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honored if the maester would sit here beside me, Your Grace.”
    “As you will.” Lord Stannis turned away to say something to Melisandre, who had seated herself at his right hand, in the place of high honor. Lady Selyse was on his left, flashing a smile as bright and brittle as her jewels.
    Too far , Cressen thought dully, looking at where Ser Davos was seated. Half of the lords bannermen were between the smuggler and the high table. I must be closer to her if I am to get the strangler into her cup, yet how?
    Patchface was capering about as the maester made his slow way around the table to Davos Seaworth. “Here we eat fish,” the fool declared happily, waving a cod about like a scepter. “Under the sea, the fish eat us. I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”
    Ser Davos moved aside to make room on the bench. “We all should be in motley tonight,” he said gloomily as Cressen seated himself, “for this is fool’s business we’re about. The red woman has seen victory in her flames, so Stannis means to press his claim, no matter what the numbers. Before she’s done we’re all like to see what Patchface saw, I fear—the bottom of the sea.”
    Cressen slid his hands up into his sleeves as if for warmth. His fingers found the hard lumps the crystals made in the wool. “Lord Stannis.”
    Stannis turned from the red woman, but it was Lady Selyse who replied. “ King Stannis. You forget yourself, Maester.”
    “He is old, his mind wanders,” the king told her gruffly. “What is it, Cressen? Speak your mind.”
    “As you intend to sail, it is vital that you make common cause with Lord Stark and Lady Arryn . . . ”
    “I make common cause with no one,” Stannis Baratheon said.
    “No more than light makes common cause with darkness.” Lady Selyse took his hand.
    Stannis nodded. “The Starks seek to steal half my kingdom, even as the Lannisters have stolen my throne and my own sweet brother the swords and service and strongholds that are mine by rights. They are all usurpers, and they are all my enemies.”
    I have lost him , Cressen thought, despairing. If only he could somehow approach Melisandre unseen . . . he needed but an instant’s access to her cup. “You are the rightful heir to your brother Robert, the true Lord of the SevenKingdoms, and King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,” he said desperately, “but even so, you cannot hope to triumph without allies.”
    “He has an ally,” Lady Selyse said. “R’hllor, the Lord of Light, the Heart of Fire, the God of Flame and Shadow.”
    “Gods make uncertain allies at best,” the old man insisted, “and that one has no power here.”
    “You think not?” The ruby at Melisandre’s throat caught the light as she turned her head, and for an instant it seemed to glow bright as the comet. “If you will speak such folly, Maester, you ought to wear your crown again.”
    “Yes,” Lady Selyse agreed. “Patches’s helm. It suits you well, old man. Put it on again, I command you.”
    “Under the sea, no one wears hats,” Patchface said. “I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.”
    Lord Stannis’s eyes were shadowed beneath his heavy brow, his mouth tight as his jaw worked silently. He always ground his teeth when he was angry. “Fool,” he growled at last, “my lady wife commands. Give Cressen your helm.”
    No , the old maester thought, this is not you, not your way, you were always just, always hard yet never cruel, never, you did not understand mockery, no more than you understood laughter .
    Patchface danced closer, his cowbells ringing, clang-a-lang, ding-ding, clink-clank-clink-clank . The maester sat silent while the fool set the antlered bucket on his brow. Cressen bowed his head beneath the weight. His bells clanged. “Perhaps he ought sing his counsel henceforth,” Lady Selyse said.
    “You go too far, woman,” Lord Stannis said. “He is an old man, and he’s served me well.”
    And I will serve you to the last, my sweet lord, my poor lonely