Just as the Battle of the Five Armies broke out at Ashford.
In the council hall of the Eyrie.
The walls of blue-veined white marble gleamed faintly in the daylight streaming through the tall, narrow arched windows.
At the far end, House Arryn's soaring blue falcon hung high above the Warden's seat, looking down over the hall.
Littlefinger, Warden of the Vale, stood on the dais.
He wore a finely tailored velvet coat in a dark shade and held a crumpled piece of parchment between his fingers.
His face, so often graced by a mischievous smile, was now ashen.
Anger surged in his gray-green eyes.
"Where did this thing come from?"
His gaze fell on Ser Rosso Brune below the dais.
Ser Rosso hesitated before speaking. "My lord, we haven't been able to trace its source. In just three days, the whole Vale of Arryn, from the remotest mountain villages to the busiest towns, has been discussing it in every tavern, every mill, and every castle courtyard."
"Three days..."
Littlefinger repeated the words softly, turning them over.
Too fast!
Far too fast to be natural.
A powerful hand was driving this.
Who?
Countless faces flashed through his mind.
That stubborn old fool Yohn Royce of Runestone?
Or the schemer far away in Duskendale?
No, Varys was already dead. Cersei had cut off the Spider's head.
But apart from Varys, who had such a vast intelligence network and the motive?
He had come to the Vale on the orders of Cersei, the Queen Mother and Regent, to marry Lady Lysa in exchange for the Vale's support for the Iron Throne.
His task was to keep this rich and rugged land stable and muster as many of the Vale's troops as possible to march south against Viserys Targaryen, who had spent years