Dragongirl

EIGHT

At dinner that evening, Fiona relayed the results of her meetings with Lord Valpinar and Lady Nerra to H’nez and the other wingleaders.

“Apparently,” she recounted, “D’gan had once gone so far as to tell Valpinar that his attitude would buy him grief from the skies.”

“He wasn’t threatening to let Thread burrow, was he?” H’nez asked in shock.

“Lord Valpinar was left to draw his own conclusions,” Fiona said, her fury abated by the bronze rider’s appalled reaction.

“You assured him—”

“I told him that we would do our duty to Hold and Hall as long as we had breath to draw,” Fiona said. H’nez nodded approvingly and the other bronze riders added their fervent agreement. She smiled, adding, “And I’ve arranged that Tevora can go back to the Smithcrafthall.”

Fiona’s attention was distracted when she saw Xhinna herding a group of small children toward a table, aided by a beautiful dark-skinned, dark-haired, aquiline-nosed girl near her age. Xhinna noticed her look and gave her a tremulous smile, carefully seating the children and getting them settled with their dinner before dragging the girl, who appeared quite reluctant, over to Fiona.

Xhinna looked radiant, her eyes glowing, her whole being transformed. Her grip on the other girl’s hand was both shy and possessive.

“Weyrwoman, this is Taria.”

Fiona nodded toward the other girl. Taria was half a head shorter than Xhinna. They made a beautiful pair and Fiona beamed at her friend. “They’ve put you in charge of the nursery?”

Xhinna shook her head. “Taria’s been handling the older children for two Turns now.” She bent in close to Fiona’s ear. “She’s all on her own and she needs someone to help.”

“You must be very good at your duties,” Fiona said to Taria. The girl nodded mutely, her eyes wide with fright. Fiona pulled Xhinna closer to her and whispered in her ear, “Tell her I don’t bite.”

Xhinna smiled, her eyes dancing as she glanced back to Taria.

“Does this mean that you’ll be in the dormitory from now on?” Fiona asked, adding hastily, “You’re still welcome with me—both of you—particularly on the colder nights.”

“I told you, she uses her friends for blankets,” Xhinna murmured triumphantly.

Taria spoke for the first time, just above a whisper. Her voice was deeper than Xhinna’s and richer, with husky overtones. Fiona wondered if she sang at all, thinking that her singing voice would be a treat to the ears. “I think it’s best if we stay with the children, my lady.”

Fiona was pretty sure there was more to it than the girl’s words conveyed.

“I suppose that’s so,” she said. “You could bring them along.” She saw Taria’s hesitation, her worried glance toward Xhinna and added, “The offer is always open.”

Taria managed a nervous nod and glanced imploringly toward Xhinna. Fiona gave her friend a nod, which Xhinna returned with a smile before happily tugging Taria away with her back to the children’s table.

So now it was just her and Terin. Fiona shivered, thinking that the nights at Telgar seemed colder than those at Fort even while she knew that wasn’t so; she was just spoiled by her time in hot, dry Igen.

Back in her quarters, she had just changed into her nightgown when she heard the alarming sound of a dragon coughing. Her immediate relief that it wasn’t Talenth again was dashed when her own queen coughed not a moment later.

Bekka rushed in just as Terin rushed out of the bathroom, her eyes wide with fright.

“Is she okay?” Bekka asked.

The other dragon coughed again, the echoes confirming Fiona’s first worried conclusion: It was Ladirth.

Fiona sent Bekka off with Terin, who was clearly so upset by Ladirth’s illness that Fiona feared her worry alone would keep both rider and dragon awake all night.

With an impulsive burst of energy, Fiona grabbed all her blankets and bedsheets, twisted around to pull them over her shoulder, and strode into Talenth’s quarters.

“I think it’s just you and me, love,” she said as she arranged thick blankets on the floor so that she could lie against Talenth’s chest.

She was just dozing when a voice surprised her: “May I join you?”

It was Seban. He didn’t wait for an answer, carefully moving to her side and encouraging her to prop herself against him. The warmth of his body, his arms wrapped comfortably around her, the father-ness of him, was all just too much and she buried her face against the hollow of his neck, biting her lips firmly to keep from bawling.

“There’s no shame in crying, my lady,” Seban told her softly, his free hand stroking her hair. “There’s no one here but you, me, and your queen.” Fiona felt herself shudder but could not let herself go: She was the Weyrwoman, she was the strength of the Weyr, the people depended on her, the people looked to her.

“No one’s looking,” Seban assured her, almost as if he’d read her mind. “And if they were, what would be the harm in that?”

As if his words were the key to unlock her grief, Fiona suddenly found her tears flowing down her cheeks, her sobs uncontrollable, her nose running, and her whole body shaking with grief.

“You take so much on such young shoulders,” Seban was saying softly. “You have the right to let some of it out.”

The words eased her and slowly, very slowly, her sobbing slackened, her tears dried up. With a deep sigh, she buried her head further against Seban’s, seeking the comfort of a child with a parent and knowing that it was hers no longer.

“Shh!” Seban breathed quietly. “Shh, now, it’s all right. It’s all right.”

Too tired and worn out to argue, Fiona lay there, feeling the rise and fall of Talenth’s chest, the steady beat of Seban’s heart—the warmth of two bodies surrounding her, two loving souls comforting her.

A long time later, she opened her eyes and turned her head toward the weyr’s entrance to the Bowl. Seban did not move, seemingly asleep himself. She closed her eyes again, then opened them and was surprised to see small bright eyes gleaming in the distance. They were joined by another pair, then another, and then a larger pair, higher up.

Xhinna strode into view and the eyes swiveled nervously toward her.

“Is it all right, Weyrwoman?” Xhinna asked, her voice soft and husky in the cold evening air. “They were cold in the dormitories and couldn’t sleep and I remembered …”

Fiona saw her friend—Taria, wasn’t it?—reach forward to grab for Xhinna’s arm protectively and suppressed a smile, instead nodding and raising an arm to beckon them forward.

“Talenth is large enough now for the whole Weyr,” Fiona called back softly. “And we’d like the company.”

She gestured toward her quarters. “I’m sure there are more blankets and sheets there.”

“We wouldn’t—we couldn’t—” Taria began nervously, clearly alarmed at the thought of sleeping on the Weyrwoman’s bedsheets.

“Taria,” Xhinna cut her off with a kindly shake of her head. “This is Fiona, my friend. If she says she doesn’t mind, she’s not lying, she means it.”

Xhinna tapped a couple of the children on the shoulders and gestured for them to follow her while telling Taria, “Start getting them settled; we’ll be back.”

With all the grace her growing adolescence would permit, Xhinna strode into the Weyrwoman’s quarters, followed by a small cluster of eager, excited girls who alternately squeaked in delight and shushed each other.

Beside her, Fiona felt Seban move and realized that the man had been feigning sleep.

“They’ll settle down soon enough,” she told him.

“What I cannot figure, my lady, is your ability to surround yourself so easily with love,” Seban replied, his voice mixed with awe, affection, and a sense of rightness.

Fiona couldn’t think how to answer him; for her, having friends was as natural as breathing.

Xhinna brusquely arranged the sheets, blankets, pillows, and youngsters and had them settled down as quickly as she could. She gave Fiona an apologetic look before she clasped Taria’s arm and tugged the other girl off to a corner at the far end of Talenth’s stomach.

Fiona felt the great gold dragon stir in her sleep.

Talenth, she said softly in a tone meant to reassure, we have company.

Fiona received a dim feeling from Talenth that she knew and was pleased.

Please tell Xhinna that I love her, Fiona said. She felt Talenth groggily relay the message, felt Xhinna’s love return in response and then relaxed against Seban, making room for the small warm bodies that were curling up against her.

Sometime in the middle of the night, Fiona came starkly awake.

“Eww, it’s coming out her nose!” a small girl’s voice exclaimed from near Talenth’s head.

“Come on back, Aryar, you’ll wake everyone,” another girl whispered urgently, fearfully.

“But Rhemy, what’ll happen if she dies?” Aryar persisted, her voice coming toward Fiona, who kept her eyes closed, not wishing to alarm them further and possibly wake up the whole group. Fiona could hear the young girl—she couldn’t have more than seven Turns at the most—pausing in front of Fiona, probably peering at her, as she continued, “They say that when a dragon dies, the rider loses half her heart with it.” Aryar sniffed. “How can the Weyrwoman live with only half a heart?”

“Her heart is big enough, even just half, and with our love, it’ll grow back,” Xhinna’s voice came quietly out of the darkness. She scooped up the youngster in her arms, prepared to carry her back to the others.

As Xhinna’s steps receded into the distance, Fiona heard Aryar declare, “You have my love, Weyrwoman! I’ll help you grow your heart back!”