The Well of Shades by Juliet Marillier Read Free Book Online

the child shrank back behind the door frame, thumb in mouth.
    “The brat, as you call her, is your own kin.” It was unwise to challenge him, but Eilecould not keep the words in.
    “She’s another mouth to feed. A man can’t afford kin if they can’t earn their keep.”
    “She’s three years old,” Eile said as the fire began to crackle, defying the odds.
    “Three years old and growing.” Dalach’s lips stretched in a humorless smile. “She’ll have her uses before long.”
    In that moment, Eile knew it was time to act. Father was dead; there was no pointin hoping and dreaming and wishing, not anymore. It was up to her now. She had run away before, in the days before Saraid, and Dalach had come after her and dragged her back every time. This time she was going to make sure he couldn’t follow.
    “Where is this man now?” asked Anda wanly. “Did he bring anything for us?”
    “Don’t be any more of a fool than you are already,” snapped Dalach. “When didDeord ever show generosity to us? As a provider he was worse than useless. He’d have died without a copper to his name. Got into a brawl at a drinking hall, is my guess, and fell foul of a bigger man than himself.”
    “The man—his name was Faolan—said he was coming back to see you today. He did mention silver. And it wasn’t a drunken brawl. My father died in battle. He sacrificed himself so otherscould live. And he
was
aprovider.” Eile swallowed her tears. “Back before, we had a good house and food on the table. Maybe you think I can’t remember, but I can. We were happy then—”
    Dalach’s fist came out and struck her on the jaw. Her teeth rattled; a spear of pain went through her neck. She fell silent. It was true; a hundred blows wouldn’t alter that. Maybe she’d been only little, Saraid’sage, but she
did
remember. The house on the hill; the garden with vegetables and flowers, lavender, rosemary, some kind of tall lilies by the wall. A cat; she remembered the cat, a stripy one that brought in mice and laid them at Mother’s feet as if they were priceless gifts. Mother laughing; Mother spinning and singing. Father was not always there, for he used to go on voyages, but he alwayscame home, and when he did the whole house lit up with his presence. Father telling her stories at bedtime, stories about the strange places he’d sailed to and the exotic folk who lived there. Father with that look in his eyes, the look that made her feel safe. Back then they had not lived with Anda and Dalach. Back then she had believed her life would be full of good things.
    “What’s this, tears?”Dalach scowled at her, and she scrubbed her cheeks, not knowing if she wept from the blow or because the past was gone and could never be remade. While she had knelt there dreaming, Anda had slipped out of the hut, and now she was alone with the person she hated most in the world.
    “Get that fire built up, then wash yourself,” Dalach said. “You stink like a midden. I don’t want that all over me.When you’ve cleaned yourself up, get in the back.”
    “Saraid’s there.”
    “The brat can watch. Not too soon for her to learn a few tips. Hurry up, Eile, I’ve been ten days on the road and I’m itching for it. You don’t think that dried-up stick I’m wed to is able to satisfy me, do you? It’s like rutting with a scarecrow.”
    It was only possible to make washing last so long before he would grow impatientand snatch the scrap ofcloth from her, or kick over the bucket of bracingly cold water. Dalach didn’t wash. It was immaterial to him whether Eile cared for his smell, a rank, sweaty odor deepened by his days and nights on the road, coming home from the last horse trading of the season. The winters were the worst time. With nothing to set his hand to, he divided his days between drinking awayhis meager savings and tormenting the rest of them.
    She wiped her face and hands, then hitched up her skirt and sluiced between her legs. Beside her,