A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

puzzled out the
arrangement, it was easy to see that every potion had its place.
And such

interesting things.
He noted sweetsleep and nightshade, milk of the poppy,
the tears of Lys, powdered greycap, wolfsbane and demon’s dance, basilisk
venom, blindeye, widow’s blood . . .
    Standing on his toes and straining upward, he managed to pull a small dusty
bottle off the high shelf. When he read the label, he smiled and slipped it up
his sleeve.
    He was back at the table peeling another egg when Grand Maester Pycelle came
creeping down the stairs. “It is done, my lord.” The old man seated himself.
“A matter like this . . . best done promptly, indeed,
indeed . . . of great import, you say?”
    â€œOh, yes.” The porridge was too thick, Tyrion felt, and wanted butter and
honey. To be sure, butter and honey were seldom seen in King’s Landing of late,
though Lord Gyles kept them well supplied in the castle. Half of the food they
ate these days came from his lands or Lady Tanda’s. Rosby and Stokeworth lay
near the city to the north, and were yet untouched by war.
    â€œThe Prince of Dorne, himself. Might I ask . . .”
    â€œBest not.”
    â€œAs you say.” Pycelle’s curiosity was so ripe that Tyrion could almost taste
it. “Mayhaps . . . the king’s
council . . .”
    Tyrion tapped his wooden spoon against the edge of the bowl. “The council
exists to
advise
the king, Maester.”
    â€œJust so,” said Pycelle, “and the king—”
    â€œâ€”is a boy of thirteen. I speak with his voice.”
    â€œSo you do. Indeed. The King’s Own Hand. Yet . . . your most
gracious sister, our Queen Regent, she . . .”
    â€œ. . . bears a great weight upon those lovely white
shoulders of hers. I have no wish to add to her burdens. Do you?” Tyrion
cocked his head and gave the Grand Maester an inquiring stare.
    Pycelle dropped his gaze back to his food. Something about Tyrion’s mismatched
green-and-black eyes made men squirm; knowing that, he made good use of them.
“Ah,” the old man muttered into his plums. “Doubtless you have the right of
it, my lord. It is most considerate of you to . . . spare her
this . . . burden.”
    â€œThat’s just the sort of fellow I am.” Tyrion returned to the unsatisfactory
porridge. “Considerate. Cersei is my own sweet sister, after all.”
    â€œAnd a woman, to be sure,” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “A most uncommon
woman, and yet . . . it is no small thing, to tend to all the
cares of the realm, despite the frailty of her
sex . . .”
    Oh, yes, she’s a frail dove, just ask Eddard Stark.
“I’m pleased you
share my concern. And I thank you for the hospitality of your table. But a long
day awaits.” He swung his legs out and clambered down from his chair. “Be so
good as to inform me at once should we receive a reply from Dorne?”
    â€œAs you say, my lord.”
    â€œAnd
only
me?”
    â€œAh . . . to be sure.” Pycelle’s spotted hand was clutching
at his beard the way a drowning man clutches for a rope. It made Tyrion’s heart
glad.
One,
he thought.
    He waddled out into the lower bailey; his stunted legs complained of the steps.
The sun was well up now, and the castle

was stirring. Guardsmen walked the walls, and knights and men-at-arms were
training with blunted weapons. Nearby, Bronn sat on the lip of a well. A pair
of comely serving girls sauntered past carrying a wicker basket of rushes
between them, but the sellsword never looked. “Bronn, I despair of you.”
Tyrion gestured at the wenches. “With sweet sights like that before you, all
you see is a gaggle of louts raising a clangor.”
    â€œThere are a hundred whorehouses in this city where a clipped copper will buy
me all the cunt I want,” Bronn answered, “but one day my life may hang on how
close I’ve watched your louts.” He stood. “Who’s the boy in the checkered
blue surcoat with the three eyes on his shield?”
    â€œSome hedge knight. Tallad, he names himself. Why?”
    Bronn pushed a fall of hair from his eyes. “He’s the best of them. But watch
him, he falls into a rhythm, delivering the same strokes in the same order each
time he