The bones of the Grey King's Hall, Nagga's ribs, rose from the earth like enormous white tree trunks, twice the thickness and height of a great sailing ship's mast.
Whoosh! Whoosh! The sea wind blew hard. Ships lined the sacred beach of Old Wyk, and more and more would arrive.
Aeron Greyjoy had called a Kingsmoot, a grand gathering such as the Ironborn had not held in a thousand years.
Of all the ships that had arrived, the most feared was Crow's Eye's Silence.
Even at anchor in the harbor, the ship looked silent, cruel, and swift.
Silence had only one mast, its sail as black as the deep night sky, its dark red hull long and low.
Euron Greyjoy, Crow's Eye, stood on deck. The entire ship was silent, with only mutes and mongrels of every description aboard.
His "children," some of whom were his bastards.
My relatives will come too, Crow's Eye thought as he watched the distant sea. Though there is little affection between us, they at least have some value as sacrifices. That little fool Theon, my good niece Asha.
I killed three brothers-Harlon, Robin, and Balon. Killing a few more will hardly matter. The Drowned God they pray to-oh, but I will have the gods pray to me.
Crow's Eye was the handsomest of King Qhored's sons, and the most wicked and deranged.
A middle-aged man returned from exile, Crow's Eye had hair as black as the midnight ocean, without a single white strand. His face was still smooth and pale, his black beard neatly trimmed. A patch of black leather covered Euron's left eye, but his right was as blue as the midsummer sky.
Crow's Eye entered the cabin. In the dungeon, daylight never came.
Whenever the tide battered the ship, those trophies let