Margaery's sailing ship had dwindled to a tiny white speck on the horizon before finally disappearing.
Miranda stood behind Lynn, straightening his heavy Bearskin Cloak.
"My lord, will she deliver your message?"
"She will."
Lynn was certain.
"She's a clever woman. She knows what to choose."
"A woman who knows when to yield and when to stand firm is often more useful than a hundred knights."
"But the Tyrells won't be so easily persuaded."
Miranda nodded, only half understanding.
She simply felt uncomfortable with the way that woman from Highgarden looked at her lord.
Lynn said nothing more. His gaze swept past White Harbor toward the distant south.
King's Landing, the Red Keep.
In a dim secret passage, Varys carried a small oil lamp.
His footsteps were soundless, like a ghost's.
He stopped before the door to a hidden chamber and pushed it open.
Inside, a rough clay jar sat quietly on a stone table.
It was the "canned food" Lynn had sent.
A little boy in ragged clothes emerged from the shadows and bowed to Varys.
"Grand Maester Pycelle has examined it. He said it's just ordinary salted meat, nothing special."
The boy's voice was thin and shrill.
"He even tasted some and said it was too salty. Only northern wildlings would like it."
"Heh, heh, heh..."
Varys chuckled, his fat body quivering with the sound.
"Pycelle is old, and his mind has rusted. What does he know?"
Varys approached the stone table and gently stroked the jar's rough surface with his perfumed fingers.
He had studied this thing for several days.
In the end, he had only managed to pry it open with an iron pick after an enormous struggle.
The food inside was dried venison, coated in some kind of fat and giving off a rich,