The Raven Net

The gyrfalcon dropped from the sky like a thrown spear.

The black raven was quick, but the hunter behind it was quicker. Talons struck with brutal precision. The falcon did not tear into its catch. It held the bird fast and carried it toward a tower where Ronan and Jebe waited.

Jebe smiled at the sight. "Khal, even birds know to fear you."

"Fear is useless in a bird," Ronan said. "I would rather it be bold."

As if it understood the insult, the falcon beat its wings and snapped its beak at him. The raven died in its claws, forgotten.

Ronan laughed. "Good. Good. Among winged hunters, the gyrfalcon still deserves its pride." The bird settled the instant he praised it, rubbing its head against his glove with startling affection.

Jebe had brought it from the eastern shore of the Narrow Sea, and even he had needed patience to tame it. Ronan had claimed its obedience in moments.

Jebe removed the message from the dead raven and read it aloud.

"Jaime defeated. Captured by Robb. Bring the Stark girls at once."

Tywin Lannister's hand might as well have been written across the parchment.

Jaime had not escaped fate after all. Tywin, for all his experience, did not know his ravens had already become Ronan's prey. This was not the first message intercepted.

After Tyrion named Ronan's true identity, Ronan had begun cutting the air roads. Ravens were the veins of Westerosi rule. Tywin liked to control battlefields from afar. Ronan intended to let him believe the veins still carried clean blood.

He had Cersei answer what needed answering. Tyrion was another problem. The Imp's resentment had sharpened by the day. Ronan had even heard whispers that Tyrion was considering whether Varys could rid the city of him.

He did not wait politely for danger.

Brother and sister hated each other too much for unity, and that made the move simple. Eddard Stark had fallen into a cell before his head fell from his shoulders. Tyrion could enjoy the same hospitality.

King's Landing did not collapse without its Hand. Ronan took the machinery into his own hands, and Cersei's ambition filled whatever gaps remained.

For a little while longer, the city would still look Lannister from a distance. Inside, it was already changing owners.

...

In the queen mother's chambers, Cersei looked more alive than she had in years.

Perhaps imprisoning her son had pleased her. Perhaps power did what wine and jewels could not. Ronan saw appetite in her now, endless and hungry, and a mind that had grown clearer because it finally had a throne-shaped direction.

Tyrion's warning had not vanished from her thoughts. She could share pleasure. She could share luxury. She could not share power without counting the fingers on the hand beside hers.

After a savage kind of intimacy that left the room warm and airless, she pinned Ronan beneath her for the first time and smiled down at him.

"My man," she said, "now it is my turn."

Ronan felt the change in her body before he understood it. Cersei was stronger than she should have been, more aggressive, more alive.

Motes of light moved around her without his will, drawn toward her skin as if something inside her had begun calling them. That had never happened before.

The light he understood was tied to miracles: healing, purification, the border between death and breath. It could seal wounds, cleanse rot, and drag a body back if the cost was paid. But this hunger for light was different.

Cersei exhausted herself faster than usual. Her face paled, almost sickly, and then the motes flowed into her again. Ronan caught her wrist.

He knew nothing of maesters' pulse-taking, but he could feel a heartbeat. Then another rhythm answered beneath it. For once, Ronan was genuinely stunned. Cersei was pregnant.

The game had become far more dangerous than he intended.

He did not tell her. Cersei, armed with that knowledge, might do anything. Instead, he let her rest, settled what had to be settled, and returned to his western camp with a different kind of urgency.

Waiting was no longer an option.

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