Desert World Rebirth by Lyn Gala Page B

farm!” Temar snapped.
    Cyla physically pulled back, and Temar dropped his head for a moment, looking as weary as Shan had ever seen him. He wanted to go sit next to Temar, but he instinctively knew that if Cyla thought they were ganging up on her, two against one, that would feed her anger more, so he waited.
    “Cyla, I love you, but the cotton is a mistake, and we can’t afford to waste the money on seed.”
    Cyla didn’t answer, but from the way she set her jaw, she didn’t agree. If Cyla and Naite ever decided to get together and have children, Shan figured he’d have to find another planet to live on. Any child of theirs would terrorize universes. It was probably a good thing that they hated each other. The worst part was that Cyla was such a small woman, with light hair and fair skin that pinked every time she got angry. A person expected a man of Naite’s size to have some rage, but tiny little Cyla seemed to have twice as much. It was frightening to watch her go off on someone.
    “So,” she said slowly, “you’re taking away my allowance?” The words were nasty and sarcastic enough that Temar flinched away from them.
    For long seconds, Temar was silent. As the more reasonable end of his own sibling rivalry, Shan understood how frustrating idiot brothers and sisters could be. That didn’t mean he knew how to help.
    “I know how much you want this farm to be a success.” Temar had a tight rein on his emotions, so that when he looked up at her, Shan couldn’t even tell what he was thinking.
    “And it can be. I can—”
    “No.” Temar stood. “No, let me talk.” Cyla rolled her eyes, but she fell silent. Maybe she was starting to understand that she didn’t have the power here.
    “I love you, and I know how much it would kill you to ruin this farm.”
    Her mouth came open, and Temar held up a hand to stop her from interrupting.
    “And if you keep fighting Naite, you will ruin the farm. He knows what it takes to make one profitable, and he’s the one I picked to manage the farm. So, either you will start treating him like the farm manager, a man who has the right to say what happens—”
    “But,” Cyla said, and Temar raised his voice without losing the reasonable tone.
    “Or I will hire you an apprenticeship somewhere far, far away and ban you from this land.”
    Cyla lost all color from her face in one heartbeat’s time. “You wouldn’t,” she said softly, but she sounded scared now. Shan could see Temar flinched from the pain, but he had to give the man credit for pressing forward.
    “I would. I would rather have you angry with me forever than watch you destroy this farm and then live with the guilt and shame of that. Our family doesn’t deal with grief well, and you don’t deal with failure well,” Temar said firmly. He drew himself up straight and looked at her. “One more example of you disrespecting Naite or trying to make decisions for the farm, and you will be out. You will not be allowed back here until you’re trained as a skilled worker.” Without waiting for agreement, Temar turned and hurried out of the house.
    Shan was left alone, Cyla staring at him as if he’d had some part in this. She might be a hellcat, but right now her pain was so close to the surface Shan could see it. If he were still a priest, he knew how he’d start the conversation. As Temar’s lover, he wasn’t sure what to say. He wasn’t a neutral party in all this, and part of him wanted to take this moment when her defenses were down to yell at her for making Temar’s life more difficult. Rather than do that, he turned and followed Temar back out into the midday sun.
    It took him a second to find Temar where he stood in the shade of the barn, watching the fields. The workers had vanished. At noon, even the screens that covered the valley and caught the dew offered only minimal protection, so they were probably doing indoor chores. Either that, or they’d all decided to give Temar some privacy