Lord Colin Costayne stood in his solar, studying a map of the Reach and neighboring kingdoms with a deeply furrowed brow. As far as he was concerned, the naval forces of Oldtown and its vassals, including himself, were insufficient to keep the city safe from potential threats. Blackcrown’s and his own navies were small, Lord Elyas was more gifted at economics than at command, and Colin believed in his obsession with the defense of his lands and those of his liege that the Arbor could not be trusted in time of crisis to come to the support of House Hightower, so the lord of Three Towers determined that he would have to ensure the safety of Oldtown himself. To that end, he crossed to his writing desk to begin penning a letter to Lord Elyas. There was also the rapidly approaching wedding at Brightwater Keep to consider- neither of his children were yet married, a situation which needed rectification. He had some potential matches in mind, but that would have to wait, he thought as he began to write. For the moment, the defense of the Whispering Sound was paramount.

Steffon Costayne got up off the ground, his sword still in his hand. He’d been knocked flat on his back by his sparring partner twice today, but he’d knocked the knight down three times, which he considered a win. “Well fought, well fought,” the heir to Three Towers said, taking the knight’s hand and shaking it firmly. “That’s enough for today, though, I think.” He took off his helmet and wiped the sweat off his forehead, sliding his sword into its scabbard. He walked out of the practice yard and began removing his armor, his mind running through his plans for the rest of the day. He needed to talk to his sister about the upcoming event at Brightwater Keep, but Malora had been particularly difficult to deal with lately, and considering her usual levels of acerbic unpleasantness, that was saying something. As a matter of fact, Steffon was half convinced that trying to talk to Malora in her current mood would lead to him getting his throat cut in his sleep. He didn’t know what had gotten her into such a foul humor, but when he gave the matter more and more though, he determined that he’d rather keep all his body parts as they were, so he’d talk to her once they were within their father’s line of sight. That would keep her from trying to take her knife to him, probably.

Malora Costayne sat in her room, examining the knife that her uncle Wilbert had given her when she was fourteen to defend herself against potential attackers. She wasn’t a trained combatant by any means, and she’d be no match for a real fighter, but she could stick the blade between someone’s ribs if they weren’t expecting it. At present, she had no use for the weapon, as she very rarely had the opportunity to leave Three Towers, but the family would be going to Brightwater Keep soon, where her father would doubtless attempt to find a man to marry her, which sounded like it would likely go very badly. Malora wasn’t opposed to the idea of marriage, but she couldn’t see how any man that her father was likely to approve of would be in any way suitable to her, what with her father’s obsession with soldiers and ships and the inevitability of war, as he was fond of calling it. Her father wasn’t a stupid man by any means, but he had a very focused mind, and knowing him he would likely select a husband for Malora whose mind was not his strongest asset, which sounded like a recipe for a miserable life for the young Costayne woman. Maybe she could exert enough influence over such a man to make it worth her time, but she doubted it. She sighed and slid her knife into its sheath, standing and walking over to her window, which looked down into the training yard. Steffon was getting the shit knocked out of him again, it seemed. Lovely.

Wilbert Costayne sat in his typical seat at his elder brother’s council, drumming his fingers on the table in impatient thought. Colin had been sealed in his solar for days now, brooding over his battle plans and the schemes he was constantly devising. In his absence, Wilbert had been responsible for the day-to-day operation of Three Towers, an arrangement which Wilbert found acceptable, but he worried about how long it could continue. The Reach was still reeling from King Perceon’s announcement regarding the inheritance, and Three Towers needed its lord to govern, not to brood in his tower over a theoretical threat from Dorne, which as far as Wilbert knew did not actually exist. He resolved to speak with his brother once the council meeting was over- or maybe before, this interminable droning about taxation was giving him a headache, and he would much rather have a fight with Colin than continue listening to the steward’s blather. With that in mind, he rose from the table, saying, “I will take this to my lord brother. If you will excuse me,” and strode from the hall, shaking his head. Something was going to have to change.