Chapter Text
Someone had once told her her life was privileged.
“Old money bitch.” That’s what Cass Vaith had called her in the girls’ bathroom back at prep school, her fingers red with cheap nail polish and her scholarship blazer draped over her shoulders. She and her crowd had always been jealous. Sneered at her about being born with a silver spoon in her mouth, destined to live life on easy mode while the rest of them toiled in the mud for scraps.
Nyra couldn’t say she was wrong, exactly. She’d never worried about bills or whether the fridge would be stocked. Even now, her “apartment” was a sprawling one-hundred-and-fifty square foot Valyrian dreamscape, perched on the fifth of The Dragonspire, overlooking the Hudson. It wasn’t an apartment so much as a museum piece—onyx floors polished to a mirror sheen, walls sculpted to look like molten rock frozen mid-flow, and ceiling beams carved into dragon wings that stretched protectively overhead.
Yeah, some would say it was excessive, but the Valyrians had liked them flashy architecture. And as a direct descendants of royalty, she was practically legally obliged to flaunt her legacy.
Privileged. Cass hadn’t been wrong. But Nyra would have traded every fused-stone wall, every silk sheet, every ounce of that old money if it meant her father could be healthy again.
Or at least stop being so damn dramatic.
“Well?” she mumbled after Doctor Gerardys stepped out of Viserys’ bedroom, his leather bag strapped to his arm.
He gave a tired shrug. “I… I don’t know what to tell you. It’s more of the same. Tremors, poor sleep, trouble concentrating. He says he feels… moody.”
Nyra pinched the bridge of her nose. “Great. So this is why he fired our third live-in nurse this month? Because he was moody?”
The old man made a face, his wrinkles creasing until his eyes nearly disappeared. “I’m sorry, Miss Rhaenyra, but it is how it is. He’s old. Cognitively declining. I can prescribe him more meds if you want, but…” He let the thought trail off. “He just wants your attention.”
Her back hit the wall, and she let herself sink against it. “He and every other board member of the company. If I drop it, we'll go bankrupt.”
Well, okay, she was exaggerating, they had them enough cash to stay afloat for at least two lifetimes. But she would certainly go crazy without something to do.
“God, I can’t do this. I told him I can’t quit my job and care for him full-time.”
Gerardys shoved his hands deep into his pockets. “I can recommend you the agency again. You know what they say: fifth time’s the charm.”
She shot him a look. “They’ve got a three-strikes-and-you’re-out policy. We blew past that five nurses ago.”
He sighed. She stared past him at the painting on the wall opposite her. The Fields of Summerhall. Golden fields and bright flowers, sunlight gleaming across hills. Pretty. Hopeful. Exactly what she wasn’t feeling right now.
“My advice?” Gerardys gave her shoulder a gentle tap. “He wants somebody familiar. If you can give him that, he’ll settle.”
Nyra made a face. “There isn’t anybody familiar.”
Mom was long dead. Dad’s stepbrother had vanished across the ocean, refusing to answer her calls. All their extended family had died when dad had been a kid, lost to tragedy and accidents like leaves on the wind. And those left her on Harwin's side she wasn’t even close to.
“I know,” Gerardys declared. “You’ll manage. You always do.”
She wanted to tell him she didn’t want to just manage, but she kept her words to herself. She'd had enough negativity in her day already.
After jotting down the name of Dad's new sedative into her notes app, Nyra showed the doctor out, making sure to set alarms for when she was supposed to give him her shots. Goddamn saint, that man. He was the only doctor she'd found willing to indulge Dad’s stubborn insistence on home care. If it weren’t for Gerardys, Viserys’ Parkinson’s would’ve driven her over the edge. Hell, it was already driving her over the edge.
Because of course Dad refused anyone but she care for him. One nurse was “too mean", another 'didn’t listen.” Another had dared to serve him mashed peas and she knew how much Viserys hated mashed peas. Of course that was grounds enough to fire her. Nyra knew he was making excuses, desperate to keep her close, to push her into quitting so she could be with him all the time. And she got it, she really did. If she were in his shoes, she’d want family around her too. But she also had a life kids, a business that needed her. She couldn’t just sit at his bedside, stacking Valyria edition Legos until the end of time.
By the time she sauntered back into the dining room, her mood had shifted and the familiar sound of her youngest scribbling furiously at the table coaxed a smile out of her.
“Well, look who’s up,” Nyra teased, tossing her phone onto the counter. “I thought you refused to open your eyes before seven.”
Joyce scrunched her nose without looking up, her pencil scratching across the notebook.
“Had stuff to do.”
“Such as?” she drifted toward the kitchen, where the smell of bacon and eggs wrapped around her like a hug. Elinda, their long-suffering housekeeper, passed her a strip, and Nyra sent her a grateful smile.
“Hope you’re not doing last-minute homework,” she called over her shoulder. “We agreed pumpkin—homework needs to be done on time.”
“I’m not!” Joyce’s legs kicked furiously under the table. The sight warmed her heart. Despite being fifteen she was still too short to touch the floor. “I’m just doing rewrites. You said I need better grades if I want to keep practicing archery, so I’m putting in effort.”
“Oh no, I didn’t say that. That was your teacher,” Nyra corrected, swiping half a waffle from the plate. Vegan. Ugh. But delicious anyway, if only because Elinda was a whizz for vegan stuff. “She said if you don’t get your grades up—”
“I won’t be able to play, I know.” Joyce sighed dramatically, eraser smudging furiously across the page. “Or get into college. As if I need that.”
“You should want college, Joy. It’s a great milestone. It helps you learn new things, make connections. And who knows. Some of the programs there may end up taking you right to the Olympics; exactly like you wanted.”
Joy shot her a glare. “Yeah, and all I have to do is spend four years drowning in coffee and sleeping two hours a night.”
“Exaggerating much?” Nyra pinched her nose again. “Your sister’s doing much better now.”
Joy squinted. “Is she though?”
As if the words were a summons, Jacaera appeared.
“Oh sorry I’m late!” like a fury, her eldest practically rushed in from the corridor, looking every inch the frazzled overachiever.
Nyra’s heart melted, and she dumped the waffle to go over and scoop her into her arms. “Oh Jae, sweetheart, hi! You made it, thanks for coming.”
“Yeah, no problem,” Jae muttered, hugging her back. “Its nice to have breakfast as a family. Can’t remembered the last time we did that. God, am I late? I swear, I set my alarm for five—”
“Five?” Nyra wiggled free of her hold. The circles under her big brown eyes made her mood plummet. “Sweetie we talked about this. You can’t run yourself ragged. You gotta sleep, remember?”
“I did, I did,” Jae insisted, fiddling with her bag strap. “I just… had to get up today I had something to do. But I’ll go to bed early tonight, I promise. It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Are you on Adderall?” Joyce piped up from the table.
“Excuse me?” Jae’s face twisted in shock, a she regarded her little sister over Nyra's shoulder.
“Cause you sound like a turbo-charged Duracell bunny.”
A flush of crimson heated Jae's cheek. She staggered, mouth dropping open to jab right back. But, before she could, another voice drifted in from the hallway.
“Oh no, baby Joy. I’m afraid being a turbo charged Duracell bunny just comes naturally to her.”
Like a runway model, her middle girl sauntered in. All Levi’s jeans and a retro tank top that screamed thrift-store but still classy. Rhaenyra didn’t know how Lucera did it, but ever since she'd become a teen, she’d acquired this uncanny power to look like a supermodel no matter the occasion.
Jae immediately scoffed, stomping toward the table like an affronted professor. “Well excuse me for daring to have finals.”
Her sister laughed, tossing her hair as she flopped into the chair opposite Joyce, that radiant smile of hers lighting up the room. Soft skin, cherub cheeks, twinkling eyes. People often said she was the prettiest of her girls, and Nyra couldn’t help but agree.
“I’m not giving you flack for having finals,” Luce shrugged. “I’m giving you shit for making medical school your whole personality. You have no life outside of it.”
“I have a life,” Jae squealed, hovering over her book like she was about to swan dive into it.
“Study groups with Anya don’t count. If I hadn’t dragged you out from under that mountain of textbooks, you’d never show your face in public again.”
“At least she’ll have a job when she graduates,” Joyce piped up, smirking like some little villain.
Lucera gasped, hand pressing dramatically to her chest. “Oh, look at you, being a demon so early in the morning. I’ll have you know, I do have a job.”
“Posting pictures on Instagram doesn’t count.”
“It does if they pay,” Luce retorted, tossing her hair again. “And if I keep it up, I’ll out-earn Miss Cornell over here without aging my skin prematurely.”
That jab landed. Jae’s hand went to rub at her cheek, and Rhaenyra could practically see her confidence wobbling. She swooped in before things could sour.
“Alright, girls, that’s enough,” she sidled up to Luce, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. She aimed a mom-glare straight at Joyce. “Your sister is on a gap year, figuring herself out. And she’s doing great. The influencing thing is working. She's done music video, sponsorships—”
“I’ve got several offers, actually,” Luce grumbled, leaning into her side. “Cosmetics and apparel mostly. But Rhaena’s gotta vet the contracts before I say yes to anything.”
“There, see? All good.” Nyra jostled her gently until a small, reluctant smile slipped through. “And if you want to go into arts, fashion, or Valyrian literature down the line, you can. It’s never too late.”
Truth was, out of all her girls, Luce struggled most with identity. People reduced her to a pretty face, overlooking the sharp wit, the humor, the spark she had. And while Nyra wasn’t thrilled about the influencing, at least it gave Luce some agency. Traditional modeling was cutthroat and unforgiving—she'd already been denied by several agencies because of her height and curvaceous body, and other offers she'd received didn’t bear thinking about at all. On Instagram at least, Nyra could keep watch, and make sure she stayed safe—even if over half her daughter’s followers didn’t exactly want “safe.”
“Yeah, I’ll think about it,” Luce sighed. “Got my twenties to figure it out.”
“Yes, you do,” Nyra murmured, kissing her forehead. She glanced around the table, heart full. “All of you have time and resources to be anything you want to be.”
“Where’d you get that line, a bumper sticker?” Luce snorted.
Nyra squinted at her. “Yes, yes, make fun of the saggy old lady with the Live, Laugh, Love sign.”
“She still has it in her bedroom,” Joyce stage-whispered, earning a giggle from Jae.
“Thought we agreed you’d throw that out.”
“I tried,” Joy groaned. “But she wouldn’t let me.”
“Because I like it,” Nyra declared, waving a hand at them. “And I’m keeping it no matter how cringe you think it is!”
Her daughters groaned collectively, which only made her smile wider.
“Now,” she clapped. “Books shut, elbows off the table. It’s breakfast time. Mom and babies, together.”
Stifled giggles answered her, followed by a chorus of “Okay, Mom” in perfect, mocking unison.
“Good.” Nyra clapped once again, summoning Elinda from the kitchen. Their housekeeper glided in with practiced grace, balancing plates of eggs, bacon, waffles, fruit—the perfect early morning shebang.
“Is Grandpa not joining us?” Jae asked just as Elinda slid her a veggie plate.
Nyra froze, a lump forming in her throat. But before she could answer, Jae’s eyes widened with horror.
“Oh no. Don’t tell me he’s done it again.”
Nyra snapped a glare toward Luce, but her grin only widened.
“Oh shit,” she practically giggled. “He has. No wonder Martha’s not around.”
“Martha was the third one.” She mumbled. “This last one was called Nina.”
Jae buried her face in her hands, while Luce puffed up her cheeks. “And alas, it seems Nina is no more too.”
“He fired her yesterday,” Joyce supplied, wrinkling her nose. “Said he couldn’t have somebody who watched Real Housewives of Dragonstone as his nurse.”
Nyra shut her eyes, dragging in a deep breath.
“Okay, when you put it like that, I do get why he fired her.” Jae arched her brows, earning herself another chuckle for Luce
“Yes, well, I don’t,” she snapped, plopping down in her chair. “Now I’m out a nurse again, and he had another episode last night.”
“Do you at least have someone for today?” Luce asked, scooping eggs onto her plate.
“Elinda was nice enough to agree to stay with him while I’m at work,” she flashed the housekeeper a grateful smile. “But that can’t last forever. He needs specialized care. And I can’t give him that. Even if he wants me to.”
“Well, technically, you could quit,” Jae mumbled, pushing her waffle around her plate.
Nyra sighed. “Yes, yes, I know you’re morally opposed to private equity. But while that private equity is paying for your tuition, I would appreciate fewer lectures at the breakfast table, thank you .”
Her eldest deflated instantly. Guilt pricked Nyra’s chest, and she reached across to squeeze her arm. “Sorry, sweetie. I didn’t mean to sound so harsh. I’m just… tired.”
Silence settled, filled only by the sporadic clinks of cutlery against porcelain.
“No, you’re right.” Jae piped up abruptly. “You deserve your own job. Your own life. I know he wants you glued to his hip, but… you’re not a kid anymore. You can’t spend the rest of his days at his bedside. Even if I don’t exactly agree with the kind of job you do.”
Nyra’s lips softened into a smile. She laced their hands together, the warmth of her girl's skin like a balm for her soul. “Thank you.”
“But you still gotta figure something out. I mean… he can’t exactly be alone.” Luce added pragmatically.
“I know.” Nyra shrugged, breaking a strip of bacon. “I’ll call the agency. See if they’ll send someone else. And if they won’t, I’ll find another. He can’t keep firing people just because they like bad TV.”
Her daughters exchanged knowing looks.
“To be fair…” Jae said around a mouthful of waffle. “Real Housewives of Dragonstone I like next tier awful.”
Nyra gawked at her. “Oh come on, there’s worse TV. Remember that ghost-hunting show where they had those guys around the Dragonmont looking for spirits of dragon long past?”
“Oh no.” Luce narrowed her eyes. “You’re defending the Housewives.”
Nyra sank into her seat as all eyes turned to her. She hadn’t even had the chance to say anything before her girls groaned in unison, curses passing their lips.
“Goddamn it,” Jae rolled her eyes, as Joyce pointed an accusatory finger across the table.
“Mom. Are you watching trash again?”
“Okay, first of all, it’s my trash,” Nyra shot back, straightening in her chair. “Second of all, I don’t give you grief for all those horror movies you love.”
“That’s because mine are actually good.” Joyce smirked.
Before Nyra could retort that Korean gorefests absolutely did not count as good cinema in her book, Joy was already conspiring with her sisters.
“We need to ban her from the internet again.”
“Or from shopping,” Luce added. “That Live, Laugh, Love thing has gotta go.”
Nyra slammed her palm on the table, pointing her fork like a weapon. “You can pry that sign from my cold, dead hands.”
The silence that followed was broken by Luce snorting into her toast, choking back laughter until it burst out. Her sisters followed like dominoes, giggling until tears welled in their eyes.
And just like that, breakfast turned light again. They talked about Joy’s school, Luce’s latest posts, Jae’s extracurriculars. They smiled, joked, toasted each other with orange juice like they used to, back when life was .
-At least this is fine.
Her girls were healthy, happy, and finding their way in life. Her days may be bitterly lonely without Harwin, and immeasurably difficult because of Dad's condition but… as long as she had them, then maybe, just maybe, she figured she could handle the rest.
* * *
She’d gotten too much sugar in her coffee again.
She'd normally get her brew from the café across the street—a Valryian Persian latte combo, topped with cardamom and chili—but today, she'd been running late and had made the cardinal sin of asking Alfred to stop at Starbucks so she could get herself a Mocha or something.
Whatever the barista had given her, it was more sugar than coffee, and if she weren’t so caffeine starved, she would have tossed it. Instead, she sipped on it slowly, hand going to trace the edge of her work desk.
It was a new addition—a slab of fused rock salvaged straight from Dragonstone, the black shot through with veins of red. The surface was polished as smooth as dragonless, but the edges were left uneven just to give it that rustic vibe.
Tyland had almost fainted when they’d brought it in, calling it a medieval nightmare that didn’t fit at all with the modern redesigns they did on Heritage's offices.
But she liked it. It reminded her of her old house back in the country, filled with imported trinkets and obsidian jewelry, where everything smelled of fire and brimstone, a past that no longer existed.
After readjusting the glass paperweight shaped like a coiled wyrm on her stack of contracts, she stretched in her seat, turning her attention to the new “Tourist Guide to the Imperial Museum.” they’d recently posted on their website.
The title alone made her wince, let alone the damn header.
“Embark, if you dare, upon a journey of unparalleled grandeur through the annals of Valyrian majesty…”
She slapped a hand to her forehead. God, who wrote like this? This was supposed to be a tourist guide, not the Ballad of Azor Ahai. She scrolled through paragraphs of purple prose, each more overwrought than the last. By the time she reached “like dragonfire coursing through the veins of civilization,” she was already reaching for her phone to ring Tyland.
But the door creaked open before she could.
Selyse swept in, a vision of practiced efficiency—heels clicking, hair pulled into a neat bun, iPad in one hand and her phone already buzzing in the other.
“Oh good, you’re sitting. Because boy do I have news,” she announced, without waiting for permission.
Rhaenyra leaned back, half-amused. “Please tell me it’s good.”
“Better than good. Mr. Reeves is confirmed for tomorrow. He’s flying in to see the property personally.”
Rhaenyra nearly dropped her coffee. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope.” Selyse smirked, tapping at her screen. “Keanu Reeves, here in the Quarter. In the flesh.”
Her hand pressed to her chest as if that could somehow steady her heart. “Oh my god. This is actually happening. John Wick wants to live in our neighborhood. I can’t—” She laughed, shaking her head. “That’s amazing.”
“Apparently he’s a history buff,” Selyse added with a coy smile. “And the PR on this thing is gonna skyrocket us to the stratosphere.”
“Good.” Nyra let out a dramatic sigh of relief. “After that Wall Street clown torpedoed our property values with his pyramid scheme, we need wholesome. We need Mr. Dog-Lover Nice-Guy Wholesome.” She clasped her hands together in prayer. “Bless you, Selyse. I owe you a drink.”
Her secretary grinned. “Im flattered, but respectfully, I’d rather get a raise. But speaking of, I have to remind you that you have a photo op with the mayor today.”
Nyra groaned, “Wait, that’s today? I completely forgot! I thought it was gonna be next week,” she paused, peering down at her blouse and black pants. “I would have worn something flashier.”
“You’ve got time,” Selyse countered. “It’s after your lunch break. You can swing by your house, change, and still make it. Or…” she arched a brow, “I could call Alfred, have him fetch your Valentino suit. If Elinda's home like you said, she’ll know which one to give him.”
Nyra perked at that. “Do it. Please. Save me from myself. Again, I owe you.”
Selyse nodded. “Good, then I hope we can discuss that raise.”
“You got it. Oh, Selyse—” she caught her just as she was making for the door. “Could you do me another favor? Call Tyland up and tell him to stop writing stuff for the website. It’s a Valyrian museum. Not a Temu Shakespearean theater.”
Selyse's mouth twisted, but she managed to keep the laugh contained. “Will do.”
And with that, she slipped thought he door, leaving Nyra to stew in the silence. Tired of Tyland’s verbose diatribes, she turned to her personal laptop to start browsing. When she booted it up, she was surprised to see her inbox blink something unexpected: a message from Gerardys.
“Thought this might help,” he’d written, with a link to Oldtown Care, a database of licensed nurses.
She smiled to herself, once again hoping someone, somewhere found a way to get that man canonized. Clicking through, she began the tedious process of filtering by city, availability, and willingness for round-the-clock care. The pool shrank fast, but at least she had options.
She jotted notes and flipped between profiles, until one name made her stop cold.
Alicent Hightower.
Her eyes scanned the profile: RN, two years’ experience, available 24/7. Negotiable rates.
But it wasn’t the words that froze her—it was the profile photo. Brown curls spilling past her shoulders, eyes sharp as glass, face older but unmistakable.
Her mother’s friend.
The woman who’d practically lived at their house when Nyra was a girl.
She leaned back in her chair, stunned. The Hightowers weren’t supposed to need jobs. Oldtown Export was still one of the biggest shipping companies on the Atlantic, and Otto Hightower regularly made it on the list of wealthiest men in Europe. Alicent had gone to the same elite school as Mom, married well—some financier hotshot, right from the Quarter, if memory served. She was supposed to be wasting her days sipping cocktails at the country club, not offering blue collar services on the internet.
Nyra stared at the phone number at the bottom of the page for a long while before she clicked. Her pulse raced when it started ringing, and by the time she thought to hang up, someone had already answered.
“Hello?” A soft, cultured voice answered, the vowels cut crisp. Queen’s English. Exactly like Mom’s accent.
Nyra swallowed. “Yes, hi. I—I’m sorry to bother you, but… is this Alicent? Alicent Hightower?”
“Yes. Who is this?”
“I… found your number on Oldtown Care,” Nyra stammered, pushing to her feet, to pace the length of her dragon-carved desk.
“Oh. Are you calling about work?” suspicion sharpened her tone, but only for a moment.
“Yeah, I am. Actually—um… I don’t know if you’re the same person I think you are, but—I’m Rhaenyra. I’m—”
“Aemma’s girl,” Alicent interrupted softly. Her voice pitched for a breath, and Nyra let out a slow exhale.
“Yeah. You used to come to our house all the time. For tea."
“That I did.” Warmth seeped into her tone, and Nyra could just picture her smiling on the other end. “What a coincidence. It’s been decades since I saw your mother. Is… everything alright with her?”
Nyra froze, the words catching in her throat. “…no. Actually, it’s not.”
A quiet breath hummed over the line.
“Oh, I… I’m sorry.”
“No, its… it’s fine,” she gritted her teeth, but managed to swallow up the old grief. "Would you like to meet for lunch? I’ll be on break in two hours, so if you’d like to stop by. I’m in the Valyrian Quarter. The website said you’re NY based so I don’t know if you’re close by."
“Ah, I am actually. I’m at Fort George. I can take the metro. Be there in an hour and a half.”
“Perfect. There's this place, right across the street from my office. Its called Dragonbreath café. They have great fusion style food.”
A beat of silence on the other end. “That’s on… on the east side, yes? Near the Street of Jewels?”
“Yeah,” Nyra said, blinking in surprise. “That’s the one.”
More silence, as she heard the sounds of something rattling in the background—a bag or pockets, she couldn’t tell.
“Um, it’s fine. I’ll meet you there.”
“Fantastic,” Nyra grinned depite herself. “Thank you.”
“No—thank you. I appreciate the call.”
Then, after a shared goodbye, the line clicked dead.
Nyra lowered her phone slowly, staring at it like it might sprout wings. Of all the people in the city, of all the profiles on a public website, she stumbled on a former friend of her parents. What were the odds? It was like God himself had decided to intervene and finally answer all those blasted prayers.
She sipped her coffee again, the sweetness tasting different this time. Not cloying but triumphant. The day had started off bad, but maybe, she could make it end on a positive note.
* * *
The Dragonbreath was humming when Nyra pushed open the glass doors. Lunchtime chatter filled the air, clinking cutlery weaving in with the low jazz playing from hidden speakers. The scent of roasted garlic and saffron carried faintly through the restaurant, threading itself with the bitter tang of coffee.
Amid the smoke and steam permeating the air, she spotted her straight away. Sat beside one of the windows, exactly as she remembered her.
The moment she saw her approaching, Alicent rose to her feet to greet her, a slow, practiced smile curling her lips.
God, she'd forgotten how pretty she was. Slender yet shapely, with brown curls falling past her shoulders in perfectly styled waves. Her posture was flawless—straight-backed, poised, as if those etiquette classes she and Mom had had in prep school had become etched into her very marrow. The Yves Saint Laurent pantsuit she wore was exquisite: deep green with black trim, the cut so fine, it looked handmade. It was also last season’s design, but Nyra didn’t comment.
For a long moment, they simply looked at one another, an awkward silence brewing between them.
Then, Alicent broke it with a soft smile.
“You’ve grown so much. You look just like your mother.”
That loosened something inside Nyra. Before she could think, she stepped forward to give her a quick, almost tentative embrace before sliding into the seat opposite. She flagged down the waiter and ordered herself another coffee—a Valyrian roast this time, with no sugar, or syrup of any kind.
Small talk carried them for a while: the weather, the new development in the Quarter, the restaurant’s décor. But soon it withered into silence, until the topic pulled her forward like a current.
“Mom died,” she said flatly. “Some years back. Complications during birth.”
Alicent went rigid. Her swallow was audible, her whole body stiffening. “I… I’m so sorry. I didn’t know.”
Nyra waved a hand, feigning nonchalance. “It’s okay. It happened suddenly. Dad insisted she’d be fine—we had the best doctors, the most expensive hospital. But in the end… none of that mattered. She died. And my little brother didn’t live long after.”
A pallor spread across Alicent’s cheeks. She reached over the table, laying a hand gently on Nyra’s forearm.
“God, I... I cannot imagine what that must have been like.”
Nyra shrugged. “I know. But we managed. Like always. It was brutal for a while, but it got better. I went to school, got married, had kids. And Dad… he drowned himself in work to forget.”
“He still owns Heritage, right?” Alicent asked in between coffee sips.
“Yes. We own most of the real estate in the Valyrian Quarter. But I’ve been trying to focus on the historical side. Museums, arts, architecture. Less soul-sucking than private equity.”
A soft smile curled Alicent’s lips. “Like Aemma would have wanted.”
Nyra looked away, her throat tight. Then, she fixed Alicent with a curious look.
“But what about you? You used to come by the house so much, I swore you were Mom’s actual sister. And then you just… disappeared one day. What happened?”
A shadow crossed Alicent’s face. She set her cup down with a sharp clink, her breath whistling through her clenched teeth. “Well… it’s complicated. Your mother and I, we had a disagreement. It was quite serious, so we… broke off the friendship.”
Nyra frowned. “I’m sorry.”
“No, it was my fault,” she shook her head. “I loved your mother, and I felt terrible afterward. I wanted to apologize, I did. But… I was sent back to England to finish school before I could. There I met my future husband, married him, and had children. Life… went on. But I always had this voice in my head telling me how I should have apologized to her.”
Tightness squeezed her chest, but she forced herself to nod. “Fate rarely gives us second chances to fix our errors.”
Alicent’s eyes warmed. “Maybe this is the chance now. You said you needed help?”
“Yes.” Nyra hesitated, then added, “I need a full-time nurse. To care for my dad.”
Concern flashed on her face. “Is he alright?”
She drew a shuddering breath, before seizing on the courage.
“No. Parkinson’s. Diagnosed two years ago.”
The warmth drained from Alicent’s face. She reached across again, her hand firm on Nyra’s. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’ve had time to cope.”
“Have you gotten yourself tested?”
“Yes. None of us inherited the gene, thankfully. But he has it. And he refuses to have anyone care for him but me.”
“That’s natural. We always want to be with our loved ones near the end.” Alicent’s gaze drifted. “My husband was the same.”
She blinked. “What?”
Leaning back, the woman's shoulders slumped slightly. “It’s how I became a nurse. When he got sick, the bills devoured everything. He’d never been too wealthy—what he’d had, he'd built himself. So when it became too expensive to have an in-house nurse care for him, I trained to tend to him instead.”
Her body tensed, her voice dropping to a quiet whisper. “What did he have?”
“Cancer. A rather aggressive sort. We thought we’d caught it early, but it came back and spread everywhere. Six years of hospitals, chemo, pain. And in the end… none of it mattered.”
This time, Nyra reached across the table, squeezing Alicent’s hand. “When did he pass?”
“A year and a half ago.” her lips curved in a small, fragile smile. “It feels like yesterday. We buried him in the Quarter. He was Valyrian—born and raised in New York, so it seemed right.”
“That’s beautiful,” she murmured. “But… you don’t plan on going back?”
Alicent shook her head. “There’s nothing to go back to. His business started filling after he got sick. We had to sell everything in England. Even the place at Fort George—its not ours. His uncle let us stay there temporarily so that we could sort the funeral out. But it’s been a year and… now he wants to sell it. Soon we’ll have to find somewhere else to rent.”
Nyra studied her quietly. It made sense now. The last season suit, the online ad. She was broke. And the fact she'd not brought up her father helping her meant Otto Hightower was not in the picture.
“That’s awful,” she murmured. “It’s just you and your children?”
“Yes. Four. Three boys, one girl. They’re grown, but my eldest has issues, so he stays with me. My youngest is close to 18, but he's still a child. He just started his senior year at high school. We’re all just… staying together until we sort this out.”
The gentle way she said those words broke something in her. With a sigh, she straightened, her chin going high as she regarded her. “I’d like to help you figure it out.”
Alicent blinked. “What do you mean?”
“I live at the Dragonspire complex, on the east side. There’s an apartment on the upper floor that’s currently unoccupied. I’d planned to rent it, but… I think I'd much sooner you and your kids have it instead.”
Alicent’s brown eyes went wide. “What? I… I can’t afford that.”
“You wouldn’t need to. You’d stay there, and in return you’d be with my dad—give him his meds, meals, whatever he needs. I’ll pay you, of course. All your expenses will be covered, except internet and electricity. You’ll be fine.”
Silence fell between them. The clink of cutlery, the muffled hum of conversation filling the gap.
“I… I don’t know what to say,” Alicent whispered.
“That you accept,” Nyra said gently. “Otherwise I’ll have to keep searching, and I really don’t want to. Dad knows you. You’ll remind him of Mom. That will make everything easier. For him. And for me.”
Alicent blinked again, still stunned, still staring.
“So?” Nyra asked. “What do you say?”
In the end, she didn’t leave after an hour. Their lunch stretched into two, conversation meandering between the past and the present. By the time Nyra finally gathered her things to leave, she hadn’t even thought about changing into the pant suit waiting for her op-ed appearance. Not that it mattered. She was grinning so wide she doubted anyone had noticed what she was wearing at all.
Finally, something good. A sign from above. An old friend returned, a ghost from her childhood, and maybe, just maybe, a new beginning for them both.
And who knew? Maybe her girls would love sharing the tower’s upper floors with the new neighbors.