The pounding at the door set Rogar's heart to racing before he was awake to hear it. He untangled himself from Karla and rummaged for his pants, wanting to die with them on, if it came to that. Karla stirred sleepily, unconcerned with the state of her soul.
When he opened the door, Rogar had to drop his gaze a foot to see who the encroacher was, and it was the last person he might have guessed.
"By the ancients, you're worse than a sharp-tongued harridan of a wife, d'ye know that?" He demanded, hand raised against the piercing glare of the snow.
"Rainath said you'd be here, the poor girl," Jade set in at once, scowling fit to chase a bear.
Rogar swung the door shut in her face, curious whether it would be an effective way to end the onslaught. She shoved back at it and he groaned, holding it wedged against her boot with a casual elbow while he scrubbed a hand over his face.
"Who is it?" Karla asked curiously, pulling a fur robe over Rogar's own shirt.
"My sister," he answered, apologetic, embarassed by the scene.
"Oh," she answered brightly, "well let's have her in, then," she urged warmly, turning to stoke the fire. Rogar allowed himself a heavy sigh before he complied.
"Do come in," he said tightly, pulling the door wide just as Jade threw her weight against it. The momentum carried her inward, to stand awkwardly on the rug, her boots caked in mud and crusted with ice.
"Good morning," greeted Karla, unfazed. Rogar growled in disgust and went out to piss.
"Take off your boots, Jade," he chided wearily, when he returned to find her unmoved. Jade blushed a half-shade and obeyed her brother by reflex, eyes holding on to their anger throughout.
"Are ye any good at making kaf?" Karla asked pleasantly, setting the water to heat. Jade stared, dumbstruck, face cycling through shades normally only seen on Rainath. Rogar gave her a gentle push toward the chairs by the hearth, muttering, "no, she's not."
Jade resisted, but grudgingly allowed herself to be bullied into a chair.
"I'm terrible at it, myself," confided Karla. "I thought you might have your brother's knack," as if on cue, Rogar initiated the process of brewing a pot. Watching his familiarity in this strange, married, woman's house made Jade's stomach turn.
Rogar had grown used to the force of Karla's personality knocking his feet out from under him, but it was queerly satisfying to watch it happen to his sister. He pulled an ottoman aside to man his kaf-station without getting caught in the crossfire, and Karla struck up a one-sided round of small talk while Jade simply sat and stared, her face cycling between outrage and disgust.
On the list of people he felt shamed to face shirtless beside his mistress, Rogar found that his bratty sister fell blessedly low. He poured three cups though he knew Jade didn't care for it, handed Karla hers, and savored his with a mind that was largely untroubled by the angry glare levelled at him. He wondered if he'd only just truly ascended to manhood.
"Why've ye come?" Karla asked not unkindly, when her conversation ran dry. Jade's mouth worked angrily, searching for the words.
"You," she finally spat, "and my brother-"
"Are adults," pointed out Karla, in a reasonable tone.
"Aye, married adults, and he's a girl he brought home and abandoned, to run here-"
"I met Rainath, last night," Karla said evenly, taking the wind from Jade's sails, "and I was under the impression that we all understood she and Rogar were not bonded?" She raised an inquiring eyebrow at Jade, but it was Rogar who nodded from behind his mug.
"So," continued Karla, sipping her kaf.
Whatever she might have said was interrupted by the sudden clamor and piercing glare of the front door cracking open. Rogar rose by reflex, thinking the wind had blown it in. When he saw the shadow blot the doorway, he muttered an oath, his manhood theory gone out the window.
"Rogar, good. Thought I smelled kaf," greeted Tyron genially, leaning one hand heavily on the doorframe to drag his feet from his boots. He looked down at the extra pair of feminine footwear quizzically, and back up to perform a head count.
"Hello," he said politely to Jade, joining them in the parlor. After a moment's consideration he added, "you'll be Cathon's wife, is that it? Well met," he nodded in respect to her husband's station.
"Aye," Jade said roughly, looking horrified. Ty frowned and appraised the scene critically.
"Well the lass might be more comfortable if the two of ye weren't lounging about in a state of undress," he reproached, holding a hand out to his wife.
"We weren't expecting her," defended Karla casually, heeling naturally to her husband's silent call.
He drew her in to share an intimate pause, head bent to hers. "Hullo, darling," she murmured, and he pressed a long kiss to her forehead, just along her hairline.
"It's good to be home," he told her, voice gravelly with affection. Then at a more conversationally gruff tone he added, "Go take off yer trophy, and get the man a clean shirt," jerking his head toward the bedroom and releasing her hand. He growled it, but there was no steel to his words. Karla sauntered away from him, giving him time to reacquaint himself with the sway of her hips. Rogar forced himself to meet Tyron's eye and nod before he sidled after her.
"There," barked Tyron with satisfaction, claiming his wife's chair and Rogar's ottoman for his feet. He tested the pot and found it full, claiming a cup and filling it cheerfully. Jade felt as mortified as she'd seen Rainath look at their dinner table.
"Now, what's the trouble, lass?" He asked, looking over at her with a kind smile.
***
"Gods, almighty!" Swore Rogar, when the bedroom door was shut. Karla giggled the giggle of a reckless maniac and stripped, digging in a chest for a fresh set of clothes, unapologetically nude amid a tangled web of interpersonal nightmares.
"Ty will straighten your sister out, now," she murmured, eyes sparkling. "We should take our last chance to-" she cut her gaze teasingly to the bed and Rogar shushed her, horrified, seizing his abandoned shirt.
"No," Karla stopped him, hand tugging it away as he began to shove his arm in. "He won't want you to smell of me," she whispered, smiling naughtily, handing him one of Tyron's own shirts. It hung on him like a sail, but he wasn't amind to be critical of fashion as he tucked it in and belted his pants firmly.
The suicidal lunatic took her time dressing, straightening her hair, adding a dab of perfume and even stopping to strip the bed for good measure, bundling the soiled bedding away and spreading fresh linens on the mattress, fluffing the gods be damned pillows no less, before she turned and nodded with a bright smile that he should open the door.
***
"If you're going to challenge my brother," Jade began nervously, palms sweaty. "I'd ask that ye bear in mind-" Tyron's deep chuckle interrupted her appeal.
"I haven't the right to challenge him," Tyron dismissed casually, "and it would be a damned shame to kill a man that makes kaf like that. Why, is he going to challenge me?" He inquired conversationally, eyebrows raised. Jade ogled like he'd grown a second head.
"How you can say ye don't have the right, when you've just come home and found your wife in his shirt-" belatedly, Jade realized she shouldn't dig her brother's grave any deeper. She snapped her jaw shut, and her face flamed.
"There's no need to flaunt it, aye?" Ty implored, feigning sensitivity, eyes twinkling with humor reminiscent of his wife's.
The two of them had been behind the closed door a long time, and Jade wondered how long Tyron's patience would hold. He had no trouble pinpointing the source of her anxiety.
