Early the next morning, Tyrion Lannister snapped his eyes open. Through the small window he could see that daylight had already filled the sky.
He had piled several sacks of plaster powder into a makeshift nest and curled up there through the night. Anxiety had kept him awake for a long time before sleep finally took him.
Now his whole body ached.
The candle from last night had burned down completely, leaving a stub stuck to the head of a plaster statue like a little hat.
Tyrion Lannister climbed to his feet, rubbed his eyes, and went to the basin of water. He dipped his hand in.
The icy cold made his teeth clench.
Taking a deep breath, he plunged his face into the basin, scrubbing the grime away. He smoothed his hair with wet fingers, washing off the mud.
The room filled with the sound of splashing water.
"Succubus!" a voice called from outside.
Tyrion Lannister froze, listening closely.
"Succubus, are you awake? It's time!" It was Ser Vardis.
"I'm awake!" Tyrion Lannister called back. "Ser Vardis, may I tidy myself up first? Please grant me the respect due a nobleman."
"Very well," Ser Vardis replied, remaining outside without opening the door.
Good, Tyrion Lannister thought with relief. He had been annoyed at waking late, because what he needed to do next couldn't be seen by anyone else.
He wiped his face dry with the hem of his shirt, then tore off one sleeve.
Next he ripped the sleeve into two strips of cloth and carried them to the plaster-powder "nest" he had built the night before.
He rubbed the cloth strips in the powder, then began wrapping them around his hands.
Layer after layer, circle after circle.
"Are you done, succubus?" Ser Vardis urged from outside.
"Almost!" Tyrion Lannister secured the cloth tightly over his knuckles, then puffed his cheeks and blew away the excess white powder.
The door creaked open. Ser Vardis stepped in, just as Tyrion Lannister finished his preparations.
"Ser, I thought you might grant me a bit more privacy," Tyrion Lannister said.
"I've been ordered to ensure your safety," Vardis replied, "and the trial is about to begin."
Tyrion Lannister walked toward the door. "Thank you for your diligence. I trust my behavior hasn't disappointed you."
"Not just me," Ser Vardis said as he followed. "Everyone attending today's trial will understand why you're called the succubus."
The great hall of House Arryn was bright, daylight pouring through the windows. The cold wind whipped the crescent falcon banners until they snapped loudly—stronger than at night, though Tyrion Lannister suspected he was simply still shivering from the morning chill.
The fifty torches had been extinguished. The little lord sat high upon the carved weirwood throne, glaring down at him.
"The bad man's here!" cried Robert Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie.
Lady Lysa sat beside him on a smaller seat, dressed in blue today, powdered and perfumed—no doubt to please her admirers. Catelyn Stark stood beside her.
"We meet again."
Tyrion Lannister bowed deeply, using the moment to survey the hall. This time, Lady Arryn had summoned her knights and retainers to witness the trial.
He saw the weathered face of Brynden Tully, and the genial Lord Nestor Royce. Beside Nestor stood a younger man with sharp black mustaches—surely his heir, Ser Albar Royce. These were familiar faces.
Most of the Vale's leading nobles had sent representatives. Tyrion Lannister spotted the thin-as-a-blade Ser Lyn Corbray, gout-stricken Lord Hunter, and the widowed Lady Waynwood surrounded by her sons.
There were banners he didn't recognize—broken spears, green serpents, burning towers, winged chalices on pink fields—minor lords he did not know.
The singer was present, of course. And Bronn as well, standing at the back of the crowd, his dark eyes peering over the heads of others.
"Where is my opponent?" Tyrion Lannister asked, meaning Rodrik Cassel.
"I'm right here," came the old but booming voice.
Ser Rodrik pushed through the crowd. He had removed his heavy armor and wore a simple linen shirt. His hands were wrapped in cloth, and his hair was tied back in a tail.
The old man was clearly experienced—not merely a swordsman. But Tyrion Lannister suspected his hand wraps lacked the extra touch he had added to his own.
"Would someone be kind enough to tie my hair as well?" Tyrion Lannister called.
Rodrik had given him the idea. He didn't want his hair blocking his vision in the fight.
Bronn stepped forward, tied Tyrion Lannister's hair back with a piece of cord.
Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Tyrion Lannister knew why—his freshly washed face was causing a stir.
Jealous looks from Ser Albar Royce and Ser Lyn Corbray cut toward him like blades.
Among the ladies, some blushed and looked away, while others watched him like hawks spotting prey, eyes gleaming.
"Mother, he's so handsome!" Robert Arryn squealed from the throne.
Lysa Arryn quickly soothed him. "Sweetling, we'll see him fly soon."
"I don't want him to fly!" the boy protested.
"Children never lie," Tyrion Lannister said with a grin. "Lady Lysa, call off the trial now and I promise to send ten golden eagles to the Eyrie from Casterly Rock."
He had almost said something far more inappropriate—but caught himself just in time.
"Begin," Catelyn Stark urged anxiously. She feared delay might change the mood; already whispers spread through the hall.
She knew well enough—handsome men could draw crowds even when guilty. And this was the heir to Casterly Rock.
"Make them fight!" young Lord Robert shouted, gripping the arms of his chair and trembling with excitement.
Lysa Arryn nodded. The crowd stepped back, leaving Tyrion Lannister and Rodrik Cassel kneeling opposite each other in the center.
A septon approached Tyrion Lannister, raising a many-faceted crystal from a cloth pouch at his belt. Light refracted through it, scattering rainbow colors across Tyrion Lannister's face.
In a high, solemn voice, almost like a chant, the septon called upon the Seven to bear witness—to reveal the truth within this man's soul. If he were innocent, grant him freedom; if guilty, grant him death. His voice echoed through the hall.
"Tell them to start!" Robert Arryn shouted.
"For the honor of House Stark and Winterfell," Ser Rodrik said, rising to his feet and bowing toward Catelyn Stark.
"For my face," Tyrion Lannister said. "Do try not to hit it."
"They await your command," Lysa Arryn told her son.
"Fight!" the boy screamed, trembling with excitement.