Ruby nodded head head. It was a tentative suggestion that she approved. The sun lounge continued on in reserved and humble activity, the growing hostilities for a time ceasing. They returned to their delicate salmon fillets and fruit platters and polite, trite conversation. The suspicious glare of the amitree dee returned to the real matters of the day - unpolished silverware and the lunch rotation.

“That is the most honest thing I’ve heard you say, William.” She glanced down at the napkin, and wrinkled her nose. For a brief, unforgivable moment she allowed her emotions to get the better of her manners. She looked up, and smiled warmly.

“We’re not here for revenge. Though, the thought had crossed both our minds.” She gestured to Arden. “The note you left found its way to the desk of the Scourge’s leader, and by default, to me. We want to help you.”

The demon raised an eyebrow, if such a thing were possible. They locked gazes for too long, weighing up the measure of one another’s motives. Death swaddled them all in a heavy cloak. It itched away at their minds and bodies. Ruby doubted wherever or not she could have stated truthfully which of the trio had emerged the most unscathed.

“Help me?”

“You wanted a blacksmith. Didn’t you?” Arden produced a small parchment from beneath his demi-cloak and set it onto the table. “Your weapons are vampiric, so there is no better man for the task than I.”

“I...what?” He set down his tankard, sober enough to realise this was unfamiliar behaviour even for the troupe.

“Arden is going to forge your request. You are going to pay the appropriate fees, provide the resources, and contribute to its construction. A simple, efficient business arrangement with one caveat.”

WIlliam rolled his eyes. “There we go.”

“We found ourselves in similar positions. We all do things we regret and the regret tears us apart.” Ruby produced her own coup d'etat, an obsidian band once worn to connect the troupe across time and space. “Our bonds sever. Our dreams fade. Our decisions haunt us. But, even you appear to have found peace with yourself.”

“Peace isn’t the word…”

The sun fell behind a cloud, and Scara Brae entered the lull between breakfast and lunch and afternoon paramble.

“Once the work is done, you must leave the city and never return. That is all we ask.”

Arden had asked for a lot more, but Ruby had balked at the thought of spilling any more blood heedlessly. Though the tentative succour stages of grief had fled her bones, she did not want to walk brazenly into the fires she had fought for so long to quench.

“What do you say?” Arden scooped up his royal assent to work in the artisan district and pocketed it.

The church bells rang. The guests cleaned their plates. The maitre de prepared himself for a busy afternoon.