Free Between Worlds: the Collected Ile-Rien and Cineth Stories by Martha Wells Page B

father shouted
for them. Both boys flinched. Ilias eyed Castor, delivered the parting shot, “You’re
standing in ants,” and ran to catch up with their father.
    * * *
    The days after that were filled with work and Ilias
spent most of his time in the herd pens. His mother had sent away the older
boys from the neighboring farms who usually helped because she said they were
gossiping too much, so there had been that much more work for Ilias, Castor,
Amari, and their older sisters and cousins.
    The day before had been wonderful; it had been the
first time Ilias had been allowed to help with the sheep-shearing, and his
father had spent most of his time patiently teaching Ilias and little
supervising Castor.
    Despite that, dinner was disappointing, not that Ilias
saw or ate much of it. A year or so ago their cousins had had a crop fail and
lost their farm, and had come to live at Finan House. The old stone house was
like most country places, and arranged in a square around the atrium, the rooms
facing in to the shaded portico. It still looked big to Ilias, but it was only
one story tall, and not made to accommodate so many people. Ilias hadn’t seen
the inside of the dining room since the others had arrived. There were no boys
in their cousin’s family either, and the influx of extra girls put Ilias and
Castor even lower in the family hierarchy.
    Now Ilias sat out on the sparse grass in the atrium
with Castor, Amari, and his only younger sibling, his sister Taelis, who had
just started to walk. “This has nothing in it,” Castor complained, poking at
his bowl.
    Ilias grimaced in agreement. The grain porridge,
without meat, lentils, berries, or honey, or anything else that might have made
it palatable, sat in his stomach like a stone. Niale had taken over the
management of the house a season or so ago and she never got the amounts of
anything right. “Didn’t they bake bread today?”
    “Yes. I saw Niale making it this morning.” Amari was
watching the door under the portico that opened into the family dining room,
her brow furrowed. “But there won’t be enough for us.”
    Castor frowned at her. “Why not?”
    “Niale measured the grain wrong, dummy,” Ilias told
him, helping Taelis cram porridge into her mouth. She leaned against him,
chewing happily, and dripped pasty lumps onto his pants.
    There had been arguing all through dinner, the voices
too muted for Ilias to quite make out, so he had been just as glad not to be crammed
in the too warm dining room, even if there was better food in there. The spring
breeze and lengthening twilight made the atrium cool and pleasant, though no
one bothered to fill the stone-bordered fountain from the big cistern anymore. The
flowerbeds were all overgrown too, except for the patch where the squash and
beans were planted. Some of the other girls were eating at the low table on the
opposite end of the portico; Amari should have been with them but she didn’t
get on with her siblings or Ilias’ older sisters. “There’s no money,” she said,
sighing and poking at her own meal. She wasn’t much older than Ilias but her
family’s troubles had made her grow up faster. “Your mother didn’t get as much
for the fleece as she thought she would. And Niale’s going to need some of it
to buy her husband.”
    Ilias rolled his eyes. “She would.” Even at his age,
it seemed a stupid thing for Niale to do now. To choose this year to demand to
be married and to pick a man from a town family who wanted coins, instead of
another farm family that would have been content with a few sheep and cows on
account. And the man wasn’t even a warrior.
    Amari shrugged. “He’ll help with the shearing.” But
she didn’t sound as if she thought it was a good idea either.
    “I do that now,” Ilias said loftily. Castor sneered
and Amari ruffled his hair.
    They had finished eating and Castor was collecting the
bowls. Ilias had picked up Taelis, meaning to take her off to the girls’
quarters