Lord Corlton picked up the stack of intelligence reports and scanned the list of crimes laid out against House Velaryon. His voice came out tight. "How do we know any of this evidence isn't something you cooked up yourself?"
Tywin didn't even blink. "If it was fake, I wouldn't be standing here wasting my breath explaining it to you."
That landed. Corlton thought about it for half a second and had to admit the old lion had a point. If Tywin had wanted to move against the Velaryons with forged proof, he would have done it quietly and cleaned up the mess afterward. No speeches required.
"So it's all real?" Corlton asked, still half in shock.
The rest of the Small Council turned to stare at Varys like he was supposed to have answers for everything. The eunuch's smooth face tightened. His little birds gathered rumors and secrets, not babysat every lord in the realm.
Davos cleared his throat and stood, looking uncomfortable as hell. "My lord Hand, you've accused House Velaryon of treason and already locked up Ser Monford. What exactly do you plan to do with him?"
Tywin gave the former smuggler a flat look. "Lord Davos, you were lucky enough to be named Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. I wasn't aware that also gave you the authority of the Minister of Justice."
Davos shut his mouth. The rebuke stung, but he wasn't done. He took a breath and tried again. "Tyrion's been arrested too. Thrown in the black cells with the rest of the criminals."
Tywin's tone stayed ice-cold. "Did I order his arrest?"
"No," Davos admitted. "The Gold Cloaks took him."
"Then go ask their commander why they did it. I have more important things to handle."
Davos looked around the table for support. Nobody jumped in. He finally sent a runner to fetch the acting commander of the City Watch.
A few minutes later Ser Jeremy Lake walked in, gray curls neat, white cloak crisp over his gold cloak. He carried himself with the same sharp confidence Alliser Thorne used to have.
"Ser Jeremy," Davos said. "Tell us what happened with Lord Tyrion."
Jeremy didn't sugarcoat anything. "Gold Cloak patrol responded to a report of a dead whore on Silk Street. They found Lord Tyrion standing over the body. The knife in her throat belonged to him."
"Anyone actually see him do it?" Davos pressed.
Jeremy shook his head. "No eyewitness to the killing itself."
Davos let out a breath he'd been holding. "Then it's possible someone set him up."
Tywin cut in before anyone else could speak. "Whether he's guilty or not will be decided by the proper authorities. Not by gossip at this table."
Davos tried one last time. "We still need the Minister of Justice for the Velaryon case."
Tywin's pale green eyes locked on him. "The Minister of Justice is in a cell. The Hand is still here."
The room went quiet. Davos looked like he wanted to argue but didn't have the ground to stand on. Everyone else kept their heads down.
Tywin stood, already done with the meeting. "I'm taking full control of the Velaryon matter. The rest of you do your jobs and keep King's Landing running. Monford Velaryon goes to the royal executioner for questioning. I want a signed confession on the treason charges before the week is out."
He swept out without waiting for an answer.
In the black cells beneath the Red Keep, Tyrion and Monford Velaryon sat in neighboring cells. The air was damp and stank of piss and old blood. Tyrion had been talking for what felt like hours.
Monford finally snapped. "Shut up, Lannister. I'm only in here because your family framed me."
Tyrion paused, then grinned in the dark. "My father ordered your arrest?"
The heavy door at the end of the corridor creaked open. Torchlight spilled in. Tyrion squinted and saw two figures. One wore the white cloak of the Kingsguard.
"Jaime!" Tyrion scrambled to the bars, relief flooding his face. "Get me out of here. I didn't kill that girl. Someone planted me there."
Jaime held a finger to his lips. "Keep your voice down."
Tyrion dropped to a whisper. "When are you getting me out?"
Jaime looked tired. "I tried. Father said no. He gave strict orders that no one is to help you."
Tyrion's expression darkened. "Of course he did."
Jaime glanced at the man beside him. "This is Ser Jeremy Lake, acting commander of the Gold Cloaks. He's here to ask you some questions."
Jeremy studied the dwarf like he was examining something unpleasant he'd stepped in. Still, he did his job. "Where were you when the murder happened?"
Tyrion didn't hesitate. "On my way to Littlefinger's brothel. I pushed the door open and she was already dead."
Jeremy pulled a dagger from his belt and held it up. The blade was clean now, but the ivory hilt ended in a carved lion's head.
Tyrion's face went white. "That's mine. Lion's Mane. Uncle Tygett gave it to me on my thirteenth nameday. It should be locked in a chest at Casterly Rock, not stuck in some whore's throat."
Jeremy didn't blink. "It was in her throat when we found you."
Jaime stepped in fast. "There has to be some mistake. Tyrion wouldn't—"
Tyrion cut him off, voice low and vicious. "It wasn't a mistake. Someone took that dagger from Casterly Rock, waited until I was heading to the brothel, killed the girl, and left my knife behind so the Gold Cloaks would find me standing over the body."
Jeremy frowned. "Who would go to that much trouble to frame you?"
Tyrion pressed his ugly face between the bars and stared straight at both of them. "Tywin Lannister. My loving father. He needed me out of the way so I couldn't interfere with whatever he's doing to House Velaryon. And he's always hated that I'm still breathing and reminding everyone what a disappointment the Lannister line produced."
Jaime looked sick. Jeremy just stared.
Tyrion gave a bitter little laugh that echoed off the stone. "He's using the king being gone to clean house. First the Velaryons. Then me. The family shame gets locked away nice and quiet where nobody has to look at it anymore."