The firelight danced on the bars of gold stacked inside the iron-bound chest. To Carlos, it looked like salvation. It looked like the answer to every prayer he had whispered in the dark since his banishment.
He gasped a little, the sound involuntary. The sheer amount of wealth sitting on the table was staggering.
Carlos straightened his coat. He tried to compose his face, to look like a man who was used to seeing such riches, rather than a man who was desperate for a single silver coin. He smiled, a wide, greedy expression that he directed at the trembling priest.
"That is a whole lot of gold," Carlos said, his voice smooth but eager. "The priest is highly generous. It is rare to see such devotion."
He stood up, reaching out, his hand hovering over the chest, itching to grab a bar.
"We should accept his goodwill, brother," Carlos urged, looking at Derek. "It would be rude to refuse."
