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swinging his morningstar about his head, slaying left and right.”
    Megga Tyrell was sobbing openly by then. “How did he die?” she asked. “Who killed him?”
    â€œNo one man has that honor,” said Cersei. “Ser Loras took a quarrel through the thigh and another through the shoulder, but he fought on gallantly, though the blood was streaming from him. Later he suffered a mace blow that broke some ribs. After that . . . but no, I would spare you the worst of it.”
    â€œTell me,” said Margaery. “I command it.”
    Command it?
Cersei paused a moment, then decided she would let that pass. “The defenders fell back to an inner keep once the curtain wall was taken. Loras led the attack there as well. He was doused with boiling oil.”
    Lady Alla turned white as chalk, and ran from the room.
    â€œThe maesters are doing all they can, Lord Waters assures me, but I fear your brother is too badly burned.” Cersei took Margaery in her arms to comfort her. “He saved the realm.” When she kissed the little queen upon the cheek, she could taste the salt of her tears. “Jaime will enter all his deeds in the White Book, and the singers will sing of him for a thousand years.”
    Margaery wrenched free of her embrace, so violently that Cersei almost fell. “Dying is not dead,” she said.
    â€œNo, but the maesters say—”
    â€œDying is not dead!”
    â€œI only want to spare you—”
    â€œI know what you want. Get out.”
    Now you know how I felt, the night my Joffrey died.
She bowed, her face a mask of cool courtesy. “Sweet daughter. I am so sad for you. I will leave you with your grief.”
    Lady Merryweather did not appear that night, and Cersei found herself too restless to sleep.
If Lord Tywin could see me now, he would know he had his heir, an heir worthy of the Rock,
she thought as she lay abed with Jocelyn Swyft snoring softly into the other pillow. Margaery would soon be weeping the bitter tears she should have wept for Joffrey. Mace Tyrell might weep as well, but she had given him no cause to break with her. What had she done, after all, but honor Loras with her trust? He had requested the command on bended knee whilst half her court looked on.
    When he dies I must raise a statue of him somewhere, and give him a funeral such as King’s Landing has never seen.
The smallfolk would like that. So would Tommen.
Mace may even thank me, poor man. As for his lady mother, if the gods are good this news will kill her.
    The sunrise was the prettiest that Cersei had seen in years. Taena appeared soon thereafter, and confessed to having spent the night consoling Margaery and her ladies, drinking wine and crying and telling tales of Loras. “Margaery is still convinced he will not die,” she reported, as the queen was dressed for court. “She plans to send her own maester to look after him. The cousins are praying for the Mother’s mercy.”
    â€œI shall pray as well. On the morrow, come with me to Baelor’s Sept, and we will light a hundred candles for our gallant Knight of Flowers.” She turned to her handmaid. “Dorcas, bring my crown. The new one, if you please.” It was lighter than the old, pale spun gold set with emeralds that sparkled when she turned her head.
    â€œThere are four come about the Imp this morning,” Ser Osmund said, when Jocelyn admitted him.
    â€œFour?” The queen was pleasantly surprised. A steady stream of informers had been making their way to the Red Keep, claiming knowledge of Tyrion, but four in one day was unusual.
    â€œAye,” said Osmund. “One brought a head for you.”
    â€œI will see him first. Bring him to my solar.”
This time, let there be no mistakes. Let me be avenged at long last, so Joff can rest in peace.
The septons said that the number seven was sacred to the gods. If so, perhaps this seventh head would bring her the balm her soul desired.
    The man proved to be Tyroshi; short and stout and sweaty, with an unctuous smile that reminded her of Varys and a forked beard dyed green and pink. Cersei misliked him on sight, but was willing to overlook his flaws if he actually had Tyrion’s head inside the chest he carried. It was cedar, inlaid with ivory in a pattern of vines and flowers, with hinges and clasps of white gold. A lovely thing, but the queen’s only interest lay in what might be within.
It is