“Pain is a gift from the gods, Lord Eddard,” Grand Maester Pycelle told him. “It means the boneis knitting, the flesh healing itself. Be thankful.”

“I will be thankful when my leg stops throbbing.”

Pycelle set a stoppered flask on the table by the bed. “The milk of the poppy, for when the paingrows too onerous.”

“I sleep too much already.”

“Sleep is the great healer.”

“I had hoped that was you.”

Pycelle smiled wanly. “It is good to see you in such a fierce humor, my lord.” He leaned close andlowered his voice. “There was a raven this morning, a letter for the queen from her lord father. Ithought you had best know.”

“Dark wings, dark words,” Ned said grimly. “What of it?”

“Lord Tywin is greatly wroth about the men you sent after Ser Gregor Clegane,” the maesterconfided. “I feared he would be. You will recall, I said as much in council.”

“Let him be wroth,” Ned said. Every time his leg throbbed, he remembered Jaime Lannister’ssmile, and Jory dead in his arms. “Let him write all the letters to the queen he likes. Lord Beric ridesbeneath the king’s own banner. If Lord Tywin attempts to interfere with the king’s justice, he willhave Robert to answer to. The only thing His Grace enjoys more than hunting is making war on lordswho defy him.”

Pycelle pulled back, his maester’s chain jangling. “As you say. I shall visit again on the morrow.”

The old man hurriedly gathered up his things and took his leave. Ned had little doubt that he wasbound straight for the royal apartments, to whisper at the queen. I thought you had best know,indeed … as if Cersei had not instructed him to pass along her father’s threats. He hoped his responserattled those perfect teeth of hers. Ned was not near as confident of Robert as he pretended, but therewas no reason Cersei need know that.

When Pycelle was gone, Ned called for a cup of honeyed wine. That clouded the mind as well, yetnot as badly. He needed to be able to think. A thousand times, he asked himself what Jon Arryn mighthave done, had he lived long enough to act on what he’d learned. Or perhaps he had acted, and diedfor it.

It was queer how sometimes a child’s innocent eyes can see things that grown men are blind to.

Someday, when Sansa was grown, he would have to tell her how she had made it all come clear forhim. He’s not the least bit like that old drunken king, she had declared, angry and unknowing, and thesimple truth of it had twisted inside him, cold as death. This was the sword that killed Jon Arryn, Nedthought then, and it will kill Robert as well, a slower death but full as certain. Shattered legs may healin time, but some betrayals fester and poison the soul.

Littlefinger came calling an hour after the Grand Maester had left, clad in a plum-colored doubletwith a mockingbird embroidered on the breast in black thread, and a striped cloak of black and white.

“I cannot visit long, my lord,” he announced. “Lady Tanda expects me to lunch with her. No doubtshe will roast me a fatted calf. If it’s near as fatted as her daughter, I’m like to rupture and die. Andhow is your leg?”

“Inflamed and painful, with an itch that is driving me mad.”

Littlefinger lifted an eyebrow. “In future, try not to let any horses fall on it. I would urge you toheal quickly. The realm grows restive. Varys has heard ominous whispers from the west. Freeridersand sellswords have been flocking to Casterly Rock, and not for the thin pleasure of Lord Tywin’sconversation.”

“Is there word of the king?” Ned demanded. “Just how long does Robert intend to hunt?”

“Given his preferences, I believe he’d stay in the forest until you and the queen both die of oldage,” Lord Petyr replied with a faint smile. “Lacking that, I imagine he’ll return as soon as he’s killedsomething. They found the white hart, it seems … or rather, what remained of it. Some wolves foundit first, and left His Grace scarcely more than a hoof and a horn. Robert was in a fury, until he heardtalk of some monstrous boar deeper in the forest. Then nothing would do but he must have it. PrinceJoffrey returned this morning, with the Royces, Ser Balon Swann, and some twenty others of theparty. The rest are still with the king.”

“The Hound?” Ned asked, frowning. Of all the Lannister party, Sandor Clegane was the one whoconcerned him the most, now that Ser Jaime had fled the city to join his father.

“Oh, returned with Joffrey, and went straight to the queen.” Littlefinger smiled. “I would havegiven a hundred silver stags to have been a roach in the rushes when he learned that Lord Beric wasoff to behead his brother.”

“Even a blind man could see the Hound loathed his brother.”

“Ah, but Gregor was his to loathe, not yours to kill. Once Dondarrion lops the summit off ourMountain, the Clegane lands and incomes will pass to Sandor, but I wouldn’t hold my water waitingfor his thanks, not that one. And now you must forgive me. Lady Tanda awaits with her fattedcalves.”

On the way to the door, Lord Petyr spied Grand Maester Malleon’s massive tome on the table andpaused to idly flip open the cover. “The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the SevenKingdoms, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children,” he read.

“Now there is tedious reading if ever I saw it. A sleeping potion, my lord?”

For a brief moment Ned considered telling him all of it, but there was something in Littlefinger’sjapes that irked him. The man was too clever by half, a mocking smile never far from his lips. “JonArryn was studying this volume when he was taken sick,” Ned said in a careful tone, to see how hemight respond.

And he responded as he always did: with a quip. “In that case,” he said, “death must have come asa blessed relief.” Lord Petyr Baelish bowed and took his leave.

Eddard Stark allowed himself a curse. Aside from his own retainers, there was scarcely a man inthis city he trusted. Littlefinger had concealed Catelyn and helped Ned in his inquiries, yet his haste tosave his own skin when Jaime and his swords had come out of the rain still rankled. Varys was worse.

For all his protestations of loyalty, the eunuch knew too much and did too little. Grand MaesterPycelle seemed more Cersei’s creature with every passing day, and Ser Barristan was an old man, andrigid. He would tell Ned to do his duty.

Time was perilously short. The king would return from his hunt soon, and honor would require Nedto go to him with all he had learned. Vayon Poole had arranged for Sansa and Arya to sail on theWind Witch out of Braavos, three days hence. They would be back at Winterfell before the harvest.

Ned could no longer use his concern for their safety to excuse his delay.

Yet last night he had dreamt of Rhaegar’s children. Lord Tywin had laid the bodies beneath theIron Throne, wrapped in the crimson cloaks of his house guard. That was clever of him; the blood didnot show so badly against the red cloth. The little princess had been barefoot, still dressed in her bedgown, and the boy … the boy …Ned could not let that happen again. The realm could not withstand a second mad king, anotherdance of blood and vengeance. He must find some way to save the children.

Robert could be merciful. Ser Barristan was scarcely the only man he had pardoned. Grand MaesterPycelle, Varys the Spider, Lord Balon Greyjoy; each had been counted an enemy to Robert once, andeach had been welcomed into friendship and allowed to retain honors and office for a pledge of fealty.

So long as a man was brave and honest, Robert would treat him with all the honor and respect due avaliant enemy.

This was something else: poison in the dark, a knife thrust to the soul. This he could never forgive,no more than he had forgiven Rhaegar. He will kill them all, Ned realized.

And yet, he knew he could not keep silent. He had a duty to Robert, to the realm, to the shade ofJon Arryn … and to Bran, who surely must have stumbled on some part of the truth. Why else wouldthey have tried to slay him?

fJon Arryn … and to Bran, who surely must have stumbled on some part of the truth. Why else wouldthey have tried to slay him?

Late that afternoon he summoned Tomard, the portly guardsman with the ginger-colored whiskershis children called Fat Tom. With Jory dead and Alyn gone, Fat Tom had command of his householdguard. The thought filled Ned with vague disquiet. Tomard was a solid man; affable, loyal, tireless,capable in a limited way, but he was near fifty, and even in his youth he had never been energetic.

Perhaps Ned should not have been so quick to send off half his guard, and all his best swords amongthem.

“I shall require your help,” Ned said when Tomard appeared, looking faintly apprehensive, as healways did when called before his lord. “Take me to the godswood.”

“Is that wise, Lord Eddard? With your leg and all?”

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