A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

archer to kill an archer, the smallfolk often say. To combat the black arts . . .” He did not finish the thought, but only smiled at her.
    He is not Pycelle, that much is plain.
The queen weighed him, wondering. “Why did the Citadel take your chain? Tell me true, I warn you. I will have your tongue if you lie to me.”
    â€œThe archmaesters are cravens at heart. The grey sheep, Marwyn calls them. I was as skilled a healer as Ebrose, but aspired to surpass him. For hundreds of years the men of the Citadel have opened the bodies of the dead, to study the nature of life. I wished to understand the nature of death, so I opened the bodies of the living. For that crime the grey sheep shamed me and forced me into exile . . . but even now I know more of life and death than any man in Oldtown.”
    â€œDo you?” She smiled. “Very well. The Mountain is yours. Do what you will with him, but confine your studies to the black cells. When he dies, bring me his head. My father promised it to Dorne. Prince Doran would no doubt prefer to kill Gregor himself, but we all must suffer disappointments in this life.”
    â€œVery good, Your Grace.” Qyburn cleared his throat. “I am am not so well provided as Pycelle, however. I must needs equip myself with certain . . .”
    â€œI shall instruct Lord Gyles to provide you with gold sufficient for your needs. Buy yourself some new robes as well. You look as though you’ve wandered up from Flea Bottom. Now go.”
    He bowed, and went.
    Her uncle arrived promptly at sunset, wearing a quilted doublet of charcoal-colored wool as somber as his face. Like all the Lannisters, Ser Kevan was fair-skinned and blond, though at five-and-fifty he had lost most of his hair. No one would ever call him comely. Thick of waist, round of shoulder, with a square jutting chin that his close-cropped yellow beard did little to conceal, he reminded her of some old mastiff . . . but a faithful old mastiff was the very thing that she required.
    They ate a simple supper of beets and bread and bloody beef with a flagon of Dornish red to wash it all down. Ser Kevan ate slowly and said little, and scarcely touched his wine cup.
He broods too much on Father,
the queen decided.
He needs to be put to work to get beyond his grief.
    She said as much, when the last of the food had been cleared away and the servants had departed. “I know how much my father relied on you, Uncle. Now I must do the same.”
    â€œYou need a Hand,” he said, “and Jaime has refused you.”
    He is blunt. Very well.
She glanced away. “Jaime . . . I felt so lost with Father dead, I scarce knew what I was saying. Jaime is gallant, but a bit of a fool, let us be frank. Tommen needs a more seasoned man. Someone older . . .”
    â€œMace Tyrell is older.”
    Her nostrils flared. “Never.” Cersei pushed a lock of hair off her brow. “The Tyrells overreach themselves.”
    â€œYou would be a fool to make Mace Tyrell your Hand,” Ser Kevan warned, “but a bigger fool to make him your foe. I’ve heard what happened in the Hall of Lamps. Mace should have known better than to broach such matters in public, but even so, you were unwise to shame him in front of half the Reach.”
    â€œIt was that, or kiss his hand and welcome another Tyrell to the small council.” His reproach annoyed her. “Rosby will be more than adequate as master of coin. You’ve seen his horses, and that litter of his. A man that rich should have no problem finding gold. As for the Hand . . . who better to finish my father’s work than the brother who shared his counsels?”
    â€œEvery man needs someone he can trust. Tywin had me, and once your mother.”
    â€œHe loved her very much.” Cersei refused to think about the dead whore in his bed. “I know they are together now.”
    â€œSo I pray.” Ser Kevan studied her face for a long moment before he replied. “You ask much of me, Cersei.”
    â€œNo more than my father did.”
    â€œI am tired.” Her uncle reached for his wine cup and took a swallow. “I have a wife I have not seen in two years, a dead son whose tomb I have yet to visit, another son who might have died as well. And Lancel must needs establish himself in Darry. There are outlaws stabling their horses in his great hall. Castle Darry must be made strong again, its lands protected, its burned fields