THE BLOODS OF BOLTON | GAME OF THRONES

CHAPTER 15

THE BASTARD WAS WAITING for her across the Weeping Water. If Drucilla squinted her eyes, she swore she could almost see him standing on the misty riverbank, and smiling, always smiling.

That smile had tricked her brother's merciful heart. While the two were breaking their fast in the morning room, Domeric told her that he had visited the bastard in his cell. "And I pitied him, Drucilla," he confessed, because the boy was a bastard born of rape, cursed and forsaken. "The midwives, they used to say that monsters, not children, come from rape, and they should be smothered before they draw their first breaths or else they'll become murderers and rapists themselves. Do you remember that, Drucilla? Bad blood, they called it, and man's punishment from the gods."

Of course, Domeric refused to believe that. Because Domeric is a fool, Drucilla thought. She might have said it to him if she thought it would make a difference.

"Drucilla, dear," Lady Dustin said, making her voice light and pleasant as a summer song, "step away from the window before you catch a chill." She beckoned her niece with her hand and motioned toward the empty chair. "Please, come, come. Sit down and join us for tea, won't you? We're having such a very lovely conversation, aren't we, ladies?"

All the ladies voiced their agreement, and Drucilla discreetly rolled her eyes. Lady Bolton had invited the visiting ladies to afternoon tea in the solar. Drucilla hadn't wanted to go, but her lord father insisted on it. Such pastimes were common in King's Landing, he'd said, so if Drucilla wanted to blend in she would have to put on a smile and bear it.

And so she would.

The solar smelled of vanilla and honey, with a hint of lavender from the incense her mother regularly burned. Good for calming the senses, she always said. The walls were covered with fine tapestries of flowers, fair ladies and brave knights, and so many horses. The floors were strewn with ornate Dornish rugs, all gifts from Lord Bolton to keep his wife happy and, most important of all, quiet. Over the years, this tower had become her sanctuary. It was the only room that got any sun at all, and it overlooked a barren courtyard that Lady Bolton hoped to one day turn into a small garden, if the soil allowed it. She'd tried once before, when she first arrived at the castle, but all the flowers wilted and died before long. Nothing beautiful ever grew in the Dreadfort.

Drucilla quietly sipped her honeyed tea. Her aunt was reciting her favorite poem, "The Maiden and the Mockingbird." It was much too sweet for her taste, the tea and the poem as well. Beside her, Tansy was reaching for another apple cake, her fourth of the day, but her sister swatted her hand before she could get it.

"You've had quite enough, Tansy," Tally said with a decisive nod. Tansy reluctantly agreed.

Sansa Stark was there as well, and so was Alys Karstark and the Manderly sisters, Wylla and Wynafryd. The two girls wore blue silk dresses that rippled like the sea when they moved, and they kept their long hair in loose fishtail braids which rested on their shoulders. Tally wouldn't stop talking about how lovely they were, especially Wynafryd. She was as kind as she was beautiful, Tally said, and that frustrated Drucilla to no end.

Wynafryd smiled at Sansa Stark. It was a perfect and effortless smile that made her whole face light up. And she had a voice to match. "You sang beautifully last night, Lady Sansa." Sansa blushed and thanked her. "My sister and I, we could still hear your voice as we lay down to sleep. Couldn't we, sister?" Wylla nodded. "I bet you were even singing in our dreams. What was it called, that song?"

"Two Hearts That Beat as One," Sansa answered. It was a popular love song in Westeros.

Wylla nodded while stirring her tea. "Yes, yes, that sounds right. Such a beautiful song." She tapped the spoon against the rim three times and then set it aside. "Lady Drucilla, it's a shame you didn't treat us with a song of your own. I hear you have a very unique voice." She turned to her sister. "How did they describe it? Like a cat yowling in heat, was it?"