The Blood of Old Valyria

XV

     "But not diplomacy."

     "Right," Rayena laughed briefly, casting a cheerful glance at the prince, whose lips stretched into an amused smile. "Our ancestors really weren't very good at that..."

     "The hunt for power never leads to anything good," Daemon said after a few seconds of silence and thought. "The Valyrians made sure of that by summoning the Doom."

     "Daemon, we don't know for sure if it was the mages' fault or a natural phenomenon."

     "I find it hard to believe the eruption of the Fourteen Fires was a phenomenon."

     "There is much we don't know, Daemon," Dayraena sighed, "and it is unlikely we will ever know the truth."

     Daemon acquiesced and turned his gaze back to the canvas. He loved to talk about Valyria, to imagine that great power and the people who had lived there long ago. He often felt wistful during such musings, and it struck him every time. How could he have such a feeling if he had not been there, if he had not lived in Old Valyria?

     "We must hurry if we are to finish before the owl's hour," Dayraena said and walked to the edge of the canvas under the prince's perplexed gaze. The woman's hand pulled back the heavy cloth, and Dayraena glanced with a sly smile at the Targaryen who still hadn't moved. "You are the first man to set foot in the sacred place of the warlocks of my House."

The violet eyes clearly reflected surprise.

     "You trust me that much?"

     "Yes, Daemon, I do," Reyna said confidently, watching the dragon prince's reaction. The small smirk was gone from his face, and his gaze became completely serious. Gelarion furrowed her eyebrows slightly, now sensing doubt. Damon stood staring at the woman for a moment and the longer he remained silent, the more uncertainty she began to feel.

     To the prince, her words meant a lot. His heart warmed at the thought that in such a short time they had been able to get to know each other better than anyone had known them before. Of course, each of them still had secrets, but they didn't need to be revealed now. Damon, standing in the abode of ancient knowledge, in front of the woman he admired, suddenly realized that the persona of Dayraena Gelarion would play a significant role in his life.

     "Lead the way," he said it as gently as he could. He said it so that all the worry in his lady's eyes faded and a radiant smile blossomed on her rosy lips.

     Behind the tapestry was a low door, which Dayraena opened with a key. Daemon took the torch from the wall as he saw the darkness behind the door creak open. Reyena entered first and immediately stopped.

     "Be very careful going down the stairs, it's easy to fall down," she warned, and picked up the black hem of her dress, about to put her foot down on the first step of the spiral staircase that led to the unknown. Daemon closed the door behind him and, holding the torch out in front of him, began to walk down the narrow steps.

     "We're in one of the towers now, aren't we?"

     "Yes, this is the smallest tower in the castle," their voices and footsteps echoed in the passageway. They soon stopped in front of an archway draped in a thick cloth. Dayraena looked at the intrigued Damon and took the torch from him, hanging it on the wall before pulling back the curtain, allowing the prince to enter first.

     He knew he was in a spacious room, but he could see nothing. Dayraena stood beside him and took the prince by the forearm. Targaryen realized only then that he was tense and stiff, and the woman's light touch allowed his body to relax.