Pod dressed him for his ordeal in a plush velvet tunic of
Lannister crimson and brought him his chain of office. Tyrion left
it on the bedside table. His sister misliked being reminded that he
was the King’s Hand, and he did not wish to inflame the
relations between them any further.
Varys caught up with him as he was crossing the yard. “My
lord,” he said, a little out of breath. “You had best
read this at once.” He held out a parchment in a soft white
hand. “A report from the north.”
“Good news or bad?” Tyrion asked.
“That is not for me to judge.”
Tyrion unrolled the parchment. He had to squint to read the
words in the torchlit yard. “Gods be good,” he said
softly. “Both of them?”
“I fear so, my lord. It is so sad. So grievous sad. And
them so young and innocent.”
Tyrion remembered how the wolves had howled when the Stark boy
had fallen. Are they howling now, I wonder? “Have you told
anyone else?” he asked.
“Not as yet, though of course I must.”
He rolled up the letter. “I’ll tell my
sister.” He wanted to see how she took the news. He wanted
that very much.
The queen looked especially lovely that night. She wore a
low-cut gown of deep green velvet that brought out the color of her
eyes. Her golden hair tumbled across her bare shoulders, and around
her waist was a woven belt studded with emeralds. Tyrion waited
until he had been seated and served a cup of wine before thrusting
the letter at her. He said not a word. Cersei blinked at him
innocently and took the parchment from his hand.
“I trust you’re pleased,” he said as she read.
“You wanted the Stark boy dead, I believe.”
Cersei made a sour face. “It was Jaime who threw him from
that window, not me. For love, he said, as if that would please me.
It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides, but when did
our sweet brother ever stop to think?”
“The boy saw you,” Tyrion pointed out.
“He was a child. I could have frightened him into
silence.” She looked at the letter thoughtfully. “Why
must I suffer accusations every time some Stark stubs his toe? This
was Greyjoy’s work, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Let us hope Lady Catelyn believes that.”
Her eyes widened. “She wouldn’t—”
“—kill Jaime? Why not? What would you do if Joffrey and
Tommen were murdered?”
“I still hold Sansa!” the queen declared.
“We still hold Sansa,” he corrected her, “and
we had best take good care of her. Now where is this supper
you’ve promised me, sweet sister?”
Cersei set a tasty table, that could not be denied. They started
with a creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, and greens dressed
with apples and pine nuts. Then came lamprey pie, honeyed ham,
buttered carrots, white beans and bacon, and roast swan stuffed
with mushrooms and oysters. Tyrion was exceedingly courteous; he
offered his sister the choice portions of every dish, and made
certain he ate only what she did. Not that he truly thought
she’d poison him, but it never hurt to be careful.
The news about the Starks had soured her, he could see.
“We’ve had no word from Bitterbridge?” she asked
anxiously as she speared a bit of apple on the point of her dagger
and ate it with small, delicate bites.
“None.”
“I’ve never trusted Littlefinger. For enough coin,
he’d go over to Stannis in a heartbeat.”
“Stannis Baratheon is too bloody righteous to buy men. Nor
would he make a comfortable lord for the likes of Petyr. This war
has made for some queer bedfellows, I agree, but those two?
No.”
As he carved some slices off the ham, she said, “We have
Lady Tanda to thank for the pig.”
“A token of her love?”
“A bribe. She begs leave to return to her castle. Your
leave as well as mine. I suspect she fears you’ll arrest her
on the road, as you did Lord Gyles.”
“Does she plan to make off with the heir to the
throne?” Tyrion served his sister a cut of ham and took one
for himself. “I’d sooner she remain. If she wants to
feel safe, tell her to bring down her garrison from Stokeworth. As
many men as she has.”
“If we need men so badly, why did you send away your
savages?” A certain testiness crept into Cersei’s
voice.
“It was the best use I could have made of them,” he
told her truthfully. “They’re fierce warriors, but not
soldiers. In formal battle, discipline is more important than
courage. They’ve already done us more good in the kingswood
than they would ever have done us on the city walls.”
As the swan was being served, the queen questioned him about the
conspiracy of the Antler Men. She seemed more annoyed than afraid.
“Why are we plagued with so many treasons? What injury has
House Lannister ever done these wretches?”
“None,” said Tyrion, “but they think to be on
the winning side . . . which makes them fools
as well as traitors.”
“Are you certain you’ve found them all?”
“Varys says so.” The swan was too rich for his
taste.
A line appeared on Cersei’s pale white brow, between those
lovely eyes. “You put too much trust in that
eunuch.”
“He serves me well.”
“Or so he’d have you believe. You think you’re
the only one he whispers secrets to? He gives each of us just
enough to convince us that we’d be helpless without him. He
played the same game with me, when I first wed Robert. For years, I
was convinced I had no truer friend at court, but
now . . . ” She studied his face for a
moment. “He says you mean to take the Hound from
Joffrey.” Damn Varys. “I need Clegane for more important
duties.”
“Nothing is more important than the life of the
king.”
“The life of the king is not at risk. Joff will have brave
Ser Osmund guarding him, and Meryn Trant as well.”
They’re good for nothing better. “I need Balon Swann
and the Hound to lead sorties, to make certain Stannis gets no
toehold on our side of the Blackwater.”
“Jaime would lead the sorties himself.”
“From Riverrun? That’s quite a sortie.”
“Joff’s only a boy.”
“A boy who wants to be part of this battle, and for once
he’s showing some sense. I don’t intend to put him in
the thick of the fighting, but he needs to be seen. Men fight more
fiercely for a king who shares their peril than one who hides
behind his mother’s skirts.”
“He’s thirteen, Tyrion.”
“Remember Jaime at thirteen? If you want the boy to be his
father’s son, let him play the part. Joff wears the finest
armor gold can buy, and he’ll have a dozen gold cloaks around
him at all times. If the city looks to be in the least danger of
falling, I’ll have him escorted back to the Red Keep at
once.”
He had thought that might reassure her, but he saw no sign of
pleasure in those green eyes. “Will the city fall?”
“No.” But if it does, pray that we can hold the Red
Keep long enough for our lord father to march to our relief.
“You’ve lied to me before, Tyrion.”
“Always with good reason, sweet sister. I want amity
between us as much as you do. I’ve decided to release Lord
Gyles.” He had kept Gyles safe for just this gesture.
“You can have Ser Boros Blount back as well.”
The queen’s mouth tightened. “Ser Boros can rot at
Rosby,” she said, “but Tommen—”
“—stays where he is. He’s safer under Lord Jacelyn’s
protection than he would ever have been with Lord Gyles.”
Serving men cleared away the swan, hardly touched. Cersei
beckoned for the sweet. “I hope you like blackberry
tarts.”
“I love all sorts of tarts.”
“Oh, I’ve known that a long while. Do you know why
Varys is so dangerous?”
“Are we playing at riddles now? No.”
“He doesn’t have a cock.”
“Neither do you.” And don’t you just hate
that, Cersei?
“Perhaps I’m dangerous too. You, on the other hand,
are as big a fool as every other man. That worm between your legs
does half your thinking.”
Tyrion licked the crumbs off his fingers. He did not like his
sister’s smile. “Yes, and just now my worm is thinking
that perhaps it is time I took my leave.”
“Are you unwell, brother?” She leaned forward,
giving him a good look at the top of her breasts. “Suddenly
you appear somewhat flustered.”
“Flustered?” Tyrion glanced at the door. He thought
he’d heard something outside. He was beginning to regret
coming here alone. “You’ve never shown much interest in
my cock before.”
“It’s not your cock that interests me, so much as
what you stick it in. I don’t depend on the eunuch for
everything, as you do. I have my own ways of finding out
things . . . especially things that people
don’t want me to know.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Only this—I have your little whore.”
Tyrion reached for his wine cup, buying a moment to gather his
thoughts. “I thought men were more to your taste.”
“You’re such a droll little fellow. Tell me, have
you married this one yet?” When he gave her no answer she
laughed and said, “Father will be ever so
relieved.”
His belly felt as if it were full of eels. How had she found
Shae? Had Varys betrayed him? Or had all his precautions been
undone by his impatience the night he rode directly to the manse?
“Why should you care who I choose to warm my bed?”
“A Lannister always pays his debts,” she said.
“You’ve been scheming against me since the day you came
to King’s Landing. You sold Myrcella, stole Tommen, and now
you plot to have Joff killed. You want him dead so you can rule
through Tommen.” Well, I can’t say the notion isn’t tempting.
“This is madness, Cersei. Stannis will be here in days. You
need me.”
“For what? Your great prowess in battle?”
“Bronn’s sellswords will never fight without
me,” he lied.
“Oh, I think they will. It’s your gold they love,
not your impish wit. Have no fear, though, they won’t be
without you. I won’t say I haven’t thought of slitting
your throat from time to time, but Jaime would never forgive me if
I did.”
“And the whore?” He would not call her by name. If I
can convince her Shae means nothing to me,
perhaps . . .
“She’ll be treated gently enough, so long as no harm
comes to my sons. If Joff should be killed, however, or if Tommen
should fall into the hands of our enemies, your little cunt will
die more painfully than you can possibly imagine.” She truly believes I mean to kill my own nephew. “The boys
are safe,” he promised her wearily. “Gods be good,
Cersei, they’re my own blood! What sort of man do you take me
for?”
“A small and twisted one.”
Tyrion stared at the dregs on the bottom of his wine cup. What
would Jaime do in my place? Kill the bitch, most likely, and worry
about the consequences afterward. But Tyrion did not have a golden
sword, nor the skill to wield one. He loved his brother’s
reckless wrath, but it was their lord father he must try and
emulate. Stone, I must be stone, I must be Casterly Rock, hard and
unmovable. If I fail this test, I had as lief seek out the nearest
grotesquerie. “For all I know, you’ve killed her
already,” he said.
“Would you like to see her? I thought you might.”
Cersei crossed the room and threw open the heavy oaken door.
“Bring in my brother’s whore.”
Ser Osmund’s brothers Osney and Osfryd were peas from the
same pod, tall men with hooked noses, dark hair, and cruel smiles.
She hung between them, eyes wide and white in her dark face. Blood
trickled from her broken lip, and he could see bruises through her
torn clothing. Her hands were bound with rope, and they’d
gagged her so she could not speak.
“You said she wouldn’t be hurt.”
“She fought.” Unlike his brothers, Osney Kettleblack
was clean-shaven, so the scratches showed plainly on his bare
cheeks. “Got claws like a shadowcat, this one.”
“Bruises heal,” said Cersei in a bored tone.
“The whore will live. So long as Joff does.”
Tyrion wanted to laugh at her. It would have been so sweet, so
very very sweet, but it would have given the game away.
You’ve lost, Cersei, and the Kettleblacks are even bigger
fools than Bronn claimed. All he needed to do was say the words.
Instead he looked at the girl’s face and said, “You
swear you’ll release her after the battle?”
“If you release Tommen, yes.”
He pushed himself to his feet. “Keep her then, but keep
her safe. If these animals think they can use
her . . . well, sweet sister, let me point out
that a scale tips two ways.” His tone was calm, flat,
uncaring; he’d reached for his father’s voice, and
found it. “Whatever happens to her happens to Tommen as
well, and that includes the beatings and rapes.” If she
thinks me such a monster, I’ll play the part for her.
Cersei had not expected that. “You would not
dare.”
Tyrion made himself smile, slow and cold. Green and black, his
eyes laughed at her. “Dare? I’ll do it
myself.”
His sister’s hand flashed at his face, but he caught her
wrist and bent it back until she cried out. Osfryd moved to her
rescue. “One more step and I’ll break her arm,”
the dwarf warned him. The man stopped. “You remember when I
said you’d never hit me again, Cersei?” He shoved her
to the floor and turned back to the Kettleblacks. “Untie her
and remove that gag.”
The rope had been so tight as to cut off the blood to her hands.
She cried out in pain as the circulation returned. Tyrion massaged
her fingers gently until feeling returned. “Sweetling,”
he said, “you must be brave. I am sorry they hurt
you.”
“I know you’ll free me, my lord.”
“I will,” he promised, and Alayaya bent over and
kissed him on the brow. Her broken lips left a smear of blood on
his forehead. A bloody kiss is more than I deserve, Tyrion thought.
She would never have been hurt but for me.
Her blood still marked him as he looked down at the queen.
“I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister,
so I never did you harm. You’ve ended that. I will hurt you
for this. I don’t know how yet, but give me time. A day will
come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy
will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you’ll know the debt is
paid.” In war, his father had told him once, the battle is
over in the instant one army breaks and flees. No matter that
they’re as numerous as they were a moment before, still armed
and armored; once they had run before you they would not turn to
fight again. So it was with Cersei. “Get out!” was all
the answer she could summon. “Get out of my sight!”
Tyrion bowed. “Good night, then. And pleasant
dreams.”
He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand with a thousand
armored feet marching through his skull. I ought to have seen this
coming the first time I slipped through the back of Chataya’s
wardrobe. Perhaps he had not wanted to see. His legs were aching
badly by the time he had made the climb. He sent Pod for a flagon
of wine and pushed his way into his bedchamber.
Shae sat cross-legged in the canopied bed, nude but for the
heavy golden chain that looped across the swell of her breasts: a
chain of linked golden hands, each clasping the next.
Tyrion had not expected her. “What are you doing
here?”
Laughing, she stroked the chain. “I wanted some hands on
my titties . . . but these little gold ones are
cold.”
For a moment he did know what to say. How could he tell her that
another woman had taken the beating meant for her, and might well
die in her place should some mischance of battle fell Joffrey? He
wiped Alayaya’s blood from his brow with the heel of his
hand. “The Lady Lollys—”
“She’s asleep. Sleep’s all she ever wants to
do, the great cow. She sleeps and she eats. Sometimes she falls
asleep while she’s eating. The food falls under the blankets
and she rolls in it, and I have to clean her.” She made a
disgusted face. “All they did was fuck her.”
“Her mother says she’s sick.”
“She has a baby in her belly, that’s all.”
Tyrion gazed around the room. Everything seemed much as he left
it. “How did you enter? Show me the hidden door.”
She gave a shrug. “Lord Varys made me wear a hood. I
couldn’t see, except . . . there was one
place, I got a peep at the floor out the bottom of the hood. It was
all tiles, you know, the kind that make a picture?”
“A mosaic?”
Shae nodded. “They were colored red and black. I think the
picture was a dragon. Otherwise, everything was dark. We went down
a ladder and walked a long ways, until I was all twisted around.
Once we stopped so he could unlock an iron gate. I brushed against
it when we went through. The dragon was past the gate. Then we went
up another ladder, with a tunnel at the top. I had to stoop, and I
think Lord Varys was crawling.”
Tyrion made a round of the bedchamber. One of the sconces looked
loose. He stood on his toes and tried to turn it. It revolved
slowly, scraping against the stone wall. When it was upside down,
the stub of the candle fell out. The rushes scattered across the
cold stone floor did not show any particular disturbance.
“Doesn’t m’lord want to bed me?” asked
Shae.
“In a moment.” Tyrion threw open his wardrobe,
shoved the clothing aside, and pushed against the rear panel. What
worked for a whorehouse might work for a castle as
well . . . but no, the wood was solid,
unyielding. A stone beside the window seat drew his eye, but all
his tugging and prodding went for naught. He returned to the bed
frustrated and annoyed.
Shae undid his laces and threw her arms around his neck.
“Your shoulders feel as hard as rocks,” she murmured.
“Hurry, I want to feel you inside me.” Yet as her legs
locked around his waist, his manhood left him. When she felt him go
soft, Shae slid down under the sheets and took him in her mouth,
but even that could not rouse him.
After a few moments he stopped her. “What’s
wrong?” she asked. All the sweet innocence of the world was
written there in the lines of her young face. Innocence? Fool, she’s a whore, Cersei was right, you
think with your cock, fool, fool.
“Just go to sleep, sweetling,” he urged, stroking
her hair. Yet long after Shae had taken his advice, Tyrion himself
still lay awake, his fingers cupped over one small breast as he
listened to her breathing.
Pod dressed him for his ordeal in a plush velvet tunic of
Lannister crimson and brought him his chain of office. Tyrion left
it on the bedside table. His sister misliked being reminded that he
was the King’s Hand, and he did not wish to inflame the
relations between them any further.
Varys caught up with him as he was crossing the yard. “My
lord,” he said, a little out of breath. “You had best
read this at once.” He held out a parchment in a soft white
hand. “A report from the north.”
“Good news or bad?” Tyrion asked.
“That is not for me to judge.”
Tyrion unrolled the parchment. He had to squint to read the
words in the torchlit yard. “Gods be good,” he said
softly. “Both of them?”
“I fear so, my lord. It is so sad. So grievous sad. And
them so young and innocent.”
Tyrion remembered how the wolves had howled when the Stark boy
had fallen. Are they howling now, I wonder? “Have you told
anyone else?” he asked.
“Not as yet, though of course I must.”
He rolled up the letter. “I’ll tell my
sister.” He wanted to see how she took the news. He wanted
that very much.
The queen looked especially lovely that night. She wore a
low-cut gown of deep green velvet that brought out the color of her
eyes. Her golden hair tumbled across her bare shoulders, and around
her waist was a woven belt studded with emeralds. Tyrion waited
until he had been seated and served a cup of wine before thrusting
the letter at her. He said not a word. Cersei blinked at him
innocently and took the parchment from his hand.
“I trust you’re pleased,” he said as she read.
“You wanted the Stark boy dead, I believe.”
Cersei made a sour face. “It was Jaime who threw him from
that window, not me. For love, he said, as if that would please me.
It was a stupid thing to do, and dangerous besides, but when did
our sweet brother ever stop to think?”
“The boy saw you,” Tyrion pointed out.
“He was a child. I could have frightened him into
silence.” She looked at the letter thoughtfully. “Why
must I suffer accusations every time some Stark stubs his toe? This
was Greyjoy’s work, I had nothing to do with it.”
“Let us hope Lady Catelyn believes that.”
Her eyes widened. “She wouldn’t—”
“—kill Jaime? Why not? What would you do if Joffrey and
Tommen were murdered?”
“I still hold Sansa!” the queen declared.
“We still hold Sansa,” he corrected her, “and
we had best take good care of her. Now where is this supper
you’ve promised me, sweet sister?”
Cersei set a tasty table, that could not be denied. They started
with a creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, and greens dressed
with apples and pine nuts. Then came lamprey pie, honeyed ham,
buttered carrots, white beans and bacon, and roast swan stuffed
with mushrooms and oysters. Tyrion was exceedingly courteous; he
offered his sister the choice portions of every dish, and made
certain he ate only what she did. Not that he truly thought
she’d poison him, but it never hurt to be careful.
The news about the Starks had soured her, he could see.
“We’ve had no word from Bitterbridge?” she asked
anxiously as she speared a bit of apple on the point of her dagger
and ate it with small, delicate bites.
“None.”
“I’ve never trusted Littlefinger. For enough coin,
he’d go over to Stannis in a heartbeat.”
“Stannis Baratheon is too bloody righteous to buy men. Nor
would he make a comfortable lord for the likes of Petyr. This war
has made for some queer bedfellows, I agree, but those two?
No.”
As he carved some slices off the ham, she said, “We have
Lady Tanda to thank for the pig.”
“A token of her love?”
“A bribe. She begs leave to return to her castle. Your
leave as well as mine. I suspect she fears you’ll arrest her
on the road, as you did Lord Gyles.”
“Does she plan to make off with the heir to the
throne?” Tyrion served his sister a cut of ham and took one
for himself. “I’d sooner she remain. If she wants to
feel safe, tell her to bring down her garrison from Stokeworth. As
many men as she has.”
“If we need men so badly, why did you send away your
savages?” A certain testiness crept into Cersei’s
voice.
“It was the best use I could have made of them,” he
told her truthfully. “They’re fierce warriors, but not
soldiers. In formal battle, discipline is more important than
courage. They’ve already done us more good in the kingswood
than they would ever have done us on the city walls.”
As the swan was being served, the queen questioned him about the
conspiracy of the Antler Men. She seemed more annoyed than afraid.
“Why are we plagued with so many treasons? What injury has
House Lannister ever done these wretches?”
“None,” said Tyrion, “but they think to be on
the winning side . . . which makes them fools
as well as traitors.”
“Are you certain you’ve found them all?”
“Varys says so.” The swan was too rich for his
taste.
A line appeared on Cersei’s pale white brow, between those
lovely eyes. “You put too much trust in that
eunuch.”
“He serves me well.”
“Or so he’d have you believe. You think you’re
the only one he whispers secrets to? He gives each of us just
enough to convince us that we’d be helpless without him. He
played the same game with me, when I first wed Robert. For years, I
was convinced I had no truer friend at court, but
now . . . ” She studied his face for a
moment. “He says you mean to take the Hound from
Joffrey.” Damn Varys. “I need Clegane for more important
duties.”
“Nothing is more important than the life of the
king.”
“The life of the king is not at risk. Joff will have brave
Ser Osmund guarding him, and Meryn Trant as well.”
They’re good for nothing better. “I need Balon Swann
and the Hound to lead sorties, to make certain Stannis gets no
toehold on our side of the Blackwater.”
“Jaime would lead the sorties himself.”
“From Riverrun? That’s quite a sortie.”
“Joff’s only a boy.”
“A boy who wants to be part of this battle, and for once
he’s showing some sense. I don’t intend to put him in
the thick of the fighting, but he needs to be seen. Men fight more
fiercely for a king who shares their peril than one who hides
behind his mother’s skirts.”
“He’s thirteen, Tyrion.”
“Remember Jaime at thirteen? If you want the boy to be his
father’s son, let him play the part. Joff wears the finest
armor gold can buy, and he’ll have a dozen gold cloaks around
him at all times. If the city looks to be in the least danger of
falling, I’ll have him escorted back to the Red Keep at
once.”
He had thought that might reassure her, but he saw no sign of
pleasure in those green eyes. “Will the city fall?”
“No.” But if it does, pray that we can hold the Red
Keep long enough for our lord father to march to our relief.
“You’ve lied to me before, Tyrion.”
“Always with good reason, sweet sister. I want amity
between us as much as you do. I’ve decided to release Lord
Gyles.” He had kept Gyles safe for just this gesture.
“You can have Ser Boros Blount back as well.”
The queen’s mouth tightened. “Ser Boros can rot at
Rosby,” she said, “but Tommen—”
“—stays where he is. He’s safer under Lord Jacelyn’s
protection than he would ever have been with Lord Gyles.”
Serving men cleared away the swan, hardly touched. Cersei
beckoned for the sweet. “I hope you like blackberry
tarts.”
“I love all sorts of tarts.”
“Oh, I’ve known that a long while. Do you know why
Varys is so dangerous?”
“Are we playing at riddles now? No.”
“He doesn’t have a cock.”
“Neither do you.” And don’t you just hate
that, Cersei?
“Perhaps I’m dangerous too. You, on the other hand,
are as big a fool as every other man. That worm between your legs
does half your thinking.”
Tyrion licked the crumbs off his fingers. He did not like his
sister’s smile. “Yes, and just now my worm is thinking
that perhaps it is time I took my leave.”
“Are you unwell, brother?” She leaned forward,
giving him a good look at the top of her breasts. “Suddenly
you appear somewhat flustered.”
“Flustered?” Tyrion glanced at the door. He thought
he’d heard something outside. He was beginning to regret
coming here alone. “You’ve never shown much interest in
my cock before.”
“It’s not your cock that interests me, so much as
what you stick it in. I don’t depend on the eunuch for
everything, as you do. I have my own ways of finding out
things . . . especially things that people
don’t want me to know.”
“What are you trying to say?”
“Only this—I have your little whore.”
Tyrion reached for his wine cup, buying a moment to gather his
thoughts. “I thought men were more to your taste.”
“You’re such a droll little fellow. Tell me, have
you married this one yet?” When he gave her no answer she
laughed and said, “Father will be ever so
relieved.”
His belly felt as if it were full of eels. How had she found
Shae? Had Varys betrayed him? Or had all his precautions been
undone by his impatience the night he rode directly to the manse?
“Why should you care who I choose to warm my bed?”
“A Lannister always pays his debts,” she said.
“You’ve been scheming against me since the day you came
to King’s Landing. You sold Myrcella, stole Tommen, and now
you plot to have Joff killed. You want him dead so you can rule
through Tommen.” Well, I can’t say the notion isn’t tempting.
“This is madness, Cersei. Stannis will be here in days. You
need me.”
“For what? Your great prowess in battle?”
“Bronn’s sellswords will never fight without
me,” he lied.
“Oh, I think they will. It’s your gold they love,
not your impish wit. Have no fear, though, they won’t be
without you. I won’t say I haven’t thought of slitting
your throat from time to time, but Jaime would never forgive me if
I did.”
“And the whore?” He would not call her by name. If I
can convince her Shae means nothing to me,
perhaps . . .
“She’ll be treated gently enough, so long as no harm
comes to my sons. If Joff should be killed, however, or if Tommen
should fall into the hands of our enemies, your little cunt will
die more painfully than you can possibly imagine.” She truly believes I mean to kill my own nephew. “The boys
are safe,” he promised her wearily. “Gods be good,
Cersei, they’re my own blood! What sort of man do you take me
for?”
“A small and twisted one.”
Tyrion stared at the dregs on the bottom of his wine cup. What
would Jaime do in my place? Kill the bitch, most likely, and worry
about the consequences afterward. But Tyrion did not have a golden
sword, nor the skill to wield one. He loved his brother’s
reckless wrath, but it was their lord father he must try and
emulate. Stone, I must be stone, I must be Casterly Rock, hard and
unmovable. If I fail this test, I had as lief seek out the nearest
grotesquerie. “For all I know, you’ve killed her
already,” he said.
“Would you like to see her? I thought you might.”
Cersei crossed the room and threw open the heavy oaken door.
“Bring in my brother’s whore.”
Ser Osmund’s brothers Osney and Osfryd were peas from the
same pod, tall men with hooked noses, dark hair, and cruel smiles.
She hung between them, eyes wide and white in her dark face. Blood
trickled from her broken lip, and he could see bruises through her
torn clothing. Her hands were bound with rope, and they’d
gagged her so she could not speak.
“You said she wouldn’t be hurt.”
“She fought.” Unlike his brothers, Osney Kettleblack
was clean-shaven, so the scratches showed plainly on his bare
cheeks. “Got claws like a shadowcat, this one.”
“Bruises heal,” said Cersei in a bored tone.
“The whore will live. So long as Joff does.”
Tyrion wanted to laugh at her. It would have been so sweet, so
very very sweet, but it would have given the game away.
You’ve lost, Cersei, and the Kettleblacks are even bigger
fools than Bronn claimed. All he needed to do was say the words.
Instead he looked at the girl’s face and said, “You
swear you’ll release her after the battle?”
“If you release Tommen, yes.”
He pushed himself to his feet. “Keep her then, but keep
her safe. If these animals think they can use
her . . . well, sweet sister, let me point out
that a scale tips two ways.” His tone was calm, flat,
uncaring; he’d reached for his father’s voice, and
found it. “Whatever happens to her happens to Tommen as
well, and that includes the beatings and rapes.” If she
thinks me such a monster, I’ll play the part for her.
Cersei had not expected that. “You would not
dare.”
Tyrion made himself smile, slow and cold. Green and black, his
eyes laughed at her. “Dare? I’ll do it
myself.”
His sister’s hand flashed at his face, but he caught her
wrist and bent it back until she cried out. Osfryd moved to her
rescue. “One more step and I’ll break her arm,”
the dwarf warned him. The man stopped. “You remember when I
said you’d never hit me again, Cersei?” He shoved her
to the floor and turned back to the Kettleblacks. “Untie her
and remove that gag.”
The rope had been so tight as to cut off the blood to her hands.
She cried out in pain as the circulation returned. Tyrion massaged
her fingers gently until feeling returned. “Sweetling,”
he said, “you must be brave. I am sorry they hurt
you.”
“I know you’ll free me, my lord.”
“I will,” he promised, and Alayaya bent over and
kissed him on the brow. Her broken lips left a smear of blood on
his forehead. A bloody kiss is more than I deserve, Tyrion thought.
She would never have been hurt but for me.
Her blood still marked him as he looked down at the queen.
“I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister,
so I never did you harm. You’ve ended that. I will hurt you
for this. I don’t know how yet, but give me time. A day will
come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy
will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you’ll know the debt is
paid.” In war, his father had told him once, the battle is
over in the instant one army breaks and flees. No matter that
they’re as numerous as they were a moment before, still armed
and armored; once they had run before you they would not turn to
fight again. So it was with Cersei. “Get out!” was all
the answer she could summon. “Get out of my sight!”
Tyrion bowed. “Good night, then. And pleasant
dreams.”
He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand with a thousand
armored feet marching through his skull. I ought to have seen this
coming the first time I slipped through the back of Chataya’s
wardrobe. Perhaps he had not wanted to see. His legs were aching
badly by the time he had made the climb. He sent Pod for a flagon
of wine and pushed his way into his bedchamber.
Shae sat cross-legged in the canopied bed, nude but for the
heavy golden chain that looped across the swell of her breasts: a
chain of linked golden hands, each clasping the next.
Tyrion had not expected her. “What are you doing
here?”
Laughing, she stroked the chain. “I wanted some hands on
my titties . . . but these little gold ones are
cold.”
For a moment he did know what to say. How could he tell her that
another woman had taken the beating meant for her, and might well
die in her place should some mischance of battle fell Joffrey? He
wiped Alayaya’s blood from his brow with the heel of his
hand. “The Lady Lollys—”
“She’s asleep. Sleep’s all she ever wants to
do, the great cow. She sleeps and she eats. Sometimes she falls
asleep while she’s eating. The food falls under the blankets
and she rolls in it, and I have to clean her.” She made a
disgusted face. “All they did was fuck her.”
“Her mother says she’s sick.”
“She has a baby in her belly, that’s all.”
Tyrion gazed around the room. Everything seemed much as he left
it. “How did you enter? Show me the hidden door.”
She gave a shrug. “Lord Varys made me wear a hood. I
couldn’t see, except . . . there was one
place, I got a peep at the floor out the bottom of the hood. It was
all tiles, you know, the kind that make a picture?”
“A mosaic?”
Shae nodded. “They were colored red and black. I think the
picture was a dragon. Otherwise, everything was dark. We went down
a ladder and walked a long ways, until I was all twisted around.
Once we stopped so he could unlock an iron gate. I brushed against
it when we went through. The dragon was past the gate. Then we went
up another ladder, with a tunnel at the top. I had to stoop, and I
think Lord Varys was crawling.”
Tyrion made a round of the bedchamber. One of the sconces looked
loose. He stood on his toes and tried to turn it. It revolved
slowly, scraping against the stone wall. When it was upside down,
the stub of the candle fell out. The rushes scattered across the
cold stone floor did not show any particular disturbance.
“Doesn’t m’lord want to bed me?” asked
Shae.
“In a moment.” Tyrion threw open his wardrobe,
shoved the clothing aside, and pushed against the rear panel. What
worked for a whorehouse might work for a castle as
well . . . but no, the wood was solid,
unyielding. A stone beside the window seat drew his eye, but all
his tugging and prodding went for naught. He returned to the bed
frustrated and annoyed.
Shae undid his laces and threw her arms around his neck.
“Your shoulders feel as hard as rocks,” she murmured.
“Hurry, I want to feel you inside me.” Yet as her legs
locked around his waist, his manhood left him. When she felt him go
soft, Shae slid down under the sheets and took him in her mouth,
but even that could not rouse him.
After a few moments he stopped her. “What’s
wrong?” she asked. All the sweet innocence of the world was
written there in the lines of her young face. Innocence? Fool, she’s a whore, Cersei was right, you
think with your cock, fool, fool.
“Just go to sleep, sweetling,” he urged, stroking
her hair. Yet long after Shae had taken his advice, Tyrion himself
still lay awake, his fingers cupped over one small breast as he
listened to her breathing.