Grandfather tried to appear calm and composed. I saw his concern give way to immense relief when he realized that none of his family had been harmed. Then his eyes began to burn with such hatred that I knew he would do everything in his power to find the poisoner.
Tyrion arrived together with Tywin. He scanned the room with a quick, sharp glance, taking in everyone and everything at once. Then he looked around again and took a step toward Sansa.
"My lady…"
"It's him—him!" Cersei suddenly shrieked, lunging toward Tyrion. "It's him, the filthy dwarf, the poisoner!"
She would have clawed at his face if Jaime had not reacted faster than anyone else and caught her by the waist.
"Calm down, calm down, Cersei."
"Let me go! Can't anyone see the obvious truth?" The queen's voice trembled with undisguised hatred.
Tyrion looked stunned—it seemed that despite years of habit and armor, his sister's accusation clearly shook him.
"Hey, why are you all staring at me?" My uncle had gone pale, yet he looked at us with a defiant, condemning gaze.
"This is your responsibility! Seize him—take him into custody! I command it!" Cersei screamed.
Ser Meryn Trant and Ser Osmund Kettleblack exchanged glances and stepped forward at the same time.
"Halt." My voice rang out no less loudly, and the guards froze. "The queen is in hysterics and must calm herself. Ser Jaime, escort my mother to her private chambers and have the maester examine her."
"I will do so, Your Majesty," he replied, clearly pleased with the order, and dragged the speechless Cersei toward the exit.
Tywin merely nodded to me. But then Cersei came to her senses and began shouting again:
"Don't be such a fool, Joffrey! How can you stay calm when it was he—that vile freak—who threatened me with suffering? Oh gods, why am I surrounded by idiots?!"
Her furious cries faded down the corridor. Those remaining in the room exchanged glances. With the queen gone, the tension eased almost at once.
"It's all right, Uncle." I placed a hand on Tyrion's shoulder. "It's all right."
"Cersei loves me more than anyone else in the world," he said with forced bravado, but it was obvious her behavior had shaken him.
The servants covered Spicer's body with a sheet and carried it to Qyburn's laboratory for an autopsy and determination of the poison.
Myrcella sat on the bed, trembling slightly, as if she were specifically the one they had tried to poison. Margaery looked little better, but she sat at her side, trying to soothe her. Sansa sat down on Myrcella's other side and quietly tried to comfort her as well.
Grand Maester Pycelle poured each of the ladies a small glass of calming tincture. He looked deeply indignant—the fact that Qyburn had been entrusted with investigating the poisoning clearly displeased him.
"Your Majesty, thank the Seven you were alert in time," Lord Mace said, hugging me to his chest once more in a fatherly manner.
An hour later, once everyone had calmed somewhat, an official investigation led by Lord Tywin began. That same evening, we received the first results: Qyburn and Pycelle, who was nevertheless admitted to the autopsy, unanimously and with absolute certainty confirmed my suspicion—Spicer had been poisoned with Nightshade. And the poison had been mixed precisely into water, the jug of which had somehow found its way onto the royal table.
In the corridor not far from my chambers, the servants discovered a small glass vial. Under other circumstances, it might have gone unnoticed, but now it was immediately delivered to Tywin. Several people, including Varys and Kevan, recognized it as coming from Pycelle's stores.
At that point, the Grand Maester nearly suffered a seizure. He babbled incoherently, trying to convince everyone that he had nothing to do with the incident.
Pycelle's expression was a sight to behold—it seemed the old man might wet himself and die of fright right there in the Tower of the Hand, where the investigation was being conducted.
Frankly, I did not believe Pycelle was involved. And after the vial was found, I believed it even less. The whole affair looked staged. But whoever had arranged it had done so brazenly enough that people were beginning to believe it.
To me, the situation with Tyrion seemed to be repeating itself from the canon—only now someone, very cunning, had framed the Grand Maester himself.
The search for suspects began in earnest. First came my stewards—both looked as though they were ready to be laid in coffins. Pale as parchment, trembling, and terrified.
I couldn't blame them. If I were in their place, seeing the looks Cersei and Tywin had given them, I would have soiled myself as well.
The Orm brothers were also listed among the suspects. Herald Orm was not always in plain sight, and as for Harald Orm, matters were even worse—he had spent the entire day in the city, though I alone knew that for certain.
Cersei continued to insist that the Imp had orchestrated everything. By evening, according to the queen, Sansa had also become one of his accomplices.
No one could explain how the jug of water had appeared in our chambers. Brax and Liddon swore by all the gods that they had nothing to do with it. Orms, like Tyrion, denied any involvement whatsoever.
With so many suspects, finding anything concrete seemed nearly impossible.
Varys promised to question all his "little birds" throughout the night and attempt to reconstruct the movements of each suspect down to the minute.
(End of Chapter)
Good day! Your support is very important.
Please donate power stones, write reviews, and leave comments. It will be a huge help!