The arrival of Daenar Targaryen, the Father of Dragons, sent whispers through every marble hall of Qarth. Three living dragons had crossed the Red Waste with him, and where merchants saw opportunity, priests saw prophecy. None moved faster than Xara Xhoan Daxos.

The merchant princess threw open the gates of her vast palace, a place of scented gardens, gilded fountains, and silk-draped galleries larger than many castles of Westeros. Servants lined the marble walkways as Daenar and his followers were escorted inside. At the top of the stairs stood Xara herself, draped in cloth-of-gold and maroon silk, jewels glittering upon her ornate nose piece as she regarded the young dragonlord with open fascination.

"Welcome to my home, sweet Daenar Targaryen."

'Her arms spread wide to encompass the palace behind her.

"Its halls, its gardens, its treasures, and every comfort within them are yours for as long as you desire."

Xara's dark eyes briefly drifted toward the distant shapes of dragons beyond the walls before returning to him.

"Qarth has waited a very long time for wonders to return to the world."