Dragonheart

FIVE

FortWeyr , Next Morning, AL 507.13.15

The light of morning streaming in to her room woke her. Fiona leapt out of her bed in horror; she hadn’t meant to sleep so long. One gentle touch to Talenth confirmed that the young queen was still sleeping, though Fiona got the feeling that Talenth’s dreams were troubling her.

As Fiona hastened through her toilet she kept an ear out for any sound of her dragon stirring. She had just finished pulling on her day gown when she heard the unmistakable sound of a dragon coughing.

Talenth? Fiona thought nervously to her dragon. But Talenth did not respond, her mind still sleeping, though twitching with whatever dream bothered her. Fiona raced to her dragon’s weyr to confirm her impression: Sure enough, she could see Talenth’s flanks and wings twitching as though in some dream flight.

Another cough. Fiona spun around toward the noise. She ran out to the ledge that overlooked the Weyr Bowl and connected her weyr with the other queen’s weyrs, her head cocked in the direction of the noise.

It came from her left — that was Tannaz’s weyr.

Fiona raced that way, her nostrils flaring for breath. When she reached Kalsenth’s weyr, Tannaz looked up at her approach, her eyes red with tears, wide with fear and worry.

“She started last night,” Tannaz told her.

“Fiona!” Cisca called, coming into the dragon’s lair from Tannaz’s quarters. “Good, run to the Kitchen, they should have that decoction ready. Bring it back as fast as you can.”

Fiona spun on her heels and took off, racing down the ledge, across the Weyr Bowl, and into the Kitchen Cavern.

“I’m to get the decoction for Kalsenth,” Fiona called as she entered, looking around frantically.

“Over here,” a man’s voice called. She turned to it, saw that it was Kentai, and trotted over, her sides heaving from her run. “It’s nearly ready.”

Whatever it was smelled good, Fiona realized as she neared the steaming pot. Kentai waved her back, then pulled the pot off the coals, grabbed it with wherhide gloves, and poured its contents into a large bucket that had a ladle hanging from its side.

“Will you be able to manage?” he asked as he handed her the bucket.

Breathless, Fiona nodded and took off again, running nearly as fast as she had on the way down. Her legs complained and she caught a stitch in her side just as she started to climb the incline of the ledge to the weyrs.

“Great,” Cisca called, grabbing the bucket from her and leaving Fiona to lean against the wall, panting to regain her wind. “Tannaz, they say that the Weyrwoman at Benden recommended it,” Cisca said. Tannaz looked up at her, hollow-eyed. “You know, the one who Impressed that gold before Breth . . .”

Tannaz looked down, then back to her dragon. Fiona stumbled over to her, knelt beside her, and hugged her tight. Tannaz did not react. Worriedly, Fiona exchanged looks with Cisca, but the other only shook her head slightly and frowned down at the bucket, stirring it with the ladle to cool it more quickly.

“Tannaz . . .” Fiona began but was cut off by another cough from Kalsenth. Again Fiona noticed that sickly smell. Tannaz crumpled against her dragon’s side.

Fiona? Talenth called from her weyr.

Wait, Fiona replied, surprising herself. Tannaz was so strong, she couldn’t give in now, so soon, she just couldn’t!

Setting her jaw, Fiona leaned forward, grabbed Tannaz by the shoulders, and pulled her back.

Tannaz looked up at her, her expression one of mingled surprise and anger.

“You need to take care of your dragon,” Fiona said, looking down at her. “You need to feed her this stuff that they use in Benden.” A faintly puzzled look entered Tannaz’s eyes. “You are her rider; you must be strong.”

Fiona leaned back, getting her feet under her and urging Tannaz to rise with her.

“Come on, Tannaz,” Cisca added, scooping some of the liquid into the ladle. “Fiona’s right.”

Tannaz looked at the ladle, looked at her dragon, and nodded.

“Kalsenth,” she said aloud, “open your mouth.” Before she poured the liquid down her dragon’s throat, she checked the temperature against the inside of her wrist. “It’s not too hot, you should like it.”

“It smells good,” Cisca added encouragingly.

The gold dragon waited until Tannaz retracted her arm before closing her mouth and raising her head to swallow the liquid.

“Feed it all to her,” Cisca said, extending the bucket to Tannaz.

“There,” Fiona said as the gold opened her mouth once more and Tannaz ladled in another dollop, “that’s better, isn’t it?”

The bucket was empty in no time. Kalsenth lay her head back down and closed her eyes. In a short while she was asleep again.

“You should get some sleep, too,” Cisca said to Tannaz. Fiona darted into Tannaz’s quarters and returned with pillows and blankets. Tannaz took them gratefully and curled up against her gold.

“We’ll check on you later,” Cisca promised, passing the empty bucket and ladle over to Fiona and gesturing for her to leave through the weyr entrance.

As Fiona followed the Weyrwoman down the ramp toward the Kitchen Cavern, she spotted Talenth peering timidly out of her weyr. Cisca noticed and nodded to Fiona, “See to her and meet me when you can.”

Fiona insisted upon oiling Talenth before feeding her, and between the two tasks it was over an hour before she had the dragonet back in her weyr, sated, scrubbed, and somnolent. Fiona failed to stifle a yawn herself as she headed down the incline toward the Kitchen Cavern, wishing that times were such that she could curl up with her dragon.

Cisca wasn’t in the Kitchen Cavern when Fiona arrived. Zirana directed her to a doorway at the back of the cavern and Fiona found herself in a corridor she’d never been in before.

As with all of Fort Weyr , the walls were just as smooth as those at Fort Hold . Fiona ran her hands along them, delighting in the cold smoothness. She knew from her times at other holds and at the Harper Hall that whatever the Oldtimers had used to create such smoothness had failed before all the holds or Weyrs were finished, and she was glad that, having left Fort Hold, she’d been lucky enough to come to Fort Weyr with its reassuring similarities.

I wonder if the layouts are the same? Fiona thought, turning to the right to follow her hunch. She’d been told that Cisca was in the storerooms, and at Fort Hold , the storerooms had been set to the right of the lower corridors.

A faint smell of herbs came to her, and Fiona smiled to herself: She’d guessed right.

“I don’t care if we don’t have enough,” Cisca was saying impatiently as Fiona entered the room. “We’ll send for more. Just get all the dried echinacea and bring it to the cooks — we’ve got to make more of that potion!”

“Just where will you get it?” an older woman’s voice asked tetchily.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cisca said. “Our first need is the sick dragons.”

“Dragons don’t get sick!” the woman replied. “And who do you think you are, the Weyrwoman?”

Fiona entered the doorway in time to identify the irritable woman as Melanwy.

“But she is the Weyrwoman,” Fiona declared, only to be surprised by the shushing motions Cisca was making behind the old woman’s back. The room was filled with cabinets, except for the far end where there was a work desk and some chairs. Glowbaskets hung from hooks on the walls.

Melanwy’s eyes widened in surprise and she said to Fiona, “Who are you?”

“She’s Fiona, Melanwy,” Cisca said. “She cooked for us last night.”

Melanwy’s face drained of expression and she tottered to the table and sat down, hard. She dropped her head into her hands. Finally she looked up at Cisca. “But what happened to Nara ?”

“She went between, Melanwy,” Cisca told her softly.

“She did?” the old woman asked, straining to find the memory. “Oh, now I remember.” There was a long silence as Melanwy absorbed her loss once again and then, with a sigh, the old woman pushed back the chair and stood up again. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re looking for herbs, Melanwy,” Cisca said. “We need echinacea and ginger and — ”

“Why?”

“Because the dragons are getting sick,” Cisca said, trying to keep the weariness out of her voice.

“Dragons don’t get sick,” Melanwy insisted again. Cisca glanced over at Fiona in exasperation.

“What do we need, Weyrwoman?” Fiona asked, stepping into the room and glancing around. “Besides ginger and echinacea?”

With a relieved look, Cisca passed a slate to Fiona. “Here’s the list.”

“Melanwy and I can find them,” Fiona said, and was instantly gratified to see relief on Cisca’s face. “Can’t we, Melanwy?”

“Who are you?” Melanwy asked.

“Fiona,” she replied quickly. “I’m from Fort Hold , Lord Bemin’s daughter.”

“What are you doing here?” Melanwy asked, then remembered her manners. “How delightful to meet you; how is your mother?”

“Perhaps Melanwy can help me, ” Fiona said with a significant glance to Cisca.

Cisca brightened. “I’ll send some folk to help,” she promised, clapping Fiona on the shoulder in thanks as she passed around her and through the doorway.

Fiona turned back to Melanwy. “The Weyrwoman’s offered us some of your stores; we’ll pay them back as soon as we can, but we’ve got a sickness and need some herbs — ”

“What do you need?” Melanwy asked briskly, gesturing for Fiona to hand her the list.

Melanwy was tired when they had finished locating the last of the herbs, so Fiona escorted her back to her quarters before returning to the Kitchen Cavern.

“Take this up to T’jen,” Cisca was saying to one of the kitchen-folk as Fiona entered. She turned to a young rider standing attentively beside her and continued, “Take this to the Harper Hall and see if they can help.”

The rider nodded and left, moving briskly. It was then that Cisca noticed Fiona.

“Melanwy was tired, so I brought her back to her quarters to rest,” Fiona told her.

Cisca gestured her to a table on which were laid out some rolls, butter, mugs, and a pitcher of klah.

“Right now there are five sick dragons,” Cisca told her once as they were seated. “Salith, Asoth, Danorth, Panunth, and Kalsenth.”

Fiona was confused. “Salith is T’jen’s brown, right?”

“Oh, sorry, I forgot that you’ve only been here — how long has it been?” Cisca said, then waved the question away. “Asoth is J’marin’s blue — he’s the one who had the gold fire-lizard, Siaymon — Danorth is L’rian’s green, and Panunth is M’rorin’s blue.”

Fiona tried to fix the names of the riders, the dragons, and their colors in her head but found, to her annoyance, that she couldn’t.

“I used to be good with names,” she said, frowning. “I know all the names of every holder in Fort Hold and all the heads of every hold minor or craft — ”

“Don’t worry,” Cisca assured her. “You’ll learn them all in time.”

Fiona contented herself with a sip from her mug and another bite of her roll. She was surprised that she was so hungry until she remembered that she hadn’t eaten at all that morning . . . which brought her back to the issue she’d been avoiding. “I seem to be in such a muddle all the time,” she confessed to Cisca. She met the Weyrwoman’s eyes. “I didn’t use to be like this.”

Cisca picked up on Fiona’s unspoken plea. “I don’t think it’s the illness,” she told her.

“But you’ve noticed?” Fiona persisted. “Is there something wrong with me?”

“If there is, you’re not alone.” The speaker was K’lior, who was striding up to them. He smiled at Fiona, kissed Cisca on the cheek, and, hooking a chair with his foot, dragged himself up a seat. He looked Fiona over intently. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m tired all the time,” Fiona said. “But isn’t that normal after an Impression? And I’ve thirteen Turns, and all the old ones said that being a teen was tiring.”

K’lior smiled reassuringly at her. “It is normal to be tired for the first few months or more after Impressing a dragonet — it takes time for them to reach their growth!” His eyes twinkled as he added, “And I recall being tired for much of my teens, too.” He looked over at Cisca, questioningly.

Fort’s Weyrwoman spent some time choosing her words. “Both are very tiring,” Cisca began.

“But Kindan had only fourteen Turns when he fought the Plague,” Fiona remarked. She pushed herself up straighter. “If he can do that, I don’t know why I can’t manage a dragon while being a teen.”

“Of course you’ll manage your dragon,” Cisca told her emphatically. With a nod toward the Weyrleader, she added, “Neither K’lior nor I have any doubt about that. ”

“But . . .” Fiona prompted then blushed as she remembered to whom she was speaking. Before she could apologize, K’lior responded, “But we have noticed that you and many others seem more tired than usual, even for those who have newly Impressed.”

“There are even some who Impressed many Turns ago,” Cisca added, thinking of T’mar.

Fiona was only half relieved by the news. “No one knows why we’re feeling this way?”

K’lior shook his head. “No, but we’re keeping an eye on it.”

“So far it hasn’t affected the dragons,” Cisca assured her, “just the riders.”

“And they’re able to do their duty,” K’lior added. Fiona noted the way Cisca glanced at the Weyrleader when he made this pronouncement.

“You don’t agree, do you?” Fiona asked her.

Cisca chewed her lip thoughtfully before saying, to K’lior’s evident irritation, “I have some reservations.”

“We’ve more important matters at the moment,” K’lior said, changing the topic. He turned to Cisca. “How are our stores for that herbal recipe Benden sent?”

Cisca shook her head and grimaced. “We’ll be out before the end of the day, with just these five.”

“We can send riders to the Holds,” K’lior decided. He took on the abstracted look of a rider talking to his dragon, smiled briefly, then said, “I’ve asked T’mar to go to Fort, P’der to go to Southern Boll, and M’kury will go to Ruatha.”

“And V’ney and H’nez?” Cisca wondered.

“They’ll be handling drill today,” K’lior told her.

“Mixed wings?” Cisca asked.

“Of course,” K’lior replied, smiling.

Fiona looked confused, so Cisca explained, “K’lior likes to mix up wings to be sure that every rider can work with every wingleader.”

“Oh.”

“It keeps them on their toes,” K’lior told her with a wink.

“It stops them from being bored,” Cisca allowed.

“Bored?” Fiona asked, surprised that dragonriders could be bored.

“You must remember that some of them have been drilling all their lives,” K’lior said.

“But the Red Star,” Fiona protested. “Thread is coming soon!” “Which is why we drill with mixed wings,” K’lior agreed.

Fiona thought on that for a moment and nodded. “Father often makes his guards change posts.”

“Probably for the same reason,” Cisca said.

A sudden thought caused Fiona to perk up. “Do you suppose, perhaps, that is, if it wouldn’t be too much of a burden — ”

“Spit it out,” Cisca said, gesturing with one hand. She pointed at K’lior. “He won’t bite.”

K’lior gave them a look of feigned indignation.

“If Talenth doesn’t wake, would it be possible for me to go to Fort?”

Cisca and K’lior exchanged a look.

“I told you that she wasn’t all addled,” Cisca said to the Weyrleader.

“I never said she was,” K’lior responded.

“But,” — Fiona shook her head sadly — ”I don’t know how long Talenth will stay asleep.”

“I’m sure you’ve got at least an hour yet,” Cisca assured her.

“And if not,” K’lior added, “we’ll send word to P’der; he can bring you back and return to Fort Hold for the supplies.”

“I’m sure it would help to have you there,” Cisca told her.

“You could stop at the Hold while P’der goes to the Healer Hall,” K’lior observed. “That would save time.” He looked inward for a moment and then back up at Fiona. “T’mar and Zirenth are waiting for you.” He gestured to the Bowl outside. “You’d best get going.”

“Thank you!” Fiona said, jumping up from her chair and rushing out.

Cisca and K’lior watched her go. Then Cisca turned to the Weyrleader and said, “You know, if this is what she’s like when she’s tired . . .”

K’lior laughed. “She’ll be like you when she’s recovered!”

Cisca gave him a fierce look and poked at him. “Enough of that!”

Compared to her dragonet, the bronze dragon waiting for her in the Weyr Bowl was immense. Zirenth craned his long neck around to peer at her as she came running over, and Fiona waved at him, feeling for the first time in a long while like a young girl again.

T’mar waited for her beside Zirenth’s huge forefoot and helped her climb up onto the dragon’s neck.

“Hold on to the strap, Weyrwoman,” T’mar said as he climbed up behind her. He wrapped one arm around her waist and grabbed the fighting strap with the other.

“I’m used to riding behind,” Fiona warned him just as Zirenth flexed his huge hind legs and leapt into the air.

“I know you are,” T’mar shouted to her as the great bronze’s wings beat down and lifted them up. “I thought you might like to have a taste of what it will be like riding your own dragon.”

My own dragon! Fiona thought, her eyes seeking out Talenth’s weyr. Talenth will be bigger than this puny bronze, she thought with a pride so fierce that it surprised, then gratified her.

“Thank you,” she called back as Zirenth rose up out of the Bowl. She saw T’mar’s hand as he waved to the watch dragon perched near the Star Stones and then they were gliding down, into the valley below the Weyr spires.

“Are you ready?” T’mar called to her.

Fiona raised her arm and pumped it in the ancient dragonriders’ signal of readiness.

A freezing blackness suddenly gripped her, but Fiona was ready for it. Between only takes as long as it does to cough three times, she reminded herself.

One.

Two.

Three.

They burst out high over Fort Hold and Fiona couldn’t help shouting for joy at the sight.

“You’ll do this on your own before you know it, Weyrwoman,” T’mar promised her.

Fiona’s shout turned into a noise of pure exhilaration as Zirenth banked sharply and spiraled on down to the landing between the Harper Hall and the Hold. Then Zirenth was on the ground, and T’mar jumped down and raised his hands to catch Fiona. She smiled as he deftly lowered her to the ground.

“You’ve got the longer journey,” T’mar said as he stepped away from her.

“I’m the younger,” Fiona reminded him with an impish grin.

T’mar had no reply and merely shook his head before waving her on her way.

“If I’m done before you, I’ll come up to the Hold,” T’mar said as he strode away.

Fiona turned away from him and toward the path up to the Hold. It was a pleasant walk, although she was surprised to realize how tiring it was for her.

Too much time lazing around, she decided.

As Fiona climbed the path that led up to Fort Hold proper, she eagerly examined the streets branching off on either side toward the crafthalls and small cotholds, looking for any of the many Fort Holder children she knew and had played with, but there was no sign of them. It’s lunchtime, she reminded herself, working to keep her good mood.

Still, the memories of the rare times she’d managed to get away from her father’s watchful gaze — and where had he been? — were among her happiest: hunting tunnel snakes in the bowels of the Hold; getting wet and muddy at the nearest lake; chasing sheep with the herders and herd dogs — all the things that a rambunctious child, though perhaps not the Holder’s daughter, would do when not in fear of a scolding.

The first guard she saw at the Hold’s main gate was someone she did not recognize. Fiona forced a frown off her face — if she hadn’t Impressed, she would know who this new man was. She was just about to introduce herself when another guard rushed down from the watchtower, calling, “Lady Fiona!”

It was Jelir, one of the men who had survived the Plague with her father and Kindan. He and Stennel had carried the dead off to the massed graves, Fiona recalled.

“Your father’s not here, my lady,” Jelir told her as she approached him. He gestured back down the path. “He’s down at the Harper Hall.” The guard next to him smirked, only to have Jelir round sharply on him. “Nellin, this is Lady Fiona, the Lord Holder’s daughter.”

Nellin sobered up immediately, murmuring, “Didn’t mean no harm, my lady.”

What was so funny about her father being at the Harper Hall? Fiona wondered. She shook herself, remembering her task. “I’ve come for some herbals,” she told the guards. “The dragons are sick.”

“We’d heard,” Jelir replied. “All the fire-lizards are gone.”

“Well, don’t let us hold you up, my lady,” Nellin said, waving her inside. “From the sounds of it, you’ve got urgent business.”

Fiona nodded and, with a final wave, made her way through the Hold gates, through the courtyard, and up to the Great Hall gates, which were open to let in the afternoon air.

She was pleased to find Neesa ensconced in the kitchen, and for a brief moment, Fiona felt as though she were a young Lady Holder again, and not a Weyrwoman on an urgent mission.

“Lady Fiona, what a surprise!” Neesa exclaimed when she spotted her. “Can you stay long?”

“I’m afraid I can’t,” Fiona said. “I’ve come from the Weyr to beg for some herbals for the dragons.”

“So it’s real, then?” Neesa asked. “We know about the fire-lizards, of course.”

“It’s real,” Fiona confirmed. “We’ve five up at Fort Weyr who are coughing. And already at least three have gone between from all the Weyrs, including Breth, Benden’s queen.”

“And the herbals will help?” Neesa asked, her eyes full of concern. “Thread’ll be coming soon enough.”

“We don’t know if the herbals will help,” Fiona said. “But they include echinacea and ginger — ”

“Marla!” Neesa called. “Drat, where is she? She’s as bad as your — ”

“Pardon?” Fiona asked. She hadn’t been looking at Neesa, but rather in the direction she was calling.

“Oh, nothing!” Neesa replied quickly. “It’s just that your father is never around when needed either.”

Fiona felt sure that there was more to it than that, but she really didn’t have time to wheedle the rest of the news out of the head cook, particularly as a youngster, little younger than Fiona herself, came rushing into the kitchen at that moment.

“Marla, take Fiona down to the stores,” Neesa ordered. “She’s to have anything she needs. It’s Weyr business.”

Marla looked confused, frightened, and amazed all at once. “Weyr business?” she repeated.

“Surely you remember Fiona, the Lord Holder’s daughter,” Neesa said acerbically. “And wouldn’t a curtsy be in order?”

Marla hastily curtsied, her face going bright red with embarrassment. “My lady,” she said as she dipped down, then flushed even more. “I mean, Weyrwoman.”

“Not to worry,” Fiona said with a smile and a gesture to ease the other’s discomfort. “I am in a bit of a hurry, so . . .”

Marla stared at her for a moment, still bemused. Fiona took matters in her own hands. “Follow me, I know the way.”

She led the way down to the medicinal storeroom. “We need echinacea the most, then ginger, cinnamon, comfrey, and hyssop,” she told Marla as she started pulling containers from cupboards built into the walls. The light in the room was dim. “Bring in one of the glows from outside.”

“I don’t know,” Marla began hesitantly, but Fiona gave her a look that sent the young holder rushing out of the room.

She returned a moment later with a glow basket, which she hung on a hook high up.

“Much better,” Fiona said, rummaging through another likely storage bin. “I won’t take more than half of your supplies — ”

“Half?” Marla squeaked, her eyes round.

“Dragons are big, Marla,” Fiona reminded her with just a touch of exasperation in her voice. “They need much more per dose than humans.”

“Did you think to ask the herders?” Marla said.

Fiona shook her head. “We’ll do that if we need more.”

“More?” Marla was astonished at the thought.

Fiona found a carisak and started to stuff it with herbs, each stored in their own jar or box.

“There!” she said briskly, shouldering the carisak. “That should be enough for a couple of days.”

Marla was reduced to making small squeaking noises.

“I’ll leave you to put the glow back,” Fiona said as she made for the door. “No need to follow, I’ll see myself out.”

“Did you get everything?” Neesa asked as Fiona stopped back at the kitchen for a quick good-bye.

“I only took half of what were in the stores,” Fiona told her, “just in case.”

“Well,” Neesa said consideringly, “you can always come back for the rest if you need.”

“We don’t even know if it works,” Fiona told her. “What we heard from Benden was that they were trying it.”

“What are the ingredients again?” Neesa asked. Fiona rattled off the list. “That sounds right to me,” Neesa allowed, “not that I know all that much about dragons.”

“I’m only just learning myself,” Fiona said.

“You learn fast; you’ll know it all soon enough,” Neesa assured her.

“I don’t know,” Fiona said, pursing her lips. “I seem to be so tired all the time.”

“I suppose that’s natural, what with a new dragon and all,” Neesa allowed.

“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head firmly, “it’s not.” She explained what Fort’s Weyrleader and Weyrwoman had told her, finishing, “So it seems that it’s worse than normal.”

“But not just for you,” Neesa pointed out. “They said others were affected, too, weren’t they?”

“Yes,” Fiona admitted bleakly. “But what if — ”

“If it’s to do with this illness, then they’d have the same problem at the other Weyrs, wouldn’t they?” Neesa suggested. Fiona frowned at that, thoughtfully. “So all you’d have to do is ask the other Weyrs, wouldn’t you?”

“I suppose,” Fiona conceded. She shook her head to clear off her morbid thoughts. She had a sackload of herbs to get back to the Weyr now. But before she could take her leave, a loud shout erupted from the Great Hall.

“Father?” Fiona called, recognizing the voice of Lord Holder Bemin in full rage.

“Fiona . . .” Neesa began, but Fiona had already raced out of the kitchen. Neesa followed the fleeing figure of the youngster and shook her head. She paused a moment, listening, then turned back to her pots. No matter what, she told herself, there’d be a meal wanted.

“Fiona?” Lord Bemin called out when he spotted his daughter rushing toward him from the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come for some herbals,” Fiona replied, dropping her shoulder to show the carisak slung on it. “What are you doing bellowing like that? I haven’t heard you so angry since that time I got lost searching for tunnel snakes.”

“Tunnel snakes would be better,” Bemin responded, his expression sour, brows furrowed thunderously.

“Weren’t you at the Harper Hall?”

“I was,” Bemin snapped.

“Are you and Kelsa arguing again?” Fiona asked, her eyes dancing.

Bemin sighed and seemed to deflate where he stood. Fiona was surprised to see the worry lines around his eyes.

“She’s not upset about her gold?” Fiona wondered. Kelsa had Impressed a gold fire-lizard a number of Turns back and was quite attached to her. Fiona was certain Kelsa’s loss of Valyart had hit her hard. She also recalled that Kelsa and her father had made jokes about which bronze would fly when Valyart mated.

Even though she was the Lord Holder’s daughter, or perhaps even more because she was the Lord Holder’s daughter, Fiona had spent a lot of her youth with the herdbeasts and animals of the Hold; more than once she had helped a ewe birthing a lamb, or a herdbeast with a breech birth, so reproduction held no secrets for her.

And so it wasn’t difficult for her to take in her father’s stance and his bellowing, and come up with a shrewd guess: “Kelsa’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

“We were talking names,” Bemin said by way of confirmation. “Kemma if a girl, Belsan if a boy.”

Fiona did some quick thinking, her expression growing more radiant by the second. “You were going to tell me at the Hatching, weren’t you?”

Bemin nodded.

Fiona let out a cry of joy and ran up to hug her father.

“That’s great news!” she exclaimed. She stepped back. “When Talenth is old enough, I’ll visit every day — ” She frowned, then corrected herself. “ — every sevenday at least!”

She saw that her father still looked upset. “What?”

“We fought,” Bemin told her. “I wanted the child raised at the Hold, to be the next Holder, particularly if it’s a boy.”

Fiona could hear his unsaid words: particularly seeing as you’re now at the Weyr. She could guess how the discussion, then argument went, her father getting more and more irritated at Kelsa’s intransigence.

She snorted. “Father, you’re talking about a kilometer’s difference! Don’t be such a ninny!”

Bemin looked surprised at her response and opened his mouth to reply, but Fiona remembered her mission.

“We can talk about this later,” she told him briskly. “These medicines can’t wait, and Talenth may wake up any moment now.” She patted his arm and rushed by, headed toward the great doors. “Don’t worry, it’ll work out just fine!”

It was only when she was up on Zirenth’s back with T’mar and the dragon was thrusting up into the sky above Fort Hold that Fiona wondered bemusedly at her temerity in giving her own father advice on romance.

Then Zirenth went between and she thought no more of it.

After delivering the herbs, Fiona raced across the Weyr Bowl toward the Queens ’ Quarters and up the ramp to her weyr to find that Talenth was just stirring from her long nap.

I itch, Talenth complained as soon as she spied Fiona. Fiona grabbed the bucket of oil and a brush and sought out the offending spot.

There! Talenth told her with a sigh of contentment. The patch was easily seen and soon dealt with. Much better.

Fiona smiled. “Only you could wallow in a simple oiling!”

Nonsense, I’m sure all dragons do it! Talenth corrected her, craning her head around to look at Fiona, her faceted eyes whirling with a touch of worry. I’m not being mean to you, am I?

Fiona rushed to Talenth’s head and grabbed it, snaking an arm up to scratch the dragon’s eye ridges. “No, of course not!” she told her dragon emphatically. “You’re the most wonderful, marvelous, amazing friend a person could ever have!”

And you would tell me if I was being difficult, wouldn’t you?

Fiona laughed. “As long as you’ll tell me if I’m being difficult.”

You? Never! Talenth replied, twisting her head down a little. Just there. That feels great.

Fiona chuckled at Talenth’s so readily apparent pleasure and redoubled her efforts.

It had been less than two months, she mused to herself, and she couldn’t imagine life without Talenth.

A loud cough from nearby startled her.

As one, dragon and rider turned toward the sound.

“Kalsenth,” Fiona murmured, her heart suddenly heavy in her chest.

She’s not getting better, Talenth observed. What will happen if she doesn’t get better?

Fiona shook her head, not daring to answer.