Gared's face, already pale from the pain in his knee, drained of every last drop of blood until he looked like a drowned corpse. His piggy eyes widened to the size of copper pennies. Even the two thugs in the corner stiffened, a collective shudder passing through them. Old Silas, huddled in his rocking chair, let out a quiet, terrified squeak.
Benjen Stark.
To the wildlings, he was a demon of the snows. To the Night's Watch, he was a living legend. He was the First Ranger, a warrior of peerless skill, and a man who possessed an uncompromising, lethal sense of honor. He had the authority of the Lord Commander backing his every move.
Gared felt a cold sweat break out across his massive back, plastering his tunic to his skin.
Benjen Stark is coming here? Gared's internal voice shrieked in absolute terror. To check on this bitch and her demon spawn?
The fat landlord knew his reputation. If Benjen Stark rode into Mole's Town and found this family missing, or even slightly bruised, he wouldn't ask questions. He wouldn't care about Night's Watch jurisdictions or local landlords.
The First Ranger would tear Mole's Town apart timber by timber. And knowing his reputation, Benjen would find Gared first.
Gared tremblingly sighed, his heart hammering painfully against his ribs.
Ah... Benjen, you bastard... I cannot provoke that man. No one survives crossing the First Ranger.
Gared's mind raced through his options. What to do now? Should I order my men to attack?Threaten her?
He looked at Serena's calm, unbothered face, and then at the red-eyed boy who had crippled his best enforcer with a casual flick of the wrist. No. If I fight, I die today. If I win, Benjen Stark kills me next week.
He was completely, utterly trapped.
From the corner of her eye, Serena watched the conflicting emotions play out across Gared's sweaty, terrified face. She saw the exact moment his spirit broke entirely.
She smirked internally. Yes, she had used a man's name falsely. Benjen Stark had made no such promise; he didn't even know they were in Mole's Town yet.
But in the deadly game of cyvasse she was currently playing, a well-placed bluff was as good as a Valyrian steel sword. There were no other good options. She couldn't fight an army of corrupt Watchmen physically, so she would fight them with a ghost.
Serena sighed, a delicate, almost theatrical sound, and turned back to face the broken landlord.
"Hmm... Lord Gared," Serena said, her tone shifting from philosophical to deadly serious. "I can see the distress on your face. I can think of what you are feeling right now. The pressure of your... enterprise."
She stepped forward, snapping the heavy lid of the ironwood box shut. The metallic clack made Gared jump in his seat.
"I am a reasonable woman," Serena continued, resting her hand flat on the top of the box. "I have no desire to disrupt the flow of coin in this miserable town. Therefore, I will turn a blind eye to the Night's Watch situation under you. You may continue your business."
Gared blinked, stunned. "You... you will?"
"I will," Serena affirmed. "But this box, and the ledger inside it, will remain with me. As insurance."
She leaned down, bringing her face level with his, her green eyes piercing into his soul.
"You can write your future transactions in another notebook, Gared. But this one belongs to the Shadow now."
She smiled, a cold, predatory curving of her lips that made the fat man's blood run like ice water.
"If anything 'unexpected' happens to me, my children, or this shop," Serena warned, her voice dropping to a silken, venomous whisper, "then you are doomed. I have already arranged for a dead-man's drop. If I am harmed, not only will Benjen Stark find this ledger, but he will find you."
She let the threat hang, letting him imagine the First Ranger's fury.
"And you know the Night's Watch torture methods for those who steal from their brothers, don't you, Gared?" Serena added softly.
"They don't just take your head. They will drag you to the Wall. They will lock you in one of the Ice Cells carved into the glacier. You will sit in the pitch black, listening to the ice crack, feeling the frostbite slowly eat your fingers and toes until they snap off in your boots. You wouldn't die smoothly, my lord. You would beg the Gods for a quick death for weeks."
Gared opened his mouth. He desperately tried to form a counter-argument, to find some shred of leverage he could use to salvage his pride.
But his mind was blank. Her logic was airtight. Her sense of the game was vicious. He realized, with a sinking, horrifying certainty, that he wasn't dealing with a frightened washerwoman.
He was playing with a highly venomous snake, one that had completely coiled itself around his neck. If he made any sudden moves, if he stayed in this room any longer, she would bite.
He cried internally, a pathetic wail of a defeated bully. This is the worst day of my life.