A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

might take up that discussion, Your Grace.”
    â€œSoon.”
    â€œSoon will serve,” said Lady Olenna with a sniff. “Now come along, Mace, let Her Grace get on with her . . . grief.”
    I will see you dead, old woman,
Cersei promised herself as the Queen of Thorns tottered off between her towering guardsmen, a pair of seven-footers that it amused her to call Left and Right.
We’ll see how sweet a corpse you make.
The old woman was twice as clever as her lord son, that was plain.
    The queen rescued her son from Margaery and her cousins, and made for the doors. Outside, the rain had finally stopped. The autumn air smelled sweet and fresh. Tommen took his crown off. “Put that back on,” Cersei commanded him.
    â€œIt makes my neck hurt,” the boy said, but he did as he was bid. “Will I be married soon? Margaery says that as soon as we’re wed we can go to Highgarden.”
    â€œYou are not going to Highgarden, but you can ride back to the castle.” Cersei beckoned to Ser Meryn Trant. “Bring His Grace a mount, and ask Lord Gyles if he would do me the honor of sharing my litter.” Things were moving more quickly than she had anticipated; there was no time to be squandered.
    Tommen was happy at the prospect of a ride, and of course Lord Gyles was honored by her invitation . . . though when she asked him to be her master of coin, he began coughing so violently that she feared he might die right then and there. But the Mother was merciful, and Gyles eventually recovered sufficiently to accept, and even began coughing out the names of men he wanted to replace, customs officers and wool factors appointed by Littlefinger, even one of the keepers of the keys.
    â€œName the cow what you will, so long as the milk flows. And should the question arise, you joined the council yesterday.”
    â€œYester—” A fit of coughing bent him over. “Yesterday. To be sure.” Lord Gyles coughed into a square of red silk, as if to hide the blood in his spittle. Cersei pretended not to notice.
    When he dies I will find someone else.
Perhaps she would recall Littlefinger. The queen could not imagine that Petyr Baelish would be allowed to remain Lord Protector of the Vale for very long, with Lysa Arryn dead. The Vale lords were already stirring, if what Pycelle said was true.
Once they take that wretched boy away from him, Lord Petyr will come crawling back.
    â€œYour Grace?” Lord Gyles coughed, and dabbed his mouth. “Might I . . .” He coughed again. “. . . ask who . . .” Another series of coughs racked him. “. . . who will be the King’s Hand?”
    â€œMy uncle,” she replied absently.
    It was a relief to see the gates of the Red Keep looming large before her. She gave Tommen over to the charge of his squires and retired gratefully to her own chambers to rest.
    No sooner had she eased off her shoes than Jocelyn entered timidly to say that Qyburn was without and craved audience. “Send him in,” the queen commanded.
A ruler gets no rest.
    Qyburn was old, but his hair still had more ash than snow in it, and the laugh lines around his mouth made him look like some little girl’s favorite grandfather.
A rather shabby grandfather, though.
The collar of his robe was frayed, and one sleeve had been torn and badly sewn. “I must beg Your Grace’s pardon for my appearance,” he said. “I have been down in the dungeons making inquiries into the Imp’s escape, as you commanded.”
    â€œAnd what have you discovered?”
    â€œThe night that Lord Varys and your brother disappeared, a third man also vanished.”
    â€œYes, the gaoler. What of him?”
    â€œRugen was the man’s name. An undergaoler who had charge of the black cells. The chief undergaoler describes him as portly, unshaven, gruff of speech. He held his appointment of the old king, Aerys, and came and went as he pleased. The black cells have not oft been occupied in recent years. The other turnkeys were afraid of him, it seems, but none knew much about him. He had no friends, no kin. Nor did he drink or frequent brothels. His sleeping cell was damp and dreary, and the straw he slept upon was mildewed. His chamber pot was overflowing.”
    â€œI know all this.” Jaime had examined Rugen’s cell, and Ser Addam’s gold cloaks had examined it again.
    â€œAye, Your Grace,” said Qyburn, “but did you