Eddard Starkxy rode through the towering bronze doors of the Red Keepxyxy sore, tired, hungry, and irritable. He was still ahorse, dreaming of a long hot soak, a roast fowl, and a featherbed, when the king’s steward told him that Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy had convened an urgent meeting of the small council. The honor of the Handxy’s presence was requested as soon as it was convenient. “It will be convenient on the morrow,” Nedxy snapped as he dismounted.
The steward bowed very low. “I shall give the councillors your regrets, my lord.”
“No, damn it,” Nedxy said. It would not do to offend the council before he had even begun. “I will see them. Pray give me a few moments to change into something more presentable.”
“Yes, my lord,” the steward said. “We have given you Lordxy Arrynxy’s former chambers in the Tower of the Handxyxy, if it please you. I shall have your things taken there.”
“My thanks,” Nedxy said as he ripped off his riding gloves and tucked them into his belt. The rest of his household was coming through the gate behind him. Nedxy saw Vayon Poolexy, his own steward, and called out. “It seems the council has urgent need of me. See that my daughters find their bedchambers, and tell Joryxy to keep them there. Aryaxy is not to go exploring,” Poole bowed. Nedxy turned back to the royal steward. “My wagons are still straggling through the city. I shall need appropriate garments.”
“It will be my great pleasure,” the steward said.
And so Nedxy had come striding into the council chambers, bone-tired and dressed in borrowed clothing, to find four members of the small council waiting for him.
The chamber was richly furnished. Myrish carpets covered the floor instead of rushes, and in one corner a hundred fabulous beasts cavorted in bright paints on a carved screen from the Summerxy Islesxy. The walls were hung with tapestries from Norvosxy and Qohorxy and Lys, and a pair of Valyrianxy sphinxes flanked the door, eyes of polished garnet smoldering in black marble faces.
The councillor Nedxy liked least, the eunuch Varysxy, accosted him the moment he entered. “Lordxy Starkxy, I was grievous sad to hear about your troubles on the kingsroad. We have all been visiting the sept to light candles for Princexy Joffreyxy. I pray for his recovery.” His hand left powder stains on Nedxy’s sleeve, and he smelled as foul and sweet as flowers on a grave.
“Your gods have heard you,” Nedxy replied, cool yet polite. “The prince grows stronger every day.” He disentangled himself from the eunuch’s grip and crossed the room to where Lordxy Renlyxyxy stood by the screen, talking quietly with a short man who could only be Littlefingerxy. Renlyxy had been a boy of eight when Robertxy won the throne, but he had grown into a man so like his brother that Nedxy found it disconcerting. Whenever he saw him, it was as if the years had slipped away and Robertxy stood before him, fresh from his victory on the Tridentxy.
“I see you have arrived safely, Lordxy Starkxy,” Renlyxy said.
“And you as well,” Nedxy replied. “You must forgive me, but sometimes you look the very image of your brother Robertxy.”
“A poor copy,” Renlyxy said with a shrug.
“Though much better dressed,” Littlefingerxy quipped. “Lordxy Renlyxyxy spends more on clothing than half the ladies of the court.”
It was true enough. Lordxy Renlyxyxy was in dark green velvet, with a dozen golden stags embroidered on his doublet. A cloth-of-gold half cape was draped casually across one shoulder, fastened with an emerald brooch. “There are worse crimes,” Renlyxy said with a laugh. “The wayxy you dress, for one.”
Littlefingerxy ignored the jibe. He eyed Nedxy with a smile on his lips that bordered on insolence. “I have hoped to meet you for some years, Lordxy Starkxy. No doubt Ladyxy Catelynxy has mentioned me to you.”
“She has,” Nedxy replied with a chill in his voice. The sly arrogance of the comment rankled him. “I understand you knew my brother Brandon as well.”
Renlyxy Baratheonxyxy laughed. Varysxy shuffled over to listen.
“Rather too well,” Littlefingerxy said. “I still carry a token of his esteem. Did Brandon speak of me too?”
“Often, and with some heat,” Nedxy said, hoping that would end it. He had no patience with this game they played, this dueling with words.
“I should have thought that heat ill suits you Starks,” Littlefingerxy said. “Here in the south, they say you are all made of ice, and melt when you ride below the Neckxy.”
“I do not plan on melting soon, Lordxy Baelishxy. You may count on it.” Nedxy moved to the council table and said, “Maesterxy Pycellexy, I trust you are well.”
The Grand Maesterxy smiled gently from his tall chair at the foot of the table. “Well enough for a man of my years, my lord,” he replied, “yet I do tire easily, I fear.” Wispy strands of white hair fringed the broad bald dome of his forehead above a kindly face. His maester’s collar was no simple metal choker such as Luwinxy wore, but two dozen heavy chains wound together into a ponderous metal necklace that covered him from throat to breast. The links were forged of every metal known to man: black iron and red gold, bright copper and dull lead, steel and tin and pale silver, brass and bronze and platinum. Garnets and amethysts and black pearls adorned the metal-work, and here and there an emerald or ruby. “Perhaps we might begin soon,” the Grand Maesterxy said, hands knitting together atop his broad stomach. “I fear I shall fall asleep if we wait much longer.”
“As you will.” The king’s seat sat empty at the head of the table, the crowned stag of Baratheonxy embroidered in gold thread on its pillows. Nedxy took the chair beside it, as the right hand of his king. “My lords,” he said formally, “I am sorry to have kept you waiting.”
“You are the Kingxy’s Handxy,” Varysxy said. “We serve at your pleasure, Lordxy Starkxy.”
As the others took their accustomed seats, it struck Eddardxy Starkxyxy forcefully that he did not belong here, in this room, with these men. He remembered what Robertxy had told him in the crypts below Winterfellxy. I am surrounded by flatterers and fools, the king had insisted. Nedxy looked down the council table and wondered which were the flatterers and which the fools. He thought he knew already. “We are but five,” he pointed out.
“Lordxy Stannisxy took himself to Dragonstonexy not long after the king went north,” Varysxy said, “and our gallant Ser Barristanxy no doubt rides beside the king as he makes his way through the city, as befits the Lordxy Commanderxy of the Kingsguardxyxy.”
“Perhaps we had best wait for Ser Barristanxy and the king to join us,” Nedxy suggested.
Renlyxy Baratheonxyxy laughed aloud. “If we wait for my brother to grace us with his royal presence, it could be a long sit.”
“Our good Kingxy Robertxyxy has many cares,” Varysxy said. “He entrusts some small matters to us, to lighten his load.”
“What Lordxy Varysxy means is that all this business of coin and crops and justice bores my royal brother to tears,” Lordxy Renlyxyxy said, “so it falls to us to govern the realm. He does send us a command from time to time.” He drew a tightly rolled paper from his sleeve and laid it on the table. “This morning he commanded me to ride ahead with all haste and ask Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy to convene this council at once. He has an urgent task for us.”
Littlefingerxy smiled and handed the paper to Nedxy. It bore the royal seal. Nedxy broke the wax with his thumb and flattened the letter to consider the king’s urgent command, reading the words with mounting disbelief. Was there no end to Robertxy’s folly? And to do this in his name, that was salt in the wound. “Godsxy be good,” he swore.
“What Lordxy Eddardxy means to say,” Lordxy Renlyxyxy announced, “is that His Grace instructs us to stage a great tournament in honor of his appointment as the Handxy of the Kingxyxy.”
“How much?” asked Littlefingerxy, mildly.
Nedxy read the answer off the letter. “Forty thousand golden dragons to the champion. Twenty thousand to the man who comes second, another twenty to the winner of the melee, and ten thousand to the victor of the archery competition.”
“Ninety thousand gold pieces,” Littlefingerxy sighed. “And we must not neglect the other costs. Robertxy will want a prodigious feast. That means cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, jugglers, fools …”
“Fools we have in plenty,” Lordxy Renlyxyxy said.
Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy looked to Littlefingerxy and asked, “Willxy the treasury bear the expense?”
“What treasury is that?” Littlefingerxy replied with a twist of his mouth. “Spare me the foolishness, Maesterxy. You know as well as I that the treasury has been empty for years. I shall have to borrow the money. No doubt the Lannistersxy will be accommodating. We owe Lordxy Tywinxyxy some three million dragons at present, what matter another hundred thousand?”
Nedxy was stunned. “Are you claiming that the Crownxy is three million gold pieces in debt?”
“The Crownxy is more than six million gold pieces in debt, Lordxy Starkxy. The Lannistersxy are the biggest part of it, but we have also borrowed from Lordxy Tyrellxy, the Iron Bankxy of Braavosxyxy, and several Tyroshixy trading cartels. Of late I’ve had to turn to the Faithxy. The High Septonxy haggles worse than a Dornish fishmonger.”
Nedxy was aghast. “Aerysxy Targaryenxyxy left a treasury flowing with gold. How could you let this happen?”
Littlefingerxy gave a shrug. “The master of coin finds the money. The king and the Handxy spend it.”
“I will not believe that Jon Arrynxyxy allowed Robertxy to beggar the realm,” Nedxy said hotly.
Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy shook his great bald head, his chains clinking softly. “Lordxy Arrynxy was a prudent man, but I fear that His Grace does not always listen to wise counsel.”
“My royal brother loves tournaments and feasts,” Renlyxy Baratheonxyxy said, “and he loathes what he calls ‘counting coppers.’”
“I will speak with His Grace,” Nedxy said. “This tourney is an extravagance the realm cannot afford.”
“Speak to him as you will,” Lordxy Renlyxyxy said, “we had still best make our plans.”
“Another day,” Nedxy said. Perhaps too sharply, from the looks they gave him. He would have to remember that he was no longer in Winterfellxy, where only the king stood higher; here, he was but first among equals. “Forgive me, my lords,” he said in a softer tone. “I am tired. Let us call a halt for today and resume when we are fresher.” He did not ask for their consent, but stood abruptly, nodded at them all, and made for the door.
Outside, wagons and riders were still pouring through the castle gates, and the yard was a chaos of mud and horseflesh and shouting men. The king had not yet arrived, he was told. Since the ugliness on the Tridentxy, the Starks and their household had ridden well ahead of the main column, the better to separate themselves from the Lannistersxy and the growing tension. Robertxy had hardly been seen; the talk was he was traveling in the huge wheelhouse, drunk as often as not. If so, he might be hours behind, but he would still be here too soon for Nedxy’s liking. He had only to look at Sansaxy’s face to feel the rage twisting inside him once again. The last fortnight of their journey had been a misery. Sansaxy blamed Aryaxy and told her that it should have been Nymeriaxy who died. And Aryaxy was lost after she heard what had happened to her butcher’s boy. Sansaxy cried herself to sleep, Aryaxy brooded silently all day long, and Eddardxy Starkxyxy dreamed of a frozen hell reserved for the Starks of Winterfellxy.
He crossed the outer yard, passed under a portcullis into the inner bailey, and was walking toward what he thought was the Tower of the Handxyxy when Littlefingerxy appeared in front of him. “You’re going the wrong way, Starkxy. Come with me.”
Hesitantly, Nedxy followed. Littlefingerxy led him into a tower, down a stair, across a small sunken courtyard, and along a deserted corridor where empty suits of armor stood sentinel along the walls. They were relics of the Targaryens, black steel with dragon scales cresting their helms, now dusty and forgotten. “This is not the way to my chambers,” Nedxy said.
“Did I say it was? I’m leading you to the dungeons to slit your throat and seal your corpse up behind a wall,” Littlefingerxy replied, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “We have no time for this, Starkxy. Your wife awaits.”
“What game are you playing, Littlefingerxy? Catelynxy is at Winterfellxy, hundreds of leagues from here.”
“Oh?” Littlefingerxy’s grey-green eyes glittered with amusement. “Then it appears someone has managed an astonishing impersonation. For the last time, come. Or don’t come, and I’ll keep her for myself.” He hurried down the steps.
Nedxy followed him warily, wondering if this day would ever end. He had no taste for these intrigues, but he was beginning to realize that they were meat and mead to a man like Littlefingerxy.
At the foot of the steps was a heavy door of oak and iron. Petyrxy Baelishxyxy lifted the crossbar and gestured Nedxy through. They stepped out into the ruddy glow of dusk, on a rocky bluff high above the river. “We’re outside the castle,” Nedxy said.
“You are a hard man to fool, Starkxy,” Littlefingerxy said with a smirk. “Was it the sun that gave it away, or the sky? Follow me. There are niches cut in the rock. Try not to fall to your death, Catelynxy would never understand.” With that, he was over the side of the cliff, descending as quick as a monkey.
Nedxy studied the rocky face of the bluff for a moment, then followed more slowly. The niches were there, as Littlefingerxy had promised, shallow cuts that would be invisible from below, unless you knew just where to look for them. The river was a long, dizzying distance below. Nedxy kept his face pressed to the rock and tried not to look down any more often than he had to.
When at last he reached the bottom, a narrow, muddy trail along the water’s edge, Littlefingerxy was lazing against a rock and eating an apple. He was almost down to the core. “You are growing old and slow, Starkxy,” he said, flipping the apple casually into the rushing water. “No matter, we ride the rest of the way.” He had two horses waiting. Nedxy mounted up and trotted behind him, down the trail and into the city.
Finally Baelishxy drew rein in front of a ramshackle building, three stories, timbered, its windows bright with lamplight in the gathering dusk. The sounds of music and raucous laughter drifted out and floated over the water. Beside the door swung an ornate oil lamp on a heavy chain, with a globe of leaded red glass.
Nedxy Starkxyxy dismounted in a fury. “A brothel,” he said as he seized Littlefingerxy by the shoulder and spun him around. “You’ve brought me all this way to take me to a brothel.”
“Your wife is inside,” Littlefingerxy said.
It was the final insult. “Brandon was too kind to you,” Nedxy said as he slammed the small man back against a wall and shoved his dagger up under the little pointed chin beard.
“My lord, no,” an urgent voice called out. “He speaks the truth.” There were footsteps behind him.
Nedxy spun, knife in hand, as an old white-haired man hurried toward them. He was dressed in brown roughspun, and the soft flesh under his chin wobbled as he ran. “This is no business of yours,” Nedxy began; then, suddenly, the recognition came. He lowered the dagger, astonished. “Ser Rodrikxy?”
Rodrikxy Casselxyxy nodded. “Your lady awaits you upstairs.”
Nedxy was lost. “Catelynxy is truly here? This is not some strange jape of Littlefingerxy’s?” He sheathed his blade.
“Would that it were, Starkxy,” Littlefingerxy said. “Follow me, and try to look a shade more lecherous and a shade less like the Kingxy’s Handxy. It would not do to have you recognized. Perhaps you could fondle a breast or two, just in passing.”
They went inside, through a crowded common room where a fat woman was singing bawdy songs while pretty young girls in linen shifts and wisps of colored silk pressed themselves against their lovers and dandled on their laps. No one paid Nedxy the least bit of attention. Ser Rodrikxy waited below while Littlefingerxy led him up to the third floor, along a corridor, and through a door.
Inside, Catelynxy was waiting. She cried out when she saw him, ran to him, and embraced him fiercely.
“My lady,” Nedxy whispered in wonderment.
“Oh, very good,” said Littlefingerxy, closing the door. “You recognized her.”
“I feared you’d never come, my lord,” she whispered against his chest. “Petyrxy has been bringing me reports. He told me of your troubles with Aryaxy and the young prince. How are my girls?”
“Both in mourning, and full of anger,” he told her. “Cat, I do not understand. What are you doing in Kingxy’s Landingxy? What’s happened?” Nedxy asked his wife. “Is it Branxy? Is he …” Dead was the word that came to his lips, but he could not say it.
“It is Branxy, but not as you think,” Catelynxy said.
Nedxy was lost. “Then how? Why are you here, my love? What is this place?”
“Just what it appears,” Littlefingerxy said, easing himself onto a window seat. “A brothel. Can you think of a less likely place to find a Catelynxy Tullyxyxy?” He smiled. “As it chances, I own this particular establishment, so arrangements were easily made. I am most anxious to keep the Lannistersxy from learning that Cat is here in Kingxy’s Landingxy.”
“Why?” Nedxy asked. He saw her hands then, the awkward way she held them, the raw red scars, the stiffness of the last two fingers on her left. “You’ve been hurt.” He took her hands in his own, turned them over. “Godsxy. Those are deep cuts … a gash from a sword or … how did this happen, my lady?”
Catelynxy slid a dagger out from under her cloak and placed it in his hand. “This blade was sent to open Branxy’s throat and spill his life’s blood.”
Nedxy’s head jerked up. “But … who … why would …”
She put a finger to his lips. “Let me tell it all, my love. It will go faster that way. Listen.”
So he listened, and she told it all, from the fire in the library tower to Varysxy and the guardsmen and Littlefingerxy. And when she was done, Eddardxy Starkxyxy sat dazed beside the table, the dagger in his hand. Branxy’s wolf had saved the boy’s life, he thought dully. What was it that Jon had said when they found the pups in the snow? Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord. And he had killed Sansaxy’s, and for what? Was it guilt he was feeling? Or fear? If the gods had sent these wolves, what folly had he done?
Painfully, Nedxy forced his thoughts back to the dagger and what it meant. “The Impxy’s dagger,” he repeated. It made no sense. His hand curled around the smooth dragonbone hilt, and he slammed the blade into the table, felt it bite into the wood. It stood mocking him. “Why should Tyrionxy Lannisterxyxy want Branxy dead? The boy has never done him harm.”
“Do you Starks have nought but snow between your ears?” Littlefingerxy asked. “The Impxy would never have acted alone.”
Nedxy rose and paced the length of the room. “If the queen had a role in this or, gods forbid, the king himself … no, I will not believe that.” Yet even as he said the words, he remembered that chill morning on the barrowlands, and Robertxy’s talk of sending hired knives after the Targaryenxy princess. He remembered Rhaegarxy’s infant son, the red ruin of his skull, and the way the king had turned away, as he had turned away in Darryxy’s audience hall not so long ago. He could still hear Sansaxy pleading, as Lyannaxy had pleaded once.
“Most likely the king did not know,” Littlefingerxy said. “It would not be the first time. Our good Robertxy is practiced at closing his eyes to things he would rather not see.”
Nedxy had no reply for that. The face of the butcher’s boy swam up before his eyes, cloven almost in two, and afterward the king had said not a word. His head was pounding.
Littlefingerxy sauntered over to the table, wrenched the knife from the wood. “The accusation is treason either way. Accuse the king and you will dance with Ilynxy Paynexyxy before the words are out of your mouth. The queen … if you can find proof, and if you can make Robertxy listen, then perhaps …”
“We have proof,” Nedxy said. “We have the dagger.”
“This?” Littlefingerxy flipped the knife casually end over end. “A sweet piece of steel, but it cuts two ways, my lord. The Impxy will no doubt swear the blade was lost or stolen while he was at Winterfellxy, and with his hireling dead, who is there to give him the lie?” He tossed the knife lightly to Nedxy. “My counsel is to drop that in the river and forget that it was ever forged.”
Nedxy regarded him coldly. “Lordxy Baelishxy, I am a Starkxy of Winterfellxy. My son lies crippled, perhaps dying. He would be dead, and Catelynxy with him, but for a wolf pup we found in the snow. If you truly believe I could forget that, you are as big a fool now as when you took up sword against my brother.”
“A fool I may be, Starkxy … yet I’m still here, while your brother has been moldering in his frozen grave for some fourteen years now. If you are so eager to molder beside him, far be it from me to dissuade you, but I would rather not be included in the party, thank you very much.”
“You would be the last man I would willingly include in any party, Lordxy Baelishxy.”
“You wound me deeply.” Littlefingerxy placed a hand over his heart. “For my part, I always found you Starks a tiresome lot, but Cat seems to have become attached to you, for reasons I cannot comprehend. I shall try to keep you alive for her sake. A fool’s task, admittedly, but I could never refuse your wife anything.”
“I told Petyrxy our suspicions about Jon Arrynxyxy’s death,” Catelynxy said. “He has promised to help you find the truth.”
That was not news that Eddardxy Starkxyxy welcomed, but it was true enough that they needed help, and Littlefingerxy had been almost a brother to Cat once. It would not be the first time that Nedxy had been forced to make common cause with a man he despised. “Very well,” he said, thrusting the dagger into his belt. “You spoke of Varysxy. Does the eunuch know all of it?”
“Not from my lips,” Catelynxy said. “You did not wed a fool, Eddardxy Starkxyxy. But Varysxy has ways of learning things that no man could know. He has some dark art, Nedxy, I swear it.”
“He has spies, that is well known,” Nedxy said, dismissive.
“It is more than that,” Catelynxy insisted. “Ser Rodrikxy spoke to Ser Aron Santagarxyxy in all secrecy, yet somehow the Spider knew of their conversation. I fear that man.”
Littlefingerxy smiled. “Leave Lordxy Varysxy to me, sweet lady. If you will permit me a small obscenity—and where better for it than here—I hold the man’s balls in the palm of my hand.” He cupped his fingers, smiling. “Or would, if he were a man, or had any balls. You see, if the pie is opened, the birds begin to sing, and Varysxy would not like that. Were I you, I would worry more about the Lannistersxy and less about the eunuch.”
Nedxy did not need Littlefingerxy to tell him that. He was thinking back to the day Aryaxy had been found, to the look on the queen’s face when she said, We have a wolf, so soft and quiet. He was thinking of the boy Mycahxy, of Jon Arrynxyxy’s sudden death, of Branxy’s fall, of old mad Aerysxy Targaryenxyxy dying on the floor of his throne room while his life’s blood dried on a gilded blade. “My lady,” he said, turning to Catelynxy, “there is nothing more you can do here. I want you to return to Winterfellxy at once. If there was one assassin, there could be others. Whoever ordered Branxy’s death will learn soon enough that the boy still lives.”
“I had hoped to see the girls …” Catelynxy said.
“That would be most unwise,” Littlefingerxy put in. “The Redxy Keepxyxyxy is full of curious eyes, and children talk.”
“He speaks truly, my love,” Nedxy told her. He embraced her. “Take Ser Rodrikxy and ride for Winterfellxy. I will watch over the girls. Go home to our sons and keep them safe.”
“As you say, my lord.” Catelynxy lifted her face, and Nedxy kissed her. Her maimed fingers clutched against his back with a desperate strength, as if to hold him safe forever in the shelter of her arms.
“Would the lord and lady like the use of a bedchamber?” asked Littlefingerxy. “I should warn you, Starkxy, we usually charge for that sort of thing around here.”
“A moment alone, that’s all I ask,” Catelynxy said.
“Very well.” Littlefingerxy strolled to the door. “Don’t be too long. It is past time the Handxy and I returned to the castle, before our absence is noted.”
Catelynxy went to him and took his hands in her own. “I will not forget the help you gave me, Petyrxy. When your men came for me, I did not know whether they were taking me to a friend or an enemy. I have found you more than a friend. I have found a brother I’d thought lost.”
Petyrxy Baelishxyxy smiled. “I am desperately sentimental, sweet lady. Best not tell anyone. I have spent years convincing the court that I am wicked and cruel, and I should hate to see all that hard work go for naught.”
Nedxy believed not a word of that, but he kept his voice polite as he said, “You have my thanks as well, Lordxy Baelishxy.”
“Oh, now there’s a treasure,” Littlefingerxy said, exiting.
When the door had closed behind him, Nedxy turned back to his wife. “Once you are home, send word to Helman Tallhartxyxy and Galbart Gloverxyxy under my seal. They are to raise a hundred bowmen each and fortify Moat Cailinxy. Two hundred determined archers can hold the Neckxy against an army. Instruct Lordxy Manderlyxy that he is to strengthen and repair all his defenses at White Harborxyxy, and see that they are well manned. And from this day on, I want a careful watch kept over Theonxy Greyjoyxyxy. If there is war, we shall have sore need of his father’s fleet.”
“War?” The fear was plain on Catelynxy’s face.
“It will not come to that,” Nedxy promised her, praying it was true. He took her in his arms again. “The Lannistersxy are merciless in the face of weakness, as Aerysxy Targaryenxyxy learned to his sorrow, but they would not dare attack the north without all the power of the realm behind them, and that they shall not have. I must play out this fool’s masquerade as if nothing is amiss. Remember why I came here, my love. If I find proof that the Lannistersxy murdered Jon Arrynxyxy …”
He felt Catelynxy tremble in his arms. Her scarred hands clung to him. “If,” she said, “what then, my love?”
That was the most dangerous part, Nedxy knew. “All justice flows from the king,” he told her. “When I know the truth, I must go to Robertxy.” And pray that he is the man I think he is, he finished silently, and not the man I fear he has become.