The horn was bigger than I had expected.
Onyx-black and made from the bone of what must have been a truly enormous dragon; it was banded with Valyrian steel and red gold, studded with strange Valyrian glyphs that I had to remember to get the Grandmaester to take a look at, its surface host to an unsettlingly reflective sheen. The whole thing was some odd six feet long from mouthpiece to spout, and doubtless capable of creating a bone-meltingly intense wail; though whether that wail could tame dragons was more doubtful.
If nothing else, it certainly looked the part.
"What is that?" Tyrion asked as he settled his papers onto the desk. He'd been hard at work, dismantling Baelish's web.
I shrugged, feeling cryptic. "A trinket or a tool, depending on who you ask."
"I'm asking you," he replied, eyes narrowing as he observed the thing. It must have seemed a strange addition to my chambers.
"Consider it a bit of both, then," I answered. "Onto business."
Tyrion nodded as he hopped into his chair, his feet dangling off the edge. "Our expenses - discounting one-off or unique items - have fallen below our incomes. Our total spending still far exceeds collected taxes, but we have a healthy enough reserve to manage it."
"The main items?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"The biggest by far has to be the grain. The Reachlords may have cut their prices at Lord Mace's behest, but not enough to avoid making a dent in our coffers. Mercifully, most the grain in the current shipment's already been bought, so we don't have to do much more business with them for a little while. Next comes the Iron Bank. The costs of servicing our debt and the added charge." Tyrion shot me a look.
"The Faceless Men, you mean," I supplied.
"Yes," he nodded, shooting me a side-eyed look. "We've done well in dealing with our other debts. Our debts to the Faith have almost been completely paid off, thanks in no small part to the High Septon's generosity." I smiled. "Repayments to House Lannister have been reduced. Then there's the city itself. Rebuilding the gates, removing and disposing of the wildfire, building granaries, purging the gold cloaks, building scorpions for the city walls - all costly measures in their own right. And your wider ambitions as well. Expanding the ports, rebuilding the royal fleet, repairing the major trade roads into and out of the capital, expanding the newly-reformed gold cloaks to patrol the Kingsroad against bandits, and all the other myriad things you seem to want to do."
"Where are we with our reserves?" I asked.
"Of the two million House Tyrell so generously gifted us, I would say we have a little less than one-and-a-half million left in our coffers."
I let a low whistle slip through my lips. "At that rate I'll beggar the realm faster than my father. I'm spending almost as much coin per day as he did."
"And having far less fun, too," Tyrion japed.
I couldn't help but snort. "That too," I agreed. "Though for you I reckon that might soon change. Once Baelish is dealt with his brothels will be yours for the taking."
"Mine?" Tyrion asked, a lone brow quirked. "Not the crown's?"
"Gods, no," I said, putting on an air of offence. "I'll take everything else worth half a groat to fill the crown's coffers, just not the brothels. All those whores, in need of instruction and management..." I shook my head. "The crown could never be seen to be indulging in such shameful flesh-peddling."
"Ah," Tyrion said, as he caught my meaning. "But the crown's lecherous uncle could. All while paying some elevated tax, I presume."
I couldn't help the grin on my face. "In any case, what would be your assessment?"
Tyrion quirked a lone brow. "Of what, nephew?"
"Of my reign thus far."
Tyrion scratched his beard a moment in thought. He knew better than to flatter - I had little tolerance for such things in my inner circle. "Some measures are working better than others," he finally decided.
"I don't know how much worth your grain shipments will be in staving off famine. Given the seasons there are risks some of the seeds won't take or will be stolen or the yields may not be as we hope - though I am more hopeful for the livestock we are sending to the war-stricken areas.
Yet the measure has managed to draw people away from the cities. Kings Landing reeks less today than it did a few months ago. It's less decrepit, less overfilled. Safer, too. Less robberies, less rapes, less hunger. The grain has also worked to curry favour with the lords.
The Stormlords and Riverlords and Reachlords all like you more for it. And I imagine the Northerners must be looking down on them with envy."
"All in all a good showing, then?"
Tyrion shrugged. "You need not worry, I think. You're better than your predecessors, in any case."
"You damn me with faint praise, I say. Who wouldn't be better than Joffrey?"
Tyrion snorted impudently.
I shook my head in mock exasperation. "You can go, then. Good work so far."
Tyrion nodded as he gathered up his things and made to leave, waddling out the door. I leaned back in my seat once he was gone, contemplative. The big issue remained. My wife and the princess. I could not help the smile on my face as I thought of them.
I called in the guards, and sent for my wife. Though I had been lucky, and the rumour-mill of court had been quiet on any mention of Arianne, there were whispers about the king and queen fighting. Murmurs of weakness. A chink in the regnal armour. Troubling to some. Unacceptable to others. Yet inevitable, as I refused to allow her to grace my bed. No matter. If all went well, I would have a way to fold the rumours into a satisfying truth, to cement my authority. Some new gossip to overwhelm all the rest.
Margaery entered, looking appropriately contrite, her head bowed. I gestured for her to sit, and she claimed a chair. She stayed that way till the sound of the door closing came and I had confirmed that the guard had left us alone - at which point she relaxed into her seat and her frown turned upside down.
"How did I do?" she asked.
"Very well, Margaery. Very well. You could have put the finest mummers of Braavos to shame!" I let my tone turn suggestive, teasing: "Had I not known better, I would have honestly thought you... drunk."
Margaery blushed prettily. "It was nothing, Your Grace. Had it not been for your show of outrage, I think the princess might well have developed suspicions."
I could only shrug at that. "In any case, it gives me what I need."
Margaery frowned. "Are you really going to expel the princess from court? I understand rebuking her father, but might it not be wiser to keep her close?"
"She's too much trouble," was my reply. "With Myrcella, my ties to Dorne are secure. But the longer the princess stays here, the more havoc she can wreak - and I cannot really stop her. Thus, I would rather she work her wiles elsewhere. Not that I intend to rid myself of her immediately, of course. That would set too many tongues wagging! Yet you know as well as I do how easy it was to bring her to cause offence to a king. A few weeks around a queen was all it took."
"In fairness," Margaery argued, "we did bait her."
"In fairness," I countered, "the little cock-tease has been flaunting herself the moment she arrived. Trying to sow chaos. A pleasant distraction, perhaps - but a distraction all the same. A lesser man might well have fallen for it."
"A lesser man might have," she agreed, the corners of her mouth twitching up into a knowing half-smile. "Yet you were not distracted, were you?"
Of course not. After the shock of revelation had passed, Margaery had redoubled her efforts to involve herself in my work. Checking for whatever paths my dreams had laid before me. In a sense it was a relief. My head was a swimming ball of secrets, lies, and half-finished plots. The lack of sleep and injury had not helped matters.
Yet as it became clear I was spiralling, having something resembling a confidant - even if I could not completely trust her - was useful. Someone to share the burden with. It was at her suggestion that my regular circadian rhythm had been restored - with ample assistance from some of the Grandmaester's dreamwine, of course.
...
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