The axe scratched at the apple of Pycelle’s throat and stroked the soft wobbly skin under his jaw, scraping away the last hairs. “You … were not here,” he gasped when the blade moved upward to his cheeks. “Robert … his wounds … if you had seen them, smelled them, you would have no doubt …” “Oh, I know the boar did your work for you … but if he’d left the job half done, doubtless you would have finished it.” “He was a wretched king … vain, drunken, lecherous … he would have set your sister aside, his own queen … please … Renly was plotting to bring the Highgarden maid to court, to entice his
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