Tyrion rolled his eyes. "What is it now, Father?"

"Just come with me." The expression on Tywin's face was calm as ever. A stranger wouldn't have noticed the difference. But Sansa did, and so did Tyrion. He sighed and got up. "Let's go, Sansa. Father has serious business to discuss with us."

They hurried down the long, deserted hallway. Everybody had gone to watch the pre-dinner show. Faint laughter came from the Great Hall, and for a brief, horrifying moment, Sansa thought Tywin would lead them in there and force her to watch whatever it was Roose Bolton was doing to entertain his guests. But he stopped halfway and turned around. "Joffrey is watching the show," he told his son, "go get him and follow us in ten minutes. I believe you know where you'll find us."

The mocking half smile on Tyrion's face had died. He stopped dead in his tracks, mouth half open, his face losing all color fast. "Is this some kind of sick joke, Father?"

See Gregor stood apart from them, watching them, dark spots on his boots. It was at that moment Sansa realized something was very wrong.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Tywin's eyes were fixed on Tyrion, his head slightly tilted to the side, as if he were asking a genuine question rather than a rhetorical one - the calm before the storm.

"N-no." Tyrion's voice was unnaturally shaky. "No, you don't. But-"

"Don't argue with me," Tywin said curtly. "Just do as you're told this once." The harshness had left his eyes as he held out his arm. "Come, Sansa."

Her legs felt like pudding; she had to hold on to his arm to steady herself. Yet somehow, miraculously, she kept putting one foot in front of the other.

The Mountain took a torch off the wall walked ahead, leading them down narrow, winding stairs. The stone beneath her stilettos felt slippery, but the only source of light was the flickering torch in Ser Gregor's hand. She tried counting the number of flights to get a sense of how deep below the ground they were, but every few dozen, she lost track. All she could tell was that the stairs were getting narrower and steeper the deeper they went.

Sansa stopped and turned around. "I'm not going any further unless you tell me what we're doing down there and why."

Tywin looked at her with that same menacing curiosity in his eyes she had come to fear. "Do you think I'd ever allow any harm to come to you?"

"No, of course you wouldn't." Absolute loyalty and absolute trust. Those were the things Tywin demanded of his family.

Her answer had taken half a heartbeat too long by the look on his face. But his voice was completely calm when he said, "We're leaving the Dreadfort. Sandor will pick us up."

Sansa's heart started pounding, a thousand thoughts racing through her head; the things Arya had said to her, the strange look on Jaqen's face when she'd mentioned where she'd spend the night. "It's the Faceless Men, isn't it? They're going to attack us."

Tywin was behind her, gently but firmly pushing her forward. "They could for all I care," he said. "But, no. Someone shorted Lannister Enterprise shares, right before the beginning of the Purge."

Sansa tried to catch a glimpse of his face, but Ser Gregor was too far ahead, and Tywin's head had been swallowed by the darkness behind them.

"It got flagged, of course," he continued. "I didn't give it much thought at first. It's not uncommon for people to bet a little money on companies to get hit on Purge Night. I figured maybe someone would try to blow up one of the factories, so I added some security. But the amount was substantial enough that I had it traced. They went through three dozen shell companies. Part of it was Baelish. But the rest- most of it-" He broke off.

They'd finally reached the bottom of the stairs. Water was running down the bare stone walls that lined the tunnel ahead of them. This wasn't a part of the Dreadfort guests were meant to visit.

Tywin's grip around her arm tightened. For the first time, Sansa realized he was angry above all else. No, not angry. Furious. She'd never seen him like this before.

"The rest belongs to Bolton himself," he said. "I didn't believe it at first, but it's confirmed. Our host placed a rather substantial bet that when the markets open tomorrow, Lannister stock will take a nosedive. There are only so many ways he can make that happen. I trust you understand why we can't stay."

Sansa stared at him, trying to come up with a response, tell him that what he was implying was ridiculous, that not even Roose Bolton would dare to murder his own guests. But her throat felt so dry she couldn't speak. Kill the King.

"He will pay for his betrayal, my lord," Gregor Clegane's voice cut through the silence. It was the first time he spoke. "Say the word, and I will deal with him tonight."

Sansa glanced at the Mountain. Clearly, he'd already dealt with somebody. But inside these walls, there was little he could do to protect them against their host, much less kill a man in his own castle. Lord Roose on the other hand… Kill the King. She shuddered. "When Cersei heard them say kill the King," she said softly, "I don't think they meant Robert." A part of her was hoping Tywin would dismiss her concerns, tell her to stop being so paranoid.

But Tywin just nodded. "It's crossed my mind, yes." He shrugged. "I asked Cersei about it. She swore it was only sellswords singing an old song from the Rebellion. It may mean nothing, but it makes no difference now. We're leaving."