Chapter 17

  Later, from an out of the way spot on the edge of the tiltyard, we watched as Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and Ser Barristan Selmy traded blows in a dashing display of violence and chivalry.

  One trimmed with a ruby-studded, all-black suit that seemed to drink in all the world’s sunlight. The other armored and cloaked in the whites of his office, shining like a beacon. Their steeds groomed and nobly barded. Plumes riding high on helms.

  It was a spectacle.

  Roars erupted when, for the eight time, lances broke on shields and neither budged an inch from their seat. The air vibrated with energy and the weight of history. So close to noon, the sun sat high in the sky like a brazier, with nary a wandering cloud to mar the perfect day.

  To the crowd, it was the most exciting riding of the tourney.

  I stared at it with brows furrowed. Arianne sat beside me under a roughspun cloak, while my own jousting armor was left in Pate’s tender care back in the pavilion. Surrounded as it was by Lannister men, I had no need to worry about it being stolen.

  My left shoulder throbbed constantly like an aching wound, though now I could move it without feeling that it would fall off at any moment. The maester had come, yanked my shoulder back into its socket, and left without barely saying a word while I was still groaning in pain. So much for bedside manners.

  Hopefully, the pain would be gone by the time I’d have to don my armor and take my place on the lanes again. The noon break would give me a couple of hours of respite while the noble and smallfolk crowd entertained themselves with whichever show the organizers provided to them.

  “They are magnificent,” Arianne said.

  “Perhaps.”

  “You do not have to be jealous, Galladon,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I still like you best, if you must know.”

  I laughed. “Oh, they are magnificent. Of that, I have no doubt. Like Ser Arthur, they are both better riders than me. It’s just… they’re not really trying, are they? “

  Just then, they clashed in the middle once again, lances shattering in a million pieces to the crowd’s delight. Arianne gave me a doubtful look. I had to give it to her. To the naked eye, it did look like they were having the joust of the century.

  But maybe I had some kind of epiphany against Ser Arthur. An enlightenment of sorts, a keener insight into what makes a rider prevail against another, the subtle movements, the tiny shifts in their lance or how they seat the saddle.

  And something did not seem quite right by the way they were riding.

  “What do you see on their auras, then?” I asked.

  She turned back to the arena, squinting. There was no visible sign that she had activated her vision, as she called it, no golden light spilling forth from her eyes. She could read people’s auras and emotions right in front of them and they would be none the wiser.

  Already, I could think of a dozen different ways to use this power of hers for the benefit of our house. For my benefit. I was not proud that the thought came so easily to me, but neither was I foolish enough to reject its advantages.

  “Ser Barristan is…” Arianne started, seemed to think for a moment, then continued, “he is much like a beetle wrapped tightly around a cocoon of white. It’s a sharp thing. He’s so focused on the riding I can’t even see his aura shifting.”

  Humming, I chewed at my tongue for a moment. “Focus, or restraint? You ask me, I see a man purposefully putting on a show while avoiding going all out on his prince.”

  “Ser Barristan’s honor is unquestionable. Even I know that.” Arianned spoke the words as if they were scientific fact, and I could hardly blame her fervor.

  To most of the people in the Seven Kingdoms, they might as well be. Ser Barristan Selmy was the greatest living knight in the land.

  Beyond his many wins in more than a dozen tourneys, he was also the hero of the War of Ninepenny Kings, who slayed Maelys the Monstrous and thus ended the male line of the Blackfyres, a scourge that had plagued the realm for generations and brought on no less than five failed rebellions.

  And in a year’s time during the Defiance, if things happened as normally, he would add climbing the walls of Duskendale and singlehandedly rescuing King Aerys to his already storied resume. A feat of such daring and skill it seemed straight out of a fable.

  But I knew all about Ser Barristan Selmy’s honor. In a way, Arianne was right. His sense of honor was unquestionable. Rigid. Unyielding. So much so he would one day stand by and watch as his Targaryen king did unspeakable things that brought war and ruin to his kingdom.

  It didn’t matter, of course, so long as he kept to his own vows of obedience.

  As of now, King Aerys had not burned lords and peasants alike. Had not imposed himself unduly and violently upon his queenly wife. So perhaps it was wrong of me to put that on Ser Barristan.

  Had it been myself in his place, I was sure I would act differently. But had it been a version of me born in this world, accustomed to its rules and traditions, then what? Did that make him a lapdog that followed its master’s words regardless of their merit, or was he simply a man doing the best that he could with what he was given?

  Shaking my head, I pointed to the other man in the yard. “What about the prince’s?”

  Arianne looked at Rhaegar then. Her eyes followed him as he grabbed a fresh lance from his squire and galloped down the lane toward his foe.

  “His is… scattered. Silvery like the moon now, then golden, red as a pomegranate, a deep blue.” She grimaced. “I’m not sure what it means, but you are right that he doesn’t seem focused.”

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  I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. As I suspected, it didn’t seem like the Prince was trying very hard either. Despite his prowess, I knew Rhaegar did not care much for tourneys and warring. Song and prophecy were said to be his true loves.

  “It means I might be able to win after all,” I murmured low enough she couldn’t hear.

  After another two bouts of clashing lances, Prince Rhaegar Targaryen finally unhorsed Ser Barristan Selmy to the thunderous cheers of the crowd. They got even louder when he graced them with a lap around the tiltyard. It was the closest they would ever come to a royal prince, and he surely seemed a figure of myth garbed in night-black steel as he was, the rubies in his chestplate gleaming like comets.

  Whether the kingsguard allowed him victory or gave his best, I did not know. And whether the Prince even cared about the whole tourney, I could not tell either.

  In the end, all I could do was head back to my tent and prepare myself for the finals.

  xxx

  Cersei Lannister

  Below, Ser Arthur Dayne struck a fierce blow against the chestplate of his opponent. With his dull armor scuffed and marred, the mystery knight rocked back on his saddle, almost toppling to the ground, but he kept ahorse and rode on for another bout.

  The rabble packing the sloped embankment opposite their stand roared in ecstasy. Jaime, eyes filled with excitement, cheered beside her, leaping from his seat and punching the air like he belonged with the peasantry.

  Her face twisted with disgust. She would have yelled at him for it were they alone. How could he act so happy after what happened to her?

  Despite her anger, the jousting continued to the delight of the crowd. The towering Lord Sumner Crakehall cackled and slapped the back of a springy knight from Silverhill, nearly knocking the man to a lower row. A mousy-haired lady wearing the blue and gold of Lefford waved her kerchief in appreciation. Even her uncle Gerion whooped as the mystery knight barely survived another clash against the dornish kingsguard.

  They all smiled. Cheered. Clapped. As if anything in this tourney mattered anymore.

  Cersei saw it all as if in a dream. Yes, that would explain things. Her life was a nightmare she could not escape from. The cheering of the crowd felt as the scream of shades from the seven hells sent to torment her. The lances shattered into pieces a poor copy of her heart.

  She had not been at the great hall when the king denied her father a betrothal between her and Prince Rhaegar. By coincidence, she had snuck out of the feast with Jeyne Farman and Melara Hetherspoon when the dancing became boring. She meant to take some of the other girls who had never been to the Rock, daughters and nieces of her father’s bannermen, to see the gold rooms deeper into the mountain, but they never made it there.

  On her father’s orders, guards had been stationed at the entrance to the mines to stop anyone from coming inside, even those bearing the Lannister name. She had wanted to have those men whipped then and there for stopping her in her own home, but Jeyne and Melara convinced her to leave the matter be.

  She had felt humiliated then, having been denied in front of the other girls, yet now she could hardly remember the faces of the men-at-arms she swore to see punished. For once they returned to the feast, Cersei’s shame truly began.

  She had to hear from others what King Aerys had said in front of the whole of the realm. Had to suffer their whispers, their looks of pity and glee as she walked into the great hall unknowing of her own disgrace.

  She, a daughter of Tywin Lannister, was deemed unworthy of the prince. Had been called a mere servant. Overwhelmed, Cersei fled after that, the murmurs and whispers of all Seven Kingdoms following after her.

  Her aunt Genna had come after her, knocking at her room’s door with comforting words. Cersei screamed and cursed until the woman left. Genna Lannister had been the one to tell her that her father would betroth her to the prince, and she did not wish to hear another word out of that liar’s mouth.

  She spent the next few days locked away in her room, crying and screaming and breaking whatever she could get her hands on. Maids came to bathe her in the morning and left sobbing when Cersei threw hot water at them. Jaime tried to visit, but she barricaded her doors with her dresser and refused to speak to him.

  Only Lord Tywin’s orders this morning had pulled her out of her room. With his face set as hard as mountain rock, her father told her that she was a Lannister and sulking in her room like a child was not worthy of Lannisters.

  That was it. Those were the only words her father shared with her since it all happened.

  She obeyed, of course, and throughout the day she tried to appear as if the king’s dismissal did not affect her. But what else was she supposed to do now? All her life, Cersei Lannister thought she would become the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. She had never doubted that for a moment that ruling was her destiny.

  Was she meant to accept marrying one of her father’s bannerlords as if she had not been born a lioness of Casterly Rock? Should she tolerate becoming the lady of another so-called great house when only Targaryen stood equal to Lannister?

  It was all she could think about. Her mind churned like a storm the whole morning, and she did not think it would settle anytime soon. She felt so detached that she didn’t even see the moment the mystery knight unhorsed Ser Arthur.

  The ladies around her gasped. The entire nobility seemed to hold their breath for the instant it took before the kingsguard’s body hit the ground. Then the bubble burst and they all jumped from their seats, hollering and clapping and chugging at their drinks.

  The noise was terrible and Jaime was the worst of them. He could not believe the Sword of the Morning had been defeated by the mystery knight, and he blabbered at her until her glare nearly burned a hole into his face. Sheepishly, he apologized and left her side to join a cluster of pages and squires as they tried to guess at the mystery knight’s identity.

  Through it all, Cersei did not move from her seat. She watched the gossip that rose at the kingsguard’s defeat. Watched Lord Tywin speaking to Uncle Gerion in hushed words before the latter left the stands. Watched the king leave his royal seat when Prince Rhaegar came out to joust Ser Barristan Selmy some minutes later.

  Cersei almost followed after the king despite the rage she felt at the sight of him. She could not bear to see the prince ride. He looked so handsome above his stallion, his silver hair flowing down to his shoulder like spun moonlight before he donned his helm. Who else could ever compare to such a man?

  She did not watch the jousting whatsoever. Her thoughts kept going back to that night at the feast. The whispers. The hidden laughter. Gleeful eyes stabbing at her like swords.

  She knew the Prince had won only by the cheers of the crowd and the return of the king, now eager to watch the spectacle as fire-eaters performed across the tiltyard. King Aerys had a giddy look as the men below ate and spat great balls of fire into the air like dragons made flesh.

  Cersei watched him as much as she watched the show. His face twisted as great spears of fire flew from the mouths of the fire-eaters, yellowed teeth bared in a feral grin. Her gaze followed the king’s to the fire below, and her eyes widened at the sight.

  It was beautiful. Golden fire streaked across the lanes in great wooshes of displaced air. The performers jumped and spun, the flames blooming like sunflowers above them. She could feel the heat all the way from the stands.

  There was power in those flames, growing and swirling until they fizzled out in wisps of smoke. And for a moment, she understood why the king had deemed her unworthy of his heir.

  If men could tame creatures that could fly and spit fire a thousand times hotter than these fire-eaters, how could they not think themselves superior? Were they not gods amongst men?

  That thought consumed her for much of the next hour. It took longer still before the final jousting began again, and barely more than a few minutes before it ended.

  Cersei had not even looked down once, lost in her own mind; she only noticed something had changed when a great hush swallowed the stands. When she came back to herself, a crown of Lannister-red roses hung from the end of a lance pointing right at her, and a wheezing cackle burst out the mouth of King Aerys Targaryen.