Bronze Yohn Royce.
The Vale's loyal protector, the old Earl of Runestone.
The old man, renowned for his resolve and honor, now had the fury of a volcano on the verge of eruption burning in his hawklike eyes!
His hand had already closed around the hilt of the sword at his waist.
"Lady Lysa Arryn."
Yohn Royce's voice sounded as though it had been forced out of a frozen gorge.
Every word carried a bone-chilling cold!
"Why are you here?"
"Why are you here with Petyr?"
His gaze was fixed firmly on Lysa's face.
"Lord Royce."
"Lord Waynwood."
"Ser Templeton."
Lysa's vacant gaze swept over the Vale vassals who had once bowed and scraped before her, but whose faces were now filled with hostility.
She did not answer Yohn Royce's questions.
She merely held her son, Little Robert, who was still trembling in her arms.
She gently eased Robert out of her embrace and handed him to Petyr, who stood nearest to her.
"Look after him."
Her voice was soft and weightless, like a snowflake about to fall.
Then she slowly rose to face the knights surrounding them with drawn blades.
Fear, madness, and despair had all vanished from her face.
Only a deathly stillness remained.
It was as though she had just suffered a death of the spirit, and all that stood there now was a walking shell.
"I know what you want to ask."
"I killed my husband, Jon Arryn."
That single sentence froze the air in the room.
Everyone thought they had misheard.
Yohn Royce's pupils abruptly contracted.
The Vale nobles behind him all drew sharp breaths.
"You... what did you say?"
A young knight stammered out the question.
Lysa ignored him, simply watching Yohn Royce with her hollow eyes.
"With my own hands, I poured a