Aisling heard that last comment. She had been listening, seeing the man who’d become an ogre in her mind so discomforted. She stooped, rolled snow into a loose snowball, then flung it. The snowball took Kirion square in the face as he began another plea. He spluttered, choking on snow, wiping it in fury from his face and neck. Behind the wall he could hear the howls of laughter. Even his grandmother had a broad grin. Kirion tightened his grip on the reins, swinging his unwilling beast away from the Keep.
It would do no good to remain. Mentally he notched up another score against Aisling. He spent the days riding back to Iren Keep in a foul mood. Some of that he worked off on his mount, some on oaths of what he would do if he ever got Aisling into his hands. He returned to study, paying more than his mother could afford for moldering books and documents that might give Kirion the power he craved. He continued to cultivate Shandro. The man was an idiot, but a very well-connected one. He’d make the perfect figurehead duke if Kirion ever unlocked power to raise the fool to that position.
It did occur to him several times that he hadn’t seen his younger brother at all of late, not for months, in fact. Kirion ignored that. He’d found what he felt was a promising trail to the knowledge he sought. Whatever Keelan was doing, he’d come to heel as soon as he was called. Kirion persuaded more coin from his mother and vanished into increasingly unsavory places in his search. As he saw it, he was having quite a good—and possibly profitable—time.
12
Keelan’s eighteenth name day was a success. Ciara had made one of her hangings for his room. If you looked at it up close it was merely color. But from the doorway across his room it became Keelan, with Aiskeep in the background. Shosho was included in the work, sitting at his feet gazing up. Aisling produced a saddle and bridle. They were plain, but the leather work was of the finest quality. Elanor marched in with several packages, which proved to contain her usual offering of robe and slippers in the Keep colors of gold and mulberry. To these she’d added a saddle blanket of rabbit furs, winter ones dyed the same colors. It looked magnificent.
Hanion appeared with Harran. Their gift was a joint one of a fine bow in a bow case of oiled gut, and a matching quiver of arrows that were examples of the fletcher’s art. Keelan found he was standing there, gifts scattered about him, tears in his eyes, and quite unable to speak. These were the people his mother had always condemned as mean, arrogant, and provincial. If Aiskeep was mean, what did that make her? he wondered. He’d never had gifts like these from his mother. If they were arrogant, how was it they’d accepted him?
As for provincial… He looked at them. Maybe they were, by her standards. Their clothes were warm and comfortable, not the gaudy fashions of Kars. Their skin was browned by sun, burned by wind, not the pallid shade favored by the fashionable. Their eyes were alive with life and interest in life. He found his face stretching into a slow, wide grin. Provincial? If that was provincial, then he’d take the provinces any day. Aisha could have Kars, she could have dear Kirion, and she could do what she pleased with both. Keelan would stay here, forever, if he was permitted.
It took him several days to come down from the delights of that day. When he did, he shut himself away for the afternoon to think. He feared asking if he could remain permanently. What if they refused? Ciara and Trovagh guessed, both at his desire and his fears. They left him alone. They, too, had thought much about this. Their decision had been made so long as Keelan plucked up enough courage to ask. That would be the final test.
The boy spent the night thinking. He must know. He marched down to the hall the next morning, terrified but resolute. It was silly in a way. His grandparents had shown no signs of wanting him to leave. Why then did he have this need for a formal permission and agreement?
He found Trovagh and Ciara alone. Elanor always broke her fast in her room these days. She was becoming frail and slept late. Aisling had been and gone, encouraged by Ciara to an errand in the upper valley.
Keelan arrived with the air of one who goes to the stake bravely. “Grandmother, Grandfather.” He bowed politely. “I would speak with you.”
Trovagh nodded, “Sit then and speak.”
Neither of them would have betrayed it for anything, but those Keelan faced were deeply amused by the scene. The lad was trying so hard to be formal. Instead, he gave the impression of a badly strung puppet. Keelan talked. He managed to make it brief, just that he’d like to remain here, to make his home at Aiskeep.
Ciara spoke gently. “Have we made you feel you may not?”
“No, Grandmother. But in view of the way Kirion acted, I’d prefer to have everything clear before I send for my belongings. I don’t wish you to feel I am taking Aiskeep for granted.”
It was a good point, Trovagh considered. The Gods knew that Kirion had done so… until a snowball made it clear how wrong he was. The memory almost made him smile, but he must not. The boy would think it was aimed at him. He collected Ciara with a glance and they both stood. Trovagh spoke as Keelan waited.
“It is our decision that you may remain for so long as you wish to live at Aiskeep. It would please us that you learn of the land and the people. We shall make you an allowance for necessities.” He broke into a grin as Keelan stared. “What, boy, did you think to be tossed out? Are we both so frightening?”
“N-n-no. But an allowance, and—” He broke off hastily. That bit about learning of the land and people. It was a portion of the formal acceptance of Keep Heir. Not all of it, just a part. Perhaps a hint that if he shaped well, the inheritance might be confirmed. He’d say nothing of that, though. They knew what they’d said. He knew. He’d prove himself before he expected them to say more.
Ciara was talking gently, “Of course you must have an allowance. We can’t have you at Aiskeep with holes in your breeches. Don’t expect a fortune, Keelan. Aiskeep does well enough, but we aren’t Clan Iren.”
She named an amount that made the boy stare. “What is it?”
“Do you mean that much?”
Trovagh looked interested. “That’s each year, Keelan. Not each moon. Doesn’t Aisha give you your coin?”
“No, well, not really. If I nag long enough, I may get a little. But she says I don’t need it. Iren gives me bed and board, I can use a horse from their stables, drink wine at their table. What do I need money for?”
“Well, you have it now. Come to my study after you’ve eaten and I’ll let you have the first quarter-year. Now eat; here at Aiskeep we don’t like to see our family starve.”
He drank off his wine and offered an arm to Ciara. Once they were private, Trovagh exploded. “That selfish, mean, cheating…”
“Lying, miserable excuse for a mother!” Ciara finished for him. “All this time she’s been begging for more and more money from us.” Her voice slid into a beggar’s whine. “Mother Ciara, I need more coin for clothes for my sons. They grow so quickly. Mother Ciara, I need more money for my sons, they must be able to pay their way in the city. Faugh! And all the time she’s given that poor child nothing.”
She turned on Trovagh, but he forestalled her. “Yes, I know he could be lying. But I believe him. Haven’t you seen the clothes he has, love? And the weapons. His sword looks as if it was forgotten at the back of an armory. His bow was useless. That’s why Hanion and Harran chose to give him a new one. I’d say much of the money for Kirion has gone to him. But the allowance for Keelan, Aisha has been using for herself.” Trovagh looked at his wife. “Let us talk to Keelan. I suspect the boy. has very little to bring back. We’ll send Harran with him and a letter. If we work the timing right, Keelan will be out of there before Aisha knows what’s happened to her.”