A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

Moat Cailin. One of the bog devils shot him with a poisoned arrow. But I am the lord of nothing. When my father denied his claim to the Seastone Chair, the Crow’s Eye drowned him and made my uncles swear him fealty. Even after that he gave half my father’s lands to Iron Holt. Lord Wynch was the first man to bend his knee and call him king.”
    House Wynch was strong on Pyke, but Asha took care not to let her dismay show. “Wynch never had your father’s courage.”
    â€œYour uncle bought him,” Tris said. “The
Silence
returned with holds full of treasure. Plate and pearls, emeralds and rubies, sapphires big as eggs, bags of coin so heavy that no man can lift them . . . the Crow’s Eye has been buying friends at every hand. My uncle Germund calls himself Lord Botley now, and rules in Lordsport as your uncle’s man.”
    â€œYou are the rightful Lord Botley,” she assured him. “Once I hold the Seastone Chair, your father’s lands shall be restored.”
    â€œIf you like. It’s nought to me. You look so lovely in the moonlight, Asha. A woman grown now, but I remember when you were a skinny girl with a face all full of pimples.”
    Why must they always mention the pimples?
“I remember that as well.”
Though not as fondly as you do.
Of the five boys her mother had brought to Pyke to foster after Ned Stark had taken her last living son as hostage, Tris had been closest to Asha in age. He had not been the first boy she had ever kissed, but he was the first to undo the laces of her jerkin and slip a sweaty hand beneath to feel her budding breasts.
    I would have let him feel more than that if he’d been bold enough.
Her first flowering had come upon her during the war and wakened her desire, but even before that Asha had been curious.
He was there, he was mine own age, and he was willing, that was all it was . . . that, and the moon blood.
Even so, she’d called it love, till Tris began to go on about the children she would bear him; a dozen sons at least, and oh, some daughters too. “I don’t want to have a dozen sons,” she had told him, appalled. “I want to have
adventures.
” Not long after, Maester Qalen found them at their play, and young Tristifer Botley was sent away to Blacktyde.
    â€œI wrote you letters,” he said, “but Maester Joseran would not send them. Once I gave a stag to an oarsman on a trader bound for Lordsport, who promised to put my letter in your hands.”
    â€œYour oarsman winkled you and threw your letter in the sea.”
    â€œI feared as much. They never gave me your letters either.”
    I wrote none.
In truth, she had been relieved when Tris was sent away. By then his fumblings had begun to bore her. That was not something he would care to hear, however. “Aeron Damphair has called a kingsmoot. Will you come and speak for me?”
    â€œI will go anywhere with you, but . . . Lord Blacktyde says this kingsmoot is a dangerous folly. He thinks your uncle will descend on them and kill them all, as Urron did.”
    He’s mad enough.
“He lacks the strength.”
    â€œYou do not know his strength. He’s been gathering men on Pyke. Orkwood of Orkmont brought him twenty longships, and Pinchface Jon Myre a dozen. Left-Hand Lucas Codd is with them. And Harren Half-Hoare, the Red Oarsman, Kemmett Pyke the Bastard, Rodrik Freeborn, Torwold Browntooth . . .”
    â€œMen of small account.” Asha knew them, every one. “The sons of salt wives, the grandsons of thralls. The Codds . . . do you know their
words
?”
    â€œThough All Men Do Despise Us,”
Tris said, “but if they catch you in those nets of theirs, you’ll be as dead as if they had been dragonlords. And there’s worse. The Crow’s Eye brought back monsters from the east . . . aye, and
wizards
too.”
    â€œNuncle always had a fondness for freaks and fools,” said Asha. “My father used to fight with him about it. Let the wizards call upon their gods. The Damphair will call on ours, and drown them. Will I have your voice at the queensmoot, Tris?”
    â€œYou shall have all of me. I am your man, forever. Asha, I would wed you. Your lady mother has given her consent.”
    She stifled a groan.
You might have asked me first . . . though you might not have liked the answer half so well.
    â€œI am no second son now,” he went on. “I am the rightful