“Didn’t you buy one of those for Theilyn?” Teiriol peered over with difficulty.
Keisyl looked at him with a measuring eye. “More mead, a full flagon,” he called to the potman, who shrugged and turned to the barrel resting on the counter behind him. Keisyl took a scant half-cupful for himself, but filled Teiriol’s tankard to the brim. Grinning broadly, Teiriol nearly emptied it before he took a breath. He frowned, an ominous gray pallor supplanting his previous pinkness.
“I don’t feel so well.” He swallowed uneasily. Taking another sip, he put the tankard down hastily. “I think I could do with some air.” A fresh outbreak of sweat beaded his forehead.
“Come on.” Keisyl got his arm under his brother’s and they headed for the door, the potman watching them anxiously. Halfway there, Teiriol’s legs gave way and he folded his arms over his stomach, jaw working in distress.
“Move!” Keisyl got an arm around Teiriol’s waist and half dragged, half carried him out. He let Teiriol fall to all fours in the narrow, uncobbled street. Teiriol vomited convulsively, spewing up meat, mead and bread in a revolting mess. Keisyl’s face twisted in distaste, but when the wracking nausea abated he raised Teiriol up to walk him slowly to the town well with gentle encouragement. “Just sit there a moment, my lad.”
Teiriol’s knees obediently buckled to drop him on the cold stone steps. Keisyl briskly wound up the pail and dashed the chilly water over Teiriol’s head, repeating the process over Teiriol’s incoherent protests before using his kerchief to wipe the droplets from his brother’s shivering face.
“I’m soaked,” protested Teiriol, teeth chattering, ashen in the uncaring light of the moons high above.
“Drink, just a little.”
Teiriol cupped some water in his shaking hands, looking mournful now, chin wavering.
“You want to drink till you puke, that’s your right and I won’t tell Mother,” Keisyl said, “but you’re not sharing a bed with me smelling like something the dog sicked up.”
Teiriol simply sat there, wet and woebegone.
“You need some sleep, my lad,” said Keisyl affectionately.
“Better in the morning,” mumbled Teiriol, still pale but looking less pinched around the mouth.
Keisyl didn’t bother dashing that forlorn hope. He helped Teiriol along the street to the low-roofed hostel where they were staying.
The grim-faced doorkeeper opened to his knock carrying a smoky tallow candle. “Drunk is he? I’ll not have him puking in my bed—he can sleep it off with the dogs.”
Keisyl had his hands full supporting Teiriol who was fading fast. “We’ve hired the room and we’ll be sleeping in it,” he snapped.
“And what about them as comes next? There’s more than you heading back to the hills after festival!” the doorkeeper complained.
Keisyl ignored him, propping Teiriol against the wall as he unlatched the door to their narrow room. “Come on.”
Teiriol lurched forward and collapsed onto the rough pallet, groaning as Keisyl yanked off his boots. Cursing under his breath Keisyl stripped off Teiriol’s wet cloak and the shirt beneath it. “Little fool.” Loosening his collar and unlacing his breeches, Keisyl rolled his now inert brother onto his chest, wedging a rolled-up blanket beside him and covering him with another. “Right, now for you, Jeirran.” The menace in his face silenced the old woman sulking with her sewing by the door.
The market hall was bright with candles within and braziers outside. Groups of men taking a rest from the dancing shared chewing leaf and one was roasting a few nuts in a skillet set on the glowing coals.
“Evening,” one nodded to Keisyl, licking his fingers as he peeled a hot kernel. Keisyl acknowledged the greeting with a curt nod, but he was already looking in through the open door, searching out Jeirran and Eirys. There was a good sprinkling of fair heads in the company and plenty darker with the shorter, stocky build of upland blood.
Eirys was in a set forming for a round dance, eyes bright with enjoyment and a pretty blush on her cheekbones. Her dress of embroidered linen was the only one of Mountain style in the wide room but Eirys seemed entirely content to be noticed for it. Respectably high-necked and long-sleeved, it was cut to her curves to flatter her and drew irritated glares from a couple of local beauties affecting boldness in low cut and sleeveless gowns.
Eirys would still have drawn all eyes, had all the other girls been stripped naked, Keisyl thought with a private smile, even if she hadn’t a jewel on her. Eirys was wearing a necklace of interlaced gold chains, rings on each finger catching the light with their deep engraving and a filigree net with crystal drops glittering against her blond braids. The jewelry Jeirran had given her in earnest of his pledge to wed her made a good show, Keisyl reflected. He’d given her precious little since though.
Around the edge of the dance floor the matrons of the town were exchanging gossip over tisanes and well-watered wine. One glanced curiously at Keisyl as he made his way past them. “Who is that young man?”
Her companion peered short-sightedly after him but shook her head. “Just some uplander passing through.” The women returned to topics of more compelling interest.
Keisyl stood for a moment, looking at the four musicians sitting by the shrine to Larasion. The statue of the goddess was decked with a spray of pink and white blossom and looked with blank marble eyes at the red-faced man puffing out his cheeks as he led the melody on a double-reeded flute. His companions, brothers by all appearances, filled out the tune with a bowed lyre and a dulcimer while a double-headed drum carried the beat.
“Shouldn’t you be dancing with your wife?” Keisyl took a chair without ceremony. Jeirran was sitting by a screen set to baffle the draft from a rear door, eyes unfocused as he sat deep in thought.
“What?” Whatever Jeirran was thinking, it was putting a smile on his face. Already one of the most handsome men in the room, he was attracting a share of speculative glances from the girls currently sitting hoping vainly for a partner.
“I said, shouldn’t you be dancing with your wife?” Keisyl’s emphasis was little short of a challenge.
Jeirran looked at Eirys with proprietorial satisfaction. “No, she’s safe enough on the dance floor and she’s hardly likely to go outside with one of these muddy-boots. Can you see any of them thinking he could risk it without me breaking his face? I’m joking!” he added hastily, seeing Keisyl’s unsmiling face. “What are you doing here? You don’t like capering like a spring-giddy goat any more than me.” He smiled fondly at Eirys as the girls whirled past in a quick exchange of partners. “You don’t have to put up with her nagging like a hooded crow.”
“Did you give Teiriol the coin to get puking drunk?” Keisyl looked hard at Jeirran who shrugged.
“He’s a man, he can do what he likes.”
“He’s not of full age for another five years, as you cursed well know. You’re married to his sister, you owe the duty of care that I do,” stated Keisyl.
Jeirran looked around with the first stirring of concern. “What’s he done?”
Keisyl’s eyes were midnight blue in the shadowed corner. “He’s been telling me about the wonderful deal you struck in Selerima, for a start.”
“Deal? It was little more than robbery,” snorted Jeirran. “A nest of thieves, like all the lowlanders, that’s what Teiriol led me into. You’re right, he’s nowhere near full grown, not yet awhile.”
Keisyl scowled. “Teiriol said you suggested looking for a trade around the back gates.”
“It was Teir who wanted to see a cockfight.”
Jeirran’s confidence dared Keisyl to deny this. “He says you got a piss-poor price,” insisted Keisyl grimly.