Aegon did not have to wait long before another knock came at the door.
"Come in."
Luke entered the hall.
He had taken off his bloodstained armor and changed into clean, close-fitting black clothes, but the scent of blood and rust that seemed to seep from his very bones had not faded.
His face was leaner than before, its contours sharply defined. His eyes were like two deep wells, burying every fierce emotion.
The exhilaration of killing, the emptiness left by fallen comrades, the coldness of executing traitors with his own hands-all had settled at the very bottom. On the surface, only an almost deathly stillness remained.
He stopped a few paces before Aegon and bowed, his movements brisk and firm.
"Your Highness."
"Sit." Aegon indicated the chair across the long table.
Luke sat in silence, his back still straight, his hands resting flat on his knees.
"You probably know what Luciana reported."
Aegon went straight to the point, dispensing with pleasantries.
"The Skull Band has been crippled. Fewer than three hundred survivors are still fit to fight."
Luke's jaw tightened slightly, then relaxed.
"Yes."
"But the war isn't over."
Aegon looked at him, his violet eyes unfathomable.
"Lys needs defending. Tyrosh needs keeping under control. And there will be more enemies in the future."
"We need an army. One that belongs entirely to us and answers only to me."
"Not mercenaries, not a garrison. True field troops, elite soldiers who can fight hard battles and crack the toughest defenses."
Deep within those wells that were Luke's eyes, a faint spark seemed to flicker.
"What do you need me to do, Your Highness?"
"The Skull Band now exists in name only."
Aegon leaned forward slightly and tapped a finger against the table.
"But we've proved that we can make war