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“Renlyisdead.Robaraswell.Whatusetospeakofthem?”Thesharpnessinhistonetookheraback.“I...mylord,I...Ididnotmeantogiveoffense,ser.”“Norcouldyou,LadySansa,”SerLorasreplied,butallthewarmthhadgonefromhisvoice.Nordidhetakeherarmagain.Theyascendedtheserpentinestepsinadeepeningsilence.Oh,whydidIhavetomentionSerRobar?Sansathought.I’veruinedeverything.HeisangrywithmenowShetriedtothinkofsomethingshemightsaytomakeamends,butallthewordsthatcametoherwerelameandweak.Bequiet,oryouwillonlymakeitworse,shetoldherself.LordMaceTyrellandhisentouragehadbeenhousedbehindtheroyalsept,inthelongslate-roofedkeepthathadbeencalledtheMaidenvaultsinceKingBaelortheBlessedhadconfinedhissisterstherein,sothesightofthemmightnottempthimintocarnalthoughts.Outsideitstallcarveddoorsstoodtwoguardsingildedhalfhelmsandgreencloaksedgedingoldsatin,thegoldenroseofHighgardensewnontheirbreasts.Bothwereseven-footers,wideofshoulderandnarrowofwaist,magnificentlymuscled.WhenSansagotcloseenoughtoseetheirfaces,shecouldnottellonefromtheother.Theyhadthesamestrongjaws,thesamedeepblueeyes,thesamethickredmustaches.“Whoarethey?”sheaskedSerLoras,herdis







































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