A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

somewhat stiffer than the others, but with those gloves it was hard to be certain.
It might have been no more than a story. How would Maddy know?
    â€œLord Petyr has been kind enough to let me keep my harp,” the blind singer said. “My harp and . . . my tongue . . . so I may sing my songs. Lady Lysa dearly loved my singing . . .”
    â€œTake this creature away, or I’m like to kill him myself,” Lord Nestor growled. “It sickens me to look at him.”
    â€œMord, take him back to his sky cell,” said Petyr.
    â€œYes, m’lord.” Mord grabbed Marillion roughly by the collar. “No more mouth.” When he spoke, Sansa saw to her astonishment that the gaoler’s teeth were made of gold. They watched as he half dragged half shoved the singer toward the doors.
    â€œThe man must die,” Ser Marywn Belmore declared when they were gone. “He should have followed Lady Lysa out the Moon Door.”
    â€œWithout his tongue,” Ser Albar Royce added. “Without that lying, mocking tongue.”
    â€œI have been too gentle with him, I know,” Petyr Baelish said in an apologetic tone. “If truth be told, I pity him. He killed for love.”
    â€œFor love or hate,” said Belmore, “he must die.”
    â€œSoon enough,” Lord Nestor said gruffly. “No man lingers long in the sky cells. The blue will call to him.”
    â€œIt may,” said Petyr Baelish, “but whether Marillion will answer, only he can say.” He gestured, and his guardsmen opened the doors at the far end of the hall. “Sers, I know you must be weary after your ascent. Rooms have been prepared for all of you to spend the night, and food and wine await you in the Lower Hall. Oswell, show them the way, and see that they have all they need.” He turned to Nestor Royce. “My lord, will you join me in the solar for a cup of wine? Alayne, sweetling, come pour for us.”
    A low fire burned in the solar, where a flagon of wine awaited them.
Arbor gold.
Sansa filled Lord Nestor’s cup whilst Petyr prodded at the logs with an iron poker.
    Lord Nestor seated himself beside the fire. “This will not be the end of it,” he said to Petyr, as if Sansa were not there. “My cousin means to question the singer himself.”
    â€œBronze Yohn mistrusts me.” Petyr pushed a log aside.
    â€œHe means to come in force. Symond Templeton will join him, do not doubt it. And Lady Waynwood too, I fear.”
    â€œAnd Lord Belmore, Young Lord Hunter, Horton Redfort. They will bring Strong Sam Stone, the Tolletts, the Shetts, the Coldwaters, some Corbrays.”
    â€œYou are well-informed. Which Corbrays? Not Lord Lyonel?”
    â€œNo, his brother. Ser Lyn mislikes me, for some reason.”
    â€œLyn Corbray is a dangerous man,” Lord Nestor said doggedly. “What do you intend to do?”
    â€œWhat
can
I do but make them welcome if they come?” Petyr gave the flames another stir and set the poker down.
    â€œMy cousin means to remove you as Lord Protector.”
    â€œIf so, I cannot stop him. I keep a garrison of twenty men. Lord Royce and his friends can raise twenty thousand.” Petyr went to the oaken chest that sat beneath the window. “Bronze Yohn will do what he will do,” he said, kneeling. He opened the chest, drew out a roll of parchment, and brought it to Lord Nestor. “My lord. This is a token of the love my lady bore you.”
    Sansa watched Royce unroll the parchment. “This . . . this is unexpected, my lord.” She was startled to see tears in his eyes.
    â€œUnexpected, but not undeserved. My lady valued you above all her other bannermen. You were her rock, she told me.”
    â€œHer rock.” Lord Nestor reddened. “She said that?”
    â€œOften. And this”—Petyr gestured at the parchment—“is the proof of it.”
    â€œThat . . . that is good to know. Jon Arryn valued my service, I know, but Lady Lysa . . . she scorned me when I came to court her, and I feared . . .” Lord Nestor furrowed his brow. “It bears the Arryn seal, I see, but the signature . . .”
    â€œLysa was murdered before the document could be presented for her signature, so I signed as Lord Protector. I knew that would have been her wish.”
    â€œI see.” Lord Nestor rolled the parchment. “You are . . . dutiful, my lord. Aye, and not without courage. Some