A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

father, ask him, I was ever his true servant . . . ’twas I who
bid Aerys open his gates . . .”
    That
took Tyrion by surprise. He had been no more than an ugly boy at
Casterly Rock when the city fell. “So the Sack of

King’s Landing was your work as well?”
    â€œFor the realm! Once Rhaegar died, the war was done. Aerys was mad, Viserys
too young, Prince Aegon a babe at the breast, but the realm needed a
king . . . I prayed it should be your good father, but Robert
was too strong, and Lord Stark moved too swiftly . . .”
    â€œHow many have you betrayed, I wonder? Aerys, Eddard Stark,
me . . . King Robert as well? Lord Arryn, Prince Rhaegar? Where
does it begin, Pycelle?” He
knew
where it ended.
    The axe scratched at the apple of Pycelle’s throat and stroked the soft wobbly
skin under his jaw, scraping away the last hairs.
“You . . . were not here,” he gasped when the blade moved
upward to his cheeks. “Robert . . . his
wounds . . . if you had seen them, smelled them, you would have
no doubt . . .”
    â€œOh, I know the boar did your work for you . . . but if he’d
left the job half done, doubtless you would have finished it.”
    â€œHe was a wretched king . . . vain, drunken,
lecherous . . . he would have set your sister aside, his own
queen . . . please . . . Renly was plotting to
bring the Highgarden maid to court, to entice his
brother . . . it is the gods’ own
truth . . .”
    â€œAnd what was Lord Arryn plotting?”
    â€œHe
knew,
” Pycelle said.
“About . . . about . . .”
    â€œI know what he knew about,” snapped Tyrion, who was not anxious for Shagga
and Timett to know as well.
    â€œHe was sending his wife back to the Eyrie, and his son to be fostered on
Dragonstone . . . he meant to act . . .”
    â€œSo you poisoned him first.”
    â€œNo.”
Pycelle struggled feebly. Shagga growled and grabbed
his head. The clansman’s hand was so big he could have crushed the maester’s
skull like an eggshell had he squeezed.
    Tyrion
tsked
at him. “I saw the tears of Lys among your potions. And
you sent away Lord Arryn’s own maester and tended him yourself, so you could
make certain that he died.”
    â€œA falsehood!”
    â€œShave him closer,” Tyrion suggested. “The throat again.”
    The axe swept back down, rasping over the skin. A thin film of spit bubbled on
Pycelle’s lips as his mouth trembled. “I tried to save Lord Arryn. I
vow—”
    â€œCareful now, Shagga, you’ve cut him.”
    Shagga growled. “Dolf fathered warriors, not barbers.”
    When he felt the blood trickling down his neck and onto his chest, the old man
shuddered, and the last strength went out of him. He looked shrunken, both
smaller and frailer than he had been when they burst in on him. “Yes,” he
whimpered, “
yes,
Colemon was purging, so I sent him away. The queen
needed Lord Arryn dead, she did not say so, could not, Varys was listening,
always listening, but when I looked at her I knew. It was not me who gave him
the poison, though, I swear it.” The old man wept. “Varys will tell you, it
was the boy, his squire, Hugh he was called, he must surely have done it, ask
your sister, ask her.”
    Tyrion was disgusted. “Bind him and take him away,” he commanded. “Throw him
down in one of the black cells.”
    They dragged him out the splintered door. “Lannister,” he

moaned, “all I’ve done has been for Lannister . . .”
    When he was gone, Tyrion made a leisurely search of the quarters and collected
a few more small jars from his shelves. The ravens muttered above his head as
he worked, a strangely peaceful noise. He would need to find someone to tend
the birds until the Citadel sent a man to replace Pycelle.
    He was the one I’d hoped to trust.
Varys and Littlefinger were no
more loyal, he suspected . . . only more subtle, and thus more
dangerous. Perhaps his father’s way would have been best: summon Ilyn Payne,
mount three heads above the gates, and have done.
And wouldn’t that be a
pretty sight,
he thought.

ARYA
    F
ear cuts deeper than swords,
Arya would tell herself, but that
did not