After Cole left, Asha was alone on deck. She could not help looking back toward the southern horizon, where she thought she could see a faint wisp of smoke.
Did Viserys think burning the Iron Islands would put an end to the Ironborn's "Old Way"?
Did he think killing her father Balon and her uncle Victarion would sink House Greyjoy's banner to the bottom of the sea forever?
Did he think reducing the ports of the Iron Islands to scorched earth would make every Ironborn wither like weeds torn out by the roots?
Unfortunately for Viserys, he had overlooked her.
Asha Greyjoy.
The only surviving member of House Greyjoy, the last commander of the Iron Fleet-a woman who had grown up amid the wind and waves of Ironman's Bay, learned to walk on a ship's deck, and learned to kill on raids.
She believed everyone underestimated her. Though deep down she disliked the Iron Islands and yearned for the life led by the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros, people could grow. She, too, would grow, and she longed to be king, even if only king of the Iron Islands.
Her uncle Rodrik had once told her that dreaming of kingship was a madness inherent in the blood of their Sea Monster house.
The generations of Greyjoys who had died on their thrones were the best proof, much like the curse of madness carried in the blood of House Targaryen.
That madness had been etched into her Greyjoy blood and bones from birth. Balon's and Victarion's deaths would not end its legacy. Their deaths had only inflamed her desire for kingship.
She turned to look at the Iron Fleet anchored nearby. Its black sails formed an undulating line-the last embers House Greyjoy had left, and all the bargaining chips