A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

they stole him from me, I made a promise to myself that I would never let it happen again. Jon wished to send my sweet Robert to Dragonstone, and that sot of a king would have given him to Cersei Lannister, but I never let them . . . no more than I’ll let you steal my Petyr Littlefinger. Do you hear me, Alayne or Sansa or whatever you call yourself? Do you hear what I am telling you?”
    â€œYes. I swear, I won’t ever kiss him again, or . . . or entice him.” Sansa thought that was what her aunt wanted to hear.
    â€œSo you admit it now? It was you, just as I thought. You are as wanton as your mother.” Lysa grabbed her by the wrist. “Come with me now. There is something I want to show you.”
    â€œYou’re hurting me.” Sansa squirmed. “Please, Aunt Lysa, I haven’t done anything. I swear it.”
    Her aunt ignored her protests. “
Marillion!
” she shouted. “I need you, Marillion! I
need
you!”
    The singer had remained discreetly in the rear of the hall, but at Lady Arryn’s shout he came at once. “My lady?”
    â€œPlay us a song. Play ‘The False and the Fair.’”
    Marillion’s fingers brushed the strings. “
The lord he came a-riding upon a rainy day, hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey
. . .”
    Lady Lysa pulled at Sansa’s arm. It was either walk or be dragged, so she chose to walk, halfway down the hall and between a pair of pillars, to a white weirwood door set in the marble wall. The door was firmly closed, with three heavy bronze bars to hold it in place, but Sansa could hear the wind outside worrying at its edges. When she saw the crescent moon carved in the wood, she planted her feet. “The Moon Door.” She tried to yank free. “Why are you showing me the Moon Door?”
    â€œYou squeak like a mouse now, but you were bold enough in the garden, weren’t you? You were bold enough in the snow.”
    â€œ
The lady sat a-sewing upon a rainy day
,” Marillion sang. “
Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey
.”
    â€œOpen the door,” Lysa commanded. “
Open
it, I say. You will do it, or I’ll send for my guards.” She shoved Sansa forward. “Your mother was brave, at least. Lift off the bars.”
    If I do as she says, she will let me go
. Sansa grabbed one of the bronze bars, yanked it loose, and tossed it down. The second bar clattered to the marble, then the third. She had barely touched the latch when the heavy wooden door
flew
inward and slammed back against the wall with a bang. Snow had piled up around the frame, and it all came blowing in at them, borne on a blast of cold air that left Sansa shivering. She tried to step backward, but her aunt was behind her. Lysa seized her by the wrist and put her other hand between her shoulder blades, propelling her forcefully toward the open door.
    Beyond was white sky, falling snow, and nothing else.
    â€œLook down,” said Lady Lysa. “Look
down
.”
    She tried to wrench free, but her aunt’s fingers were digging into her arm like claws. Lysa gave her another shove, and Sansa shrieked. Her left foot broke through a crust of snow and knocked it loose. There was nothing in front of her but empty air, and a waycastle six hundred feet below clinging to the side of the mountain. “Don’t!” Sansa screamed. “You’re scaring me!” Behind her, Marillion was still playing his woodharp and singing, “
Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey
.”
    â€œDo you still want my leave to go? Do you?”
    â€œNo.” Sansa planted her feet and tried to squirm backward, but her aunt did not budge. “Not this way. Please . . .” She put a hand up, her fingers scrabbling at the doorframe, but she could not get a grip, and her feet were sliding on the wet marble floor. Lady Lysa pressed her forward inexorably. Her aunt outweighed her by three stone. “
The lady lay a-kissing, upon a mound of hay
,” Marillion was singing. Sansa twisted sideways, hysterical with fear, and one foot slipped out over the void. She screamed. “
Hey-nonny, hey-nonny, hey-nonny-hey
.” The wind flapped her skirts up and bit at her bare legs with cold teeth. She could feel snowflakes melting on her cheeks. Sansa flailed, found Lysa’s thick auburn braid, and clutched it tight. “My hair!” her aunt shrieked. “
Let go of my hair!
” She was shaking, sobbing.