A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

wolf.”
    â€œAnd you have the wits of a goose.”
    â€œYou can’t talk to me that way. The king can do as he likes.”
    â€œAerys Targaryen did as he liked. Has your mother ever told you what happened
to him?”
    Ser Boros Blount
harrumphed.
“No man threatens His Grace in

the presence of the Kingsguard.”
    Tyrion Lannister raised an eyebrow. “I am not threatening the king, ser, I am
educating my nephew. Bronn, Timett, the next time Ser Boros opens his mouth,
kill him.” The dwarf smiled. “Now
that
was a threat, ser. See the
difference?”
    Ser Boros turned a dark shade of red. “The queen will hear of
this!”
    â€œNo doubt she will. And why wait? Joffrey, shall we send for your
mother?”
    The king flushed.
    â€œNothing to say, Your Grace?” his uncle went on. “Good. Learn to use your
ears more and your mouth less, or your reign will be shorter than I am. Wanton
brutality is no way to win your people’s love . . . or your
queen’s.”
    â€œFear is better than love, Mother says.” Joffrey pointed at Sansa.
“
She
fears me.”
    The Imp sighed. “Yes, I see. A pity Stannis and Renly aren’t twelve-year-old
girls as well. Bronn, Timett, bring her.”
    Sansa moved as if in a dream. She thought the Imp’s men would take her back to
her bedchamber in Maegor’s Holdfast, but instead they conducted her to the
Tower of the Hand. She had not set foot inside that place since the day her
father fell from grace, and it made her feel faint to climb those steps
again.
    Some serving girls took charge of her, mouthing meaningless comforts to stop
her shaking. One stripped off the ruins of her gown and smallclothes, and
another bathed her and washed the

sticky juice from her face and her hair. As they scrubbed her down with soap
and sluiced warm water over her head, all she could see were the faces from the
bailey.
Knights are sworn to defend the weak, protect women, and fight for
the right, but none of them did a thing.
Only Ser Dontos had tried to
help, and he was no longer a knight, no more than the Imp was, nor the
Hound . . . the Hound hated
knights
. . . I hate them too,
Sansa thought.
They are no true knights, not one of them.
    After she was clean, plump ginger-headed Maester Frenken came to see her. He
bid her lie facedown on the mattress while he spread a salve across the angry
red welts that covered the backs of her legs. Afterward he mixed her a draught
of dreamwine, with some honey so it might go down easier. “Sleep a bit, child.
When you wake, all this will seem a bad dream.”
    No it won’t, you stupid man,
Sansa thought, but she drank the
dreamwine anyway, and slept.
    It was dark when she woke again, not quite knowing where she was, the room both
strange and strangely familiar. As she rose, a stab of pain went through her
legs and brought it all back. Tears filled her eyes. Someone had laid out a
robe for her beside the bed. Sansa slipped it on and opened the door. Outside
stood a hard-faced woman with leathery brown skin, three necklaces looped about
her scrawny neck. One was gold and one was silver and one was made of human
ears. “Where does she think she’s going?” the woman asked, leaning on a tall
spear.
    â€œThe godswood.” She had to find Ser Dontos, beg him to take

her home
now
before it was too late.
    â€œThe halfman said you’re not to leave,” the woman said. “Pray here, the gods
will hear.”
    Meekly, Sansa dropped her eyes and retreated back inside. She realized suddenly
why this place seemed so familiar.
They’ve put me in Arya’s old
bedchamber, from when Father was the Hand of the King. All her things are gone
and the furnishings have been moved around, but it’s the
same . . .
    A short time later, a serving girl brought a platter of cheese and bread and
olives, with a flagon of cold water. “Take it away,” Sansa commanded, but the
girl left the food on a table. She
was
thirsty, she realized. Every
step sent knives through her thighs, but she made herself cross the room. She
drank two cups of water, and was nibbling on an olive when the knock
came.
    Anxiously, she turned toward the door, smoothed down the folds of her robe.
“Yes?”
    The door opened, and Tyrion Lannister stepped inside. “My lady. I trust I am
not disturbing