Good men have gone into those woods before, and never come out. I'll tell you what it was, girl, he said, a voice from the night, a shadow leaning so close now that she could smell the sour stench of wine on his breath. In the name of the king and council. Her clothes were almost dry by the time she reached the gatehouse.
She thought she could feel their eyes, like bugs crawling on her skin under her clothes. He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. Many were Dothraki horselords, big men with red-brown skin, their drooping mustachios bound in metal rings, their black hair oiled and braided and hung with bells. Days on the march, trailing behind the khalasar, had left her limping and haggard, with blistered and bleeding feet and hollows under her eyes.
Join the newsletter to receive news, updates, new products and freebies in your inbox.