leaving only a naked, chilling hunger to possess.

"Tell me, boy, which Citadel in Oldtown did you steal this 'tool' from? Or..." He deliberately drew out the words, lowering his voice to a venomous whisper. "Did you dig it out with your own hands... from the coffin of some true Dragonlord who isn't quite dead yet?"

He reached out, his blue-stained fingertips almost brushing the ends of Aegon's silver-white hair, then stopped a hair's breadth away, as though admiring a precious collectible that would soon be his.

"I like useful things. I like things that belong entirely to me... even more.

"Now, give me a name, a place, or a story that proves this 'tool' will serve me alone. Otherwise..."

Crow's Eye withdrew his hand, licked his lips, and smiled with a mixture of appreciation and cruelty.

Aegon met Euron's lone eye without fear or defiance. His violet eyes were still as a deep pool, his voice as steady as though he were stating a fact. "A tool is judged by its use, not its origins."

"If you want a story, once we leave these ruins alive, I can invent a splendid one for you-as for now, the 'monster' in these ruins knows far more than I do."

Crow's Eye abruptly narrowed his lone eye. A trace of icy killing intent flickered through the air, but then a low, cloying chuckle rolled from his throat.

"Heh heh heh... a tool is judged by its use, not its origins. Well said."

He licked his blue-stained lips, madness and calculation intertwining in his eye.

This silver-haired boy not only knew the ancient tongue, but also knew how to walk a blade's edge. His courage and value clearly surpassed those of that increasingly agitated, useless bastard.

"I appreciate useful 'tools.'" Euron finally nodded slowly, his lone eye still locked on Aegon. "Then let me see your 'use,' boy."

"If you dare play tricks, I will give you a taste of something far more exquisite than having your tongue cut out."

Aegon's expression remained calm. Just then, a harsh, shrill voice interrupted.

"You silver-haired bastard!"

Corlyon's roar instantly tore apart the brief calm.

His face was deathly pale, and his outstretched finger shook violently with rage as he pointed straight at Aegon. "You think guessing a few words of a dead man's language gives you the right to pry into Torregar's secrets?!"

"You are not worthy!"

He rounded on his guards and screamed hoarsely, "Draw your blades! Kill this charlatan now-his tongue will only defile this sacred ground!"

Crow's Eye glanced at Corlyon, his blue lips curling into a cloying sneer.

"Shut up."

His voice was quiet, but carried an iron authority that instantly froze Corlyon's fury. "I will judge for myself."

He turned back to Aegon, his lone eye gleaming as though weighing the worth of his prey.

"Charlatan or key, a test will tell." He raised a hand toward the dim ruins ahead, toward the broken walls carved with inscriptions and murals, and gave an emphatic command that brooked no question: "You. Read.

"Read these ancient stories and secrets on the walls aloud, word for word. If they truly have value... you may live longer than certain 'true bloods.'"

Crow's Eye's intervention was not mediation, but an even more forceful assertion of control. He enjoyed holding everyone in the palm of his hand, and drove his plans forward according to his own ironclad rules.

At his will, the party began creeping toward the ruins once more.