A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

could smell it too; a faint whisper of decay that made her want to wrinkle her nose. Cersei paid it no mind. The seven septons in the silver robes stood behind the bier, beseeching the Father Above to judge Lord Tywin justly. When they were done, seventy-seven septas gathered beneath the statue of the Mother and began to sing to her for mercy. Tommen was fidgeting by then, and even the queen’s knees had begun to ache. She glanced up at Jaime. Her twin stood there as if he had been carved from stone, and would not meet her eyes.
    On the benches behind him her uncle Kevan knelt with his thick shoulders slumped, his son beside him.
Lancel looks worse than Father.
Only seventeen, her cousin might have passed for seventy: grey-faced, gaunt, with hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, and hair as white and brittle as chalk.
How can Lancel be among the living when Tywin Lannister is dead? Have the gods taken leave of their wits?
    Lord Gyles was coughing more than usual, and covering his nose with a square of red silk.
He can smell it too.
Grand Maester Pycelle had his eyes closed.
Asleep again,
she decided.
    To the right of the bier were the Tyrells, the Lord of Highgarden foremost amongst them, flanked by his hideous mother and vacuous wife, his son Garlan and his daughter Margaery.
Queen Margaery,
she reminded herself; Joff’s widow and Tommen’s future wife. Twice wedded and never bedded, they said, but Cersei had her own suspicions. Margaery looked very much like her brother, the Knight of Flowers. The queen wondered if they had other things as common as well.
Our little rose has a good many ladies waiting attendance on her, night and day.
They stood behind her now, almost a dozen of them. Cersei studied their faces, wondering which of them might have the loosest tongue.
Who is the most fearful, the most wanton, the hungriest for favor?
She really must find out.
    It was a relief when the singing ended. The smell coming off her father’s corpse seemed to have grown stronger. Most of the mourners had the decency to pretend that nothing was amiss, but Cersei saw some of Margaery’s ladies wrinkling their little Tyrell noses. As she and Tommen were walking back down the aisle the queen thought she heard someone mutter “privy” and chortle, but when she turned her head to see who had spoken a sea of solemn faces gazed at her blankly.
They would never have dared make japes about him when he was still alive. He would have turned their bowels to water with a look.
    Back out in the Hall of Lamps, the mourners were buzzing thick as flies. The Redwyne twins kissed her hand, and their father her cheek. Hallyne the Pyromancer promised that a flaming hand would burn in the sky above the city on the day her father’s bones went west. Lord Gyles announced that he had hired a master stonecarver to make a mighty statue of Lord Tywin, to stand eternal vigil beside the Lion Gate. Ser Lyman Turnberry appeared with a patch over his right eye, swearing that he would wear it until he could bring her the head of her dwarf brother.
    â€œYou are too kind.” Cersei kissed his cheek and moved away quickly, looking for Tommen. He was easy enough to find, with two Kingsguard beside him in white armor, but to her annoyance she saw that he had fallen into the clutches of Margaery Tyrell and her grandmother. The Queen of Thorns was almost of a height with Tommen, and for an instant Cersei took her for another child.
    Before she could rescue him, the press brought her face-to-face with her uncle. When the queen reminded him of their meeting later, Ser Kevan gave a weary nod, and begged leave to withdraw. But Lancel lingered behind, the very picture of a man with one foot in the grave.
But is he climbing in or climbing out?
    Cersei forced herself to smile. “Lancel, I am happy to see you looking so much stronger. Maester Ballabar brought us such dire reports, we feared for your life. But I would have thought you on your way to Darry by now, to take up your lordship.” Her father had made Lancel a lord after the Battle of the Blackwater, as a sop to his brother Kevan.
    â€œMy father will ride with me to Darry when he escorts Lord Tywin’s bones back to Casterly Rock.” Her cousin’s voice was as wispy as the mustache on his upper lip. Though his hair had gone white, his mustache fuzz remained a sandy color. Cersei had often gazed up at it while the boy was inside her, pumping dutifully away.
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