A black raven brought dark tidings.
Inside Highgarden's granary, the steward held a ledger and reported the autumn harvest accounts to Margaery, item by item.
"The wheat fields directly under Highgarden yielded eight thousand wagonloads of wheat, producing thirty thousand sacks of flour after milling. The olive oil presses produced two thousand barrels this year..."
Margaery sat in a chair, her gaze fixed on the view through the window behind the steward. It was hard to tell whether she had heard any of it.
"Lady Margaery?"
The steward stopped and called to her cautiously.
Margaery came back to herself and nodded. "Yes, I understand. Go on."
The steward acknowledged her and continued reading.
But Margaery's gaze drifted involuntarily toward the window again.
The southern horizon was perfectly still.
It felt as though a stone were weighing on her heart.
Mace Tyrell had left for Oldtown more than ten days ago. There had been no letters, no ravens, no news at all.
All that came from the south were scattered rumors. Some said Mace had been burned to death; others said he and Hightower had enjoyed their talks so much that he had stayed in Oldtown. Still others claimed he was already on his way back.
The conflicting accounts left her unsure what to believe.
But the darker rumors lodged in her heart like thorns.
Hurried footsteps sounded outside the granary.
The door swung open.
Loras walked in, his expression grim. "Margaery, the people we sent to Oldtown to gather news have sent a raven. Grandmother and the others are waiting. Come with me."
Margaery's heart sank.
She rose and followed Loras outside.
They crossed the courtyard and hurried toward the Main Building.
The moment the door opened, Margaery saw that everyone had already gathered. Her grandmother Olenna sat in a