Dragon's Time

FOUR

“Have some more klah, F’jian,” C’tov said, pushing the pitcher toward the younger bronze rider. “You practically fell off your dragon tonight.”

“I’m all right,” F’jian said, only to be overtaken by another yawn. “It was a long day.”

“Probably a longer night before that,” J’gerd added with a knowing grin from farther down the table. F’jian ignored him, pouring himself some more klah.

“J’gerd, you should drink less of that wine,” H’nez said, “unless you like flying sweep.”

The brown rider gave the wiry bronze rider a startled look and shook his head swiftly. He apologized to F’jian, “Sorry, I meant no disrespect to your lady.”

“You’re a good lad, J’gerd,” C’tov said, coming over behind the brown rider and resting his hands on the other’s shoulders. “Not too bright, but good.”

The others roared with laughter at C’tov’s ribbing and J’gerd turned red, shaking his head in chagrin.

“Don’t listen to him, anyway, F’jian,” another rider called. “You know he’s just jealous.”

“All of you should get sleep while you can,” T’mar called as he strode over from the high table to the gathered riders. “We’ve plenty of work to do in the morning.”

C’tov and H’nez rose immediately, as did F’jian a scarce moment later, and the remaining brown, blue, green, and bronze riders all followed suit, filing out of the Kitchen Cavern and into the darkened Weyr Bowl to seek their quarters.

At a nod from Kindan, the weyrlings rose from their table and commenced to clear the dishes from all the dragonriders’ tables.

“I presume you’re going up,” Fiona said to Terin as they sat at the Weyrleader’s table, playing idly with the last of their desserts.

“You don’t mind, do you?”

“No, I think I’ll see Kindan after he gets the weyrlings settled,” Fiona said. She glanced at Shaneese; the headwoman dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Shaneese will probably manage to get T’mar into a bath long enough to work the worst kinks out of him and he’ll be asleep as soon as his head hits the pillow.”

Terin rose from her seat and stretched, the stretch abruptly transitioning into a long yawn.

“How are you feeling?” Fiona asked, her brows narrowed with worry.

“Tired,” Terin confessed.

“You’ve looked it, too,” Fiona remarked thoughtfully. “Ever since you Impressed.”

“I thought all new riders were tired.”

“Of course,” Fiona said with a wave of her hand. She did not fool Terin.

“What is it?” the young redhead demanded, glaring down at the still-seated Weyrwoman.

Fiona rose and shrugged, stretching and yawning in turn. She pursed her lips as she toyed with an answer, then said, “Are you feeling more muzzy-headed than usual?”

“Yes,” Terin said, eyes going wide in surprise.

“Ever since you Impressed, right?”

“Probably,” Terin agreed. “I was so happy at the time, that I didn’t notice.”

“So you’re not the reason F’jian is so tired,” Fiona guessed.

“Fiona!” Terin said with a bite in her voice. Heads swiveled in their direction and Terin’s face blushed to match her hair. More quietly she added, “I told you, I’m not ready.”

Fiona cocked her head inquiringly.

“Closer to when Kurinth rises, that’s when,” Terin said. “There’s no point in rushing things.”

“And F’jian has no problem with this?”

“No,” Terin said quickly. The Weyrwoman’s eyebrows rose. Just as well as Terin knew Fiona’s mind, Fiona knew Terin’s. “Well, maybe.”

“What?” Fiona prompted, gesturing for Terin to sit back down and seating herself, leaning forward so that they could talk in low, quiet voices.

With a feeling of relief, Terin lowered herself back into her chair and leaned forward, confiding all the events of the night before to Fiona.

“And you’re sure it was a woman’s voice?” Fiona asked when Terin had finished.

“I’m not sure of anything,” Terin replied. “It could all have been a bad dream.”

“It could be,” Fiona agreed halfheartedly. She saw Terin’s hurt look and added quickly, “One thing I’m certain of, F’jian wouldn’t do anything like that without telling you.”

“Maybe he’s too worried.”

“Why don’t you go up and see?” Fiona suggested. “He’s probably dead to the world, as exhausted as he was.” She saw the troubled look in Terin’s eyes and rose once again from her chair, reaching out a hand to the younger woman. “I can come with you, if you’d like.”

Eagerly, Terin rose and grabbed Fiona’s hand.

Shaneese saw them heading off and stopped them long enough to thrust a glowbasket at Fiona.

“You need to remember that you aren’t a watch-wher,” Shaneese told her.

“Watch-wher?” Terin asked as she and Fiona continued into the darkened bowl.

“They can see at night,” Fiona explained, her tone dancing with humor at Terin’s muzziness.

“Why aren’t you still as muzzy?” Terin asked when she realized that Fiona was making merry at her expense.

“Shaneese says that it might be the baby,” Fiona said. “Or it might be that I’ve gotten used to it.” Just then, Fiona stumbled over a small pebble. She laughed. “Or it might be that I’m still as fuzz-brained as before.”

As they started up the stairs to F’jian’s weyr, they stopped talking and walked quietly, as if better to hear. Only the noises of the Weyr at night greeted their ears, comforting but subtly different from the warm, dry night sounds of their old Igen Weyr.

As they got nearer, Fiona turned the glow partly so that it shed only the barest light. “No sense in waking him.”

Fiona, sensing Terin’s nerves, went first through the thick curtain that separated F’jian’s quarters from the corridor, raising them for Terin to follow. As they crossed inside, Fiona was pleased to see the bedsheets wrapped around the large form of the bronze rider.

Tenderly Terin leaned over and stroked F’jian’s cheek only to jerk back with a startled gasp.

“Fiona! He’s cold!”

Fiona glanced sharply down at the bronze rider. Perhaps that explained his exhaustion.

Talenth, she called.

Yy-YE-eE-Ss-S, came the pounding, blaring, dizzying response. Talenth was twice as loud as usual, her touch warbling, spinning, flickering, slurred.

Dimly Fiona heard Terin shouting, “Fiona! Fiona, what is it?” as the world spun around her and she fell, the glow spilling out of its basket and spinning wildly on the floor, casting a whirling set of shadows that seemed all too bright to Fiona’s dazed mind.

“She’s all right,” someone said as Fiona felt her breath slowing down, her pulse returning to normal, the cold sweat on her forehead warming.

“Terin?” Fiona asked.

“No, silly, you,” the voice said. Bekka; Fiona recognized Bekka’s voice.

“What happened?”

“We were hoping you could tell us,” Birentir’s deep voice replied. “Should I open my eyes?”

“Go ahead,” Bekka said. “You didn’t catch anyone this time.”

Slowly Fiona opened her eyes, recalling her concussion Turns before at Fort Weyr.

The room was normal. She was in her bed, Kindan was standing nearby, as were T’mar and Shaneese. Fiona spared a quick smile for the headwoman, recognizing the way the other woman was exercising tight control on her own emotions. Shaneese returned the look with a relieved nod and grabbed T’mar’s hand, gently pulling him away, back to his own weyr.

“Where’s Terin?”

“With F’jian,” Bekka said.

“They’re probably both asleep by now,” Kindan added. He nodded toward Birentir. “They had wine dosed with fellis.”

“So what happened?” Fiona asked. “Terin said something about F’jian being cold and I reached for Talenth—” she stopped and reached, tentatively, for her queen. Instantly she felt the warmth and love of the great dragon, followed a moment later by a soft fluffing rumble from the weyr beyond.

You worried me, Talenth said. I called Bekka.

Bekka, eh? Fiona thought to herself. She knew from all her reading and time in the Weyrs that a dragon referring to a person by name was rare. What she also knew, and had decided to keep to herself, was that many of those so dragon-friended themselves later Impressed.

“I felt confused and the room spun,” Fiona finished, hastily editing her story. Until she could get to the Records again and read some more, she decided to keep her odd reaction to Talenth’s voice a secret. “How is F’jian?”

“There was no sign of a chill,” Birentir told her.

“You need to rest,” Bekka added firmly. She cast the older healer a meaningful look.

“We’ll check on you in the morning,” Birentir said, taking his lead from the young girl at his side and stepping toward the queen’s lair and the ledge beyond.

“I’ll stay with her,” Kindan said, giving Fiona a look that tried to hide his worry.

“It’s either you or Xhinna and Taria,” Fiona told him tartly. “And I’m certain they’d prefer their own quarters.”

“Perhaps not,” Kindan said even as Bekka and Birentir departed. He waved after them.

“Bekka’s worried about something and won’t say it in front of me,” Fiona said, smiling fondly at the memory of the forceful youngster.

“We’re all worried,” Kindan said, even as he changed into his night clothes. “We’ve got a lot to worry about. Worrying about you relieves us of other worries.”

Fiona sighed at his words, too tired to argue, too sleepy to care.

Kindan must have understood, for he climbed quickly beside her, wrapped her gingerly in his arms, and leaned over to kiss her cheek lightly.

“It will be all right,” Fiona assured him dreamily, eyes closed even as she relaxed against the warmth of his chest.

“Every day with you is a treasure,” Kindan told her feelingly.

Fiona found herself idly amazed at his words; they were the nicest thing she’d ever heard him say.

Sleep came and Fiona fell into it with the certainty of someone held in strong arms, loved and cherished.

“You’re certain you’re all right?” Terin asked for the third time when she found Fiona in the Kitchen Cavern the next morning.

“Absolutely,” Fiona assured her. “Bekka and Birentir have pronounced me fit.”

“Though not fit enough that they have you on rounds,” Terin noted.

“Fit enough to do the rounds without me,” Fiona replied. She was tired of the topic and switched it. “What about F’jian?”

“What about him?” Terin asked. “He slept all night, the same as me—they gave us fellis juice.”

“You said he was cold,” Fiona reminded her.

“It was probably just a chill, a breeze from Ladirth’s quarters,” Terin said, waving a hand airily.

Fiona frowned thoughtfully before saying, “Keep an eye on him.”

Terin’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Just keep an eye on him,” Fiona said, rising from the table and turning toward the Weyr Bowl.

“Where are you going?” Terin asked. “Aren’t you supposed to be resting?”

“No one said so,” Fiona called back over her shoulder. “But they wouldn’t complain if they had: I’m going to look at the Records.”

“Hoping to find other dizzy Weyrwomen?” Terin called back and then blushed as she saw all the weyrfolk in the Cavern turn at her in surprise.

Fiona kept moving, shaking with laughter and raising a hand in farewell as she turned to the queens’ quarters.

Terin followed after her a moment later, nodding in thanks to the young weyrboy who handed her a bucket of tidbits for her young queen.

I ignore you shamefully! Terin called contritely to Kurinth as she picked up her pace and raced over to the queen’s weyr.

I itch, Kurinth said with factual directness.

I’ll get you oiled immediately! Terin promised. She paused in her stride as she heard the rustling of wings behind her and turned to see a wing of dragons lifting into the air. Behind, still on the ground, were F’jian and the reserve wing. She spotted him and was thrilled when he waved in her direction. Still concerned about Kurinth, Terin could only spare him a quick, jaunty wave in response before she bounded up the ledge and into her queen’s weyr.

Soon she was too engrossed in oiling and feeding the most marvelous, the most brilliant, the most lovely queen dragon ever to grace all Pern to notice anything else at all.

Fiona, true to her word, made her way through her quarters and into the Records Room. Warily, she eyed the stacks she’d left on the table the day before, before letting out a deep sigh, picking them up, and carefully putting them back in their proper places.

They wouldn’t have the sort of information she was looking for. She turned her head to a different section, with a sense of foreboding. The Weyrwoman Records were broken into several sections through hundreds of Turns of practice. Some sections were devoted to the tallying of goods received, some to the parceling of those goods throughout the Weyr, others again to injuries and losses. And then, dusty and disregarded, was a special section set aside for the musings of the Weyrwomen themselves.

At Igen Weyr, Fiona had quickly grown bored with the sort of gossip she’d read in the old Weyrwoman Records. At the time, her interest in babies lasted long enough to coo over them and hand them back to their rightful owners.

Now, as she glanced ruefully down at her belly, she accepted that she needed a slightly more enlightened outlook.

She was always going to have children, there was never any question in her mind. And she was going to have girls and she was going to have boys and she was going to love them all. She knew that a large part of that was her reaction to being an only child after the devastating Plague that had killed so many throughout Pern—including all her brothers and sisters. But she was also honest enough with herself to accept that she liked the idea of babies, that she liked the idea of toddlers. She knew enough, from her Turns in Fort Hold, about the problems each presented, but she had grown up in a world where each new child, each squall, each smelly diaper was something quietly treasured. There was always a small pang of sorrow in the coos and aahs of the older folk around Fiona as they eyed new babies. She could see the babies that they’d known before the Plague echoed in their sad eyes.

And Fiona also recognized that part of her wanted babies to make up for those that her older sister, Koriana, could never have.

And now, apparently, she needed to know a lot more about the whole situation, particularly those babies with dragonrider parents. She knew Bekka too well now, and the look she’d given Birentir had been a special look, the look Bekka gave when she was afraid and didn’t want to scare anyone else.

Unfortunately for Bekka, Fiona had seen and recognized that look. And, fortunately for Fiona, the Weyrwoman knew just what to do about that—even if it meant pouring through stacks and stacks of musty, old, boring Records.

Xhinna and Taria rousted her out for lunch. The blue rider took one look at the stacks before Fiona and snorted knowingly. “You’ll be fine, Fiona,” Xhinna assured her.

“You heard?”

“Everyone heard,” Taria said. Xhinna nodded.

“The weyrlings hear everything, of course,” Xhinna added.

Fiona cocked her head thoughtfully. “Have they heard anything about F’jian?”

The room grew suddenly tense and Fiona felt Taria try to shrink into herself. Fiona gave Xhinna a challenging look.

“Only talk,” the blue rider said. “We’re all too tired to do more than drill, feed the beasties, and sleep.”

Taria nodded fiercely in agreement.

“Come on, Fiona, we’ll be late,” Xhinna said, gesturing for the Weyrwoman to procede them.

Fiona grabbed Xhinna’s arm as she went by and held it as they negotiated their way through her quarters, past a sleeping Talenth, and out into the brilliant warmth of the noon day.

“What sort of talk?” Fiona asked as they started down the queens’ ledge.

“He’s worried, Weyrwoman,” Taria spoke up, much to Fiona’s surprise. She’d always seemed the more diffident of the two, silent and willing to let Xhinna take the lead, but it was clear that Taria had her own mind. That much had been clear for a long time, really, just as it was clear that Taria had spent much of her time since meeting Xhinna exalting in her presence. “He’s worried that he won’t survive, that he’ll leave Terin before …”

“Before his time,” Xhinna finished diplomatically.

“I see,” Fiona said. They walked halfway across the Bowl in an uneasy silence before Fiona added, “And do you hear anything about him trying to do something about that? With someone other than Terin?”

“No,” Xhinna said, shaking her head firmly. “Nothing like that at all.”

“You’d tell me, if you heard?” Fiona asked.

“You’re the Weyrwoman,” Taria said, as if that was answer in itself.

Fiona glanced challengingly at Xhinna, who looked uncomfortable.

“You’re the Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said finally. “You’ve the right to know.”

“Even if it hurts me?”

“I haven’t said anything about Lorana,” Xhinna responded tightly, indicating that there were some things she would not bring up with her Weyrwoman and friend for fear of causing her pain.

“Why don’t you two eat with me, alone, when we get to the Cavern?” The question had all the weight of a Weyrwoman’s orders behind it.

Fiona sensed T’mar’s surprise and saw Kindan’s strained look when she led the two young dragonriders to a separate table.

“All I can say is: About time,” Shaneese said as she set out the servings in front of them. “And I’ll be back with more, never you fear,” she added with a special look for Xhinna.

“Hungry?” Fiona asked.

“And tired,” Xhinna replied.

“Too tired,” Taria added.

“How many others are tired?” Fiona asked, glancing over her shoulder to the werylings’ table. And why hadn’t Kindan commented on it to her?

Fiona noticed that the answer was longer in coming than it should have been. Gently, she said, “Xhinna?”

It was Taria who answered. “There’s nothing wrong, is there?” She flicked a troubled glance toward the Weyrwoman.

“Wrong, how?”

“Wrong with us,” Xhinna said, her voice edged with anger. Under that anger, Fiona felt raw, deep, desperate fear.

“Tell me,” Fiona ordered, emphasizing the command with a raised, clenched fist.

“It’s not the others,” Xhinna said. “Kindan wouldn’t let them and—”

“They’re a good lot, all round,” Taria said. “I’ve known most of them all my life and they’ve never said a mean word—except when we were all little and silly.”

“But the dragons—” Xhinna started.

“I can’t help if I don’t know,” Fiona told her friend in a calm voice.

“Fiona, is it possible that it’s wrong for the dragons to Impress women?” Xhinna blurted.

“No,” Fiona said instantly. “Not at all.”

“Golds, sure,” Xhinna agreed in a contentious tone.

“No, your Tazith chose you, Xhinna,” Fiona said. She glanced toward Taria. “Just as Coranth chose you.”

“But we’re so tired,” Taria protested. “All the time.”

“And you feel like you’re walking through thick mud,” Fiona said. The other looked at her in surprise even as Fiona continued, “And you’re slow, you can’t do sums, you’d do anything for a nap, and when you wake, you still feel tired.”

“Yes,” Xhinna agreed. “That’s the muzzy-head?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t seem muzzy-headed,” Taria spoke up and then blushed, abashed at gainsaying the Weyrwoman.

Fiona laughed. She surprised herself with it, it was so natural and yet so perfectly just the thing the other two needed to hear. “Didn’t you hear about me last night?” she asked as she recovered.

Xhinna’s lips twitched, then pulled back in a full grin even as Taria shot her partner a nervous look.

“In this Weyr, Taria, it’s okay to laugh with the Weyrwoman,” Fiona assured her. Taria’s lips twitched, but no more; she was still uneasy.

“So, why are we muzzy-headed?” Xhinna asked. “And couldn’t that be a sign that—”

“That we’re not going to make it,” Taria finished solemnly. She looked at Fiona expectantly, but not nervously. Fiona could tell that the green rider had heard about Lorana’s loss, had heard Tullea’s rage—who couldn’t?—and had drawn her own conclusions.

“Perhaps,” Fiona said quietly. “But I grew up around Kindan; I absorbed his determined outlook while still a child.” She glanced back at the harper, who was gazing intently in their direction. “ ‘Step by step, moment by moment, we live through another day,’ ” she quoted. “And we will.” She glanced down at her belly. “Lorana paid a terrible price. I intend to be here when she returns, to show her the value of that price.”

Xhinna nodded in agreement. Taria looked away uneasily. “For now,” Fiona said in a quiet voice, “drink plenty of klah and make sure all of you do.”

“I don’t like klah,” Taria confessed.

“It keeps you from muzziness,” Fiona told her. She smiled sympathetically at the girl. “M’tal thought that there was a reason, that perhaps we were too much in the same time—”

Fiona broke off, her eyes suddenly wide as inspiration struck.

“Weyrwoman?” Taria ventured.

“Fiona, what is it?” Xhinna asked urgently.

“ ‘In the same time,’ ” Fiona repeated to herself. She glanced toward Xhinna and Taria. “What would it be like, do you think, if your dragon spoke to you twice in the same time?”

“You were very silent at dinner,” Terin said that evening as she and F’jian prepared for bed. She’d suggested that they sleep in her quarters and he’d accepted with alacrity. Thinking on it, she found the walk to her weyr had been much more pleasant and much shorter than the walk up to his weyr.

“I was tired,” F’jian replied, punctuating his remark with a long yawn. Terin struggled and failed to avoid a yawn of her own and glared at him in mock anger. “And we’ll be up early.”

“The Fall’s at night,” Terin protested.

“The drills will be in the dark of the night, then some rest, then another drill near lunch, then another rest, then a night drill,” F’jian told her. “We’re drilling with the riders from Benden and both T’mar and B’nik are determined to keep the casualties low.”

“But doesn’t that mean you won’t have anything to do?” Terin asked as she crawled into bed. “You’re leading the reserve wing.”

“And carrying firestone,” F’jian reminded her as he got in beside her. “I thought T’mar was punishing me by not letting me fly the Fall, now I know that he was giving me the harder duty. Not only will my wing have to provide the firestone, but we’ll also be the reserve.”

“I could talk to Fiona,” Terin suggested.

“And have me leading a fighting wing?”

“Well, perhaps that’s not a good idea.”

“Shh, it will be all right, love,” F’jian said, leaning close to her and stroking her soft hair tenderly. “Sometimes it might not seem like it, but it will be all right.”

“You sound like Fiona,” Terin murmured with a touch of annoyance.

“Fiona is a smart person,” F’jian said. “You know that.”

“Mmm,” Terin murmured in agreement. Presently she drifted off to a warm, comfortable sleep.

Terin woke. A gust of cold air disturbed her. She flailed in her sleep and felt F’jian grab her hands.

“Shh, it’s all right, there’s nothing to worry about,” F’jian whispered quietly. “Hush, now! Hush, love, get some rest.”

“F’jian,” Terin asked a moment later, “why are you crying?”

“I’m sorry,” the bronze rider said, his voice harsh in his own ears. “It’s just that—you’re so lovely, you’re so beautiful. I love you so much.”

Terin turned toward him, reaching up to kiss him, but F’jian ducked aside, grabbing her chin with his fingers and caressing it, stroking her lips with his index finger.

“Sleep,” he told her. “Go back to sleep.”

She did as she was told, only a little annoyed with him. Just as she slid into a deeper slumber she thought she heard the rustling of wings, the sound of a dragon going airborne. She started to move, to come awake, but F’jian moved against her, stroked her hair, and whispered soothing sounds. Terin cuddled in close against his warmth and drifted back to sleep.

“Fiona?” Terin’s voice roused the Weyrwoman from her stupor, perched over another set of Records. She heard Terin enter the Records Room, stop, and scan the mess in surprise. “Xhinna said you’d be here.”

“It’s a Weyrwoman’s job,” Fiona said. She turned to give Terin a sour smile as she added, “You should try it, you might be Weyrwoman yourself one day.”

“Weyrwoman!” Terin said, startled. “I’ve enough to do just keeping Kurinth fed.” And keeping an eye on you, Fiona heard the unspoken words.

“You can’t fool me, Terin,” Fiona said, rising and stretching before pointing to the stacks in front of her. “There are numbers there and we know how you are about them.”

“What are you looking for, anyway?” Terin asked, eyeing the stacks with more interest.

“Oh, lots of things,” Fiona returned airily, realizing that she wasn’t sure she wanted to discuss her explorations with others, even Terin.

“Like how to fight Thread when each Weyr has less than a full Flight?”

“That, too,” Fiona agreed. Her stomach rumbled. “I’m hungry,” Fiona said in surprise, glancing over to Terin. “Were you sent to remind me to eat?”

“Shaneese suggested you might be here,” Terin said, her eyes dancing in amusement as she made her indirect agreement.

“Well, then, let’s get out of this dusty place and into the sunlight,” Fiona said, turning toward the exit and frowning at the darkness of the hallway.

“Hmm,” Terin said, “Shaneese should have sent me sooner.”

“It’s not lunchtime?”

“Dinner,” Terin said.

Fiona groaned.

“I’m going to speak to Shaneese,” Terin said firmly. “Someone’s got to watch over you and force you to eat.”

“I guess so,” Fiona agreed in a troubled voice. “I hadn’t realized how much time had passed.”

“You’re worried,” Terin guessed as they crossed from Fiona’s quarters into Talenth’s weyr.

“You’re not hungry, are you, Talenth?” Fiona called to her queen, rushing to her and showering her with affection that ended with a good solid scratching of both of Talenth’s eye ridges.

Not hungry, only sleepy, Talenth replied, not at all disturbed by the attention of her rider.

“Get some sleep, then, love,” Fiona said, failing to stifle a sympathetic yawn that was immediately picked up and repeated by Terin, who grinned at her with a cross look.

“Are you muzzy-headed, too?” Fiona asked, eyeing the younger rider carefully. “You are, aren’t you?”

Terin finished her yawn and shook her head. “I don’t know what you mean, Weyrwoman.”

“How much klah did you have today?”

“One pitcher?” Terin thought out loud. “Two?”

“Is that what’s affecting F’jian, then?”

“He’s worse,” Terin said, her lips turning down in a frown. Her eyes grew wary as she debated revealing her worries to Fiona.

Fiona knew Terin too well and gave her an inviting gesture, saying, “Share the burden.”

Terin’s frown deepened and she hesitated, but Fiona’s expression made it clear that, now that the Weyrwoman had tumbled to Terin’s mood, it would only be a matter of time before Fiona wormed it out of her.

So, Terin told her about the night before.

“He’s not seeing anyone else,” Fiona said firmly. “I would have heard if he was.”

“Then what is he doing?”

“I hate to say it, but could you be dreaming?”

“Like you about Lorana?”

“Perhaps,” Fiona said, waving a hand to ease the tension. “And for the same reasons, it would make sense for both to be dreams.” Terin’s eyebrows went up. “Me, for dreaming what I’d like, you for dreaming what you fear.”

She gestured for Terin to precede her down the queens’ ledge and they walked in silence until they reached the Weyr Bowl.

“It could be that he’s training, in secret,” Fiona suggested.

“He’s so tired now that I don’t see how it could help,” Terin said, frowning once more. They spied a group of weyrlings drilling and another group cleaning outside the barracks. “How many of them are muzzy-headed?”

“All of them,” Fiona said, her voice full of concern.

“Well, they can’t go back to Igen,” Terin said.

“I’d thought the same thing.”

“Somewhere else?”

“Where?” Fiona asked. “And when?”

Terin shrugged. A moment later she said, in a quiet voice, “You’d take me, wouldn’t you?”

Fiona glanced at her, her brows raised.

“If you found a way, you’d let me and Kurinth come, wouldn’t you?” Terin said. A half-smile crossed her looks. “If we went, then I’d be old enough …”

“If it comes to that, I couldn’t imagine leaving you behind,” Fiona agreed. She shrugged. “But I have no idea where we could go.”

“Southern?”

Fiona shook her head. “Too dangerous. We might get infected with the dragon sickness or worse.”

Terin grimaced at the thought.

They continued in silence into the Kitchen Cavern and made their way to the Weyrleader’s table. T’mar and the other wingleaders were already there, as well as a grizzled old rider wearing the shoulder knots of a Benden wingleader. Kindan was talking animatedly with the Benden rider.

When they approached, Kindan paused and gestured to the other rider, who spotted Fiona and Terin and rose, giving them a gracious half-bow.

“L’tor, Nimith’s rider, Weyrwoman,” he said to Fiona, with another bow to Terin, “Weyrwoman.”

“I’m pleased to meet you,” Fiona said, extending her hand into the grasp of the older man’s rough, dry one. Terin followed her and they took chairs near T’mar and the others.

“I’ve sent F’jian to bed,” T’mar murmured to Fiona, clearly expecting her to relay the news to Terin. He grinned, looking behind the Weyrwoman to the redhead as he added in a quieter voice, “I don’t know what they’re doing, but she should stop before he fades between.”

“They’re not doing anything,” Fiona replied, her eyes worried. “Terin says that they just sleep, but she’s been afraid that he gets up in the middle of the night.”

“Another woman?”

“Not that we know.”

T’mar frowned.

“Terin thinks perhaps he was practicing.”

T’mar shook his head. “If so, it’s on his own. Not even the reserve riders know of it.”

Fiona raised a hand to forestall him while she turned to Terin to explain F’jian’s absence.

Shaneese approached with fresh settings and a look that made it clear to Fiona that her absence at lunch had been noted.

“I think we need to assign me a guard,” Fiona confessed.

“Well, it can’t be me. I’m keeping an eye on him, which is taking all my time,” Shaneese said, pointing a finger at T’mar. The two women exchanged conspiratorial grins.

“And Bekka and Birentir are too busy with the wounded,” Fiona declared.

Shaneese accepted that with a nod and then her look transformed into a grin as her eyes took in Terin. But it was still to Fiona that she said, “I’ve heard that you’ve a knack for taking ‘difficult’ characters and managing them. If you’re up to handling another, I think I’ve got just the person for you.”

“Hey, I wasn’t difficult!” Terin said.

“No, silly, she means you were the source of her information,” Fiona said consolingly, thinking back to a particular time when some of the young riders had fought at Igen Weyr.

“Remember, please, that I’m pregnant,” Fiona pleaded. She doubted that anyone this headwoman classified as “difficult” would be an easy acquaintance.

“Well, then you’ll deserve each other,” Shaneese said. She saw Fiona’s alarmed look and waved a hand. “Oh, nothing too drastic, well within your talents, I’m thinking.”

Fiona gave her an encouraging gesture.

“And you might like him, he being a reminder as it were of your time in the past,” Shaneese allowed. “It might be fitting; after all, he was sent here by Mother Karina.”

“He?” Fiona said.

“A trader’s son, someone you might recall,” Shaneese said, her eyes clouded.

Fiona cocked her head challengingly.

“The lad’s name is Jeriz,” Shaneese said finally. “He’s been here less than a Turn.” She bent down to Fiona’s ear as she added, “I kept him away from the old riders; D’gan would have sent him packing.”

“Where are his parents?”

“His mother’s got her hands full with the daughter,” Shaneese said. “The boy’s got a strangeness to him, but not the Sight.”

“He’s Tenniz’s son?” Fiona guessed, eyes going wide. “Why didn’t you introduce him to me sooner?”

“I wasn’t sure …” Shaneese’s voice faded out and she shook her head. “I’m still not sure,” she corrected herself. She met Fiona’s eyes firmly. “I’ll need your word.”

“My word?”

“If he turns out to be too much, you’ll tell me,” Shaneese declared firmly. “You’ve enough on your plate.”

“But you want to send him to me anyway?”

Shaneese snorted. “Let’s just say that you might be what he needs.”

“My word,” Fiona affirmed.

“Good,” Shaneese said with a nod. “I’ll have a cot put in your quarters.”

“A cot?”

“Unless you want him sharing with Kindan,” Shaneese said blandly. Fiona gave her such a look that Shaneese grinned. “I thought not.”

“But he won’t be freezing if it gets too cold, either,” Fiona warned, wagging a finger at the headwoman.

“That’s one of the reasons I thought of you,” Shaneese said. Fiona raised an eyebrow questioningly. “Traders have the same sensibilities with cold.”

“He must be freezing,” Fiona said.

“He hasn’t said so.”

“Stubborn,” Fiona guessed.

Shaneese, diplomatically, said nothing. After the headwoman left, Terin said to her, “Are you sure this is wise?”

“Well, it’s certain that you can’t be looking after me all the time,” Fiona assured her.

“But from what Shaneese said, I’m not sure who will be looking after whom.”

“Everything all right?” T’mar asked as he saw the two break their head-to-head conversation.

“Just making some arrangements,” Fiona assured him. She nodded toward L’tor. “And you?”

“We’ll be drilling tomorrow,” L’tor said, cutting across T’mar’s answer. “I think it’s wise, as we’ve not flown together before.”

“Eat, Fiona!” Terin spoke harshly before Fiona could respond. To L’tor she said, “She’s pregnant and forgets.”

“I quite understand,” the bronze rider replied. “I sometimes forget myself with hardly half as decent a reason.”

Dutifully, Fiona ate.

After dinner, Shaneese brought over a young lad, who looked to have no more than seven Turns. His expression was grim, just less than a glower, and he kept his eyes downcast.

“Weyrwoman, this is Jeriz,” Shaneese said, with one hand firmly on the lad’s shoulder.

“Jeriz,” Fiona said, holding out a hand, “I’m pleased to meet you.”

The boy continued to glower at the floor. Shaneese shook him. “Answer the Weyrwoman.”

The boy looked up and Fiona was pierced by his brilliant green eyes, eyes that were set in a swarthy trader face and looked out from under unruly, long black hair. Fiona was shocked at the beauty of the boy just as she caught his hidden fury, anger, rage, and—beneath all them—his great fear and loneliness.

Fiona rose out of her chair and moved it aside, squatting down to meet the boy’s eyes. He flicked them up to her, surprised. She held out her hand again. After a moment he lowered his eyes again, letting them settle on her hand before glancing once more to the floor.

“The Weyrwoman hasn’t got time for this, boy,” Shaneese hissed angrily.

“Your father was a friend of mine,” Fiona said. The boy’s eyes jerked up slightly, then fell. Fiona glanced up to Shaneese, deciding on a different tack. “I’m going to need some oil, Talenth has another spot of patchy skin.”

“Of course, Weyrwoman.”

Jeriz’s eyes flickered and lowered again.

“Have you ever seen a dragon, Jeriz?” Fiona asked the boy.

His shoulders twitched.

“Have you ever seen a queen?”

He nodded.

“Up close?”

Jeriz shook his head, but his eyes darted upward once more, his expression changed for just an instant before he schooled it once more into solemn blankness.

“Have you ever wanted to Impress?”

“I’m a trader,” Jeriz said proudly.

“And traders are never Searched?”

“Sure, loads of them,” Jeriz said, his pride pricked. “Some have Impressed bronzes.”

“Would you like to Impress a dragon?”

“I’m too young,” Jeriz said.

“You’ll get older,” Fiona said. “And, if you know more about dragons, you’re more likely to Impress.” That information was news to Jeriz. “I’m too small,” Jeriz said. “They said I’d get crushed.”

“Have you seen Jeila?”

“She’s trader-bred,” Jeriz said again, his voice full of pride.

“And not all that big,” Fiona agreed. “And yet her queen is the biggest queen on Pern.”

“She’s trader-bred,” Jeriz said again, as if that explained everything.

“I need someone trader-bred to help me,” Fiona told him. He glanced up at her, his eyes widening just slightly. She held out her hand again. “Are you willing to make a trade?”

“What for? I’ve got nothing.”

Ah! Fiona thought to herself. Another who cannot see their own worth.

“I could trade you nothing for nothing, but it seems a poor choice,” Fiona said. She frowned for a moment. “How about this: I help you and you help me.”

“You’re a Weyrwoman, you don’t need my help.”

“Then you’ll come out best in the bargain, won’t you?”

Jeriz’s eyes widened, once again surprised.

“In fact, however, I do need help,” Fiona told him. He gave her a dubious look. “I’m pregnant and I’ve gotten forgetful. I don’t want anything to happen to our baby and I need reminding.”

“Of what?”

“I need reminding of the time,” Fiona told him. “Of when to eat.” Jeriz twitched a foot and rubbed it on the ground, clearly impatient to be away.

“Anyone can do that,” Jeriz decided. A moment later, he added boldly, “And if I do that, what will you do for me?”

“What’s the most important thing for a trader?”

“Trade,” Jeriz said simply.

“Knowledge,” Fiona corrected him. He gave her a thoughtful look. “Trade is easy, knowing when to trade and what to trade, that’s hard.”

“She’s right,” Shaneese put in, giving Fiona a surprised look.

“What I offer you is knowledge, Jeriz,” Fiona said. “I’m going to be spending a lot of time with the Records.”

“The Records?” Jeriz asked with more interest than he’d ever shown before.

“I’ll let you read what you want and keep that knowledge for yourself,” Fiona said. “You can learn all about the Weyrs, the dragons, and our trade.”

Jeriz’s breath caught and then he exhaled, his shoulders slumping, his eyes going back to the ground. He seemed to completely fold in on himself even as he shook his head once, silently.

Suddenly, Fiona had a thought. “I can teach you to read, too.”

Jeriz’s eyes suddenly locked on hers and he took a step forward so that he could whisper into her ear, “And you won’t tell anyone?”

“No one,” Fiona swore solemnly, hiding her exaltation at having guessed correctly. She lowered her voice so that only he could hear her, “Not even Shaneese.”

Jeriz stuck his hand into hers and shook it firmly. “Deal.”

“It’d help if I could tell Kindan,” Fiona said later, as she walked up the queens’ ledge with the boy by her side.

“I told him I could read,” Jeriz said doubtfully.

“It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?”

“A trader who can’t read is worthless,” Jeriz told her, frowning.

“Then I think you’d want to do everything to fix that,” Fiona said.

Jeriz fidgeted but said nothing.

“Are you afraid to tell Kindan that you lied?” Fiona asked.

“My honor.”

“A stain on your honor, is it?”

Jeriz nodded.

“Which stains more, the lie or not being able to read?”

“Reading,” Jeriz said as if it were obvious.

“Not everyone on Pern reads, you know,” Fiona said as they reached Talenth’s weyr.

“Traders do!” Jeriz stopped, looking at the huge queen who lay in front of him, her head raised, staring at him intently.

“Here, you’re weyrfolk,” Fiona told him.

“They said you knew how to trade,” Jeriz said, unable to tear his eyes from Talenth.

“I’m flattered,” Fiona said. “But I’m a Lord Holder’s daughter, I was taught since I was very young.” She paused. “And I read a lot.”

Jeriz tore his eyes from Talenth just long enough to give her a questioning look.

“As I said, reading helps,” Fiona told him. She gestured for him to cross to her quarters.

Jeriz hesitated. “Shouldn’t I say something to her?”

“What would you say?”

“I don’t know,” Jeriz confessed, looking to her for suggestions.

“She’s as smart as most, so why don’t you just say hello?”

“Hello?” Jeriz’s brows narrowed. “That doesn’t seem respectful.”

“What would you say, then?”

“Talenth, senior queen of Telgar Weyr, I, Jeriz of the traders, give you greetings on bended knee,” Jeriz said, sinking to one knee and bowing his head as he said the words. “I greet you and honor you for all that you and yours do for Pern.”

“Well said!” Kindan’s voice called out from behind him, causing Jeriz to startle and nearly tumble. “I doubt I’ve heard half as courteous from Lord Holders.”

Fiona raised Jeriz back to his feet and turned him to face Kindan. The harper was dust-covered from his day drilling the weyrlings and Fiona could see the exhaustion in his eyes even as he shot her a questioning look.

Jeriz shot Fiona another imploring look and it took all of her father’s training in manners to keep her from laughing at the boy’s discomfort.

“I call him Kindan and friend,” Fiona said. “What would you say to him?”

“He’s a weyrlingmaster and a harper,” Jeriz said, clearly torn as to which honor ranked higher. Decisively he squared his shoulders and looked up at Kindan. “Harper and Weyrlingmaster, I hope I cause no offense.”

“None at all, provided you are willing to call me Kindan in private,” the harper returned easily, striding forward with a steady gait and extending his hand. “And how shall I call you?”

“My name is Jeriz,” the boy said. “I’m the Weyrwoman’s drudge.”

The swat to the back of his head was neither hard nor expected.

“No drudge,” Fiona snapped. “You’re here to help as weyrfolk or trader, whichever you wish.”

Jeriz raised his hand to his head, but said nothing.

“You remind me of someone,” Kindan said, looking at the youngster critically.

“From what you told me, he shares many traits,” Fiona said, giving Kindan a meaningful look. She grabbed Jeriz’s hand and tugged him gently toward their quarters. Over her shoulder, she called to Kindan, “I’m giving this one a bath. Would you send for some late snacks?”

Kindan followed, brows raised as he took in her comment and then noticed the cot placed on the far side of their room. In the days since Lorana had disappeared, he spent more time here with Fiona than he did with the weyrlings. When asked, he’d said that it was to comfort Fiona. Xhinna and Taria between them did a good job of covering for him and he made sure that he was up early in the morning and stayed with the weyrlings until late at night.

In the bathroom, Jeriz eyed the large warm water pool warily.

“How many Turns have you?” Fiona asked, wondering at his behavior.

“I’ve nearly ten,” Jeriz said.

“Small for your age: I would have guessed you no more than seven,” Fiona said, her lips pursed thoughtfully. She saw the flame flare up in his eyes and nodded to herself. “You’ve had your share of fights over it, haven’t you?”

Jeriz nodded.

“And didn’t win many of them, going against those so much bigger than you,” Fiona guessed. Jeriz said nothing. “Are you bruised?”

Jeriz’s eyes melted and, reluctantly, he nodded.

“I’ve patched and healed far worse, I can assure you,” Fiona told him. “When I was your age, I was always getting scraped up going after tunnel snakes.”

“I’ve never seen one.”

“I hope you don’t,” Fiona told him. “Nasty things, sharp teeth. And fast.” She gave him a thoughtful look. “They’d probably send you after them, too, if you were in Fort Hold, ’cause you’re small for your age.” She pointed at the pool. “You get in there, have a good soak, dry off with those towels over there, and come wake me when you’re done.”

Jeriz made to protest, but Fiona shook her head. “The water’s warm, it’ll be good for bruises.”

With that, Fiona turned and left quickly, lying on her bed and listening for the sounds of the boy getting into the pool.

“Don’t forget to use the soapsand!”

She heard the boy groan in response and smiled to herself.

A while later, a splash alerted her that Jeriz had gotten out. She rose as she heard him grab a towel and dry himself quickly. “Are you decent?” she called. “I’m coming in.” The boy let out a garbled noise that cut off abruptly as Fiona entered and gestured toward a stool.

“Do you want help drying your hair?” she asked. “Sit there and I’ll do it.”

“I thought I was supposed to help you,” Jeriz complained.

“You are,” Fiona said. “Sometime not too long from now, I’m going to be doing this with my own child.” She wiped the comb dry and ran it through the boy’s fine black hair. “I’m going to need the practice.”

“Ow!” Jeriz complained.

“See?” Fiona said, easing off on her pressure. “That’s exactly what I mean.”

She must have gotten it right, for presently the boy was silent and a short while later, let out a sigh of contentment that he tried desperately to hide and which Fiona pretended not to notice.

The next morning Fiona was awoken by the sound of someone clearing her throat. Terin. Fiona turned toward the noise, only to discover herself wedged with a small body on one side and Kindan’s larger body on the other. She was quite warm and toasty, Fiona noticed with a self-satisfied expression. She remembered coaxing Jeriz in with her when it became apparent that he was shivering and bravely trying not to show it. She wondered how many cold, shivering, sleepless nights he’d spent since coming to Telgar. He was so small he was barely noticeable, once she insisted forcefully that he get in on the far side of her, nearest the wall.

She could sense his unease and waited until his breathing eased into sleep before finding a more comfortable position herself.

She had just drifted off to sleep when she heard Kindan’s trudging footsteps approach, his slow, trudging step seeming all full of contrition. She heard his sharp breath when he noted that Jeriz was with her and his sigh as he decided that it didn’t matter and he slid, quietly, gently in with her.

“I love you,” she whispered softly as he lay his head on the pillow. His arms tightened around her in response and they drifted quickly to sleep.

“Have you got room for another?” Terin asked, her voice sounding teary.

“It’ll be tight, but I think we can manage,” Kindan said, gallantly rising and offering her a space next to Fiona. Terin smiled thanks at him and crawled in, patting the space at the edge of the bed invitingly. With a grin, Kindan eased back into the small remaining portion of the bed.

“Hang on,” Fiona said, gently moving the boy who’d sprawled in his sleep further into the bed. “That’s better,” she said as she scooted over more. She pulled Terin closer to her, close enough that she could whisper to her, “Rest first, talk later.”

The redhead nodded and closed her eyes.

Much later, Fiona sent “the men,” as she carefully referred to them, into the bathroom first to get dressed and changed while she lay with Terin.

“What is it?”

“He was gone again last night,” Terin said. “I woke when he came back and I challenged him.” She sniffed. “He told me that he couldn’t say where he’d been, that he’d given his word.”

“And?”

“I told him that I loved him,” Terin replied. “He said that he would always love me.”

“And?” Fiona asked again, knowing there was more.

“I asked him again and he said that he couldn’t tell me,” Terin said, sounding miserable. “He said that I’d understand.” She sniffed angrily. “How can I understand if he won’t tell me?”

“Terin,” Fiona began slowly, feeling out her words. “Do you love him?”

“I don’t know,” Terin said quickly. Then she shook her head. “No, that’s not true. I love him, I just don’t know if I can trust him.”

“I understand,” Fiona said. Terin wasn’t a jealous soul, Fiona knew, but she wanted certainty in her life. Fiona was sure that if F’jian had another love and was honest with Terin about it, she’d eventually come to accept it. She merely wanted a solid relationship, with the rules known.

Even though, with nearly fourteen Turns, Terin was as old as some who were already settled, she was still young enough to be unsure of herself, to want to take things slowly. Perhaps more slowly than F’jian, but that was her right and her decision. Fiona couldn’t fault her; she’d waited for her own time.

“The question is, can you live without him?” Fiona asked and just as instantly regretted her words. No one could say how long any dragonrider would survive in these perilous times.

“I don’t know,” Terin sobbed. “I don’t think I could ever let anyone fly Kurinth but Ladirth.”

“Shh,” Fiona said, running her hand through the younger woman’s hair. “Shh, it’ll be all right.”

“That’s what he says,” Terin complained. She flipped her head from under Fiona’s hand and looked her in the eyes, “What if it isn’t?”

“Terin, you know better: ‘Ifs and ands are no work for hands.’ ”

“That old saying!” Terin snorted. “And what’s it mean, anyway?”

“It means that if you spend all your time worrying about the future, you’ll never enjoy today,” Kindan’s voice spoke up. Neither Fiona nor Terin had noticed his return to the room. He nodded to Terin. “It means that you’ve got to hold on to what you can hold, and not what you can’t.”

His eyes flicked toward Fiona as he found other meaning in his own words. He smiled at the redhead, adding, “I don’t know what you were talking about, weyrwoman.”

Terin sighed. “That’s fine, you’ve answered my question anyway.”

“Why don’t you two go off to breakfast, we’ll be along,” Fiona said to Kindan and Jeriz. Kindan nodded and beckoned to the youngster, who followed with a backward glance at the Weyrwoman. She waved him on, smiling.

“So that’s Tenniz’s son,” Terin said as she watched the small boy follow Kindan out. She waited until they were out of earshot before adding, “He’s cute!”

“It’s the eyes,” Fiona agreed. “He has the most beautiful eyes.”

“He is going to have a full Flight of admirers when he gets older,” Terin predicted.

“Two, if he’s not picky,” Fiona agreed. “That is, if he decides to stay with the Weyr.”

“How is it that you collect so many people, Fiona?” Terin asked.

“I lose some of them, too,” Fiona added sadly, thinking first of Lorana and then of F’dan. The blue rider had been a marvelous person, a great help to her back in Igen Weyr—as surrogate parent, parttime conscience, and good friend. She’d been devastated when he’d been lost to Thread. She realized that he came to her mind because of the luxurious combing Jeriz had given her the night before, insisting on repaying her after she’d combed out his hair.

“We’ve all lost them,” Terin agreed sadly.

“Come on, let’s get up,” Fiona said, shoving Terin toward the edge.

They found T’mar, F’jian, C’tov, H’nez, and L’tor just finishing their breakfast at the high table when they arrived in the Kitchen Cavern minutes later.

“How is it working with your new helper?” T’mar asked when he got a chance to talk with Fiona alone.

“He’s settling in,” Fiona said, glancing at T’mar’s long hair. “Have you ever thought of braiding your hair, T’mar?”

“Pardon?” T’mar asked, moving away from Fiona’s greedy fingers.

“Later, perhaps,” Fiona said regretfully as he rose. Shaneese came directing two others burdened with food trays and settled it in front of Terin and Fiona.

“You can’t expect us to eat all that!” Fiona declared, eyes wide in horror.

“Kindan, Jeriz, Xhinna, and Taria are joining us,” Shaneese said as she sat down with them.

“You haven’t eaten yet?” Fiona asked in surprise. “You must have been up for hours already.”

Shaneese shrugged her comment off even as she gestured for Kindan and the others to join them.

“I’ve heard some disturbing rumors,” Shaneese said as the others were seated.

“What about?”

“I’ve heard that the weyrlings are worried that they’re going to die,” Shaneese said, glancing to Xhinna and Taria for confirmation.

“Yes,” Kindan said, glancing toward Fiona. “I’ve heard it, too.” He gave a wry smile. “They don’t come out and say it, though, they mostly talk around it. And—” He nodded toward Fiona. “—they confessed to feeling muzzy-headed, all of them.”

“But you’ve got a plan to deal with it, haven’t you?” Fiona asked.

“How many of the others are still feeling muzzy-headed?” Terin said, glancing at Fiona.

“I can’t say about me for certain,” Fiona said. “I’ve got a baby to muddle things up as well.”

“T’mar for certain,” Shaneese said, giving Fiona a worried look.

“F’jian,” Terin added. She yawned and, red-faced, admitted, “Me, ever since I Impressed.”

Fiona waited until the yawns that Terin’s action had initiated had passed through the group before asking, “How bad is it?”

“I wouldn’t know compared to Igen,” Terin said. “It didn’t affect me.”

“Well then, none of the weyrlings would be able to gauge,” Fiona said with a frown. She thought for a moment, then said to Kindan, “How about we do some tests?”

“Tests?” the harper asked so blandly that Fiona guessed that she’d stumbled upon his plan. “What sort, Weyrwoman?”

“Two of them, actually,” Fiona said. “Well, maybe three, come to think of it.”

Kindan gave her an inviting look. She thought of kicking him under the table, but decided it was beneath her dignity as a Weyrwoman.

“First, we have Talenth and myself drill with the weyrlings,” Fiona said. She grinned at the reaction of the others. “That’ll give us a chance to see how they compare to me.” She cocked a head at Terin. “You can join, too, it’ll do you good.”

Terin turned a girlish groan into a womanly “ah-hmm” of agreement.

“Let’s ask Jeila as well, as she and Tolarth seem immune,” Fiona said. And that, come to think of it was an odd thing, given that Jeila and Tolarth had been back in time three Turns. None of the dragons Minith hatched at High Reaches Weyr had displayed the muzzy-headedness, as far as Fiona knew. Why was that, she wondered. Was it something that affected only those from Fort?

“You said three things,” Kindan reminded her politely.

“Well, we should compare the weyrlings to someone who hasn’t Impressed.” She turned her eyes to Jeriz who struggled to master his alarm. “I think Jeriz should join us and we’ll see if he’s as tired afterward as they are.”

“And the third?”

“If he’s not too tired,” Fiona said, smiling at the small green-eyed boy, “I’m thinking that we might arrange for Jeriz to spend a night or two in the weyrling barracks.” She smiled at Kindan. “He could use your bed.”

“And why do that?”

“Because Jeriz might hear something or get a feel for what’s happening that we”—she gestured to herself, Kindan, and the rest—“might not hear said in our presence.”

“Because he’s so young or because he’s so cute?” Xhinna asked.

“Both, I think,” Fiona said, ignoring the flush that came to Jeriz’s cheeks. She pushed the basket of rolls toward him; he took one and wolfed it down.

“That sounds like a good plan,” Kindan agreed. Shaneese snorted and Terin’s eyes danced with suppressed humor. Xhinna noticed and her eyes widened as she tumbled to the joke.

“Should we mention this to T’mar?” Terin wondered, frowning.

“Yes,” Fiona said. She made a quick tour of the cavern with her eyes and realized that it was empty of dragonriders. “When they return from drill.”

“Well, then, we should probably get started,” Kindan said, rising.

“Now?” Fiona protested. “We haven’t eaten!” She pointed at her plate. “Take Jeriz, if he’s eaten already; Terin and I will join you shortly.”

“It’ll give you time to explain to the others,” Xhinna added diplomatically.

Kindan gave Fiona a measuring look, decided against teasing her further with a shake of his head, and gestured for the others to follow.

“We’ve got to check on the quarters, anyway,” Kindan allowed as they moved off. He cocked an eye toward Jeriz. “How are you at judging what’s clean?”

“Not very good,” Jeriz admitted with a frown.

“Well, then it’s time you learned!” Xhinna told him with a smile. She glanced up at the harper. “You know, Weyrlingmaster, this may work out better than you imagine.”

Fiona didn’t hear the answer as the group trailed out of earshot and into the Weyr Bowl.

“Eat!” Terin told her, pushing a bowl in her direction.

Shaneese toyed with a roll and answered the occasional question from one of the polite weyrfolk who wandered her way, but Fiona felt that the headwoman was holding back something that troubled her.

“Terin’s worried about F’jian,” Fiona began, deciding to provide Shaneese with an opening.

Shaneese’s face clouded even as Terin gave Fiona a hurt look.

“We’re all afraid,” Shaneese said after a moment, giving a comforting look to Terin. Then she turned to Fiona with a thoughtful frown.

“And,” Fiona said, reaching a hand to grab Shaneese’s, “some of us worry needlessly.” She met the woman’s eyes as she said, “You have something you want to tell me?”

Shaneese pulled her hand out of Fiona’s and shook her head wordlessly. “It’s too early.”

“ ‘It’s never too early for good news,’ ” Fiona reminded her.

“ ‘Don’t count your dragons until they’ve hatched,’ ” Shaneese returned with flashing eyes.

“But you’re worried,” Fiona said.

“Would you two please stop talking in sayings and make sense?” Terin broke in.

“Shaneese is pregnant,” Fiona said, with a nod toward the headwoman.

“It’s too early to be certain,” Shaneese cautioned.

“You know,” Fiona said with no doubt in her voice.

“I … think,” Shaneese said, choosing her words carefully.

“And you haven’t told T’mar?”

Shaneese let out a deep breath and nodded.

“Well, I, for one, was hoping this would happen,” Fiona said, reaching for Shaneese’s hand again and clasping it firmly, rocking it to emphasize her point.

“You were,” Terin said. “Why?”

“We can swap duties on smelly babies,” Fiona said casually. She waved her free hand airily. “Besides, it will give me company.”

“You’ve got Jeila!” Shaneese reminded her.

“And—” Terin cut herself off abruptly. She’d been about to say “Lorana” and they all knew it. The redhead went bright red and lowered her eyes, toying with her breakfast.

“She’ll be back,” Fiona said firmly.

There was silence with Terin eating slowly to avoid speech and Shaneese eyeing her worriedly, groping for words.

“Well, I’ve said my news,” Shaneese said, pulling her hand out from Fiona’s again. “You need to eat, Weyrwoman.”

“So do you!” Fiona reminded her, pointing to the food in front of them. “Oh, this will work out perfectly! With you to keep me eating and Jeriz—”

“And how is he working out?”

“Better, with a good night’s sleep,” Fiona said. “Did you know, he’d been too proud to admit he was freezing sleeping by himself?”

“Traders trade on their pride,” Shaneese said.

“And what is the profit on freezing to death?” Fiona asked, brows raised archly. “Anyway, as soon as I realized where the chattering was coming from, I insisted he get in with me—”

“Kindan didn’t object?” Shaneese asked.

“Kindan wasn’t there,” Fiona said, moving on quickly. “Anyway, as soon as I got him in with me he was out like a new-hatched dragon with a full stomach.” Terin giggled at the image. Fiona’s eyes narrowed as she observed Shaneese’s body language.

“What is there between you and this child?” Fiona asked her, her tone serious and authoritative.

“I’ve nothing against the lad,” Shaneese protested quickly.

“I never asked you, how was it you came to be here, a trader in the Weyr?” Fiona pressed.

“L’rat found me,” Shaneese said. “I wanted to go. I was young.”

“Do you miss him much?” Terin asked softly.

Shaneese frowned before responding, “He was a good man.”

“But—”

“I don’t think I ever really knew him,” Shaneese said honestly.

“Not the way you know T’mar,” Fiona guessed.

“You have the advantage of me,” Shaneese said, her eyes dim, reserved. “You are younger, prettier—”

“Oh, please!” Fiona broke in. “This is not a competition, Shaneese. I told you that before.”

Shaneese nodded, her eyes wet with unshed tears, and she bowed her head.

“I left because I was shamed,” Shaneese said. “Tenniz shamed me.”

“How?” Fiona asked, eyes wide with surprise, prepared to hear the worst.

“No,” Shaneese said quickly, “he did nothing like that.” She sighed. “In fact, I think he told the truth. And, perhaps if I’d been older, I would have understood the gift he gave me.” She snorted at a memory and looked up to meet Fiona’s eyes. “Instead, I spit in his soup.”

“Shaneese!” Terin exclaimed.

“I had sixteen Turns at the time,” Shaneese said. “I had a lot of pride, too.” She added, frankly, “I was beautiful in my youth.”

“Still are!” Fiona said, just a moment before Terin joined in agreement.

Shaneese waved their compliments aside. “Traders value the profit and the trade.”

“We know,” Terin said, with all the feeling of old Igen Weyr’s principal negotiator.

“For a woman, a man must be worthy,” Shaneese continued. “And so, when Tenniz said what he said …”

“What horrible thing did he say?” Fiona asked. “That you were ugly?”

“He said that I would be second wife and enjoy it,” Shaneese said, looking directly at Fiona. “That I would gain great honor and much happiness after a time of sorrow.”

“Yeah, he always seemed to speak in riddles,” Terin agreed.

“Among the traders, being second wife is considered a great shame,” Shaneese said with a sigh. “Rarely do we even consider such things and almost always in times of great hardship.” She sighed again. “And then, the first wife is always the one considered the better, the superior.”

She shook her head. “I could not believe that he had seen the future and he would not take back his words.” Her lips turned down in a frown as she added, “I think he was truly hurt that I didn’t find joy in his seeing.”

“So you spat in his soup?” Fiona asked.

Shaneese nodded, her dark skin brightening with an underlying blush.

“I suppose that beats tunnel snakes in the bed,” Terin said, glancing meaningfully at Fiona.

“It was only one!” Fiona protested. “And you said you wouldn’t tell anyone!”

“Seems to me,” Terin replied, taking another roll and buttering it, “that if you two are wives to the same man, you ought to share such exploits.”

Fiona thought on that and nodded, telling Shaneese, “It was Kindan, Turns back when I was a child and he’d been ignoring me.”

“A tunnel snake?” Shaneese repeated.

“It was only little,” Fiona said in her own defense. “And I screamed a warning before he got in the bed, so he wasn’t bitten.”

“Tunnel snakes are rare in the desert,” Shaneese said. “But they are very deadly. You’re lucky you weren’t caught.”

“Oh, believe me,” Fiona said, rising from her chair and rubbing her behind in painful memory, “I was caught!”

Shaneese and Terin shared a laugh at her expense. Fiona joined them, then said to Terin, “We should get going if we don’t want Kindan to send the weyrlings after us.” She turned and hugged Shaneese. “I can’t say what the future will hold,” she told the older woman. “But I would like to see it with you—and our children.”

“I cannot say that it will always be easy, Weyrwoman,” Shaneese told her somberly. “I am not the easiest of persons and I may find it difficult to share.”

“I know what you mean!” Terin agreed feelingly.

“This close, this near to the same man, things may not always be easy,” Fiona agreed, hugging her again. “We can only do our best.”

Shaneese nodded solemnly. “And we’ll do our best for our children.”

“Always! That’s what weyrfolk do!”

Fiona and Terin found the weyrlings and Kindan already arrayed outside the weyrling barracks. Kindan noted their approach and worked them carefully into his speech.

“And here are the Weyrwoman and weyrwoman Terin to show us how it’s done,” Kindan said, his eyes darting with laughter as he saw how he’d caught Fiona unprepared and how quickly she’d recovered from the sudden introduction.

Fiona eyed the cluster of weyrlings. Forty-two. If only they were old enough and mature enough to fight Thread. Telgar would have a full Flight with reserves and … they just might make it. She forced the thought away, concentrating on maintaining a cheerful appearance. “The Weyrwoman is the heart of the Weyr.”

“Weyrlingmaster, what is it you want us to do?”

“I was thinking, to warm up, some dismounted drill,” Kindan said.

Fiona smiled and nodded, moving closer to Kindan to speak to his ears alone, “May I make a suggestion?”

“Of course,” Kindan said out of the corner of his mouth, even as he waved for the weyrlings to spread out. “You know I’m just winging this.”

Terin giggled at the choice of words.

“After they’ve stretched, have them bring out their weyrlings to watch the drill,” Fiona said. “And before that, it might make sense if Talenth and I make a demonstration flight.”

“It’ll be Turns before they can fly,” Kindan reminded her.

“True, but we found at Igen that drilling and practicing made their muscles stronger when they could fly.”

Kindan nodded at the sense in that. Fiona recalled that not too long ago—just after the weyrlings had Impressed—she had made a note to spend more time with them. It seemed such a long time ago, but it was only a month; the events of Lorana’s disappearance and the ever-present dread hanging over the Weyr seemed to make events distant, memories fading.

“And when they got older, they were allowed to practice gliding off the queens’ ledge,” Terin put in hopefully.

“Well, if Jeila won’t mind, I’ve no objection,” Fiona said, grinning. “After all, I could hardly imagine Talenth objecting. Turnabout is fair play.”

“You’ll say that if you find a tunnel snake in your bed, won’t you?” Kindan teased.

“No, I won’t,” Fiona told him firmly, her hand moving down to her belly. “I have no need of a sudden fright.”

Kindan acknowledged her point with a nod, but Fiona suspected that sometime in the future, after the birth, she might find herself the recipient of a tunnel snake shock.

Kindan split the weyrlings into three teams, with X’lerin leading one, W’vin leading another, and Taria in charge of the third. The green rider gave him a startled look when her name was called, but Kindan explained that every weyrling should expect to lead the drill.

“Jeriz here is going with W’vin’s group,” Kindan said, nodding to the youngster. Some of the weyrlings exchanged surprised looks, but Kindan continued, “For this exercise, he’ll be a rider from another Weyr.”

Kindan started the weyrlings on simple stretching exercises, going from group to group to provide corrections and examples. Fiona decided to follow along.

“Don’t stretch too much,” Kindan warned her.

“Bekka would have told me if I couldn’t.”

“I don’t recall you asking her,” Terin remarked.

Fiona gave her a mulish look, then thought better of it. Talenth, could you ask Bekka if I can exercise with the weyrlings?

A moment later, a thin voice bellowed from a weyr several levels up, “Of course! Just take it slow!”

Fiona smiled and waved up at the small blob of blond hair and the larger form of Birentir behind her. Bekka waved idly back and returned to her rounds. Fiona noticed the shadow of a third person behind them.

“Where’s Jeila?” Fiona asked.

“With Bekka,” Terin told her, sounding surprised. “Didn’t you know? She’s been doing it for nearly a sevenday, Shaneese asked her.”

“Makes sense,” Fiona said. “I imagine Bekka’s keeping an eye on her.”

“I’m sure.”

“You go with Xhinna and I’ll go with X’lerin,” Fiona said. “We can be extra riders, too.” With a wave she headed off, leaving Terin to tromp over to her assigned group, feeling a bit awkward.

Fortunately, Xhinna and Taria greeted her cheerfully and Xhinna worked her into their stretch exercises quickly.

After stretches, Kindan had them run. Fiona joined in, but ran slower than the others. She hated running and Kindan knew it; she planned to plead her pregnancy if he gave her any trouble.

“Come on, Fiona, you can do better!” Kindan called to her as he urged the others on. “You don’t want to show the weyrlings that they’re faster than you.”

Well, naturally, all the weyrlings immediately set about to prove that they were faster than their Weyrwoman. Fiona kept up gamely, glowering at Kindan while arranging to be slow enough that even the slowest of the weyrlings beat her.

“They’ll be talking about that for days,” Kindan murmured to her as she made it past the final mark.

Fiona smiled at him. Kindan gave her a wary look: he’d seen that look on her shortly before he’d found that tunnel snake.

“You know,” Fiona said, “we should have them run to the queens’ ledge and back.”

Kindan cocked his head at her questioningly.

“After a while, tell them that the first one back will be the first to have their dragon glide from the ledge.”

Kindan’s brows rose approvingly. “A very good idea.”

“And I’ll be able to run to the queens’ ledge and sit out the run back,” Fiona added.

Kindan laughed. “Another good idea.”

He turned his attention back to the weyrlings as Fiona rejoined X’lerin’s group and received their good-natured and high-spirited commiserations with aplomb. He had them space out and started them on calisthenics. It was not long at all before all of them were sweating, hot, and tired, Fiona and Terin among them.

Kindan had them cool down with some simple formation drills: having them form wings and wheel left, right, and form to line ahead. He had them practice “flying” between each other, taking care to avoid touching their outstretched fingers—“wings”—while making the maneuvers progressively more complicated.

The drill lasted less than an hour before Kindan set them loose to look after their hatchlings.

Kurinth came scuttling out of her weyr then, looking for Terin, who raced off to feed her. Fiona and Jeriz, however, joined the hatchlings as they went into their quarters.

“Feed them, then check their skin,” Kindan ordered as he looked around for the runner assigned to coordinate getting the raw meat sent over from the Kitchen. He frowned, and nodded toward Jeriz. “Do you think you could run over and tell Shaneese that the hatchlings need their meal?”

Jeriz gave him a slightly troubled look, but nodded anyway, taking off across the Weyr Bowl with his arms slightly outstretched, trying to disguise his self-conscious imitation of their earlier drill.

Fiona followed X’lerin and the werylings she’d drilled with to their dragonets, praising each one and giving advice on feeding when the buckets of scraps arrived.

“You’re doing great with the oiling,” Fiona told X’lerin as she examined Kivith’s skin and stroked the small bronze’s eye ridges.

“Thank you, Weyrwoman.”

“Could you look at my dragon, please?” a worried weyrling asked and Fiona shortly found herself going from weyrling to weyrling offering advice or encouragement as needed. She was not surprised that Xhinna’s Tazith and Taria’s Coranth were perfectly groomed: the older girl had spent enough time helping Fiona oil young Talenth when they were together back in Fort Weyr.

“It’ll seem like all you do is feed, oil, and—occasionally—sleep,” Fiona assured the weyrlings with a grin. “But, ask any dragonrider and they’ll tell you that it gets better over time.”

“How long?” W’vin asked.

“It depends on the dragonet,” Fiona said. “Some start sleeping longer in their third or fourth month, others sooner, others later.” She smiled at the chorus of half-smothered groans rising around her. “You get used to it so quickly that when they start sleeping longer or needing less oiling, you’ll wonder where you found all the extra time.”

That thought cheered them up. She caught several stifling yawns and saw at least one that had to be caught by the others when he stumbled, sleep-weary.

As soon as she could, Fiona caught up with Jeriz and suggested that they tend to Talenth.

“Are we going to have to oil her?” Jeriz asked, his eyes wide in fear of the monumental task.

“Of course!” Fiona agreed impishly, starting her way briskly across the Bowl and smiling at the pounding of the boy’s feet behind her as he strove to catch up.

“She’s bigger, but not so patchy,” an oily Jeriz declared with relief an hour later when they’d finished going over every bit of Talenth’s gold hide. He wiped his oily fingers on the rag and, with a disappointed frown when he realized that he hadn’t made them any drier, wiped them surreptitiously on the back of his trousers.

Talenth rustled her wings and carefully folded herself into a comfortable ball, placed her head under her wing, ready for a nap.

The air smelled of hot rock, cool oil, and the very special, pungent smell of dragon.

“Be glad she’s not Tolarth,” Fiona said, patting her queen affectionately. “We’d still be here.”

“Tolarth is Jeila’s queen,” Jeriz said sounding both questioning and proud at the same time.

“She’s the biggest queen on Pern, for the moment,” Fiona said. “She’s the first queen born with the cure for the sickness.”

“And that makes her bigger?”

“We’ll see,” Fiona said. “If the other queens—like Terin’s Kurinth—get as big, then probably. If not, well, Minith is maybe better at producing big dragons.”

They will all get bigger, Talenth assured her.

I’m sure yours will, love, Fiona thought back affectionately.

“We should clean up and then get lunch,” Fiona said to Jeriz.

“And after that?”

“Reading Records,” Fiona pronounced. Jeriz couldn’t stifle groaning his opinion of that.

The afternoon was, as Fiona had said, spent reading Records. But some of it was spent with the boy perched in her lap as she traced out the letters and read to him. He was small enough that his weight didn’t crush her and cute enough that cuddling him was a joy; Fiona hoped that her sons would be as cuddly at his age. Jeriz at first resisted the treatment, but relented when it became clear that it was the easiest way to work on reading.

After an hour of working on letters, Fiona switched to reading Records. Not long after she started, she felt the boy’s body relax into slumber. She smiled fondly as she heard the slow, steady sound of his breathing and, greatly daring, kissed the top of his head, finding the jet black hair as soft as she’d imagined. How could anyone not love this child, Fiona thought to herself. She bent to kiss his hair once more, but her movement must have startled him, for Jeriz woke and struggled in her lap.

“Get off!” he said, erupting from the chair. He turned back and glared at her. “I’m not your son.”

“No,” Fiona agreed. “You fell asleep.”

“I was tired,” Jeriz said, lowering his eyes from hers. “And you were droning on.”

Fiona got the impression that Jeriz felt his pride had been assaulted.

“Sorry,” she said, nodding toward the nearby chair. “You can sit there, if you’d prefer.”

Jeriz idled toward the chair but seemed reluctant to take it. He sat in it for a moment, then got it. “It’s hard and cold.”

Fiona hid a smile. “I’m sorry,” she told him. “You can have your choice of chairs, but they’re all pretty much hard and cold.”

Jeriz thought that over. “I suppose I could sit with you.”

“Certainly,” Fiona said. The boy moved back over to her, trying to find the most manly way of sitting back in her lap. “One condition, however,” Fiona told him. Jeriz looked up.

“I need to understand how to raise boys, I’ll have some of my own, soon enough,” Fiona said. “Little girls like sitting on laps and being tickled and falling asleep and being cuddled.”

“They’re girls,” Jeriz said with all the contempt of a boy barely ten.

“Well, I’m used to them,” Fiona said. “So, you’ll either learn to accept that or you’ll have to work out with me the proper way to treat boys.”

Jeriz frowned.

“Do boys like being tickled?” Fiona asked. “Sometimes,” Jeriz said doubtfully.

“They don’t like sitting on laps, though, do they?”

“Well, sometimes.”

“And being cuddled, how about that?”

“Not like girls.”

“I see,” Fiona said, patting her lap suggestively. “Well, let’s try this out, then.”

“You won’t tickle me?” Jeriz asked.

“Not unless you ask,” Fiona said.

“Tickling’s supposed to be a surprise,” Jeriz snorted.

“So I’m to surprise you?”

“But not often,” Jeriz said. “And you’re to stop when I tell you.”

“And if I don’t?”

“I’ll get mad.”

“I see,” Fiona said. She frowned. “That seems rather one-sided. Perhaps you should sit on the other chair.”

“No!” Jeriz said. “I mean, I suppose it would be all right once in a while.”

“Once in a while is all I imagined,” Fiona told him. “And only in private.”

“Naturally,” Fiona agreed. “So, should we try again?”

Jeriz nodded and sat back onto her lap. Fiona kept her arms to her side, her back straight. Shortly, Jeriz started fidgeting. “What is it?”

“You’re not comfortable,” Jeriz said. “You need to sit back and let me lean against you.”

“That would be cuddling,” Fiona warned him.

“And if you keep your arms like that I might fall off, if I fall asleep,” Jeriz added.

“So you don’t mind if I put an arm around you?”

“Not too tight,” Jeriz allowed, leaning back against her.

“You know,” Fiona began conversationally as she wrapped an arm lightly around his midriff, “there’s a thing girls do.”

“Hmm?”

“Well, mothers, more than girls,” Fiona said.

“What’s that?”

“Well, when they love someone who’s littler, they find it almost impossible,” and Fiona wrapped both arms tightly around the suddenly squirming lad, bending over and kissing him lightly on the crown of his head, “not to cuddle and kiss them!”

Jeriz grunted in annoyance and squirmed once more, for show’s sake, before quieting and snarling, “That’s what my mother said.”

“Mothers do that,” Fiona told him.

“You’re not my mother.”

“But I’m going to be a mother and I need all the practice I can get,” Fiona said.

“Well …” Jeriz stopped struggling. “I suppose if no one else knows.”

Fiona smiled, loosened her grip on the boy, raised her head, and went back to reading her Records. A while later, Jeriz turned, resting his head on her chest, his legs over her side, his breath slowing back into slumber. He was still not quite asleep when Fiona leaned over quickly and kissed his head once more, but this time, he only sighed in contentment.

Fiona could feel the boy’s trust in her growing, could feel the pain and fear inside him easing.

Somehow, she thought to herself, we must prove worthy of that trust.

She thought of the child growing inside her and added, we must give you both a Pern that lives.