The Iron Throne was grandiose, surrounded by sea monsters, and so deep underwater that it was a wonder the whole thing hadn’t collapsed from the pressure.

Naturally, this made it the perfect place to imprison a Duke.

An inkling of his father’s whereabouts had stirred the moment he’d heard about this Iron Throne. He’d come to the docks on a completely separate job, one to avenge a drowned follower of Umberlee, but the thing that had supposedly killed her seemed far too imposing to be even a commercial submersible. And when the party had been lowered into the depths, Wyll’s suspicions were all but confirmed.

In a cell near the centre, looking wearier than Wyll had ever seen, was the Grand Duke himself. There wasn’t much time for dwelling now— it wouldn’t be too long until Gortash sent the order to blow up the submersible— but as the party scattered to free the prisoners, Wyll swore he saw recognition in the eyes of his father. He may have been seven years older and touched by the Hells, but Ulder Ravengard knew his only child when he saw him.