She remembered the knives inside her, twisting and ripping. She squirmed away in horror, kicking at the sheets and falling to the floor, breathing raggedly, naked, bloodied, and afraid. Madness took hold of her. Pulling herself up by the bedpost, she went to the basin and washed between her legs, scrubbing away all the stickiness. By the time she was done, the water was pink with blood. When her maidservants saw it they would know. Then she remembered the bedclothes.
She rushed back to the bed and stared in horror at the dark red stain and the tale it told. Snatching up her knife, Sansa hacked at the sheet, cutting out the stain. If they ask me about the hole, what will I say? Tears ran down her face. She pulled the torn sheet from the bed, and the stained blanket as well.
She balled up the evidence, stuffed it in the fireplace, drenched it in oil from her bedside lamp, and lit it afire. Then she realized that the blood had soaked through the sheet into the featherbed, so she bundled that up as well, but it was big and cumbersome, hard to move.
Sansa could get only half of it into the fire. She was on her knees, struggling to shove the mattress into the flames as thick grey smoke eddied around her and filled the room, when the door burst open and she heard her maid gasp.
Between Tyrion and Lord Stannis, everything I eat tastes of ash. What did you hope to accomplish? Sansa lowered her head. Lady Catelyn might have prepared you. Robert wanted to be loved. My brother Tyrion has the same disease. Do you want to be loved, Sansa? Love is poison. A sweet poison, yes, but it will kill you all the same. Uwielbiam to zdanie. Turning back to the stair, Sansa climbed. The smoke blotted out the stars and the thin crescent of moon, so the roof was dark and thick with shadows.
Soldiers crawled over the city walls like ants with torches, and crowded the hoardings that had sprouted from the ramparts. Potem dostajemy to:. A stab went through her, so sharp that Sansa sobbed and clutched at her belly. She might have fallen, but a shadow moved suddenly, and strong fingers grabbed her arm and steadied her. Sansa remembered all too well. She remembered the way they had howled, the feel of the blood running down her cheek from where the stone had struck her, and the garlic stink on the breath of the man who had tried to pull her from her horse.
She could still feel the cruel pinch of fingers on her wrist as she lost her balance and began to fall. When his hand fell away, another hand, stronger, shoved her back into her saddle. The man with the garlicky breath was on the ground, blood pumping out the stump of his arm, but there were others all around, some with clubs in hand.
The Hound leapt at them, his sword a blur of steel that trailed a red mist as it swung. When they broke and ran before him he had laughed, his terrible burned face for a moment transformed. Lepiej mi uwierz. Then something stirred behind her, and a hand reached out of the dark and grabbed her wrist. Sansa opened her mouth to scream, but another hand clamped down over her face, smothering her. His fingers were rough and callused, and sticky with blood.
Outside, a swirling lance of jade light spit at the stars, filling the room with green glare. Then the light faded and he was only a hulking darkness in a stained white cloak.
Believe that. Krew i noc i stal, znajomy motyw. Wiele lat temu. He was sleeping in my bed. What does he want here? Should have killed him. Years ago. Bugger that. There was no answer but a soft rustling. And then a light bloomed amidst the darkness.
Davos raised a hand to shield his eyes, and his breath caught in his throat. Melisandre had thrown back her cowl and shrugged out of the smothering robe. Beneath, she was naked, and huge with child. Swollen breasts hung heavy against her chest, and her belly bulged as if near to bursting. Her eyes were hot coals, and the sweat that dappled her skin seemed to glow with a light of its own. Melisandre shone. Panting, she squatted and spread her legs.
Blood ran down her thighs, black as ink. Her cry might have been agony or ecstasy or both. He had only an instant to look at it before it was gone, twisting between the bars of the portcullis and racing across the surface of the water, but that instant was long enough.
He knew that shadow. No ordinary clasp would suffice for such a weight, so the greatcloak was held in place by a matched pair of miniature lionesses crouching on his shoulders, as if poised to spring. His rondels were golden sunbursts, all his fastenings were gilded, and the red steel was burnished to such a high sheen that it shone like fire in the light of the rising sun.
Pale crimson fingers fanned out to the east as the first rays of the sun broke over the horizon. The western sky was a deep purple, speckled with stars. Tyrion wondered whether this was the last sunrise he would ever see …. A warhorn sounded in the far distance, a deep mournful note that chilled the soul.
The clansmen climbed onto their scrawny mountain horses, shouting curses and rude jokes. Several appeared to be drunk. The rising sun was burning off the drifting tendrils of fog as Tyrion led them off. What grass the horses had left was heavy with dew, as if some passing god had scattered a bag of diamonds over the earth. The mountain men fell in behind him, each clan arrayed behind its own leaders. In the dawn light, the army of Lord Tywin Lannister unfolded like an iron rose, thorns gleaming.
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