Dragongirl

TWENTY-TWO

The early-morning air was broken by the bellow of the watch dragon’s challenge and a resounding reply, causing Fiona to startle to wakefulness.

Tullea? she wondered. What’s she doing here?

Trying not to disturb the others, she crawled out of her bed and threw on a robe, sliding her feet into slippers before she rose as quietly as she could. But it was no use.

“Wait,” Lorana called quietly from the bed, “I’ll come with you.”

“I was hoping to let you sleep,” Fiona said.

“Tullea’s come to see me,” Lorana said. Fiona found her slippers and helped her into them.

“What does she want with you?”

“Maybe it’s Ketan,” Lorana said as they made their way past Talenth and down the queens’ ledge to the Weyr below.

They were only halfway down the ledge when Tullea reached them. She was obviously in a hurry.

“Tullea, how may we help you?” Lorana asked.

“Let’s get someplace warm, first,” Fiona said, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern. “The cold of between must be in your bones, and it’s still early for us.”

Tullea snorted but allowed herself to be led away, even as she said, “I didn’t come to see you, Weyrwoman. I came to see Lorana.”

“What is it?” Lorana asked. “Ketan? Is he all right?”

“Him!” Tullea said. “He’s crawled into a wineskin and never comes out. He still thinks it’s the Hatching!”

They entered the Cavern and Fiona directed them toward a table close to the night fire while she helped the cook prepare a fresh pitcher of klah and some rolls still hot from the morning baking.

“Here, get some warm in you,” Fiona said, recalling Neesa’s peculiar turn of phrase as she pushed a mug to each of the seated women and poured the rich warm brew.

Tullea scarcely noticed her mug, wrapping her hands around it but not drinking. Lorana shot Fiona an imploring look and the Weyrwoman sat next to her, filling a mug for herself.

“So, Tullea, what can we do for you?” Lorana asked.

“Your Hatching went well enough, didn’t it?” Fiona asked, trying to find the source of the Benden woman’s visible distress.

“That’s not it,” Tullea said. She glanced at Lorana. “It’s B’nik—you need to save him.”

Fiona and Lorana exchanged a glance: They had seen too many riders knowingly go back in time to their deaths not to understand the Benden Weyrwoman’s dread. T’mar himself had seen the Benden Weyrleader die. It was only a matter of time before, one day, B’nik would go back in time to save T’mar—and die himself.

“I don’t see how, Tullea,” Lorana said slowly when the Weyrwoman had explained her problem.

“I can’t lose him,” Tullea said. “I’ll give you anything—I’ll give you Minith—just find a way to save him!”

“You can’t break time,” Lorana reminded her. “If it’s happened, then it will happen.”

“If he dies, I’ll take Minith between forever,” Tullea swore. “I’ll go with him, by the First Egg, I swear I will!”

“You weren’t there,” Fiona pointed out. “Just the Wing.”

“I’ve already told them they’re not to go with him,” Tullea snapped. “If they won’t go, then it can’t happen, can it?”

“I’m sorry,” Lorana said. “It did happen.” She let out a deep sigh and closed her eyes against the pain. So many things had happened, so much pain.

“There has to be a way!” Tullea said, pleading.

“I’m the wrong person to ask,” Lorana told her, opening her eyes once more and shaking her head. The Weyrwoman glanced up at her sharply and Lorana continued, “If I could have found a way, do you think I would have ever given up Arith?”

Tullea held her eyes for a long moment before lowering her head and shaking it slowly. “No. I suppose not.” A moment later she looked up again. “But you have Kindan.”

Lorana returned her gaze wordlessly.

“What can I give you?” Tullea begged. “I can’t live without him.”

Lorana shook her head sadly. “Nothing,” she told the Weyrwoman. “I would do it willingly if I could, but no one can break time.”

“So B’nik will die, and so will I, so will Minith,” Tullea said. “And Caranth.”

“I cannot help you,” Lorana repeated. “I would if I could but no one has ever been able to alter time.”

“There must be a way!”

“Let me check with Kindan,” Lorana said, seeing the desperation in the other woman’s eyes.

“If you need Minith, just send for her,” Tullea told her. “She’ll go with you, she already has.”

Lorana nodded mutely, marveling that the other woman was too distraught to see how that could defeat her own suicidal threat.

Tullea rose then, looking back to Lorana as she added, “I never knew, never until I knew that I would lose him, how much I loved him.”

“I understand.”

“I don’t know how you manage, half-alive without your dragon,” Tullea said with pity. She frowned. “It’s tearing Ketan apart, that’s for certain.”

“Ketan,” Lorana repeated sadly. “I should see him.”

“Last I saw him, he was drunk, head down on a table in a pool of his own spittle.”

“We can go, right?” Fiona asked as she glanced down at Bekka. She had no problem deferring to the girl’s expertise.

“The older midwives all agree that neither of you are in great danger,” Bekka said, looking up to Fiona where she sat, perched on Talenth. “But don’t stay between too long and be certain to bundle up—what might give you a cold could terminate a pregnancy.”

“We’ll be careful,” Lorana promised as she started to climb up toward Fiona.

“And I’ll make certain they do,” Kindan said, as he helped her reach Fiona’s outstretched hand and then followed her up Talenth’s foreleg into a position behind the Weyrwoman. He’d been furious when he’d heard how Tullea had dismissed the older healer’s troubled drinking and had insisted on accompanying Lorana and Fiona on their visit to Benden Weyr.

“And not too much klah, either of you!” Bekka called as she stepped back.

Talenth moved away from her, took a leap, and beat her way into the midday air.

“Look!” Fiona called, pointing down. “There’s Xhinna!” The dark-haired girl waved at them, while her blue dragonet butted his head against her leg.

“Will she be all right?” Lorana asked, craning back to Kindan.

“She’ll do fine,” he promised. “She has a gift with young ones.”

As soon as they reached the level of the Star Stones, Fiona gave her queen the image and they went between.

“I’m sorry, I—” Ketan apologized in a slow, dead voice as he sat up at his desk, drinking from a mug of klah placed in his hand by Kindan, who had arrived at the healer’s quarters before them. “I thought I could manage,” he croaked, glancing furtively at Lorana before returning his eyes to the mug in his trembling hands. “I thought perhaps with enough drink, I could …”

Lorana shot Kindan a desperate look, but the harper could only shake his head; he had no suggestions.

“You’ve got to concentrate on what you have to live for,” Fiona said softly.

“Live for?” Ketan barked a laugh. He waved a mug in her direction. “I’ve nothing to live for!” He raised his other hand and made a sweeping gesture. “Face it, Weyrwoman, we’ve nothing to live for.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Weyrs are dying,” Ketan said.

“But the Hatchings! There are weyrlings now—”

“Who’ll not reach fighting age before burrows of Thread bury us all,” Ketan cut across her sharply. He grimaced in apology for his harsh words. “You’ve patched them up—you know.” He glanced at Lorana. “We patch them up, they fly, they die.” He dropped his mug onto his desk with a loud thump and followed shortly with his head which he cradled in his hands. “Drith, my Drith! Why wouldn’t you let me go with you?”

“He said that you had to stay, had to find a cure,” Lorana reminded him softly.

“And now that we’ve found a cure, what?” Ketan barked, turning his head so that his eyes raked her. “What now? And how, if we only hatch twenty-two eggs, are we supposed to repopulate the Weyrs?” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “No, Weyrwoman, we tried and we came up with a cure.” He let out a deep sigh and screwed his eyes tighter. “And the cure’s killing Pern.”

Fiona glanced at the other two who sat in stunned silence and jerked her head toward the exit. They followed slowly, with backward glances for the ailing healer.

“What do we do?” Lorana asked as soon as they were out of earshot.

“There’s not much we can do,” Fiona said. Kindan looked surprised. “My father said it happened after the Plague, that there were those who chose death over life no matter how hard those around them tried.”

Kindan nodded grimly; he had seen it himself.

Fiona reached out to stroke Lorana’s arm comfortingly, knowing that the older woman was distraught over the healer’s collapse. “You have something to live for,” she told her firmly, nodding toward her growing belly. “And you hear every dragon, that’s not something Ketan has.”

Lorana nodded. Fiona recognized that the ex–queen rider was merely humoring her. She was not convinced.

“I just wish there was something we could do for him,” Lorana said.

“He wants his dragon back,” Fiona said. “I don’t see how you can do that.”

Lorana said nothing.

“Come on, we need to get back before T’mar misses me.”

“Lorana will think of something,” Tullea predicted confidently as she and B’nik prepared to meet the other Weyrleaders and Weyrwoman in their Council Room later that afternoon.

B’nik grunted noncommittally. It had been over a month since T’mar had brought news of his impending doom and the Weyrleader had grown almost anxious to get to the end. He had said his good-byes, had set his affairs in order as best he could—he was lucky in that he had no less than seven bronze riders all capable of running the Weyr after his death. Although, he admitted to himself, only a few would be his first choice, and he was worried about their ages.

S’liran was by far the most confident and poised, he brought order out of chaos in any situation—doubtless, B’nik ruefully admitted, the result of his superlative training by D’vin when he was a weyrling at High Reaches Weyr. That S’liran’s Kmuth was one of the first bronzes born with resistance to the dragon sickness—and the largest bronze he’d ever seen—only added to the young man’s prowess.

W’ner, on the other hand, was an old rider. Experienced, yet prone to rely perhaps too much on others; he loved to hear the sound of his own voice. It was a pleasant voice and what he said with it usually made sense, if it often seemed to B’nik that he could have easily used fewer words to convey the same meaning.

In an odd way, it was somewhat refreshing to realize that the problems of who would lead the Weyr were soon going to be out of his hands. He found himself spending more time relaxing, more time enjoying each new dawn, more time bouncing children on his knee when he visited the Lower Caverns—even despite Tullea’s pointed remarks about their parentage, parentage he didn’t dispute much to her annoyance and his amusement.

In a way, B’nik mused, what I’ll miss most is how I’ve changed. Knowing that he was going to die, B’nik no longer had a reason to put up with Tullea’s antics or demands and Tullea had dropped them as soon as she’d accepted that he was going to die. Their relationship had grown steadily stronger, more intimate, restful.

If he had one regret, it was that he could not live long enough to see how their new relationship would unfold.

“B’nik?” Tullea said, impatient at his lack of a response. “Did you hear what I said?”

“So now we have two full Wings,” T’mar remarked bitterly as he and Fiona ate quietly together in the Records Room. She’d sent Terin to relieve Bekka in her watch of Lorana. Fiona wondered if anyone guessed at the growing sense of unease the Weyrwoman had about the ex–queen rider. Bekka had assured her repeatedly that Lorana’s pregnancy was advancing normally—the young healer was rather tart in her choice of words: “You worry too much!” Still, Fiona worried.

Bekka’s hints that Fiona’s worries were prompted by her own pregnancy were ones that she couldn’t dismiss—that she was merely projecting her own fears onto the other woman was a distinct possibility.

“Two full wings with more to come,” Fiona reminded him, catching and holding his eyes until the Weyrleader nodded, however glumly. “And we’ve more than a fortnight before the next Fall.” She glanced over at the chalk tally board she kept of the Weyr’s injuries, pointing to it as she added, “And we’ll have another thirteen return to the fight in the next sevenday, so we’ll have those to haul firestone and fly in reserve.”

“We’ve seen worse,” T’mar agreed. He glanced up again to catch Fiona’s eyes as he admitted, “It’s just that, lately, I’ve been feeling like something is going to happen.”

“Something worse?” Fiona asked in a matching tone of dread.

T’mar nodded.

“That’s why I’ve had someone with Lorana,” Fiona said. “She hasn’t been quite the same since we returned from Benden.”

“Because of Tullea—”

“No,” Fiona interrupted, “I think because of Ketan.”

“The healer?”

“He lost his dragon not long after hers,” Fiona said. “I think his collapse has caused her to question her own feelings.”

“The pregnancy—”

“Oh, it could be the pregnancy,” Fiona agreed quickly. “In fact, some of it must be.” She pursed her lips. “But it seems like there’s more, like she’s all ready to give up hope.”

“She’s got Kindan—”

“Whose presence as Weyrlingmaster merely reminds her of the dangers we all face,” Fiona cut him off.

“She’s got you,” T’mar tried again.

“And I’ve got a queen, and I’ve got you, and I’ve got Kindan,” Fiona said. “Sometimes I think that she might not be so happy to have me.”

T’mar eyed her thoughtfully for a moment before saying, “So you are worried, too?”

Fiona bit her lip. She knew what the Weyrleader meant—that she was not just worried about Lorana, but also worried about their situation: the losses, the slim numbers, the lack of hope.

“I’ll never admit that,” Fiona said after a moment, shaking her head firmly. She lowered her head for a moment, avoiding his eyes and then raised it again, her expression set. “I’m worried about Lorana.”

T’mar suppressed a chuckle. It was clear that Fiona was sublimating all her other fears into this one.

“Well, I think she’ll be fine,” he told her cheerfully.

“You take care of yourself,” Tullea told B’nik feelingly as the bronze rider sat astride Caranth as he prepared to lead three full Wings of fighting dragons—with two half-wings ready to haul firestone and provide reserves—into the first combined fight of Benden and High Reaches Weyrs eleven days later.

“We’ll be fine,” B’nik assured her with a grin, gesturing to include all the fighting dragons. “D’vin’s a fine leader and his Weyr is the best-trained of us all.”

“But you’re fighting the rising sun!” Tullea wailed. Around them, dragons and riders were just becoming visible as dark night gave way to the predawn half-light.

“We’ll do fine, don’t worry.”

“Oh?” Tullea demanded, her brows arched. “So I suppose I should tell Mikkala and Ketan to stand down, that you won’t be needing their services?”

“Tullea!” B’nik’s tone was one of exasperation mixed with understanding. He leaned down toward her to bring his face closer to hers. “We’ll be all right.”

“You’d better!”

B’nik smiled and waved at her before straightening up once more and turning to the dragons nearby, making the ancient signal to fly.

Caranth was up first, followed in rapid succession by the rest of his Wing, then S’liran’s Wing, followed by L’moy’s Wing and then by the two half-wings led by D’kel and J’han.

Tullea waited until the last of them blinked out, just visible in the gloom. She sighed, her shoulders slumped, before turning around to survey the injured riders, weyrlings, and weyrfolk left behind.

“What are you waiting for? Get to work!” Tullea bellowed and was glad to see them all scampering off.

“One thing, my lady,” a voice spoke up in the darkness. Tullea turned and found herself looking at a small dark blob: Lin, the new queen rider.

“What?”

“If he’s flying with the Weyr, he can’t go back in time,” Lin said.

“Of course,” Mikkala called out quickly from her position at the aid station nearest the kitchen, “if he gets injured then he certainly can’t go back in time.”

“Why not?”

“Because there were no reports of his being injured,” Ketan spoke up from the darkness. He snorted. “So I wonder if we should be hoping that he gets injured now?”

Tullea snorted in disgust at the notion. “What a thing to say!”

A little injury wouldn’t stop him, she thought, wondering if she could survive seeing him scored or his Caranth horribly injured. She shook her head; no she couldn’t.

“Lorana will think of something,” she told herself. “She saved us all before.”

“She didn’t save her dragon,” a voice grated in the darkness: Ketan.

“B’nik swiveled in his seat to look left and right, surveying the formation of his Wing and the other two Wings arrayed on either side. They looked good.

He turned and peered behind him, trying to pick out the two half-wings trailing behind, ready to provide more firestone or enter the fight as reserves. If he committed one half-wing, they would release their extra firestone—they’d need the extra speed they’d get without the weight of the firestone. He couldn’t make them out against the brilliance of the rising sun, especially with the added glare of the icy snow below them.

This Fall started in the Snowy Wastes and slanted down through the mountains above Benden and Bitra. Once below the snow, the high mountain peaks were mostly inaccessible to humans, except where special roads had been made to get at the hardy timber that grew there. Burrows were especially difficult to find in this area and B’nik suppressed a shudder at how well-established a burrow might get before it became apparent to a sweeprider. Few lived in those tree-covered mountain ranges, so there would be no ground crews—and a burrow would be just as deadly.

I hope D’vin gets here soon, B’nik thought, worried about getting their formations straightened with the brilliant glare of the sun in the same place as the falling Thread.

Caranth, have Doohanth take his Wing up high to scan for Thread, B’nik told his bronze. He scanned behind him and grunted in satisfaction as, a moment later, he dimly made out shapes moving upward in the air.

J’han’s half-wing had just barely gained position when a bellow announced the arrival of the High Reaches dragons.

B’nik’s elation was dashed with the cry of: Thread!

J’han’s half-wing bellowed and bucked, diving away from the menace—as reserve forces, they had not yet chewed enough firestone to flame.

Rise up! B’nik ordered his riders even as he grimaced at the first wails of injured dragons. A sudden commotion from behind him startled him and he turned in time to catch one of the half-wings dumping its extra firestone even as its dragons were chewing their own firestone, ready to join the fray.

A sinking feeling came to B’nik as he belatedly realized that the Weyr now had only half the firestone it needed for the first part of the Fall.

Caranth suddenly veered right, falling.

Sorry, the bronze dragon apologized as he fought to regain his position. It’s the wind.

B’nik’s position on Caranth’s neck was scarcely more protected, but he hadn’t felt the gust that had thrown Caranth’s left Wing high into the air. He twisted around, looking to the left and the right—as he expected, the gusts had unsettled his formations. Behind him, higher in the sky, the dragons of High Reaches had fared no better. Among them, in the glare of the sun, he spotted gouts of fire as they found Thread to destroy.

Ask D’vin if we should support them, B’nik said. No sooner had he made the offer than one of his wingseconds let out a bellow and he spotted a flurry of Thread coming their way.

In an instant everything was chaos, a constant blend of motion, of sight, of glaring sun and snow-capped mountains while’ B’nik fought to keep himself and his dragon free of Thread, flaming into char all that could be found.

Order collapsed, and B’nik was too overwhelmed with his own immediate survival to reestablish it.

From the sounds above him, neither could D’vin.

Fiona was with Lorana when she gave her first tortured cry.

“What is it?” Fiona asked, rushing from her place beside Talenth toward the ex–queen rider. “Is it the baby?”

It was too early, far too early for the baby, Fiona thought desperately even as she had Talenth order Birentir and Bekka to their aid.

“No, it’s the dragons!”

It took a moment for Fiona to grasp her meaning. “Benden?”

“The sun, the glare, the winds,” Lorana gasped in response. She looked up and met Fiona’s eyes. “They’ve lost ten already.”

“We should go help.”

“I’m not sure Tullea would—”

“I’ll send Jeila to her, along with Birentir,” Fiona said, sending the orders to Talenth. She glanced at Lorana, her lips pursed in thought. “You can’t come, it wouldn’t be good for the baby.”

“We wouldn’t be between that long.”

“No, we wouldn’t,” Fiona agreed. “But I don’t want you to have the added stress of tending the injured while also growing a baby.” She smiled wryly, adding, “Besides, you’d be too tired.”

Lorana sighed in agreement.

“What happened?” T’mar demanded as he rushed into the room, flanked by Bekka and Birentir.

“Benden,” Fiona responded tersely. “I’m going to send Birentir and Jeila to help.”

“Should we send someone to High Reaches as well?” Jeila asked, glancing toward Fiona.

Fiona hesitated.

“Go on, if you want to help,” Lorana told her.

T’mar, sensing her distress, added, “I’ll stay here.”

“I’ll leave Bekka,” Fiona said, turning quickly to her closets and quickly flinging on riding clothes. She paused long enough to be certain that Jeila was getting her Tolarth ready, before shouting to Talenth, who was already waiting below the ledge.

In a moment, queen and rider were airborne and then, gone between.

“What are you doing here, Weyrwoman?” Sonia asked in startlement as she recognized Telgar’s senior queen rider. For a moment, suspecting the worst, Sonia paled, but Fiona’s words revived her, “I’m here to help, Weyrwoman. You’ve got injuries.”

“Not many,” Sonia said, gesturing to the two dragons being tended in the distance. “We’ve more lost than hurt.”

Fiona glanced around and nodded in surprise.

“Lorana says that the wind and the morning sun have made it worse,” Fiona said even as another dragon bellowed in the sky above the Weyr and descended swiftly to the Weyr Bowl. Fiona started, instinctively, toward the dragonpair.

She nodded quickly at the attendants who rushed to aid the scored dragon and rider, hovering just far enough from them to avoid interfering while close enough to be able to examine the wounds.

“If you stay too close, you’ll get them all worried,” Sonia’s voice startled her as the Weyrwoman spoke at her side. Fiona turned to see that the older woman with her startling white forelock was watching her with no small amount of amusement.

“They know what they’re doing,” Fiona said, loud enough for the weyrfolk to hear her. “I just like being close to hand if there’s anything I can do to help.”

“I understand,” Sonia said. “It’s a different way from my own; I tend to wait until someone asks.”

“Your father was a healer, wasn’t he?” Fiona said, recalling a chance comment from C’tov months back.

Sonia nodded.

“I’m still learning,” Fiona said. “Sometimes I can help, sometimes I can learn something new.”

“I see.” Sonia noticed the way Fiona started to raise her hands, the way the younger woman tensed to speak or move forward, and the way she restrained herself. “It’s hard not to help.”

“It’s not that,” Fiona said even as she clenched her fists once more to restrain her impulse to dart forward, “it’s not knowing when it’s help or hindrance.”

“You are young, you worry too much.”

Fiona turned to meet her eyes. “In these times, can anyone worry too much?”

“The Weyrwoman sets the mood of the Weyr,” Sonia said in answer.

“Yes, I know.” Fiona frowned. “There’s a fine line between trying anything and trying nothing. They can both be signs of despair.”

Sonia’s eyes narrowed as she examined the girl in front of her. “You won’t give in to despair.”

“Ever,” Fiona agreed. “I grew up with the example of Kindan.”

“What about Lorana, then?” Sonia asked, careful to keep her tone casual.

“I think she’s still learning from Kindan,” Fiona said after a moment. “I understand that the Plague was very hard for her.”

Sonia nodded.

“And with Tullea’s demands on top of her feeling all the dragons, it’s a wonder she’s managed to keep her baby,” Fiona added in a rush.

“Tullea’s demands?”

“She wants Lorana to find a way to save B’nik,” Fiona said, quickly recounting Tullea’s conversation with Lorana before adding, “And on top of that, there’s Tenniz’s ‘gift.’”

Sonia gave her a questioning look.

“Tenniz is one of the desert traders I met when I was at Igen,” Fiona said. “When I arrived at Telgar, he had left gifts.”

“He did?”

Fiona nodded. “Well, actually, Mother Karina left the gifts; Tenniz left his words. He was one of the traders who could sometimes see into the future. He knew that I would come to Telgar.” She frowned as she added, “And he left a gift for Terin, a gold fitting for a riding harness with the words: This is yours and no other’s.”

“She’s the one who Impressed Tolarth’s queen?” Sonia asked. Fiona nodded. “So what did he leave Lorana?”

“It looked like a brooch but, if so, it was unfinished,” Fiona said, describing the gold staff with twined serpents that marked the symbol of a healer. She mentioned the odd small holes on either side.

“And what did his note say to her?”

“‘The way forward is dark and long. A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern.’”

Sonia glanced away, staring at nothing as she mulled over those words.

“And what did he say to you?” Sonia asked as she looked back at the Weyrwoman once more after she finished her musings.

“My note was from Mother Karina,” Fiona said. “Tenniz had her tell me that ‘it will all turn out right.’”

“That seems to leave a great burden on you!”

“Pardon?”

“Well, doesn’t that make it your responsibility to determine what ‘all turn out right’ actually means?”

Fiona gave her a confused look.

“Would it be all right for you if Lorana’s price was her life?” Sonia asked by way of example.

“No,” Fiona said. “I would sooner lose Talenth than her.”

From up on the watch heights, Talenth bellowed in agreement.

“She saved Pern,” Fiona said, gesturing up toward Talenth, “she saved my dragon.”

“Sometimes, as Tenniz seems to know, the price of a job well done is the payment of a higher price,” Sonia told her softly.

“Then she won’t pay the price alone,” Fiona declared, her eyes flashing angrily.

“I wish I could agree with you,” Sonia said. “But whatever pain you’re willing to suffer for her will only add to her pain, not replace it.”

“She’s been through too much already!” Fiona said, the pain in her voice wrenching at Sonia’s heart. “It’s time for someone else to take over.”

Another dragon burst into the sky above them, creeling with pain, her left wing hanging limply as she plunged through the sky.

Silently, Sonia’s Lyrinth rose from the Weyr Bowl as Fiona’s Talenth dove from her position on the watch heights, working together to position themselves under the falling green, catching her and lowering her gently to the ground.

“I think they need us now,” Fiona said, as she started racing toward the injured green.

Sonia was an instant behind her, shocked at how well her Lyrinth had worked with the younger Talenth. She eyed the back of the blond Weyrwoman thoughtfully as she raced to catch up.

Hours later, covered in ichor, exhausted, cold from the afternoon winds that had picked up, Sonia turned from the younger Weyrwoman in time to be wrapped warmly in D’vin’s arms.

“Her,” Sonia said, as she struggled to breathe in the bronze rider’s tight embrace, “her too.”

D’vin raised an eyebrow in surprise but reached out and dragged Fiona into his embrace. He was surprised to see Sonia wrap an arm around the other woman, surprised to see Fiona return the embrace, and surprised by how tightly the younger Weyrwoman squeezed him back. Most of all, he was surprised by one thought: Sonia doesn’t share. Apparently, that had changed.

“You are going to stay here the night, they’ll manage without you,” Sonia said as she eyed a nightgown thoughtfully and threw it toward the younger Weyrwoman. It would be big but it would do, she decided. “Put that on.”

“But—”

“The correct answer is: ‘Yes, Weyrwoman,’” D’vin called out drolly. “In fact, the only answer is—”

“Yes, Weyrwoman,” Fiona dutifully finished, chuckling. She’d drunk too much wine, she could feel her cheeks heating and tingling with the effects as she added superfluously, “That’s the answer at my Weyr, too.”

“So you’ve got them well-trained,” Sonia said. She canted her head appraisingly as Fiona slipped on her nightgown. “As I thought: big but not too big.” She gestured toward the sleeping quarters beyond. “D’vin’s not the warmest man but between the three of us, we’ll keep you from getting too cold, even in that.”

Fiona’s thoughts of further protests were eliminated by a yawn.

Stay there! Lorana’s voice told her adamantly.

You should be sleeping, Fiona said, secretly glad to have the contact with the ex–queen rider.

“What was that?” Sonia demanded of her suddenly.

“What?” Fiona asked, startled by the words spoken out loud.

“You weren’t talking with your dragon,” Sonia said, eyeing her thoughtfully.

“Lorana,” Fiona confessed. Her cheeks flushed hotter: She wanted to keep that a secret.

“You can talk to her?”

Fiona nodded mutely, going pale.

Sonia eyed her for a long moment before asking, “And what did she say?”

“‘Stay there,’” Fiona repeated. She gave Sonia a beseeching look. “I don’t want anyone else to know.”

“Why?”

Fiona shook her head, unable to come up with a quick answer. “It’s special. We don’t know if it will last—”

“How long have you had it?”

“Since the mating flight,” Fiona said. “She and Kindan—well, Kindan and she—I don’t know, they were with Zirenth when he rose.”

“And T’mar?”

“Still unconscious,” Fiona said, adding, “If Lorana hadn’t held Zirenth when T’mar was injured, he would have gone between.”

“And so you and Lorana …?”

Fiona shook her head, blushing furiously again. “Kindan,” she said in a small voice.

“Whom you’ve always wanted,” Sonia said.

“Yes,” Fiona agreed in a whisper, eyes lowered in shame. She raised them again to meet Sonia’s. “But I want Lorana, too. Like a sister, only more.” She paused, groping for words and then shook her head when she couldn’t find them, saying desperately, “I never realized that love is so different.”

Sonia quirked an eyebrow upward in question.

“I love Kindan,” Fiona said slowly, trying to make her meaning clear, “and I always will. I want children with him.” She paused. “But I want to help Lorana raise her children.”

Fiona hadn’t heard D’vin’s quiet footsteps approaching behind her so she started when he spoke up softly, “If she’s cut, you bleed?”

“Yes,” she said. “But not like with Kindan or T’mar.”

“A heart grows when you love,” D’vin said, carefully keeping his eyes on Fiona. “The more you love, the more you can love.”

“As a Holder, I was expected to marry,” Fiona said. She shook her head slowly. “I was expected to have only one man.”

“A queen rider doesn’t have that choice,” Sonia said.

“Her queen chooses in the mating flight,” Fiona said in partial agreement. “But she chooses all other times.”

“A good Weyrwoman—”

“—has the Weyr’s best interests at heart,” Fiona cut in, smiling at the older woman. “I know that.”

Sonia gave her a wicked look, as she said, “But a Weyrwoman doesn’t have to be good all the time!”

Fiona’s face took on a sober look. “I’m only beginning to understand love,” she said slowly. “I’m beginning to see that there are many types.” She turned to face D’vin. “There are two men in my life right now, Weyrleader.”

D’vin nodded, understanding the unsaid part of her words. He smiled, gesturing toward Sonia. “I’m glad because there’s only one woman in my life!”

“And that woman is cold and wants to get warm,” Sonia declared, grabbing Fiona’s hand and tugging her along. “So let’s stop chattering out here and get under the blankets!”

In the middle of the night, Fiona woke, startled by the breathing of the two people next to her.

Lorana! she called out drowsily.

I’m here, the woman’s thoughts came back to her quickly, unperturbed. Kindan’s with me.

Good, Fiona thought with relief. She added a quick mental caress, an apology for disturbing the other woman and received a comforting thought in return: a feeling that Lorana appreciated the contact, the warmth of the mental touch. Satisfied and relieved, Fiona rolled over into a dreamless sleep.

Even so, when she woke the next morning, she was still sore and tired, more tired than she had felt for a long while. She was also eager to get back to her Weyr.

Sonia sensed this and let her go after they’d finished seeing to the worst of the injured.

“Remember: ‘Five coughs between, keeps the figure lean,’” Sonia told her warningly as Fiona sat astride Talenth and prepared to leave.

“At Telgar, they say ‘seven,’” Fiona said. “But I’ll be careful.”

“So you want the baby?” Sonia asked, not able to keep the surprise out of her voice.

“Of course!”

“Who is the father, then?”

Fiona smiled and shook her head. “Does it matter?”

“Perhaps to the father.”

“Well, there’s a choice of two, and even if I knew for certain, I wouldn’t tell them,” Fiona said. She caught Sonia’s look and explained, “My child is going to have two fathers, two mothers, and a whole Weyr for parents.” She paused and added, “As will Lorana’s.”

Sonia cocked her head sideways at the younger woman thoughtfully. “Well, whatever you wish.” She stood back from Talenth and gestured in the time-honored signal. “Fly safe!”

Fiona was greeted with glee by T’mar and Birentir when she returned to the Weyr. After the Weyrleader let her out of his embrace, he invited her to join him and the wingleaders in the Council Room.

“My Council Room?” Fiona teased, as the Council Room was off the senior Weyrwoman’s quarters.

“I hope you don’t mind,” T’mar said. Fiona waved his apology away, grinning and shaking her head. Her mood evaporated when she entered the Council Room and saw the expressions of the other wingleaders.

“How bad was it?” H’nez asked the question that was on all their lips.

“The injuries were the worst,” Fiona said, “the losses, less so.” She grimaced. “I don’t know if it will help that they’ve only three days before they ride again.”

“Probably,” T’mar said. “D’vin will work them hard, as he must, and that will distract them.”

“So where are we now?” H’nez asked, frowning. He glanced down at a tally slate set between the riders on the table.

Fiona glanced at it, spoke with Talenth, and reached for the tablet, quickly wiping away old numbers and replacing them with the current strengths of all the Weyrs.

“It’s better than you think,” she said as she put the slates before them once more. “High Reaches has eighty-nine, Ista has ninety, Benden has one hundred and eight, Fort has ninety-six.”

“So against the two Falls, the one over Benden Weyr will have over two full Flights, as will the Fall at Keroon,” T’mar said. The other wingleaders around the table relaxed visibly.

“What about burrows?” H’nez asked. “That Fall over Upper Bitra was all in mountains.”

“I’ve volunteered to help with the sweeps,” T’mar said. “We’ll bring in ground crews where needed.”

“Makes sense,” C’tov said. “We need training, we don’t have a Fall for another six days—”

“Five,” H’nez corrected.

“—five days,” C’tov said with a nod toward the older rider, “so we can help and train at the same time.”

T’mar nodded. “How soon can you be ready?”

“Give us a quarter of an hour,” C’tov said, rising from his seat, “and we’ll be over Bitra’s mountains.”

“Talenth and Tolarth will come, too,” Fiona said, sending a silent order to the two queens. The other riders looked at her in surprise, so she explained, “Well, you can’t expect Terin’s Kurinth to fly with us, can you? She’s a little young yet!”

F’jian nodded emphatically even as he looked a little wistful. Fiona laughed at his expression. “Just give them time, F’jian, give them time!”

The remaining bronze riders joined in with her until the youngest bronze rider raised his hands in surrender and rose from his chair with all the dignity he could still muster.

T’mar caught up with her after the others had filed out. “That was a good idea, to have the queens along.”

Fiona nodded. “And we need the exercise,” she said in agreement, spearing him with a look as she added, “I don’t want to get fat after all!”

T’mar grimaced as the barb struck home but a moment later his expression changed. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“As will Jeila,” Fiona said. “We’re not going that far and we’re not going to time it, so we’ll only get three coughs between.”

T’mar’s eyes took on a troubled look as he digested her words but he, wisely, merely nodded in agreement.

“We’re both early enough, as far as the Records indicate, that even a longer jump poses no threat,” Fiona assured him. “It’s the end of the first trimester and the beginning of the third that are the most susceptible.” She paused for a long moment, then added sweetly, “And, by the way, how did you know I was pregnant?”

T’mar blushed bright red, unable to speak.

“Really, it’s too early to tell,” Fiona said when she decided that she’d had enough enjoyment at his expense. “And Bekka says that nothing’s really certain until about the twelfth week.” She gave him a challenging look, quirking her eyes upward questioningly.

“I was hoping,” T’mar said.

Fiona burst into a bright grin. “Good! Don’t forget that when it comes time for diapers.”

Telgar’s Weyrleader snorted in amusement, his eyes dancing.

Fiona and Jeila were very careful going between, even going so far as to obey H’nez’s admonition to wait until the fighting dragons had arrived over Upper Bitra and could give them a sense of the winds before setting out.

The cold of between seemed harsher and longer to Fiona, even as bundled up as she was in the extra wher-hide vest that Bekka had insisted upon for both the weyrwomen.

Immediately upon their arrival in the air over the Bitran mountains, Fiona regretted her submission to the young healer’s demands: The vest made her very warm, almost hot, and Fiona loosened her wher-hide jacket to let some of the cold Bitran air cool her off but decided not to, for fear of losing the flamethrower strapped on her back.

She and Jeila took positions close to the mountains, veering left and right to scan into tree-lined valleys, looking for any sign of burrowed Thread.

They had been looking for scarcely an hour when Jeila paused and Tolarth whirled in the air, making a tight circle over one spot. Fiona and Talenth circled around long enough to get a look at the drooping trees, the dark center, and confirmed the burrow.

We’ll land there, Fiona said, giving Talenth an image close to the burrow.

As the queen started a slow, almost lazy, swirl to descend to the location, T’mar’s Zirenth burst above them bellowing loudly.

What are you doing? Zirenth demanded.

Going for the burrow, Talenth responded reasonably.

You’re a queen! the bronze declared, and that was an end to the discussion.

Fiona glowered as the bronze rider and two blues made their way to the ground. She watched as they flamed the burrow into crisp char.

Tell T’mar to send in a ground crew, Fiona said acerbically to her dragon, we’ve only one Weyrleader.

To her surprise, the bronze rider looked up and waved agreement, turning back to his bronze and soon he and Zirenth were aloft and then between, gone, doubtless, to Bitra Hold for a suitable ground crew.

They seemed to take forever to get back; she and Jeila had spotted three more burrows and H’nez had dispatched the smaller greens and blues to flame the worst of the infestations, but it was clear that only flamethrowers working directly on the ground would completely eradicate the tougher of the burrows.

When T’mar returned, Fiona could tell just by the way Zirenth flew that the Weyrleader was furious.

T’mar says you and Jeila may fight on the ground, Zirenth relayed in a resigned tone.

Why?

He says that if we wait on Bitra, all Pern will be Threaded, Zirenth responded.

Fiona grunted in response. She’d heard about Bitra when she’d been at Benden; this merely confirmed her worst impressions of the Hold and its Lord Holder. She instructed Jeila to take the first burrow, aided by two blues, while she and Talenth descended toward the third burrow with a green and a blue at her side.

What would it be like, she mused, to have greens and blues as escorts for the queens’ Wing all the time? Queens’ Wings, perhaps? She had never read of such things in the Records, but Igen’s deserts were so dry and barren that they never had many burrows. The lush plains of Telgar presented a different possibility.

The work was hot and straining. After her third burrow, Fiona relegated most of the work to the sturdy riders, taking time to divest herself of her wher-hide vest and, later, even of her wher-hide jacket as she labored to support those fighting the burrows.

It was late morning before they had finished. Eleven burrows had been destroyed. Even so, still wary, T’mar left a dozen dragons behind to ride another final sweep.

“You idiot!” Bekka roared as she caught sight of Fiona when the queen landed back at the Weyr Bowl later that day. Bekka squatted and retrieved the vest and jacket that had fallen as Fiona had started to scramble down Talenth’s side.

“What?” Fiona asked, surprised at how sore she felt. Her head felt odd, too.

Bekka ignored her question, pulling on the sleeve of her tunic to drag Fiona down to her height and placing a hand on her forehead quickly.

“Into bed, right now!” Bekka growled, sending the Weyrwoman off to her quarters.

“But Lorana—” Fiona’s protest was cut short.

“Right, tell her she’ll need to move,” Bekka said quickly. “You get into the bath, make it as hot as you can take it, and don’t come out until I get you.”

“I’ve got to use the necessary!” Fiona complained.

“Then the bath, and hot!” Bekka said. Fiona looked at her mulishly. “Do you want to lose the baby?”

Fiona was shocked.

“You’ve got a chill, now get into a bath while I sort things out,” Bekka said, turning to head toward Jeila, ready to perform the same treatment.

Fortunately the other queen rider had remembered to put on her vest and jacket before returning between from the Bitran mountains.

Fiona managed to make it to her quarters without any more fuss even as she realized how her head ached.

“Idiot!” she said to herself as she made her way into her rooms.

“What?” Lorana asked sleepily from the bed where she’d been napping. She glanced more closely at Fiona and sat up. “What is it?”

“I was an idiot and I forgot to put my vest and jacket on when I came back here between,” Fiona said. She started toward the bathroom. “Bekka says I’m to have a hot bath while she figures where to put you.”

“Nonsense,” Lorana said peremptorily. “Come here.”

Fiona grimaced but approached the bed. Lorana lifted a hand to her head, repeated Bekka’s examination and frowned. “Well, you’ve got a fever, there’s no doubt,” Lorana said, her lips pursed tightly. She thought for a moment, then slid farther to the back of the bed. “Get out of your gown and get in here with me.”

“But Bekka—”

“Bekka’s not the only one healer trained,” Lorana said. “Get Talenth to have Shaneese send us some chicken broth and in the meantime, you get in here.”

Fiona was tired and not at all disposed to argue. In a short while she was cuddled in tight against Lorana, who had thrown on extra blankets. Not long after, she was fast asleep.

She awoke much later, in a muck sweat.

“Fiona!” Lorana called urgently. “Fiona, wake up!”

“Mmm,” Fiona murmured, thrashing about in search of a place in the sheets that wasn’t soaked with her sweat.

“You were dreaming, it’s all right, you’re all right now,” Lorana told her soothingly. Fiona felt her hand stroking her head. She made a pleasant sound, and turned her head closer to the comforting fingers. Slowly she drifted off again, even as she recalled the horrors of her dream: Can’t lose the baby! Can’t lose the baby! Can’t lose the baby!