The Liliana was not the largest vessel in the Scara Braen fleet. Two hundred feet from stern to keel, it was quick, low on the water, and sailed by forty men who were amongst the best that came through the island’s docklands. None were part of the Knights of Brae, but each had sworn fealty to the ship’s captain first, and Queen Valeena second. If Killian had chosen them personally, Arden had no doubt in his mind that there was no finer crew to be had. The captain’s quarter opened out onto a lower deck interrupted by three masts and surrounded by a raised balcony along starboard and prow from which the archers could fire and swordsman swarm boarders.

“It’s a fine ship.”

“Valeena commissioned it and named it after her mother.” Arden pointed to the tallest of the three masts. “There’s a plaque in the crow’s nest, some trite epitaph about raising those around you up higher than yourself.”

“She’s rather fond of melodrama, Her Highness.” Lilith covered her eyes to shield them from the glaring sun and shrugged. “Are you sure about burning it?” She pictured Valeena’s fury and had second doubts. The troupe had upset the royal household more than enough times to know how difficult life could be afterwards.

“Consider it an opportunity to drive our point home. If she wants things done no matter the cost, she has to be willing to sacrifice things as much as she expects her citizens to.” He gestured at the ship in general. “What better way to highlight the fact she’s not paid us a single gold and yet here we are, rushing headlong into civil war.”

“I didn’t know you could be so pragmatic.” She ventured further out onto the deck and rested a palm against a mast. “I can’t deny seeing her face when we return to the capital would be…amusing.”

“If she lets us, that is.”

“She won’t forget she has no choice in the matter, but that’s not say she won’t make life difficult.”

“You’d defy her so openly?” The assassin circled the mast, eyes skyward at the vigorous rigging that kept the ship speeding over open water at impressive speed.

“I’m a Maester. You’re a diplomatic envoy. It’d be more trouble than it’s worth to try and get rid of us.” Cocsure, the swordsman thought about his cloak and extended it down to the knees. He wrapped it around him and pointed to the keel.

To their east, the island protruded from the horizon and above it all the Comb Mountains, defying the landscape with it’s cloud covered range. By Arden’s measure they were already ten leagues away from the docklands and halfway to their objective. He too a deep breath of sea air and marched toward the steps leading up to the wheel.

Killian stood proud behind it, hands firmly on the wood steering his pride and joy over bucking waters. He nodded to the pair as they appeared in view and gestured for them to stand by him.

“Have you two stopped taking cheap shots at one another?” He beamed.

“We’ve…settled our differences, yes.” Lilith sat on a crate of rope bundles and crossed her legs. She leant back and took in the view. “Reunions are hard when you’ve got so much to talk about.”

“You two are a strange couple.”

“We are not a couple,” the assassin spat. “That there is my elder brother.”

Killian looked at them back and forth, struggling to see the resemblance.

“Sorry. You look like you’ve been married for decades.”

“To our art, maybe.” Arden rolled his eyes. “What do you know about the troupe exactly?” It was their turn to gauge Killian’s worth, and perhaps offer some insight into why they of all the heroes and villains in the world had been called in defence of Scara Brae.

“Members of the troupe called Restless Fugitive are proclaimed to be masters of their art.” The captain made his voice full of pomp, as though quoting from a royal proclamation. “Ageless and timeless, they recount the history of the world with grace and splendour.”

“Preferably without quoting from a flyer.” She glared.

“You’re old.” Killian smirked. “You’ve seen the rise and fall of Molyneux and lived through the Corpse and Civil wars. Heaven’s know how, but if I’ve learned anything about life in my short years it’s to not ask too many questions.”

“Five hundred and fifty years, give or take,” Lilith offered.

“I didn’t ask, but…” Kilian looked out to sea.