It was late afternoon. A gentle breeze was rolling in from the south; the waning sun that had remained hidden behind a blanket of clouds throughout the day finally peeked out from the edge of the horizon, painting the smoke cloud over King’s Landing a deep red as if the city was afire again.

  “Well, the view is great,” said Tyrion, sitting across from me in one of the Keep’s many balconies. “And at least the smell is better.” He made a big show of sniffing the air. “Ah! Ash instead of human shit. A great improvement in your reign, Your Grace. But as your Master of Coin, I thought I would at least meet the standards of conversing in your solar for once.”

  I chuckled. “I’m afraid the Kingsguard has instituted a minimum size requirement to enter my solar,” I told him, putting my hand out to indicate a height just a bit taller than he was. “Safety reasons, you understand.”

  “A dwarf joke, how original.” He took a sip of his mulled wine and considered the food laid out to us on the table. A simple affair of roasted onions dipped in gravy, buttered bread, freshly-caught trout, and a side of carrots and greens and sweetgrass. “Now, I appreciate being dined and wined as much as any whore would, but I doubt you called me here just to provide me with a good time.”

  I nodded. “My preferred partner has been feeling indisposed since last night, so I thought we could speak on state matters while we ate.”

  “I’m glad to know I’m your last option,” Tyrion snarked, ripping off a chunk of bread.

  I rolled my eyes. “You were my second, actually, and you will forgive me if I enjoy Lady Margaery’s company more than yours.”

  “Ah, yes. Terrible business, that. Attacked in the heart of the kingdom by thugs, only to be saved by the dashing white knight. A tale worthy of songs. I would sure love to have some personal guards of my own in these troubled times; but when I finally got to speaking with Bronn about returning to my service after he was done with your errands, he confessed to already being permanently employed.”

  I shrugged. “I was simply making a better use of his talents while you were unavailable, uncle. Now, you could say I’ve grown attached to him.”

  “I thought ensuring my safety was a good use of his talents.” Tyrion said. “The best use, in fact.”

  I let go of my cutlery and looked at him squarely. Apparently, Tywin had cut off most of his privileges ever since the trial. I’d been too busy to countermand it before, but I could use it now to score some more points with him. “You’re right,” I told him. “I will see to it that you are appropriately baby-sat from now on. Ten men, five per shift. A member of the king’s own small council shouldn’t be walking around the city, or the castle, unguarded.”

  “The small council? Why, I had almost forgotten of my appointment as Master of Coin, seeing as I wasn’t even called to today’s session.”

  I groaned. “A mistake on my part. My page is new. He didn’t even know you were to be called too. But it doesn’t matter. We spoke only briefly, and I’m sure your father has already informed you of what you are responsible for.”

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  Tyrion gave a humourless laugh. “Yes, dear Lord Tywin does love tormenting me with menial tasks. First the sewers in the Rock, now Flea Bottom in King’s Landing. Though I suppose this one is on you. I wonder if they will name me Tyrion the Shitfixer in the future. Or perhaps the Cleaning Imp. It does have a nice ring to it.”

  “It’s work that needs to be done, uncle,” I said. “No more no less. But that’s not what I called you here for. It is time you know a truth only your father and I know so far.”

  His eyebrows popped up. “Oh a secret, how juicy. Let me guess, Lady Falyse was caught fucking another—”

  “A boy proclaiming himself to be Aegon Targaryen, Rhaegar’s son, will soon invade the Seven Kingdoms with the Golden Company and other free companies at his back.”

  Tyrion’s mouth closed with a click, and he sat stunned for a long moment. “Oh,” he finally said.

  “Yes. Oh. Big oh, in fact. I had counted on Dorne as a potential ally after Prince Oberyn’s visit, but not so much now. And that’s without counting Stannis and Balon Greyjoy and Daenerys Targaryen.”

  “Well,” Tyrion started, stirring his wine with one stunted hand. “I was known as a prolific problem solver in my days, nephew, but now I tend to steer away from wars and battles and all that nonsense. I don’t have any more noses to lose, I’m afraid.”

  “It is not your battle expertise I’m after.” Tyrion had a great head for administration, when it wasn’t flooded with puppy-love for lying whores. After the trial, I had visited Shae once in the manse I’d put her in. Just once. She wouldn’t be betraying anyone ever again. I made sure of that. “It’s coin and logistics I need from you. Wars cost money. Grain and iron shipments, wood for pikes and spears and barrels filled with arrow shafts, heads of cattle, payment for the soldiers, and for the cartwrights and fletchers and smiths and cooks and whores that follow a war camp. And, of course, someone needs to organize it all.”

  Tyrion frowned. “If you think I can rub two coppers and produce a silver like Littlefinger, you’re dearly mistaken, Your Grace. I can borrow it, if you wish but…”

  “No,” I said. Borrowing a token amount from the Iron Bank so they don’t side with the other pretenders wasn’t the worst idea, but we had just paid them nearly three million dragons. That would suffice for now. “Don’t bother. In the short-term, there’s not much we can do, I know. But when you rebuild the near-quarter of King’s Landing that was devastated, it shall be the Crown that controls all those buildings. It will be the Crown who owns and operates the brothels in the new Street of Silk. The shops and taverns and warehouses that spring up will pay us tribute, or perhaps we shall own them ourselves. I want new businesses there, not rat-stuffed warrens. I’ll give you the freedom to do as you see fit.”

  Tyrion sat back on his chair, legs dangling in the air. “While I’m glad to be named your new quartermaster and whoremonger, along with Master of Coin, it seems like a lot to do from the discomfort of my current rooms near the kitchens,” he said, not at all trying to be subtle.

  I waved a hand. “Yes, yes. Move back into Maegor’s Holdfast. Your father will be gone soon enough after the wedding. I will speak with Pycelle, too. You’ll have enough assistants to help you. But they will be your responsibility. I’ve found that one in three men are spies in this castle. The other two are spies too, mind you, but they are my own. It will be on your head if our plans fall into enemy hands.”

  “I have quite a large head, thankfully,” Tyiron said, chuckling.

  I laughed with him, then paused. “Oh, another thing. You’ve been to the Pyromancer’s guild, no? Before the Blackwater?”

  “Indeed I have.” He raised an eyebrow. “Why? Are you thinking of picking up alchemy as a hobby, Your Grace?”

  I chortled. “Not quite. I simply mean to pay them a visit, uncle, and I would love your company. And Bronn’s too,” I amended. “Just in case.”