Tyene.â
âShe begs a private word. I sent her to the throne room to await your coming.â
The prince sighed. âVery well. Captain? The sooner I am done with this, the sooner I may rest.â
Hotah bore him up the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun, to the great round chamber beneath the dome, where the last light of the afternoon was slanting down through thick windows of many-colored glass to dapple the pale marble with diamonds of half a hundred colors. There the third Sand Snake awaited them.
She was sitting cross-legged on a pillow beneath the raised dais where the high seats stood, but she rose as they entered, dressed in a clinging gown of pale blue samite with sleeves of Myrish lace that made her look as innocent as the Maid herself. In one hand was a piece of embroidery she had been working on, in the other a pair of golden needles. Her hair was gold as well, and her eyes were deep blue pools . . . and yet somehow they reminded the captain of her fatherâs eyes, though Oberynâs had been as black as night.
All of Prince Oberynâs daughters have his viper eyes,
Hotah realized suddenly.
The color does not matter.
âUncle,â said Tyene Sand, âI have been waiting for you.â
âCaptain, help me to the high seat.â
There were two seats on the dais, near twin to one another, save that one had the Martell spear inlaid in gold upon its back, whilst the other bore the blazing Rhoynish sun that had flown from the masts of Nymeriaâs ships when first they came to Dorne. The captain placed the prince beneath the spear and stepped away.
âDoes it hurt so much?â Lady Tyeneâs voice was gentle, and she looked as sweet as summer strawberries. Her mother had been a septa, and Tyene had an air of almost otherworldy innocence about her. âIs there aught that I might do to ease your pain?â
âSay what you would and let me rest. I am weary, Tyene.â
âI made this for you, Uncle.â Tyene unfolded the piece sheâd been embroidering. It showed her father, Prince Oberyn, mounted on a sand steed and armored all in red, smiling. âWhen I finish, it is yours, to help you remember him.â
âI am not like to forget your father.â
âThat is good to know. Many have wondered.â
âLord Tywin has promised us the Mountainâs head.â
âHe is
so
kind . . . but a headsmanâs sword is no fit end for brave Ser Gregor. We have prayed so long for his death, it is only fair that he pray for it as well. I know the poison that my father used, and there is none slower or more agonizing. Soon we may hear the Mountain screaming, even here in Sunspear.â
Prince Doran sighed. âObara cries to me for war. Nym will be content with murder. And you?â
âWar,â said Tyene, âthough not my sisterâs war. Dornishmen fight best at home, so I say let us hone our spears and wait. When the Lannisters and the Tyrells come down on us, we shall bleed them in the passes and bury them beneath the blowing sands, as we have a hundred times before.â
â
If
they should come down on us.â
âOh, but they must, or see the realm riven once more, as it was before we wed the dragons. Father told me so. He said we had the Imp to thank, for sending us Princess Myrcella. She is so pretty, donât you think? I wish that I had curls like hers. She was made to be a queen, just like her mother.â Dimples bloomed in Tyeneâs cheeks. âI would be honored to arrange the wedding, and to see to the making of the crowns as well. Trystane and Myrcella are so innocent, I thought perhaps white gold . . . with emeralds, to match Myrcellaâs eyes. Oh, diamonds and pearls would serve as well, so long as the children are wed and crowned. Then we need only hail Myrcella as the First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and lawful heir to the Seven Kingdoms of