They came for Sansa on the third day.

She chose a simple dress of dark grey wool, plainly cut but richly embroidered around the collarand sleeves. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she struggled with the silver fastenings without thebenefit of servants. Jeyne Poole had been confined with her, but Jeyne was useless. Her face waspuffy from all her crying, and she could not seem to stop sobbing about her father.

“I’m certain your father is well,” Sansa told her when she had finally gotten the dress buttonedright. “I’ll ask the queen to let you see him.” She thought that kindness might lift Jeyne’s spirits, butthe other girl just looked at her with red, swollen eyes and began to cry all the harder. She was such achild.

Sansa had wept too, the first day. Even within the stout walls of Maegor’s Holdfast, with her doorclosed and barred, it was hard not to be terrified when the killing began. She had grown up to thesound of steel in the yard, and scarcely a day of her life had passed without hearing the clash of swordon sword, yet somehow knowing that the fighting was real made all the difference in the world. Sheheard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angrycurses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights neverscreamed nor begged for mercy.

So she wept, pleading through her door for them to tell her what was happening, calling for herfather, for Septa Mordane, for the king, for her gallant prince. If the men guarding her heard her pleas,they gave no answer. The only time the door opened was late that night, when they thrust Jeyne Pooleinside, bruised and shaking. “They’re killing everyone,” the steward’s daughter had shrieked at her.

She went on and on. The Hound had broken down her door with a warhammer, she said. There werebodies on the stair of the Tower of the Hand, and the steps were slick with blood. Sansa dried her owntears as she struggled to comfort her friend. They went to sleep in the same bed, cradled in eachother’s arms like sisters.

The second day was even worse. The room where Sansa had been confined was at the top of thehighest tower of Maegor’s Holdfast. From its window, she could see that the heavy iron portcullis inthe gatehouse was down, and the drawbridge drawn up over the deep dry moat that separated thekeep-within-a-keep from the larger castle that surrounded it. Lannister guardsmen prowled the wallswith spears and crossbows to hand. The fighting was over, and the silence of the grave had settledover the Red Keep. The only sounds were Jeyne Poole’s endless whimpers and sobs.

They were fed—hard cheese and fresh-baked bread and milk to break their fast, roast chicken andgreens at midday, and a late supper of beef and barley stew—but the servants who brought the mealswould not answer Sansa’s questions. That evening, some women brought her clothes from the Towerof the Hand, and some of Jeyne’s things as well, but they seemed nearly as frightened as Jeyne, andwhen she tried to talk to them, they fled from her as if she had the grey plague. The guards outside thedoor still refused to let them leave the room.

“Please, I need to speak to the queen again,” Sansa told them, as she told everyone she saw thatday. “She’ll want to talk to me, I know she will. Tell her I want to see her, please. If not the queen,then Prince Joffrey, if you’d be so kind. We’re to marry when we’re older.”

At sunset on the second day, a great bell began to ring. Its voice was deep and sonorous, and thelong slow clanging filled Sansa with a sense of dread. The ringing went on and on, and after a whilethey heard other bells answering from the Great Sept of Baelor on Visenya’s Hill. The soundrumbled across the city like thunder, warning of the storm to come.

a’s Hill. The soundrumbled across the city like thunder, warning of the storm to come.

“What is it?” Jeyne asked, covering her ears. “Why are they ringing the bells?”

“The king is dead.” Sansa could not say how she knew it, yet she did. The slow, endless clangingfilled their room, as mournful as a dirge. Had some enemy stormed the castle and murdered KingRobert? Was that the meaning of the fighting they had heard?

She went to sleep wondering, restless, and fearful. Was her beautiful Joffrey the king now? Or hadthey killed him too? She was afraid for him, and for her father. If only they would tell her what washappening …That night Sansa dreamt of Joffrey on the throne, with herself seated beside him in a gown ofwoven gold. She had a crown on her head, and everyone she had ever known came before her, tobend the knee and say their courtesies.

The next morning, the morning of the third day, Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard came to escorther to the queen.

Ser Boros was an ugly man with a broad chest and short, bandy legs. His nose was flat, his cheeksbaggy with jowls, his hair grey and brittle. Today he wore white velvet, and his snowy cloak wasfastened with a lion brooch. The beast had the soft sheen of gold, and his eyes were tiny rubies. “Youlook very handsome and splendid this morning, Ser Boros,” Sansa told him. A lady remembered hercourtesies, and she was resolved to be a lady no matter what.

“And you, my lady,” Ser Boros said in a flat voice. “Her Grace awaits. Come with me.”

There were guards outside her door, Lannister men-at-arms in crimson cloaks and lion-crestedhelms. Sansa made herself smile at them pleasantly and bid them a good morning as she passed. Itwas the first time she had been allowed outside the chamber since Ser Arys Oakheart had led herthere two mornings past. “To keep you safe, my sweet one,” Queen Cersei had told her. “Joffreywould never forgive me if anything happened to his precious.”

Sansa had expected that Ser Boros would escort her to the royal apartments, but instead he led herout of Maegor’s Holdfast. The bridge was down again. Some workmen were lowering a man on ropesinto the depths of the dry moat. When Sansa peered down, she saw a body impaled on the huge ironspikes below. She averted her eyes quickly, afraid to ask, afraid to look too long, afraid he might besomeone she knew.

They found Queen Cersei in the council chambers, seated at the head of a long table littered withpapers, candles, and blocks of sealing wax. The room was as splendid as any that Sansa had everseen. She stared in awe at the carved wooden screen and the twin sphinxes that sat beside the door.

“Your Grace,” Ser Boros said when they were ushered inside by another of the Kingsguard, SerMandon of the curiously dead face, “I’ve brought the girl.”

Sansa had hoped Joffrey might be with her. Her prince was not there, but three of the king’scouncillors were. Lord Petyr Baelish sat on the queen’s left hand, Grand Maester Pycelle at the end ofthe table, while Lord Varys hovered over them, smelling flowery. All of them were clad in black, sherealized with a feeling of dread. Mourning clothes …The queen wore a high-collared black silk gown, with a hundred dark red rubies sewn into herbodice, covering her from neck to bosom. They were cut in the shape of teardrops, as if the queenwere weeping blood. Cersei smiled to see her, and Sansa thought it was the sweetest and saddestsmile she had ever seen. “Sansa, my sweet child,” she said, “I know you’ve been asking for me. I’msorry that I could not send for you sooner. Matters have been very unsettled, and I have not had amoment. I trust my people have been taking good care of you?”

“Everyone has been very sweet and pleasant, Your Grace, thank you ever so much for asking,”

Sansa said politely. “Only, well, no one will talk to us or tell us what’s happened …”

“Us?” Cersei seemed puzzled.

“We put the steward’s girl in with her,” Ser Boros said. “We did not know what else to do withher.”

The queen frowned. “Next time, you will ask,” she said, her voice sharp. “The gods only knowwhat sort of tales she’s been filling Sansa’s head with.”

“Jeyne’s scared,” Sansa said. “She won’t stop crying. I promised her I’d ask if she could see herfather.”

Old Grand Maester Pycelle lowered his eyes.

“Her father is well, isn’t he?” Sansa said anxiously. She knew there had been fighting, but surelyno one would harm a steward. Vayon Poole did not even wear a sword.

Queen Cersei looked at each of the councillors in turn. “I won’t have Sansa fretting needlessly.

What shall we do with this little friend of hers, my lords?”

Lord Petyr leaned forward. “I’ll find a place for her.”

“Not in the city,” said the queen.

“Do you take me for a fool?”

The queen ignored that. “Ser Boros, escort this girl to Lord Petyr’s apartments and instruct hispeople to keep her there until he comes for her. Tell her that Littlefinger will be taking her to see herfather, that ought to calm her down. I want her gone before Sansa returns to her chamber.”

“As you command, Your Grace,” Ser Boros said. He bowed deeply, spun on his heel, and took hisleave, his long white cloak stirring the air behind him.

Sansa was confused. “I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is Jeyne’s father? Why can’t Ser Borostake her to him instead of Lord Petyr having to do it?” She had promised herself she would be a lady,gentle as the queen and as strong as her mother, the Lady Catelyn, but all of a sudden she was scaredagain. For a second she thought she might cry. “Where are you sending her? She hasn’t done anythingwrong, she’s a good girl.”

“She’s upset you,” the queen said gently. “We can’t be having that. Not another word, now. LordBaelish will see that Jeyne’s well taken care of, I promise you.” She patted the chair beside her. “Sitdown, Sansa. I want to talk to you.”

Sansa seated herself beside the queen. Cersei smiled again, but that did not make her feel any lessanxious. Varys was wringing his soft hands together, Grand Maester Pycelle kept his sleepy eyes onthe papers in front of him, but she could feel Littlefinger staring. Something about the way the smallman looked at her made Sansa feel as though she had no clothes on. Goose bumps pimpled her skin.

“Sweet Sansa,” Queen Cersei said, laying a soft hand on her wrist. “Such a beautiful child. I dohope you know how much Joffrey and I love you.”

“You do?” Sansa said, breathless. Littlefinger was forgotten. Her prince loved her. Nothing elsemattered.

The queen smiled. “I think of you almost as my own daughter. And I know the love you bear forJoffrey.” She gave a weary shake of her head. “I am afraid we have some grave news about your lordfather. You must be brave, child.”

Her quiet words gave Sansa a chill. “What is it?”

“Your father is a traitor, dear,” Lord Varys said.

Grand Maester Pycelle lifted............