Daemon's last sad hope dissolves with the misunderstanding, and he laughs, the sound high and thin and a little manic. Instead, the realisation settles in that he's truly adrift and alone without even a hint of familiarity, and all the strength seems to go out of him as he lays his head back against the stone and closes his eyes.

This could overwhelm him if he let it. An hour ago, he lay in that uncomfortable bed, aggravated that he hadn't thought of a way to win the war yet. Now he has nothing — no sword, no dragon, and names count for less than nothing in places like this. Worse, Daemon knows that war is lost without him, but he doesn't dare think about that any more than necessary right now.

He won't let that happen; he's not dead yet.

"You have a plan? Tell me everything," Daemon says after what feels like a long time. "I would know my enemy."