The midday sun began to slant, casting long, slowly fading patches of light through the palace's stained glass.
Another day was drawing to a close.
In the main hall of the Archon of Tyrosh's palace, Aegon sat in the high-backed chair inlaid with ivory and obsidian, resting with his eyes closed.
The Blackfyre Sword and Dark Sister leaned beside the chair, their dark scabbards as still as two deep pools in the dwindling daylight.
Footsteps approached, steady and firm.
Jon Connington strode into the hall, stopped a few paces below the steps, and struck his chest with his right hand. "Your Highness."
Aegon opened his eyes. There was not a trace of weariness in his purple gaze; it remained as clear as ever.
"The city is fully under our control."
Jon delivered his report, his voice hoarse from days of fighting but his account clear and orderly.
"As you ordered, through interrogation and checks against the registers, we have identified all the immediate family members left in the city by the Tyroshi nobles and officers who marched with the army-their parents, wives, concubines, and legitimate children. Three hundred and eighty-seven in all. They are being held separately."
Aegon gave a slight nod.
"Take them all to the docks."
His voice was level, yet the air in the hall seemed to tighten.
"They are our best bargaining chips for making those still outside Lys lay down their weapons."
With that, he rose.
The hem of his black clothes brushed the cold stone steps. He reached out and slid Blackfyre and Dark Sister into the specially made sword belt at his waist. Two sturdy leather straps crossed to secure both swords side by side at an angle, within easy reach.
His left hand pressed one of the hilts out of habit, and