"What are the Faceless Men up to?" the White Knight stirred the milk tea in his cup and asked in confusion.
It was early the next morning, in the same lounge directly above the library on the second floor of the Steward's Pavilion. After resting for half the night, Dany once again sat across from the old knight.
The morning light filtering through the curtains gave her a faint burning sensation, as if her skin were being scorched by flames.
Kui Xiqi's warning hadn't been wrong—spiritual projections should not appear in broad daylight.
However, Dany also noticed that her spiritual projection didn't immediately dissipate. Perhaps she had a higher resistance to sunlight than most people, maybe even the potential to adapt to it?
It was worth testing.
She moved a bit closer to the window, endured the burning sensation, and affirmed, "It's simple. They want to hatch a dragon. Braavos desires dragons too—and they also want to uncover their weaknesses to deal with the Mother of Dragons' three beasts."
"Then... should we inform the Citadel immediately?" The White Knight frowned.
"We can inform them, but not yet. We'll leave an anonymous letter for the gatekeeper after we leave Oldtown. The Faceless Men won't abandon the identity of 'Pate' so soon."
Dany didn't hold a good opinion of either the Faceless Men or the Citadel. If she could watch the two sides tear each other apart, she'd be delighted.
But if she reported the Faceless Men stealing books now, the library would be tightly guarded, and she wouldn't be able to sneak in again.
"Ser, I want to steal some books too. Got any good tricks?"
"Uh—" the old knight's face twisted as he stammered, "I... I have no experience with that. I can't help you."
"Sigh, the Faceless Men must've gotten the key from Archmaester Walgrave. You could go—"
Before Dany could finish, the White Knight interrupted her with a grumble, "Your Grace, the archmaester is over ninety, maybe even senile. Such a pitiful old man—I can't bring myself to do it!"
"I'm not asking you to rob him. Just steal it, that's all."
"Sigh, I—"
Knock knock knock. Just as the old knight was on the verge of tears, a knock at the door saved him.
He quickly got up and asked, "Who is it?"
"I'm Xi'an, an apprentice here to bring breakfast for the guests," came the reply from outside.
"Oh, please come in." The old knight promptly opened the door and welcomed in the gray-robed, middle-aged apprentice carrying a tray.
Breakfast was simple, yet hearty—four garlic-flavored sausages with split casings, six peeled boiled duck eggs, a jug of dark brown smokeberry wine, a small bamboo basket of dew-kissed red strawberries, and a golden-brown baguette.
After setting the tray, the old knight slipped two copper pennies to the apprentice.
"Thank you. If you need anything, just ring the bell," the apprentice said with a series of grateful nods.
Once the door closed, Dany said with an odd expression, "I saw strawberry seeds in his teeth."
"I saw them too," the old knight tied on his napkin, skewered a sausage with his fork, and stuffed it into his mouth. Chewing, he mumbled, "You forgot? That was Xi'an, the apprentice locked out in the shed yesterday afternoon."
"I remember. He stole the archmaester's waffles."
"Honestly, I was going to give him a gold dragon," the old knight gulped down a mouthful of wine, washing the salty meat down his throat. He burped in satisfaction and sighed, "But the moment I saw those strawberry seeds, all my sympathy vanished."
"Careful he doesn't hear that," Dany said with a grin. "Otherwise, next time he brings your breakfast, he might just give your sausage a lick on the way."
"Ugh, it does kinda taste like…" The old knight glanced at the half-eaten sausage on his fork, his face twisted again. After a moment's pause, he sighed, put the fork down, and started eating the boiled duck eggs instead.
Dany spent another morning in the library. In addition to researching the Valyrian sorcerer's lenses, she discovered some intriguing material on the "Secrets" bookshelf.
For example, the scandal between Cersei Lannister and Jaime was known by all the maesters. As early as five years ago, before Robert's death, they had clearly recorded that Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were not the king's children.
Even Jon Arryn, the "best foster father in Game of Thrones," had figured it out using The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms—which included detailed descriptions of the appearances of lords, ladies, and their children. Could the Citadel really not know?
Let's not forget, The Lineages and Histories was written by the maesters themselves!
Dany even found a letter from Grand Maester Pycelle to the Steward, dated around the time of Jon Arryn's death.
In it, Pycelle advised the Citadel to remain neutral: the maesters should not involve themselves in the power struggles of King's Landing. It didn't matter who sat the Iron Throne—after all, the Seven Kingdoms had only just found peace. Why risk plunging them back into war over something so trivial?
Clearly, the old man not only knew about the incest between Cersei and Jaime, but was also likely involved in Jon Arryn's death.
"Heh, swearing loyalty to the king makes a Grand Maester his servant—yet that old man still had the gall to play both sides," Dany sneered coldly.
The White Knight had once told her that it was Pycelle who urged the Mad King to open the gates of King's Landing. As a result, Tywin sacked the capital and wiped out Rhaegar's family.
In the latest batch of documents, aside from Cersei and Jaime's sordid affair, there were records of the "Red Wedding" and speculation surrounding the "Purple Wedding."
The Red Wedding had been mostly reconstructed, with detailed descriptions of the deaths of certain Northern lords. However, regarding Joffrey's death at the Purple Wedding, even the Citadel wasn't sure what had happened.
But they were certain Tyrion wasn't the culprit.
Their reasoning was simple: the poison used, "Strangler," was extremely potent—killing almost instantly. Tyrion was far too intelligent to use something so conspicuous.
Dany also found records about herself. Before the events of the Red Waste, her file was extremely thin. It was clear the Citadel hadn't cared much about her—at least not until the dragons hatched.
After her suspected dragon hatching and even the conquest of Astapor, there were detailed records, but the battles of Yunkai and Meereen remained completely unknown.
Night had fallen deeply, and mist began to spread from the riverside. The faint glow from the steward's chamber window was dim and hazy. The grand hall was vast, empty, and silent. Standing by the window, one could even hear the snoring of Lokas, the gatekeeper on the high platform.
A shadow, as light as a cat and swift as a snake, moved along the base of the wall to the fifth stone-arched window to the left of the main gate. Its body was as soft as silk from Yi Ti, and in the blink of an eye, it slipped into the hall.
Next, as if nothing had happened, he pulled up his hood and silently but swiftly walked toward a wooden door in the southwest.
"Click-clack!" The sound of unlocking echoed once again in the darkness of the cellar.
Unlike the night before, the intruder no longer fumbled for a torch on the wall. Like an old horse familiar with the path, he moved through the darkness, arrived at the round table in the center of the bookshelves, retrieved an oil lamp with a glass shade from the cabinet beneath the table, lit it skillfully, and proceeded to the bookshelf.
He took out a book titled The Targaryen Dragon-Hatching Chronicles. After reading the preface, he deftly opened his robe and hid the book close to his body.
"Swish—" As he flipped through a scholar's notebook, tiny snowflake-like paper fragments suddenly drifted out from a crevice between the pages.
Curious, he crouched down and picked up a fingernail-sized, yellowed piece of parchment. Only one word was legible—"Forbidden Art."
"Forbidden art? Could this be the ancient forbidden magic the maesters tried to destroy?" he muttered to himself. Under the dim yellow light of the oil lamp, his hands moved so fast they left afterimages.
Very soon, he had collected 85 pieces of paper. Back at the table, relying on the keen eyesight honed from decades as a Faceless Man, he pieced together an A4-sized page in just fifteen minutes.
It was a large sheet, densely filled with hundreds of words: Forbidden Art, Forbidden Art, Forbidden Art! Over and over again. It truly was forbidden magic—terrifying, horrifying.
If he had read middle school literature from the Celestial Empire, he would've cursed the author for sounding like Xianglin's Wife, endlessly repeating "forbidden art" and "terrible forbidden art." No wonder even a random scrap of paper mentioned it—it left him itching with curiosity, yet he still didn't know what exactly the forbidden art was.
Fortunately, the last few lines, written in tiny, scrawled script, offered some clues:
Two thousand years ago, the most legendary archmaester of the Citadel—"Fire Demon" Hades—learned a forbidden art from the God of Death during his travels in Asshai. This art allowed one to become a demon, to reverse life and death. But...
"Damn it, but what? After rambling for hundreds of words, why end with an ellipsis?" Even with his composure, he couldn't help but curse in frustration.
It truly was a forbidden art of the God of Death.
And the Faceless Men worshipped the God of Death—yet for thousands of years, they had never been able to communicate with that god, not even as well as the blood priests who worshipped the Black Goat.
The Black Goat was the death god of the Qohorik, much like the Stranger was for the Andals.
The Faceless Men were both an assassin guild and an ancient religious order. They worshipped the death gods of all peoples: the Black Goat of Qohor, the Stranger of Westeros, the Pale Child of the Essosi mercenaries and warriors, and the Wild Lion of Yi Ti. To the Faceless Men, all these death gods were merely different faces of the same deity.
Yet none of these gods responded to the Faceless Men's faith.
After a few more curses, he continued reading:
The final secret is hidden within a clay jar—something anyone can see, yet everyone overlooks. The following are the steps to unlock the magic jar:
Kiss the jar seven times;
Rub its surface with your palm seven times;
Place it on a high platform, kneel, kowtow seven times, and shout seven times: "XXX" (This is in Valyrian—pronounced like this...).
If the jar spirit goes berserk and tries to attack you, you can repeat step three and chant "XXX" to restrain it.
"Magic jar?" Holding the oil lamp, he searched everywhere, not even sparing the tiniest corners between the bookshelves.
Eventually, he stood beside a wooden ladder, staring at a dusty jar in the corner, his expression twisted:
"This... don't tell me this chamber pot is the magic jar?!"
Unwilling to accept it, he searched the cellar a second, third, and fourth time.
Finally, he slumped into a high-backed chair, gazing at the pitch-black ceiling, muttering,
"Something everyone can see, yet everyone ignores... isn't that exactly it? But still—"
"Forbidden art, forbidden art, the death god's forbidden art, terrifying forbidden art..."
Torn and conflicted, he became like Xianglin's Wife himself.
Gradually, his expression calmed, and with resolve in his eyes, he said,
"For the Order... for the generations of Faceless Men before me... I'm willing to take the risk. Even if the chances are slim, I'll lose nothing by trying—no one's here anyway."
So, following the instructions, he picked up the clay jar.
"Good thing it hasn't been used in a while—the smell isn't that bad."
His battlefield-like solemn expression relaxed a bit as he puckered his lips and leaned in.
"Smooch, smooch, smooch..."
(End of Chapter)
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