A Feast for Dragons

never touched a woman. She gave the guardsman a chilly
look. “This is not . . . when Lord Tywin’s father died he returned to Casterly
Rock to find a . . . a woman of this sort . . . bedecked in his lady mother’s
jewels, wearing one of her gowns. He stripped them off her, and all else as
well. For a fortnight she was paraded naked through the streets of Lannisport,
to confess to every man she met that she was a thief and a harlot. That was how
Lord Tywin Lannister dealt with whores. He never . . . this woman was here for
some other purpose, not for . . .”
    “Perhaps his lordship was questioning the girl about her
mistress,” Qyburn suggested. “Sansa Stark vanished the night the king was
murdered, I have heard.”
    “That’s so.” Cersei seized on the suggestion eagerly. “He
was questioning her, to be sure. There can be no doubt.” She could see Tyrion
leering, his mouth twisted into a monkey’s grin beneath the ruin of his nose. And
what better way to question her than naked, with her legs well spread? the
dwarf whispered. That’s how I like to question her too.
    The queen turned away. I will not look at her. Suddenly
it was too much even to be in the same room as the dead woman. She pushed past
Qyburn, out into the hall.
    Ser Osmund had been joined by his brothers Osney and Osfryd.
“There is a dead woman in the Hand’s bedchamber,” Cersei told the three
Kettleblacks. “No one is ever to know that she was here.”
    “Aye, m’lady.” Ser Osney had faint scratches on his cheek
where another of Tyrion’s whores had clawed him. “And what shall we do with
her?”
    “Feed her to your dogs. Keep her for a bedmate. What do I
care? She was never here. I’ll have the tongue of any man who dares to
say she was. Do you understand me?”
    Osney and Osfryd exchanged a look. “Aye, Your Grace.”
    She followed them back inside and watched as they bundled
the girl up in her father’s bloody blankets. Shae, her name was Shae. They had last spoken the night before the dwarf’s trial by combat, after that
smiling Dornish snake offered to champion him. Shae had been asking about some
jewels Tyrion had given her, and certain promises Cersei might have made, a
manse in the city and a knight to marry her. The queen made it plain that the
whore would have nothing of her until she told them where Sansa Stark had gone.
“You were her maid. Do you expect me to believe that you knew nothing of her
plans?” she had said. Shae left in tears.
    Ser Osfryd slung the bundled corpse up over his shoulder. “I
want that chain,” Cersei said. “See that you do not scratch the gold.” Osfryd
nodded and started toward the door. “No, not through the yard.” She gestured
toward the secret passage. “There’s a shaft down to the dungeons. That way.”
    As Ser Osfryd went down on one knee before the hearth, the
light brightened within, and the queen heard noises. Jaime emerged bent over
like an old woman, his boots kicking up puffs of soot from Lord Tywin’s last
fire. “Get out of my way,” he told the Kettleblacks.
    Cersei rushed toward him. “Did you find them? Did you find
the killers? How many were there?” Surely there had been more than one. One man
alone could not have killed her father.
    Her twin’s face had a haggard look. “The shaft goes down to
a chamber where half a dozen tunnels meet. They’re closed off by iron gates,
chained and locked. I need to find keys.” He glanced around the bedchamber.
“Whoever did this might still be lurking in the walls. It’s a maze back there,
and dark.”
    She imagined Tyrion creeping between the walls like some
monstrous rat. No. You are being silly. The dwarf is in his cell. “Take
hammers to the walls. Knock this tower down, if you must. I want them found.
Whoever did this. I want them killed.”
    Jaime hugged her, his good hand pressing against the small
of her back. He smelled of ash, but the morning sun was in his hair, giving it
a golden glow. She wanted to draw his face to hers for a kiss. Later, she told herself, later he will come to me, for comfort. “We are his
heirs, Jaime,” she whispered. “It will be up to us to finish his work. You must
take Father’s place as Hand. You see that now, surely. Tommen will need you . .
.”
    He pushed away from her and raised his arm, forcing his
stump into her face. “A Hand without a hand? A bad jape, sister. Don’t ask me
to rule.”
    Their uncle heard the rebuff. Qyburn as well, and