His cousin in the north told him that Khara’s ambition was to rule; he knew she had a dragon’s egg and so that made her dangerous. But as he stood in Strongwind’s Great Hall, set atop the King’s Hoverstone, he thought of a disturbing new report from a hoverstone below. The Jorberts had come across an egg of their own. And though the Lord rightly wanted it destroyed--while Khara for whatever reason did the exact opposite, temping the Fates and their magic--Gern Jorbert’s sons seemed to have...misplaced it. Which one of them had it, he didn’t know. What they’d do with it, though. There was no mistaking that. He firmly believed that only one with a dragon could take Hoverland for themselves.

He liked King Norman. A decent man. Strong, thoughtful...pliable. Prince Robert had yet to come into his own. Syrio hoped he would prove to be like his father. Only time would tell. The Jorberts, no matter which one, were the Norman’s opposite. There would be no influencing them, save for maybe the drunk one. But in his experience, ruling a Kingdom had a way of sobering men up; or driving sober men to drink.

An itch behind his ear, he scratched it, sucked in a breath and watched as House Mileon, the lot of them, kneeled before the King--Lord Brith Mileon, Lady Sun Mileon, and Miss Het Mileon. Where people came up with names these day, he didn’t dare guess.

Before Lord Mileon opened his mouth, Syrio knew what he was going to say. Highlanders had raided Castle Fieldswept. Lord Mileon was not much better off than Lord Bilt, though he had something that Bilt did not. Fieldswept’s hoverstone was where much of Hoverland’s grain was planted, harvested, and stored. If Mileon’s people were terrorized, their slaves killed or freed, the food supply would be interrupted. That would force them to negotiate with the Flatland for more grain, which would give them more power over the Hoverlands. It might also give them ideas about certain power structures. Nothing good could come of that.

Lord Mileon spoke in a wavering baritone that reverberated off the stone walls. Syrio yawned, ready to tune the man out, when he caught a phrase he did not expect. The Lord said, “...and the colors they wore, the armor, the weapons, all of it was from House Jorbert.”

Silence across the Great Hall.

A direct attack? Lord Gern Jorbert was a serious man, but not stupid; he would never risk an all out attack, and paying Highlanders to carry it out was unheard of, incredibly dishonorable. Yet...

...he was marrying Miss Lilian Bilt. And the Bilt hoverstone was closest to the Flatlands, which grew grain. If their houses joined, Jorbert would have access to cheap grain, the Bilt’s perhaps aware of friendly Flatlanders willing to accommodate to screw the crown. He could then order any attack he pleased on the crown’s grain supplies. He could weaken the Norman’s standing, and if one of his son’s had an egg, if his cousin Miro was wrong, and he had not ordered it destroyed...there was potential for a very bloody, very quick change of hands. One he did not believe would be in his own best interest--or the realms.

There was nothing he could do to stop the wedding, however. Lord Gern Jorbert would be here in one day for the ceremony; it would not be a large affair. He merely wanted the paperwork done. That was unlike a Jorbert. They usually liked pomp and circumstance when it related to tradition. Not this Jorbert. Suspicious. Quite suspicious. No, he could not stop the wedding, but perhaps he could do something to prevent the old man from threatening the realm.

He left the Great Hall quietly, slipping through a door, walking down a spiral staircase that spun its way towards the lower levels of the keep. There, through a crack in the wall, he could see out to thin air and a drop that would make his body disappear, should he fall through it. There was a hovership docked outside the crack. A man, who’d been leaning against the edge of the boat, smoking a pipe, got up at once. He went to the crack, and through it, Syrio told him what he needed him to do and when he needed it done: tomorrow, after the wedding--no later.