CINEMA PARADISO

     Petyr put his arm around her.  “So he is, but he is Robert’s heir as well.  Bringing Harry here was the first step in our plan, but now we need to keep him, and only you can do that.  He has a weakness for a pretty face, and whose face is prettier than yours?  Charm him.  Entrance him.  Bewitch him.”

     “I don’t know how,”  she said miserably.

     “Oh, I think you do,” said Littlefinger, with one of those smiles that did not reach his eyes.  “You will be the most beautiful woman in the hall tonight, as lovely as your lady mother at your age.  I cannot seat you on the dais, but you’ll have a place of honor above the salt and underneath a wall sconce.  The fire will be shining in your hair, so everyone will see how fair of face you are.  Keep a good long spoon on hand to beat the squires off, sweetling.  You will not want green boys underfoot when the knights come round to beg you for your favor.”

     “Who would ask to wear a bastard’s favor?”

     “Harry, if he has the wits the gods gave a goose… but do not give it to him.  Choose some other gallant, and favor him instead.  You do not want to seem too eager.”

     “No,” Alayne said.

     “Lady Waynwood will insist that Harry dance with you, I can promise you that much.  That will be your chance. Smile at the boy.  Touch him when you speak.  Tease him, to pique his pride.  If he seems to be responding, tell him that you are feeling faint, and ask him to take you outside for a breath of fresh air.  No knight could refuse such a request from a fair maiden.”

     “Yes,” she said, “but he thinks that I’m a bastard.”

     “A beautiful bastard, and the Lord Protector’s daughter.”  Petyr drew her close and kissed her on both cheeks.  “The night belongs to you, sweetling, Remember that, always.”

     “I’ll try, father,” she said.

     The feast proved to be everything her father promised.

     Sixty-four dishes were served, in honor of the sixty-four competitors who had come so far to contest for silver wings before their lord. From the rivers and the lakes came pike and trout and salmon, from the seas crabs and cod and herring. Ducks there were, and capons, peacocks in their plumage and swans in almond milk. Suckling pigs were served up crackling with apples in their mouths, and three huge aurochs were roasted whole above firepits in the castle yard, since they were too big to get through the kitchen doors. Loaves of hot bread filled the trestle tables in Lord Nestor’s hall, and massive wheels of cheese were brought up from the vaults.  The butter was fresh-churned, and there were leeks and carrots, roasted onions, beets, turnips, parsnips.  And best of all, Lord Nestor’s cooks prepared a splendid subtlety, a lemon cake in the shape of the Giant’s Lance, twelve feet tall and adorned with an Eyrie made of sugar.

      For me, Alayne thought, as they wheeled it out.  Sweetrobin loved lemon cakes too, but only after she told him that they were her favorites.  The cake had required every lemon in the Vale, but Petyr had promised that he would send to Dorne for more.

     There were gifts as well, splendid gifts.  Each of the competitors received a cloak of cloth-of-silver and a lapis brooch in the shape of a pair of falcon’s wings.  Fine steel daggers were given to the brothers, fathers, and friends who had come to watch them tilt.  For their mothers, sisters, and ladies fair there were bolts of silk and Myrish lace.

     “Lord Nestor has an open hand,” Alayne heard Ser Edmund Breakstone say.  “An open hand and a little finger,” Lady Waynwood replied, with a nod toward Petyr Baelish.   Breakstone was not slow to take her meaning.  The true source of this largesse was not Lord Nestor, but the Lord Protector.

     When the last course had been served and cleared, the tables were lifted from their trestles to clear the floor for dancing, and musicians were brought in.

     “Are there no singers?” asked Ben Coldwater.

     “The little lord cannot abide them,” Ser Lymond Lynderly replied.  “Not since Marillion.”

     “Ah… that was the man who murdered Lady Lysa, yes?”

     Alayne spoke up. “His singing pleased her greatly, and she showed him too much favor, perhaps.  When she wed my father he went mad and pushed her out the Moon Door.  Lord Robert has hated singing ever since.  He is still fond of music, though.”

     “As am I,” Coldwater said.  Rising, he offered Alayne his hand.  “Would you honor me with this dance, my lady?”

     “You’re very kind,” she said, as he led her to the floor.

     He was her first partner of the evening, but far from the last.  Just as Petyr had promised, the young knights flocked around her, vying for her favor.  After Ben came Andrew Tollett, handsome Ser Byron, red-nosed Ser Morgarth, and Ser Shadrich the Mad Mouse.  Then Ser Albar Royce, Myranda’s stout dull brother and Lord Nestor’s heir.  She danced with all three Sunderlands, none of whom had webs between their fingers, though she could not vouch for their toes.  Uther Shett appeared to pay her slimy compliments as he trod upon her feet, but Ser Targon the Halfwild proved to be the soul of courtesy.  After that Ser Roland Waynwood swept her up and made her laugh with mocking comments about half the other knights in the hall.  His uncle Wallace took a turn as well and tried to do the same, but the words would not come.  Alayne finally took pity on him and began to chatter happily, to spare him the embarrassment.  When the dance was done she excused herself, and went back to her place to have a drink of wine.

     And there he stood, Harry the Heir himself; tall, handsome, scowling.  “Lady Alayne. May I partner you in this dance?”

     She considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

     Color rose to his cheeks.  “I was unforgiveably rude to you in the yard.  You must forgive me.”

     “Must?” She tossed her hair, took a sip of wine, made him wait.  “How can you forgive someone who is unforgiveably rude?  Will you explain that to me, ser?”

     Ser Harrold looked confused. “Please.  One dance.”

     Charm him.  Entrance him.  Bewitch him.  “If you insist.”

     He nodded, offered his arm, led her out onto the floor.  As they waited for the music to resume, Alayne glanced at the dais, where Lord Robert sat staring at them.  Please, she prayed, don’t let him start to twitch and shake.  Not here.  Not now.  Maester Coleman would have made certain that he drank a strong dose of sweetmilk before the feast, but even so.

     Then the musicians took up a tune, and she was dancing.

     Say something, she urged herself.  You will never make Ser Harry love you if you don’t have the courage to talk him.  Should she tell him what a good dancer he was? No, he’s probably heard that a dozen times tonight.  Besides, Petyr said that I should not seem eager.  Instead she said, “I have heard that you are about to be a father.”  It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie.

     “For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old.”

     Your bastard daughter Alys, Alayne thought, but what she said was, “That one had a different mother, though.”

     “Yes. Cissy was a pretty thing when I tumbled her, but childbirth left her as fat as a cow, so Lady Anya arranged for her to marry one of her men-at-arms.  It is different with Saffron.”

     “Saffron?”  Alayne tried not to laugh.  “Truly?”

     Ser Harrold had the grace to blush.  “Her father says she is more precious to him than gold.  He’s rich, the richest man in Gulltown.  A fortune in spices.”

     “What will you name the babe?” she asked.  “Cinnamon if she’s a girl?  Cloves if he’s a boy?”

     That almost made him stumble.  “My lady japes.”

     “Oh, no.”  Petyr will howl when I tell him what I said.

     “Saffron is very beautiful, I’ll have you know.  Tall and slim, with big brown eyes and hair like honey.”

     Alayne raised her head.  “More beautiful than me?”

     Ser Harrold studied her face. “You are comely enough, I grant you.  When Lady Anya first told me of this match, I was afraid that you might look like your father.”

     “Little pointy beard and all?”  Alayne laughed.

     “I never meant… “

     “I hope you joust better than you talk.”

     For a moment he looked shocked.  But as the song was ending, he burst into a laugh.  “No one told me you were clever.”

     He has good teeth, she thought, straight and white.  And when he smiles, he has the nicest dimples.  She ran one finger down his cheek.  “Should we ever wed, you’ll have to send Saffron back to her father.  I’ll be all the spice you’ll want.”

     He grinned.  “I will hold you to that promise, my lady.  Until that day, may I wear your favor in the tourney?”

     “You may not.  It is promised to… another.”  She was not sure who as yet, but she knew she would find someone.