Petyr was not at the quintains, nor anywhere in the yard, but as she turned to go a womanas voice called out. aAlayne!a cried Myranda Royce, from a carved stone bench beneath a beech tree, where she was seated between two men. She looked in need of rescue. Smiling, Alayne walked toward her friend.
Myranda was wearing a grey woolen dress, a green hooded cloak, and a rather desperate look. On either side of her sat a knight. The one on her right had a grizzled beard, a bald head, and a belly that spilled over his swordbelt where his lap should have been. The one on her left was no more than eighteen, and skinny as a spear. His ginger-colored whiskers only partially served to disguise the angry red pimples that dotted his face.
The bald knight wore a dark blue surcoat emblazoned with a huge pair of pink lips. The pimply-gingerlad countered with nine white seagulls on a field of brown, which marked him for a Shett of Gulltown. He was staring so intently at Myrandaas b.r.e.a.s.t.s that he hardly noticed Alayne until Myranda rose to hug her. aThank you, thank you, thank you a Randa whispered in her ear, before she turned to say, aSers, may I present you the Lady Alayne Stone?a aThe Lord Protectoras daughter,a the bald knight announced, all hearty gallantry. He rose ponderously. aAnd full as lovely as the tales told of her, I see.a Not to be outdone, the pimply knight hopped up and said, aSer Ossifer speaks truly, you are the most beautiful maid in all the Seven Kingdoms.a It might have been a sweeter courtesy had he not addressed it to her chest.
aAnd have you seen all those maids yourself, ser?a Alayne asked him. aYou are young to be so widely travelled.a He blushed, which only made his pimples look angrier. aNo, my lady. I am from Gulltown.a And I am not, though Alayne was born there. She would need to be careful around this one. aI remember Gulltown fondly,a she told him, with a smile as vague as it was pleasant. To Myranda she said, aDo you know where my fatheras gotten to, perchance?a aLet me take you to him, my lady.a aI do hope you will forgive me for depriving you of Lady Myrandaas company,a Alayne told the knights. She did not wait for a reply, but took the older girl arm-in-arm and drew her away from the bench. Only when they were out of earshot did she whisper, aDo you really know where my father is?a aOf course not. Walk faster, my new suitors may be following.a Myranda made a face. aOssifer Lipps is the dullest knight in the Vale, but Uther Shett aspires to his laurels. I am praying they fight a duel for my hand, and kill each other.a Alayne giggled. aSurely Lord Nestor would not seriously entertain a suit from such men.a aOh, he might. My lord father is annoyed with me for killing my last husband and putting him to all this trouble.a aIt was not your fault he died.a aThere was no one else in the bed that I recall.a Alayne could not help but shutter. Myrandaas husband had died when he was making love with her. aThose Sistermen who came in yesterday were gallant,a she said, to change the subject. aIf you donat like Ser Ossifer or Ser Uther, marry one of them instead. I thought the youngest one was very handsome.a aThe one in the sealskin cloak?a Randa said, incredulous.
aOne of his brothers, then.a Myranda rolled her eyes. aTheyare from the Sisters. Did you ever know a Sisterman who could joust? They clean their swords with codfish oil and wash in tubs of cold seawater.a aWell,a Alayne said, aat least theyare clean.a aSome of them have webs between their toes. Iad sooner marry Lord Petyr. Then Iad be your mother. How little is his finger, I ask you?a Alayne did not dignify that question with an answer. aLady Waynwood will be here soon, with her sons.a aIs that a promise or a threat?a Myranda said. aThe first Lady Waynwood must have been a mare, I think. How else to explain why all the Waynwood men are horse-faced? If I were ever to wed a Waynwood, he would have to swear a vow to don his helm whenever he wished to f.u.c.k me, and keep the visor closed.a She gave Alayne a pinch on the arm. aMy Harry will be with them, though. I notice that you left him out. I shall never forgive you for stealing him away from me. Heas the boy I want to marry.a aThe betrothal was my fatheras doing,a Alayne protested, as she had a hundred times before. She is only teasing, she told herselfa but behind the j.a.pes, she could hear the hurt.
Myranda stopped to gaze across the yard at the knights at their practice. aNow thereas the very sort of husband I need.a A few feet away, two knights were fighting with blunted practice swords. Their blades crashed together twice, then slipped past each other only to be blocked by upraised shields, but the bigger man gave ground at the impact. Alayne could not see the front of his shield from where she stood, but his attacker bore three ravens in flight, each clutching a red heart in its claws. Three hearts and three ravens.
She knew right then how the fight would end.
A few moments later and the big man sprawled dazed in the dust with his helm askew. When his squire undid the fastenings to bare his head, there was blood trickling down his scalp. If the swords had not been blunted, there would be brains as well. That last head blow had been so hard Alayne had winced in sympathy when it fell. Myranda Royce considered the victor thoughtfully. aDo you think if I asked nicely Ser Lyn would kill my suitors for me?a aHe might, for a plump bag of gold.a Ser Lyn Corbray was forever desperately short of coin, all the Vale knew that.
aAlas, all I have is a plump pair of teats. Though with Ser Lyn, a plump sausage under my skirts would serve me better.a Alayneas giggle drew Corbrayas attention. He handed his shield to his loutish squire, removed his helm and quilted coif. aLadies.a His long brown hair was plastered to his brow by sweat.
aWell struck, Ser Lyn,a Alayne called out. aThough I fear youave knocked poor Ser Owen insensible.a Corbray glanced back to where his foe was being helped from the yard by his squire. aHe had no sense to start with, or he should not have tried me.a There is truth in that, Alayne thought, but some demon of mischief was in her that morning, so she gave Ser Lyn a thrust of her own. Smiling sweetly, she said, aMy lord father tells me your brotheras new wife is with child.a Corbray gave her a dark look. aLyonel sends his regrets. He remains at Heartas Home with his peddleras daughter, watching her belly swell as if he were the first man who ever got a wench pregnant.a Oh, thatas an open wound, thought Alayne. Lyonel Corbrayas first wife had given him nothing but a frail, sickly babe who died in infancy, and during all those years Ser Lyn had remained his brotheras heir. When the poor woman finally died, however, Petyr Baelish had stepped in and brokered a new marriage for Lord Corbray. The second Lady Corbray was sixteen, the daughter of a wealthy Gulltown merchant, but she had come with an immense dowry, and men said she was a tall, strapping, healthy girl, with big b.r.e.a.s.t.s and good, wide hips. And fertile too, it seems.
aWe are all praying that the Mother grants Lady Corbray an easy labor and a healthy child,a said Myranda.
Alayne could not help herself. She smiled and said, aMy father is always pleased to be of service to one of Lord Robertas leal bannermen. Iam sure he would be most delighted to help broker a marriage for you as well, Ser Lyn.a aHow kind of him.a Corbrayas lips drew back in something that might have been meant as a smile, though it gave Alayne a chill. aBut what need have I for heirs when I am landless and like to remain so, thanks to our Lord Protector? No. Tell your lord father I need none of his brood mares.a The venom in his voice was so thick that for a moment she almost forgot that Lyn Corbray was actually her fatheras catspaw, bought and paid for. Or was he? Perhaps, instead of being Petyras man pretending to be Petyras foe, he was actually his foe pretending to be his man pretending to be his foe.
Just thinking about it was enough to make her head spin. Alayne turned abruptly from the yarda and b.u.mped into a short, sharp-faced man with a brush of orange hair who had come up behind her. His hand shot out and caught her arm before she could fall. aMy lady. My pardons if I took you unawares.a aThe fault was mine. I did not see you standing there.a aWe mice are quiet creatures.a Ser Shadrich was so short that he might have been taken for a squire, but his face belonged to a much older man. She saw long leagues in the wrinkles at the corner of his mouth, old battles in the scar beneath his ear, and a hardness behind the eyes that no boy would ever have. This was a man grown. Even Randa overtopped him, though.
aWill you be seeking wings?a the Royce girl said.
aA mouse with wings would be a silly sight.a aPerhaps you will try the melee instead?a Alayne suggested. The melee was an afterthought, a sop for all the brothers, uncles, fathers, and friends who had accompanied the compet.i.tors to the Gates of the Moon to see them win their silver wings, but there would be prizes for the champions, and a chance to win ransoms.
aA good melee is all a hedge knight can hope for, unless he stumbles on a bag of dragons. And thatas not likely, is it?a aI suppose not. But now you must excuse us, ser, we need to find my lord father. a Horns sounded from atop the wall. aToo late,a Myranda said. aTheyare here. We shall need to do the honors by ourselves.a She grinned. aLast one to the gate must marry Uther Shett.a They made a race of it, dashing headlong across the yard and past the stables, skirts flapping, whilst knights and serving men alike looked on, and pigs and chickens scattered before them. It was most unladylike, but Alayne sound found herself laughing. For just a little while, as she ran, she forget who she was, and where, and found herself remembering bright cold days at Winterfell, when she would race through Winterfell with her friend Jeyne Poole, with Arya running after them trying to keep up.
By the time they arrived at the gatehouse, both of them were red-faced and panting. Myranda had lost her cloak somewhere along the way. They were just in time. The portcullis had been raised, and a column of riders twenty strong were pa.s.sing underneath. At their head rode Anya Waynwood, Lady of Ironoaks, stern and slim, her grey-brown hair bound up in a scarf. Her riding cloak was heavy green wool trimmed with brown fur, and clasped at the throat by a niello brooch in the shape of the broken wheel of her House.
Myranda Royce stepped forward and sketched a curtsy. aLady Anya. Welcome to the Gates of the Moon.a aLady Myranda. Lady Alayne.a Anya Waynwood inclined her head to each of them in turn. aIt is good of you to greet us. Allow me to present my grandson, Ser Roland Waynwood.a She nodded at the knight who had spoken. aAnd this is my youngest son, Ser Wallace Waynwood. And of course my ward, Ser Harrold Hardyng.a Harry the Heir, Alayne thought. My husband-to-be, if he will have me. A sudden terror filled her. She wondered if her face was red. Donat stare at him, she reminded herself, donat stare, donat gape, donat gawk. Look away. Her hair must be a frightful mess after all that running. It took all her will to stop herself from trying to tuck the loose strands back into place. Never mind your stupid hair. Your hair doesnat matter. Itas him that matters. Him, and the Waynwoods.
Ser Roland was the oldest of the three, though no more than five-and-twenty. He was taller and more muscular than Ser Wallace, but both were long-faced and lantern-jawed, with stringy brown hair and pinched noses. Horsefaced and homely, Alayne thought.
Harry, thougha My Harry. My lord, my lover, my betrothed.
Ser Harrold Hardyng looked every inch a lord-in-waiting; clean-limbed and handsome, straight as a lance, hard with muscle. Men old enough to have known Jon Arryn in his youth said Ser Harrold had his look, she knew. He had a mop of sandy blond hair, pale blue eyes, an aquiline nose. Joffrey was comely too, though, she reminded herself. A comely monster, thatas what he was. Little Lord Tyrion was kinder, twisted though he was.
Harry was staring at her. He knows who I am, she realized, and he does not seem pleased to see me. It was only then that she took note of his heraldry. Though his surcoat and horse trappings were patterned in the red-and-white diamonds of House Hardyng, his shield was quartered. The arms of Hardyng and Waynwood were displayed in the first and third quarters, respectively, but in the second and fourth quarters he bore the moon-and-falcon of House Arryn, sky blue and cream. Sweetrobin will not like that.
Ser Wallace said, aAre we the l-l-last?a aYou are, sers,a replied Myranda Royce, taking absolutely no notice of his stammer.
aWh-wh-when will the t-t-tilts commence?a aOh, soon, I pray,a said Randa. aSome of the compet.i.tors have been here for almost a moonas turn, partaking of my fatheras meat and mead. All good fellows, and very bravea but they do eat rather a lot.a The Waynwoods laughed, and even Harry the Heir cracked a thin smile. aIt was snowing in the pa.s.ses, else we would have been here sooner,a said Lady Anya.
aHad we known such beauty awaited us at the Gates, we would have flown,a Ser Roland said. Though his words were addressed to Myranda Royce, he smiled at Alayne as he said them.
aTo fly you would need wings,a Randa replied, aand there are some knights here who might have a thing to say concerning that.a aI look forward to a spirited discussion.a Ser Roland swung down from his horse, turned to Alayne, and smiled. aI had heard that Lord Littlefingeras daughter was fair of face and full of grace, but no one ever told me that she was a thief.a aYou wrong me, ser. I am no thief!a Ser Roland placed his hand over his heart. aThen how do you explain this hole in my chest, from where you stole my heart?a aHe is only t-teasing you, my lady,a stammered Ser Wallace. aMy n-n-nephew never had a h-h-heart.a aThe Waynwood wheel has a broken spoke, and we have my nuncle here.a Ser Roland gave Wallace a whap behind the ear. aSquires should be quiet when knights are speaking.a Ser Wallace reddened. aI am no more a s-squire, my lady. My n-nephew knows full well that I was k-k-kni-k-k-kni a"a aDubbed?a Alayne suggested gently.
aDubbed,a said Wallace Waynwood, gratefully.
Robb would be his age, if he were still alive, she could not help but think, but Robb died a king, and this is just a boy.
aMy lord father has a.s.signed you rooms in the East Tower,a Lady Myranda was telling Lady Waynwood, abut I fear your knights will need to share a bed. The Gates of the Moon were never meant to house so many n.o.ble visitors.a aYou are in the Falcon Tower, Ser Harrold,a Alayne put in. Far away from Sweetrobin. That was intentional, she knew. Petyr Baelish did not leave such things to chance. aIf it please you, I will show you to your chambers myself.a This time her eyes met Harryas. She smiled just for him, and said a silent prayer to the Maiden. Please, he doesnat need to love me, just make him like me, just a little, that would be enough for now.
Ser Harrold looked down at her coldly. aWhy should it please me to be escorted anywhere by Littlefingeras b.a.s.t.a.r.d?a All three Waynwoods looked at him askance. aYou are a guest here, Harry,a Lady Anya reminded him, in a frosty voice. aSee that you remember that.a A ladyas armor is her courtesy. Alayne could feel the blood rushing to her face. No tears, she prayed. Please, please, I must not cry. aAs you wish, ser. And now if you will excuse me, Littlefingeras b.a.s.t.a.r.d must find her lord father and let him know that you have come, so we can begin the tourney on the morrow.a And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. She showed the Waynwoods a stone face as they blurted out awkward apologies for their companion. When they were done she turned and fled.
Near the keep, she ran headlong into Ser Lothor Brune and almost knocked him off his feet. aHarry the Heir? Harry the a.r.s.e, I say. Heas just some upjumped squire.a Alayne was so grateful that she hugged him. aThank you. Have you seen my father, ser?a aDown in the vaults, a Ser Lothar said, ainspecting Lord Nestoras granaries with Lord Grafton and Lord Belmore.a The vaults were large and dark and filthy. Alayne lit a taper and clutched her skirt as she made the descent. Near the bottom, she heard Lord Graftonas booming voice, and followed.aThe merchants are clamoring to buy, and the lords are clamoring to sell,a the Gulltowner was saying when she found them. Though not a tall man, Grafton was wide, with thick arms and shoulders. His hair was a dirty blond mop. aHow am I to stop that, my lord?a aPost guardsmen on the docks. If need be, seize the ships. How does not matter, so long as no food leaves the Vale. a aThese prices, though,a protested fat Lord Belmore,a these prices are more than fair.a aYou say more than fair, my lord. I say less than we would wish. Wait. If need be, buy the food yourself and keep it stored. Winter is coming. Prices must go higher.a aPerhaps,a said Belmore, doubtfully.
aBronze Yohn will not wait, a Grafton complained. aHe need not ship through Gulltown, he has his own ports. Whilst we are h.o.a.rding our harvest, Royce and the other Lords Declarant will turn theirs into silver, you may be sure of that.a aLet us hope so,a said Petyr. aWhen their granaries are empty, they will need every sc.r.a.p of that silver to buy sustenance from us. And now if you will excuse me, my lord, it would seem my daughter has need of me.a aLady Alayne,a Lord Grafton said. aYou look bright-eyed this morning.a aYou are kind to say so, my lord. Father, I am sorry to disturb you, but I thought you would want to know that the Waynwoods have arrived.a aAnd is Ser Harrold with them?a Horrible Ser Harrold. a He is.a Lord Belmore laughed. aI never thought Royce would let him come. Is he blind, or merely stupid?a aHe is honorable. Sometimes it amounts to the same thing. If he denied the lad the chance to prove himself, it could create a rift between them, so why not let him tilt? The boy is nowise skilled enough to win a place amongst the Winged Knights.a aI suppose not,a said Belmore, grudgingly. Lord Grafton kissed Alayne on the hand, and the two lords went off, leaving her alone with her lord father.
aCome,a Petyr said, awalk with me.a He took her by the arm and led her deeper into the vaults, past an empty dungeon. aAnd how was your first meeting with Harry the Heir?a aHeas horrible.a aThe world is full of horrors, sweet. By now you ought to know that. Youave seen enough of them.a aYes,a she said, abut why must he be so cruel? He called me your b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Right in the yard, in front of everyone.a aSo far as he knows, thatas who you are. This betrothal was never his idea, and Bronze Yohn has no doubt warned him against my wiles. You are my daughter. He does not trust you, and he believes that youare beneath him.a aWell, Iam not. He may think heas some great knight, but Ser Lothor says heas just some upjumped squire.a Petyr put his arm around her. aSo he is, but he is Robertas heir as well. Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that. He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours? Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him.a aI donat know how,a she said miserably.
aOh, I think you do,a said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes. aYou will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age. I cannot seat you on the dais, but youall have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce. The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are. Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling. You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor.a aWho would ask to wear a b.a.s.t.a.r.das favor?a aHarry, if he has the wits the G.o.ds gave a goosea but do not give it to him. Choose some other gallant, and favor him instead. You do not want to seem too eager.a aNo,a Alayne said.
aLady Waynwood will insist that Harry dance with you, I can promise you that much. That will be your chance. Smile at the boy. Touch him when you speak. Tease him, to pique his pride. If he seems to be responding, tell him that you are feeling faint, and ask him to take you outside for a breath of fresh air. No knight could refuse such a request from a fair maiden.a aYes,a she said, abut he thinks that Iam a b.a.s.t.a.r.d.a aA beautiful b.a.s.t.a.r.d, and the Lord Protectoras daughter.a Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks. aThe night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always.a aIall try, father,a she said.
The feast proved to be everything her father promised.
Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four compet.i.tors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peac.o.c.ks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestoras hall, and ma.s.sive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults. The b.u.t.ter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips. And best of all, Lord Nestoras cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giantas Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.
For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out. Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites. The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more.
There were gifts as well, splendid gifts. Each of the compet.i.tors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falconas wings. Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt. For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.
aLord Nestor has an open hand,a Alayne heard Ser Edmund Breakstone say. aAn open hand and a little finger,a Lady Waynwood replied, with a nod toward Petyr Baelish. Breakstone was not slow to take her meaning. The true source of this largesse was not Lord Nestor, but the Lord Protector.
When the last course had been served and cleared, the tables were lifted from their trestles to clear the floor for dancing, and musicians were brought in.
aAre there no singers?a asked Ben Coldwater.
aThe little lord cannot abide them,a Ser Lymond Lynderly replied. aNot since Marillion.a aAha that was the man who murdered Lady Lysa, yes?a Alayne spoke up. aHis singing pleased her greatly, and she showed him too much favor, perhaps. When she wed my father he went mad and pushed her out the Moon Door. Lord Robert has hated singing ever since. He is still fond of music, though.a aAs am I,a Coldwater said. Rising, he offered Alayne his hand. aWould you honor me with this dance, my lady?a aYouare very kind,a she said, as he led her to the floor.
He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last. Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor. After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse. Then Ser Albar Royce, Myrandaas stout dull brother and Lord Nestoras heir. She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes. Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy. After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall. His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come. Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarra.s.sment. When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.
And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling. aLady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?a She considered for a moment. aNo. I donat think so.a Color rose to his cheeks. aI was unforgiveably rude to you in the yard. You must forgive me.a aMust?a She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait. aHow can you forgive someone who is unforgiveably rude? Will you explain that to me, ser?a Ser Harrold looked confused. aPlease. One dance.a Charm him. Entrance him. Bewitch him. aIf you insist.a He nodded, offered his arm, led her out onto the floor. As they waited for the music to resume, Alayne glanced at the dais, where Lord Robert sat staring at them. Please, she prayed, donat let him start to twitch and shake. Not here. Not now. Maester Coleman would have made certain that he drank a strong dose of sweetmilk before the feast, but even so.
Then the musicians took up a tune, and she was dancing.
Say something, she urged herself. You will never make Ser Harry love you if you donat have the courage to talk him. Should she tell him what a good dancer he was? No, heas probably heard that a dozen times tonight. Besides, Petyr said that I should not seem eager. Instead she said, aI have heard that you are about to be a father.a It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie.
aFor the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old.a Your b.a.s.t.a.r.d daughter Alys, Alayne thought, but what she said was, aThat one had a different mother, though.a aYes. Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms. It is different with Saffron.a aSaffron?a Alayne tried not to laugh. aTruly?a Ser Harrold had the grace to blush. aHer father says she is more precious to him than gold. Heas rich, the richest man in Gulltown. A fortune in spices.a aWhat will you name the babe?a she asked. aCinnamon if sheas a girl? Cloves if heas a boy?a That almost made him stumble. aMy lady j.a.pes.a aOh, no.a Petyr will howl when I tell him what I said.
aSaffron is very beautiful, Iall have you know. Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey.a Alayne raised her head. aMore beautiful than me?a Ser Harrold studied her face. aYou are comely enough, I grant you. When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father.a aLittle pointy beard and all?a Alayne laughed.
aI never meanta a aI hope you joust better than you talk.a For a moment he looked shocked. But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh. aNo one told me you were clever.a He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white. And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples. She ran one finger down his cheek. aShould we ever wed, youall have to send Saffron back to her father. Iall be all the spice youall want.a He grinned. aI will hold you to that promise, my lady. Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?a aYou may not. It is promised toa another.a She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.
Table of Contents.
THEON.
ARIANNE.
BARRISTAN.
TYRION.
MERCY.
ALAYNE.
end.