A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

said. “All
women
do despise the Codds as well. Don’t look at me so mournful, Lucas. You still have your famous hand.” She made a pumping motion with her fist.
    Codd cursed, till the Crow’s Eye put a hand upon his chest. “Was that courteous, Asha? You have wounded Lucas to the quick.”
    â€œEasier than wounding him in the prick. I throw an axe as well as any man, but when the target is so small . . .”
    â€œThis girl forgets herself,” snarled Pinchface Jon Myre. “Balon let her believe she was a man.”
    â€œYour father made the same mistake with you,” said Asha.
    â€œGive her to me, Euron,” suggested the Red Oarsman. “I’ll spank her till her arse is as red as my hair.”
    â€œCome try,” said Asha, “and hereafter we can call you the Red Eunuch.” A throwing axe was in her hand. She tossed it in the air and caught it deftly. “Here is my husband, Nuncle. Any man who wants me should take it up with him.”
    Victarion slammed his fist upon the table. “I’ll have no blood shed here. Euron, take your . . . pets . . . and go.”
    â€œI had looked for a warmer welcome from you, brother. I
am
your elder . . . and soon, your rightful king.”
    Victarion’s face darkened. “When the kingsmoot speaks, we shall see who wears the driftwood crown.”
    â€œOn that we can agree.” Euron lifted two fingers to the patch that covered his left eye, and took his leave. The others followed at his heels like mongrel dogs. Silence lingered behind them, till Little Lenwood Tawney took up his fiddle. The wine and ale began to flow again, but several guests had lost their thirst. Eldred Codd slipped out, cradling his bloody hand. Then Will Humble, Hotho Harlaw, a goodly lot of Goodbrothers.
    â€œNuncle.” Asha put a hand upon his shoulder. “Walk with me, if you would.”
    Outside the tent the wind was rising. Clouds raced across the moon’s pale face. They looked a bit like galleys, stroking hard to ram. The stars were few and faint. All along the strand the longships rested, tall masts rising like a forest from the surf. Victarion could hear their hulls creaking as they settled on the sand. He heard the keening of their lines, the sound of banners flapping. Beyond, in the deeper waters of the bay, larger ships bobbed at anchor, grim shadows wreathed in mist.
    They walked along the strand together just above the surf, far from the camps and the cookfires. “Tell me true, nuncle,” Asha said, “why did Euron go away so suddenly?”
    â€œThe Crow’s Eye oft went reaving.”
    â€œNever for so long.”
    â€œHe took the
Silence
east. A lengthy voyage.”
    â€œI asked
why
he went, not where.” When he did not answer, Asha said, “I was away when
Silence
sailed. I had taken
Black Wind
around the Arbor to the Stepstones, to steal a few trinkets from the Lyseni pirates. When I came home, Euron was gone and your new wife was dead.”
    â€œShe was only a salt wife.” He had not touched another woman since he gave her to the crabs.
I will need to take a wife when I am king. A true wife, to be my queen and bear me sons. A king must have an heir.
    â€œMy father refused to speak of her,” said Asha.
    â€œIt does no good to speak of things no man can change.” He was weary of the subject. “I saw the Reader’s longship.”
    â€œIt took all my charm to winkle him out of his Book Tower.”
    She has the Harlaws, then.
Victarion’s frown grew deeper. “You cannot hope to rule. You are a woman.”
    â€œIs that why I always lose the pissing contests?” Asha laughed. “Nuncle, it grieves me to say so, but you may be right. For four days and four nights, I have been drinking with the captains and the kings, listening to what they say . . . and what they will not say. Mine own are with me, and many Harlaws. I have Tris Botley too, and some few others. Not enough.” She kicked a rock, and sent it splashing into the water between two longships. “I am of a mind to shout my nuncle’s name.”
    â€œWhich uncle?” he demanded. “You have three.”
    â€œFour. Nuncle, hear me. I will place the driftwood crown upon your brow myself . . . if you will agree to share the rule.”
    â€œ
Share
the rule? How could that be?” The woman was not making sense.
Does she want to be my queen?
Victarion