“He wouldn’t send Ser Lorasxy,” Sansaxy told Jeynexy Poolexy that night as they shared a cold supper by lamplight. “I think it was because of his leg.”
Lordxy Eddardxy had taken his supper in his bedchamber with Alynxy, Harwinxy, and Vayon Poolexy, the better to rest his broken leg, and Septa Mordanexy had complained of sore feet after standing in the gallery all day. Aryaxy was supposed to join them, but she was late coming back from her dancing lesson.
“His leg?” Jeynexy said uncertainly. She was a pretty, dark-haired girl of Sansaxy’s own age. “Did Ser Lorasxy hurt his leg?”
“Not his leg,” Sansaxy said, nibbling delicately at a chicken leg. “Fatherxy’s leg, silly. It hurts him ever so much, it makes him cross. Otherwise I’m certain he would have sent Ser Lorasxy.”
Her father’s decision still bewildered her. When the Knightxy of Flowersxy had spoken up, she’d been sure she was about to see one of Old Nanxy’s stories come to life. Ser Gregorxy was the monster and Ser Lorasxy the true hero who would slay him. He even looked a true hero, so slim and beautiful, with golden roses around his slender waist and his rich brown hair tumbling down into his eyes. And then Fatherxy had refused him! It had upset her more than she could tell. She had said as much to Septa Mordanexy as they descended the stairs from the gallery, but the septa had only told her it was not her place to question her lord father’s decisions.
That was when Lordxy Baelishxy had said, “Oh, I don’t know, Septa. Some of her lord father’s decisions could do with a bit of questioning. The young lady is as wise as she is lovely.” He made a sweeping bow to Sansaxy, so deep she was not quite sure if she was being complimented or mocked.
Septa Mordanexy had been very upset to realize that Lordxy Baelishxy had overheard them. “The girl was just talking, my lord,” she’d said. “Foolish chatter. She meant nothing by the comment.”
Lordxy Baelishxy stroked his little pointed beard and said, “Nothing? Tell me, child, why would you have sent Ser Lorasxy?”
Sansaxy had no choice but to explain about heroes and monsters. The king’s councillor smiled. “Well, those are not the reasons I’d have given, but …” He had touched her cheek, his thumb lightly tracing the line of a cheekbone. “Life is not a song, sweetling. You may learn that one day to your sorrow.”
Sansaxy did not feel like telling all that to Jeynexy, however; it made her uneasy just to think back on it.
“Ser Ilynxy’s the Kingxy’s Justice, not Ser Lorasxy,” Jeynexy said. “Lordxy Eddardxy should have sent him.”
Sansaxy shuddered. Every time she looked at Ser Ilynxy Paynexyxy, she shivered. He made her feel as though something dead were slithering over her naked skin. “Ser Ilynxy’s almost like a second monster. I’m glad Fatherxy didn’t pick him.”
“Lordxy Beric is as much a hero as Ser Lorasxy. He’s ever so brave and gallant.”
“I suppose,” Sansaxy said doubtfully. Beric Dondarrionxyxy was handsome enough, but he was awfully old, almost twenty-two; the Knightxy of Flowersxy would have been much better. Of course, Jeynexy had been in love with Lordxy Beric ever since she had first glimpsed him in the lists. Sansaxy thought she was being silly; Jeynexy was only a steward’s daughter, after all, and no matter how much she mooned after him, Lordxy Beric would never look at someone so far beneath him, even if she hadn’t been half his age.
It would have been unkind to say so, however, so Sansaxy took a sip of milk and changed the subject. “I had a dream that Joffreyxy would be the one to take the white hart,” she said. It had been more of a wish, actually, but it sounded better to call it a dream. Everyone knew that dreams were prophetic. White harts were supposed to be very rare and magical, and in her heart she knew her gallant prince was worthier than his drunken father.
“A dream? Truly? Did Princexy Joffreyxy just go up to it and touch it with his bare hand and do it no harm?”
“No,” Sansaxy said. “He shot it with a golden arrow and brought it back for me.” In the songs, the knights never killed magical beasts, they just went up to them and touched them and did them no harm, but she knew Joffreyxy liked hunting, especially the killing part. Only animals, though. Sansaxy was certain her prince had no part in murdering Joryxy and those other poor men; that had been his wicked uncle, the Kingslayer. She knew her father was still angry about that, but it wasn’t fair to blame Joff. That would be like blaming her for something that Aryaxy had done.
“I saw your sister this afternoon,” Jeynexy blurted out, as if she’d been reading Sansaxy’s thoughts. “She was walking through the stables on her hands. Why would she do a thing like that?”
“I’m sure I don’t know why Aryaxy does anything.” Sansaxy hated stables, smelly places full of manure and flies. Even when she went riding, she liked the boy to saddle the horse and bring it to her in the yard. “Do you want to hear about the court or not?”
“I do,” Jeynexy said.
“There was a black brother,” Sansaxy said, “begging men for the Wallxy, only he was kind of old and smelly.” She hadn’t liked that at all. She had always imagined the Night’s Watchxy to be men like Uncle Benjenxy. In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wallxy. But this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have lice. If this was what the Night’s Watchxy was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon. “Fatherxy asked if there were any knights in the hall who would do honor to their houses by taking the black, but no one came forward, so he gave this Yorenxy his pick of the king’s dungeons and sent him on his way. And later these two brothers came before him, freeriders from the Dornish Marchesxy, and pledged their swords to the service of the king. Fatherxy accepted their oaths …”
Jeynexy yawned. “Are there any lemon cakes?”
Sansaxy did not like being interrupted, but she had to admit, lemon cakes sounded more interesting than most of what had gone on in the throne room. “Let’s see,” she said.
The kitchen yielded no lemon cakes, but they did find half of a cold strawberry pie, and that was almost as good. They ate it on the tower steps, giggling and gossiping and sharing secrets, and Sansaxy went to bed that night feeling almost as wicked as Aryaxy.
The next morning she woke before first light and crept sleepily to her window to watch Lordxy Beric form up his men. They rode out as dawn was breaking over the city, with three banners going before them; the crowned stag of the king flew from the high staff, the direwolf of Starkxy and Lordxy Beric’s own forked lightning standard from shorter poles. It was all so exciting, a song come to life; the clatter of swords, the flicker of torchlight, banners dancing in the wind, horses snorting and whinnying, the golden glow of sunrise slanting through the bars of the portcullis as it jerked upward. The Winterfellxy men looked especially fine in their silvery mail and long grey cloaks.
Alynxy carried the Starkxy banner. When she saw him rein in beside Lordxy Beric to exchange words, it made Sansaxy feel ever so proud. Alynxy was handsomer than Joryxy had been; he was going to be a knight one day.
The Tower of the Handxyxy seemed so empty after they left that Sansaxy was even pleased to see Aryaxy when she went down to break her fast. “Where is everyone?” her sister wanted to know as she ripped the skin from a blood orange. “Did Fatherxy send them to hunt down Jaimexy Lannisterxyxy?”
Sansaxy sighed. “They rode with Lordxy Beric, to behead Ser Gregorxy Cleganexyxy.” She turned to Septa Mordanexy, who was eating porridge with a wooden spoon. “Septa, will Lordxy Beric spike Ser Gregorxy’s head on his own gate or bring it back here for the king?” She and Jeynexy Poolexy had been arguing over that last night.
The septa was horror-struck. “A lady does not discuss such things over her porridge. Where are your courtesies, Sansaxy? I swear, of late you’ve been near as bad as your sister.”
“What did Gregorxy do?” Aryaxy asked.
“He burned down a holdfast and murdered a lot of people, women and children too.”
Aryaxy screwed up her face in a scowl. “Jaimexy Lannisterxyxy murdered Joryxy and Hewardxy and Wylxy, and the Houndxy murdered Mycahxy. Somebody should have beheaded them.”
“It’s not the same,” Sansaxy said. “The Houndxyxy is Joffreyxy’s sworn shield. Your butcher’s boy attacked the prince.”
“Liar,” Aryaxy said. Her hand clenched the blood orange so hard that red juice oozed between her fingers.
“Go ahead, call me all the names you want,” Sansaxy said airily. “You won’t dare when I’m married to Joffreyxy. You’ll have to bow to me and call me Your Grace.” She shrieked as Aryaxy flung the orange across the table. It caught her in the middle of the forehead with a wet squish and plopped down into her lap.
“You have juice on your face, Your Grace,” Aryaxy said.
It was running down her nose and stinging her eyes. Sansaxy wiped it away with a napkin. When she saw what the fruit in her lap had done to her beautiful ivory silk dress, she shrieked again. “You’re horrible,” she screamed at her sister. “They should have killed you instead of Ladyxy!”
Septa Mordanexy came lurching to her feet. “Your lord father will hear of this! Go to your chambers, at once. At once!”
“Me too?” Tears welled in Sansaxy’s eyes. “That’s not fair.”
“The matter is not subject to discussion. Go!”
Sansaxy stalked away with her head up. She was to be a queen, and queens did not cry. At least not where people could see. When she reached her bedchamber, she barred the door and took off her dress. The blood orange had left a blotchy red stain on the silk. “I hate her!” she screamed. She balled up the dress and flung it into the cold hearth, on top of the ashes of last night’s fire. When she saw that the stain had bled through onto her underskirt, she began to sob despite herself. She ripped off the rest of her clothes wildly, threw herself into bed, and cried herself back to sleep.
It was midday when Septa Mordanexy knocked upon her door. “Sansaxy. Your lord father will see you now.”
Sansaxy sat up. “Ladyxy,” she whispered. For a moment it was as if the direwolf was there in the room, looking at her with those golden eyes, sad and knowing. She had been dreaming, she realized. Ladyxy was with her, and they were running together, and … and … trying to remember was like trying to catch the rain with her fingers. The dream faded, and Ladyxy was dead again.
“Sansaxy.” The rap came again, sharply. “Do you hear me?”
“Yes, Septa,” she called out. “Might I have a moment to dress, please?” Her eyes were red from crying, but she did her best to make herself beautiful.
Lordxy Eddardxy was bent over a huge leather-bound book when Septa Mordanexy marched her into the solar, his plaster-wrapped leg stiff beneath the table. “Come here, Sansaxy,” he said, not unkindly, when the septa had gone for her sister. “Sit beside me.” He closed the book.
Septa Mordanexy returned with Aryaxy squirming in her grasp. Sansaxy had put on a lovely pale green damask gown and a look of remorse, but her sister was still wearing the ratty leathers and roughspun she’d worn at breakfast. “Here is the other one,” the septa announced.
“My thanks, Septa Mordanexy. I would talk to my daughters alone, if you would be so kind.” The septa bowed and left.
“Aryaxy started it,” Sansaxy said quickly, anxious to have the first word. “She called me a liar and threw an orange at me and spoiled my dress, the ivory silk, the one Queen Cerseixyxy gave me when I was betrothed to Princexy Joffreyxy. She hates that I’m going to marry the prince. She tries to spoil everything, Fatherxy, she can’t stand for anything to be beautiful or nice or splendid.”
“Enough, Sansaxy.” Lordxy Eddardxy’s voice was sharp with impatience.
Aryaxy raised her eyes. “I’m sorry, Fatherxy. I was wrong and I beg my sweet sister’s forgiveness.”
Sansaxy was so startled that for a moment she was speechless. Finally she found her voice. “What about my dress?”
“Maybe … I could wash it,” Aryaxy said doubtfully.
“Washing won’t do any good,” Sansaxy said. “Not if you scrubbed all day and all night. The silk is ruined.”
“Then I’ll … make you a new one,” Aryaxy said.
Sansaxy threw back her head in disdain. “You? You couldn’t sew a dress fit to clean the pigsties.”
Their father sighed. “I did not call you here to talk of dresses. I’m sending you both back to Winterfellxy.”
For the second time Sansaxy found herself too stunned for words. She felt her eyes grow moist again.
“You can’t,” Aryaxy said.
“Please, Fatherxy,” Sansaxy managed at last. “Please don’t.”
Eddardxy Starkxyxy favored his daughters with a tired smile. “At last we’ve found something you agree on.”
“I didn’t do anything wrong,” Sansaxy pleaded with him. “I don’t want to go back.” She loved Kingxy’s Landingxy; the pagaentry of the court, the high lords and ladies in their velvets and silks and gemstones, the great city with all its people. The tournament had been the most magical time of her whole life, and there was so much she had not seen yet, harvest feasts and masked balls and mummer shows. She could not bear the thought of losing it all. “Send Aryaxy away, she started it, Fatherxy, I swear it. I’ll be good, you’ll see, just let me stay and I promise to be as fine and noble and courteous as the queen.”
Fatherxy’s mouth twitched strangely. “Sansaxy, I’m not sending you away for fighting, though the gods know I’m sick of you two squabbling. I want you back in Winterfellxy for your own safety. Three of my men were cut down like dogs not a league from where we sit, and what does Robertxy do? He goes hunting.”
Aryaxy was chewing at her lip in that disgusting way she had. “Can we take Syrioxy back with us?”
“Who cares about your stupid dancing master?” Sansaxy flared. “Fatherxy, I only just now remembered, I can’t go away, I’m to marry Princexy Joffreyxy.” She tried to smile bravely for him. “I love him, Fatherxy, I truly truly do, I love him as much as Queen Naerysxy loved Princexy Aemonxyxy the Dragonknightxyxyxy, as much as Jonquilxy loved Ser Florianxy. I want to be his queen and have his babies.”
“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong. This match with Joffreyxy was a terrible mistake. That boy is no Princexy Aemonxyxy, you must believe me.”
“He is!” Sansaxy insisted. “I don’t want someone brave and gentle, I want him. We’ll be ever so happy, just like in the songs, you’ll see. I’ll give him a son with golden hair, and one day he’ll be the king of all the realm, the greatest king that ever was, as brave as the wolf and as proud as the lion.”
Aryaxy made a face. “Not if Joffreyxy’s his father,” she said. “He’s a liar and a craven and anyhow he’s a stag, not a lion.”
Sansaxy felt tears in her eyes. “He is not! He’s not the least bit like that old drunken king,” she screamed at her sister, forgetting herself in her grief.
Fatherxy looked at her strangely. “Godsxy,” he swore softly, “out of the mouth of babes …” He shouted for Septa Mordanexy. To the girls he said, “I am looking for a fast trading galley to take you home. These days, the sea is safer than the kingsroad. You will sail as soon as I can find a proper ship, with Septa Mordanexy and a complement of guards … and yes, with Syrioxy Forelxyxy, if he agrees to enter my service. But say nothing of this. It’s better if no one knows of our plans. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”
Sansaxy cried as Septa Mordanexy marched them down the steps. They were going to take it all away; the tournaments and the court and her prince, everything, they were going to send her back to the bleak grey walls of Winterfellxy and lock her up forever. Her life was over before it had begun.
“Stop that weeping, child,” Septa Mordanexy said sternly. “I am certain your lord father knows what is best for you.”
“It won’t be so bad, Sansaxy,” Aryaxy said. “We’re going to sail on a galley. It will be an adventure, and then we’ll be with Branxy and Robbxy again, and Old Nanxy and Hodorxy and the rest.” She touched her on the arm.
“Hodorxy!” Sansaxy yelled. “You ought to marry Hodorxy, you’re just like him, stupid and hairy and ugly!” She wrenched away from her sister’s hand, stormed into her bedchamber, and barred the door behind her.