He pushed the door wider and ushered Keisyl in. The younger man was thick with dust from the trail, unshaven and filthy from the diggings. Horror haunted his eyes as he looked at the shrouded body on the bare table and he hesitated on the threshold.
Ismenia looked up and managed a watery smile. “Oh my boy, come here.”
Keisyl stumbled toward her, scowling as he fought tears of his own. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry. I should have stopped him, I should have stayed—”
Ismenia held him tight. “It’s no one’s fault,” she said hoarsely.
Keisyl hid his face in her embrace for a moment before forcing himself upright. He wheeled around and stared at the central hearth where flames suddenly burned bright and heedlessly cheerful as the wood laid on it caught fire. Face contorted with rage, Keisyl grabbed a massive poker and swept aside the logs, sending sparks showering in all directions. Raking embers all over the broad stone plinth, he smashed the iron down on the glowing heart of the fire, strewing the coals to scorch the floor, burn holes in the rugs and cushions and to die, first to red and then to ashy gray, all warmth spent on the cold stone. He stamped furiously on the scattered clinker, reducing the fragments to powder. Ismenia and Fithian watched in silence, faces solemn yet sympathetic. Eirys clutched a scrap of linen, bleeding finger forgotten in her mouth as she looked on aghast.
When the fire was a ruin of cooling ash, Keisyl stood, shaking, head bowed. He dropped the poker with a clang that rang around the room like a death knell. He drew a deep, shuddering breath and raised his head but before he could speak, the door was flung open to reveal Jeirran silhouetted against the colorless sky.
“Keisyl! I saw you arrive,” he said with restrained enthusiasm. “I wish you were returning under better circumstances.” His voice trailed off as he saw the smoldering destruction within. “What do you think you are doing?”
“No fire will burn here,” Keisyl snarled, face haggard. “Not while my brother’s body lies waiting for due ceremony.”
“The fess is full and the men have to be fed,” objected Jeirran with rising irritation. “We’re all upset but life has to go on. What of dinner?”
“Cook yourselves eggs over skillets in the forge,” spat Keisyl. “This is a house of mourning.”
“This is a time of war,” Jeirran retorted. “We are up in arms to avenge Teiriol and those who died with him. We will claim double payment in blood from those lowlanders responsible.” He marched into the room and looked around for agreement.
“It’s you who are responsible,” said Keisyl softly. “It’s you who tempted Teiro with your false promises, your fool’s ambitions, your faithless Sheltya. You owe this soke a life, Jeirran!”
“You cannot see beyond the walls of your fess, can you?” sneered Jeirran. “Teiriol believed in what I am doing. He knew the time had come to set the record right. He wanted—”
“Teiriol wanted to please.” Keisyl shook his head in abrupt denial. “That’s the only reason he ever paid heed to you. He just wanted to please, to live a quiet life, someday with a contented wife and children, trusting to a modest patrimony under the hearth. You robbed him of that, Jeirran, just as surely as you robbed your children of their birthright to buy yourself out of prison down in Selerima!”
Jeirran paled and could not stop himself glancing at Eirys, whose shock was absolute. “What is he saying, Jeir?” she asked in a wretched voice.
Jeirran lashed out to punch Keisyl, taking him completely by surprise. He stumbled backward, split lip bleeding. Jeirran looked defiantly around at Eirys but before he could speak Keisyl surged forward, an upper cut shutting Jeirran’s mouth for him with a teeth-rattling snap. Keisyl’s other fist drove into Jeirran’s gut, doubling him over, but Jeirran recovered fast enough to bring his head up into Keisyl’s face, butting him but just missing his nose. Keisyl’s sweeping blow landed on Jeirran’s ear, forcing an exclamation of pain from him. As Keisyl hesitated, shocked at his own actions, Jeirran backhanded him across the face, a ring scoring an angry line across Keisyl’s cheek.
Cursing, Keisyl grabbed both of Jeirran’s shoulders and forced him backward, running him into the stone wall of the rekin, lifting him forward to smash him back again and again. Jeirran brought his forearms up hard to break Keisyl’s grip and tried to butt him again, but Keisyl’s fury was too strong. He stamped down hard on Jeirran’s feet, raking his own metal-capped boots down the man’s shins. Jeirran struggled, spitting in Keisyl’s face, trying to bring up his knee but only managing to reach Keisyl’s thigh. He managed to wrestle himself away from the wall and tried to snatch up a stool, but Keisyl pulled him away with an oath.
“Stop it, stop it, the pair of you!” Ismenia sprang to her feet and seized the poker, hammering on the hearth with it, halting them both with the shock of the noise. She tried to no avail to shift the corner of the grimy plinth. Fithian came to her aid, working a fire iron to lever aside the stone. “Eirys! This is for you to do.”
“Just leave it, Eirys. Don’t believe what they are saying.” Jeirran tried to get free but Keisyl would not release him. “It’s about time she saw you for what you are, you slime,” he growled through the muck and spittle disfiguring his face.
Eirys reached into the hollow beneath the stone to take out an iron-bound casket. Her hands were trembling so much she couldn’t get the key in the lock but her face was a frozen mask of disbelief. Ismenia stood beside her but did not offer to help, expressionless as Eirys finally opened the box.
“There was gold in here at Solstice,” She looked at Jeirran, incredulous. “I saw it, we all did. Where has it gone? What have you done?”
“Was there gold at Solstice?” demanded Ismenia. “Was it gold or deception woven by that sister of yours? Where’s your good faith now, Jeirran?”
“You’re worthless!” Keisyl threw Jeirran back against the wall, hands flung wide in a gesture of utter contempt.
Jeirran rubbed a hand over his beard. “There are more important things—”
“Not to me.” Keisyl stepped forward. “Not to me and not to my blood. One of our own is dead and we will honor him.” He stopped on the threshold, nose to nose with Jeirran. “You are not of his blood. There is no child to link you to this soke. You have forfeited your oath to my sister. Neither you nor any of your band of misbegots will set foot inside this rekin while my brother’s body lies here, do you understand me?” His voice was menacing.
Jeirran’s chin jutted forward. “You have no right to bar me from this place, nor keep me from my wife,” he said haughtily.
Keisyl raised a fist but lowered it again. Just as smug satisfaction rose in Jeirran’s face, Keisyl seized him by the collar. The shorter man’s struggles were no match for Keisyl’s fury and contempt. Pulling open the door, he flung Jeirran down the steps. Jeirran stumbled and fell, scrambling upright, indignant and red faced. A few onlookers exchanged curious glances and remarks. Jeirran brushed the dust from his trews and straightened his shirt collar but could do nothing about his furious color as he turned his back on the rekin and marched toward the gate-house of the fess.
Keisyl watched him go then closed the great door softly. He leaned back against it and closed his eyes, groaning. “Eirys, my dearest, I’m so sorry. I never meant to say it.”
Eirys was still staring dumbly into the empty coffer that had once held her fondest hopes. “How could he?”
“Because his ambition and his greed have finally outstripped his principles,” said Ismenia with resignation. “Set it aside, my dear.”
Eirys closed the casket with a soft click and laid it carefully on the stone. “I think I’ll go to my room,” she said with brittle calm. “Please don’t disturb me before morning.” She made her way slowly up the stairs, moving like a woman in a walking dream.