Birthright: The Iron Throne by Simon Hawke

Author:Simon Hawke [Hawke, Simon]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-0-7869-0357-3
Publisher: Fanversion Publishing
Published: 2021-05-08T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Three

It had been a long time since Aedan had been back to the Green Basilisk Tavern, but tonight, he felt in the need of some strong drink and some company outside the palace. At the Imperial Cairn, there were always demands on his time, always at least a dozen things that required his attention, from routine matters having to do with the running of the household to correspondence and dispatches from distant provinces—one noble or another making entreaties to the emperor—matters of strategy and policy having to do with the war against Boeruine. However, there was nothing so important that it could not wait till morning. His staff was well trained to handle matters in his absence, and if anything urgent did happen to come up, such as the emperor’s requiring his presence, he had left word where he could be found. He did not think the emperor would require his presence tonight.

They had returned to the capital late in the afternoon, as the shadows lengthened in the plazas of Anuire. The streets had all been eerily silent as the weary troops trudged back to the parade ground by the docks, where they drilled regularly and assembled to go out on campaigns. A lot of people had turned out to watch the army as it marched through the city. They lined the route all the way to the parade ground, but no one cheered their arrival. When they saw the condition of the troops, they just stood silently and watched with grim faces, many of them scanning the ranks as they went by, searching for loved ones. Too many of those faces would be twisted with grief tonight, thought Aedan. Too many wives, mothers, and children would be crying for the men who had not returned.

After the troops had been dismissed from the parade ground and they had broken up to go back to their homes or their barracks, Aedan had returned to the palace with the emperor and some of the other nobles, such as young Viscounts Ghieste and Alam, whose rank—and hostage status, though that was never mentioned—gave them comfortable quarters at the Carin. Michael had retired to his rooms, saying he did not wish to be disturbed. All the way back from the Spiderfell, right up until the time they disembarked the boats at the Imperial Cairn, he had spoken not a word, brooding all the while. In a war that had its share of defeats as well as victories, this campaign had been the most disastrous yet, and Michael blamed himself.

Aedan knew better than to try lifting his spirits at a time like this. Michael needed time to be alone, and Aedan needed to get lost in a crowd and take some time away from his responsibilities. So he had bathed and changed his clothes and taken a boat back across the bay, then headed through the dark streets alone toward the artists’ quarter and the Green Basilisk Tavern.

He recalled the sinking feeling in his

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