Chapter 106: Varys Has Bolted
"Once they're gone, no one will dare gossip about you again. And they'll take those secrets they never should have known with them—into silence."
"And when that day comes, you will be the true Queen Regent. Even your father, Lord Tywin Lannister, will have no choice but to respect your will."
"If you give the order then, who would dare disobey? What sellsword would refuse your summons?"
Already flushed with anger and emotion, Cersei felt her breathing grow faster under the soft, insidious persuasion in her ear.
Yes… why hadn't she thought of this?
Her green eyes shone like sunlit water.
"Pod… what should I do?"
"Tell me."
Her voice carried an intensity few had ever seen—perhaps not even Jaime.
Pod, for his part, looked completely assured.
"You could start with… then follow with..., Your Grace."
---
The night slipped away.
When Tyrion finally stirred and lifted his head from the table, he found bright sunlight pouring through the windows.
Since autumn had come, such clear sunshine had grown rare, making today's light seem especially vivid.
It streamed through the stained glass, scattering colored patterns across the stone floor, the long tables, the benches—twisted shapes of red and gold that lent the hall an almost dreamlike beauty.
"I slept here all night…?"
His cheek felt numb where it had been pressed against the table. He squinted against the sudden glare, eyes watering. A line had been imprinted across his face, and dried saliva tugged uncomfortably at his skin.
Worse was the cold stiffness creeping up from below his knees—and the strange heaviness of his arms, as though they didn't quite belong to him.
Yet Tyrion hadn't realized that in another few moments, he would be fully awake in a way he hadn't expected at all.
As soon as his words fell, a familiar sly voice drifted from behind him.
"Only half the night…"
"Bronn?!"
Tyrion's heart jolted. He spun around—and only when he saw that irritatingly familiar face did his pulse slow again.
"Seven hells, don't sneak up on me like that!"
He snapped, then noticed the wool cloak draped over his shoulders.
"Whose is this? And why didn't anyone put me in a bed?"
Bronn shrugged. "You looked like you were thinking hard. Then you drank. Figured best not to move you."
"Did you solve whatever was chewing at you?"
Tyrion didn't answer. He shook off the cloak and hopped down from the bench—
—and nearly collapsed as his legs buckled.
"That's not the worst of it," he hissed through his teeth. His arms had gone half-dead, prickling painfully back to life. "Remind me never to use my own head as a pillow again."
Bronn laughed outright. "Those stairs are murder. If you wanted the 'carry you without waking you' service, you should've said."
"I'll pay one gold dragon," Tyrion said through a grimace, "for you to get me into a warm bed next time without waking me."
Bronn rubbed his fingers together. "Deal."
"Damn it, that was too fast. I overpaid."
"You're worth it," Bronn said cheerfully. "Besides, not waking you? That's the hard part."
Tyrion considered, then nodded. "Fair. Otherwise the 'wake-up call' might be a slap."
He straightened slowly, flexing his tingling hands, then looked toward the window.
"You didn't wait here just to mock me. What's the disaster?"
Bronn's grin faded. "Ser Podrick Payne—yes, Ser now—dragged Grand Maester Pycelle out of bed at dawn. Stripped him and tossed him in a cell."
Tyrion froze.
"Second level," Bronn added. "Single cell. Not down with the Master of Coins."
"And," he went on with relish, "While arresting him, Pycelle wasn't alone in that bed. Two naked maidservants. Old goat claimed he just 'gets cold' and needs help warming the sheets."
Tyrion waved that off. That wasn't the shock.
"So," he said slowly, "our Payne has now arrested two members of the small council."
He slapped the table. Plates rattled.
"Who's left? Me? And the eunuch?"
Bronn shrugged. "No idea about you. As for the eunuch… can't find him."
Tyrion stared.
"You mean Pod actually did it," he said quietly.
"And Varys is gone."