Just as Lyanna took her second step beyond the threshold, screams erupted from down the hall.
Oswell and Lyanna broke into a sprint, their steel plate ringing as it jostled. When they reached the doors to the nursery, Oswell lowered his shoulder and the wood jumped from its hinges with a crack.
Inside, the queen's chamber was a ruin. A child's small body lay crumpled near the far wall, silver hair dark with blood. A pillow was ripped open. Feathers drifted like ash.
Elia Martell was pinned against the floor by a giant in mail, her gown torn at the seams, her cane flung aside. The man's visor was up. A young face, wide and coarse. One hand ground Elia's shoulder into the rushes. The other clawed at his belt.
"Filthy rapist," Oswell spat, voice flat with rage.
Gregor Clegane lifted his head, a monster torn from its feast. He drew his massive great sword with a single hand from where it rested on the bed. Oswell was already upon him. Their blades met with a sound that emptied the room of all other noise.
"Elia," Lyanna called out.
The princess dragged herself across the rushes with shaky arms, eyes fixed on the small body by the wall.
"Rhaenys," she breathed. "Rhaenys."
Oswell forced Gregor back a step with a cut that would have split a normal man to the waist. The Mountain swayed and grinned.
"Get the princess to safety," Oswell said, never looking away from his foe. "Out, now."
Lyanna slid her arm under Elia's back and lifted. The princess was as light as a bird. Pain gripped her face but she did not cry out. Blood streaked her collarbone. Lyanna pressed her close and felt bones like reeds under her hands.
"Rhaenys," Elia said again, voice steadier. "I won't leave her."
"Where," Lyanna asked.
"Upstairs. Prince Rhaegar's bedroom. She hides there when she gets scared."
Lyanna set her jaw, shifted her grip, and ran. Out the door. Up the stairs. The air was hot and tasted of smoke. The city must be burning, she realized.
Her breath came even and hard. Elia's fingers dug into her shoulder. At the landing a slit window showed a slice of the city. The bells were silent. The city below cried out in a far more terrible sound.
The next corridor seemed empty until a man stepped from a doorway, sword balanced casually in his hand. Amory Lorch.
He had narrow eyes, and his lips were wet. He smiled when he saw the women. "A prize," he said. "Two of them."
Lyanna set Elia behind her and drew steel. She thought of the bridge and its lessons. Stay rooted. See first. Then move.
Lorch came on with small, neat steps. He had spent years cutting at men who could not resist him. His first thrust tested her guard without risking his skin. She parried and gave nothing back. The second was a feint to the shoulder and a draw cut to the thigh. She let the blade scrape her greave. He smiled again, more alive now that the game had started.
A flicker tugged at her vision. Lyanna closed her left eye and the world steadied. The chamber beyond the half-open door showed itself in thin green lines. Under the bed a small shape curled tight, a hand clamped over a mouth. A kitten's tail quivered next to it. Rhaenys.
Lyanna sidestepped and set herself between Lorch and the door. He noted the change and pressed harder, starting to get frustrated by her resistance. He tried to draw her into overextending. She refused him. Her sword worked in short strokes. Her feet held to a line she had chosen.
"Come now," he said, breath sweet with wine. "Do not be shy."
He lunged for her shoulder again. She caught it on the flat and turned his blade aside. He twisted to turn the bind into a cut at her wrist.
She let his steel pass a finger's width from the skin and answered with a jab to his visor. The point found dented steel. He hissed and stepped back, not hurt, only insulted.
"It seems there may be truth to the rumors of your witchcraft," he scowled.
"Never met a woman who could fight back?" Lyanna answered, trying to provoke the cutthroat.
Behind her Elia called in a voice that no longer shook. "Rhaenys, now."
A dark head pushed out from under the bed. A little girl slid free with a kitten clutched to her chest. She scuttled on hands and knees until she reached Elia. The princess gathered her in with one arm and kissed her hair. Relief broke across her face like sun.
"Go," Lyanna said without looking. "Back down the hall, to the stairs."
Elia nodded and began to move, awkward but steady, one hand on the wall, the child at her hip.
Lorch saw his prizes leaving and threw caution aside. He lunged long to reach past Lyanna's guard. That reach was the first mistake. Lyanna had been waiting for an opening.
She stepped in rather than back. His sword slid past her ribs with an inch to spare, while her blade bit into the crook of his right elbow where mail met softer leather. Steel parted meat and tendon with a thick sound. His hand spasmed, dropping a sword. Lorch screamed, not with fear, only furious surprise.
"You do not deserve a clean death," Lyanna said. "But I don't have time for anything else."
His left hand clawed for a dagger. She did not allow it.
Her next stroke was clean and quick, the kind Maple had taught her a hunter uses when he respects his kill. The edge crossed his throat. Red ran. Amory Lorch went down fighting for breath that would not come.
Lyanna held her stance until his feet stopped kicking. Then she tore her gaze away and looked for Elia. The princess and her daughter had reached the stairs. Rhaenys's kitten clung to the girl's dress. Elia's legs trembled but she did not fall as she leaned on the railing.
"Down," Lyanna said. "Now."
They descended. The stair flooded the lungs with cold air from lower halls. Lyanna kept to the inside to give Elia the rail. Somewhere below the sound of steel on steel swelled and broke like surf. Ser Oswell was still fighting.
Please, let him be winning. Lyanna prayed.
They found the corridor to the queen's rooms again. The door hung crooked. Inside, the room was a wreck, stray bedding and broken pottery scattered everywhere. Oswell fought Gregor Clegane in a storm of sparks.
Oswell gave ground by inches when he had to and stole it back when he could. His blade looked small in his hand yet he stood undaunted. He had clearly nicked Clegane more than once, but getting close enough for a finishing blow was challenging with the giant's reach.
"Go," Oswell said, eyes never leaving the Mountain. "The holdfast bridge is clear. Do not stop for anyone."
Elia reached for him with her free hand. "Ser Oswell—"
"Go," he said again, kinder this time. "I'll catch up after I deal with this big brute, seven willing."
Lyanna scooped Elia up to carry her. Rhaenys stumbled behind her, face hidden in the cat's fur. The black kitten hissed at Ser Gregor.
A kitten it may be, Lyanna thought, but it has the temperament of a dragon.
They moved fast but without running, Lyanna rationing her remaining stamina. At Meagor's threshold, Lyanna looked back one last time. Gregor swung. Oswell ducked and answered with a cut to the knee that made the giant grunt and rage. The chamber swallowed them both.
Lyanna stepped past Ser Jonothor's corpse and onto the bridge. Bodies lay where they had fallen. Lyanna swallowed and set her eyes forward.
"Straight across," she said.
They crossed, stepping back into the passageways of the Great Hall. The stones thrummed with the city's fear. Torches guttered in sconces. A maid crouched in a niche with her apron over her head and did not see them at all.
At last, a familiar hatch came into view. Lyanna guided Elia and Rhaenys inside and closed it behind them, leaving only darkness.
"Rest a moment," she told them. "Only a moment."
Elia sank to the floor with the child in her lap. Rhaenys buried her face in her mother's shoulder, kitten trapped between them. The animal did not complain.
Lyanna knelt and struck a spare torch alight, passing it to Elia. The princess's fingers closed around it with a gratitude that had no words.
"Thank you," Elia said at last.
"Not done yet," Lyanna answered. "We have a way out, but we must reach it."
A distant crash shook dust from the ceiling. The sound rolled through the stones like thunder. Lyanna stood and checked her sword for nicks. Her hands shook. She willed them still.
She sheathed the blade, then picked up Elia once more.
"On your feet, princess Rhaenys," Lyanna said, voice gentle and firm. "We are leaving this place."