All he needed to do was say the words.  Instead he looked at the girl’s face and said, “You swear you’ll release her after the battle?”  “If you release Tommen, yes.”  He pushed himself to his feet. “Keep her then, but keep her safe. If these animals think they can use her... well, sweet sister, let me point out that a scale tips two ways.” His tone was calm, flat, uncaring; he’d reached for his father’s voice, and found it. “Whatever happens to her happens to Tommen as well, and that includes the beatings and rapes¹.” If she thinks me such a monster, I’ll play the part for her.  Cersei had not expected that. “You would not dare.”  Tyrion made himself smile, slow and cold. Green and black, his eyes laughed at her. “Dare? I’ll do it myself.”  His sister’s hand flashed at his face, but he caught her wrist and bent² it back until she cried out. Osfryd moved to her rescue. “One more step and I’ll break her arm,” the dwarf³ warned him. The man stopped. “You remember when I said you’d never hit me again, Cersei?” He shoved her to the floor and turned back to the Kettleblacks. “Untie her and remove that gag.”  The rope had been so tight as to cut off the blood to her hands. She cried out in pain as the circulation returned. Tyrion massaged⁴ her fingers gently until feeling returned. “Sweetling,” he said, “you must be brave. I am sorry they hurt you.”  “I know you’ll free me, my lord.”  “I will,” he promised, and Alayaya bent over and kissed him on the brow. Her broken lips left a smear⁵ of blood on his forehead. A bloody⁶ kiss is more than I deserve, Tyrion thought. She would never have been hurt but for me.  Her blood still marked him as he looked down at the queen. “I have never liked you, Cersei, but you were my own sister, so I never did you harm. You’ve ended that. I will hurt you for this. I don’t know how yet, but give me time. A day will come when you think yourself safe and happy, and suddenly your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth, and you’ll know the debt is paid.”  In war, his father had told him once, the battle is over in the instant one army breaks and flees. No matter that they’re as numerous as they were a moment before, still armed and armored; once they had run before you they would not turn to fight again. So it was with Cersei. “Get out!” was all the answer she could summon. “Get out of my sight!”  Tyrion bowed. “Good night, then. And pleasant dreams.”   He made his way back to the Tower of the Hand with a thousand armored feet marching through his

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