Qarth, seen from within, was even more extravagant than its three concentric walls had promised. Vlad walked through its avenues accompanied by his personal escort, his gaze cold and distant. To him, the opulence of Qarth felt garish and in poor taste.
The walls now behind him stood in arrogant splendor: the first, made of red sandstone, carved with figures of animals and vegetation that seemed to shift beneath the sunlight; the second, of grey granite, covered in reliefs of battles that spoke of conquests no one remembered with pride; and the last, a wall of black marble adorned with jade, lapis lazuli, and gold, depicting the most varied forms of sexual acts.
Vlad thought that more than a city, Qarth resembled a trophy constantly reminding itself of its glory, like an old man repeating stories so he wouldn't forget them.
The monuments were equally vain: twisted towers covered in crystal mosaics, fountains that spat spiced wine, and hanging gardens where peacocks dyed in blue hues danced. The air smelled of spices, incense, and excess.
The palace where they were staying was no less grandiose. Onyx columns rose toward gold-leafed ceilings, and marble floors reflected the glow of the lamps.
The night brought with it a banquet in honor of Vlad and Daenerys. Perfumed Qartheen nobles, dressed in fine tunics, gathered in the palace's inner garden.
Tables overflowed with dates, meats of all kinds, and fire wine. Musicians from Asshai played instruments strung with human hair, and dancers veiled in transparent silks swayed over pools filled with floating flowers.
Vlad remained calm, watching the display without showing much interest, though his attention occasionally drifted toward Daenerys, seated beside him with the serene grace of a queen.
He drank little, but was polite and talkative. After all, he had promised Daenerys that she could enjoy the night—and so she would. There were no noble feasts on the Dothraki sea.
Among the guests was Pree, one of the Warlocks, wrapped in a dark blue robe. His eyes, sunken and gleaming, settled on Vlad with the subtlety of a sharpened blade.
Vlad nearly rolled his eyes at the performance. If the man wanted to be discreet, he wasn't doing a very good job.
—I have seen the dragons with my own eyes,—he murmured as he approached with a cup of purple wine—Your Grace has achieved what none have in centuries,—he flattered, wearing a false smile.
Vlad glanced sideways before replying.
—History is full of "impossibles",—he said, making air quotes with his fingers—But some things only require the right approach.
Pree persisted, theatrically.
—Don't be modest, Your Grace. You are a formidable warrior and now, without a doubt, your name will be etched in history.
—If only dragon eggs weren't so difficult to find,—Vlad replied with feigned irritation.
Pree smiled like a man who had just heard the correct password.
—Then I cannot keep silent, my lord. The Warlocks have a few collecting dust in their tower. Perhaps they are simply waiting to be claimed by the right master…
Vlad let out a calculated sigh, pretending interest as his eyes wandered around the hall in disdain.
—You speak like the merchants of the bazaar, Pree. Do you know how many have tried to sell me carved stones?
The warlock was quick to respond:
—Oh, great lord! The Warlocks are no petty traders. Our eggs come from ancient Valyria,—he lowered his voice dramatically.
Vlad narrowed his eyes, pretending skepticism tinged with curiosity.
—That ancient? I don't know if I could even hatch them...—he said, leaning slightly forward—Show me. Let's see if these eggs are still useful.
Pree made a theatrical gesture with his hands.
—Ah, but such wonders cannot be displayed like trinkets at a feast!—his voice took on a confidential tone—However… if Your Grace would honor our humble sanctum with a visit…
Vlad let a few seconds pass before responding, as if considering the proposal carefully. At last, he nodded slowly.
—A brief visit. I am curious to see if such ancient eggs can be brought back to life,—he said, rising calmly.
The warlock nodded cheerfully.
—Of course, great lord! The Warlocks respect your… station far too much to offer falsehoods,—he added with an exaggerated bow.
—I shall take you to them.
Vlad didn't respond immediately, but his look was enough. He stood with a slow gesture, and the feast seemed to dim a little in his absence. Only Daenerys followed him with her eyes. Vlad gave her a brief gesture but said nothing.
His bloodriders, however, received clear mental orders: protect her at all costs and keep everyone under watch.
They left the palace through a hidden door behind silk curtains. The city began to fade as they moved along a dilapidated path. It wasn't long before they reached the threshold of a forest.
Trees with black leaves rose like twisted statues, their branches drooping like hands trying to touch the ground. The silence was absolute, broken only by the crunch of dry leaves and the whisper of the wind.
There, amidst the thickets, stood the House of the Undying.
It was more ruin than temple: a structure of worn blue stone, windowless and bare, so alien to the rest of Qarth it seemed to have been left there by mistake as it crumbled. The doors were shut, but Pree stopped in front of them and, without turning, spoke in a barely audible voice:
—This way, my lord. I'm sure the Undying Ones will gladly receive you… and would be most pleased to gift you all the dragon eggs they have gathered,—he continued, flattering with a near-childish shallowness.
Vlad felt the urge to rub his temples. He knew he had to play along, but Pree's clumsiness made the charade almost insulting.
—If they can be hatched,—he exclaimed with feigned enthusiasm—It would be a gift I would gladly repay tenfold.
Pree smiled, delighted, as he watched Vlad cross the tower's threshold.
—You must remember, my lord, only the doors to the right will lead you to the Undying Ones. The others are riddled with magic that alters mind and body. Be careful,—he said with false concern.