Dragongirl

THIRTEEN

“So, Jeila plans to stay here,” M’tal said as he saw her and H’nez arrive for breakfast the next morning.

Fiona glanced over at the two, nodding and smiling encouragingly in their direction. Jeila responded with a big grin while H’nez merely gave her a dignified nod. Jeila leaned in close to the taller bronze rider and said something that Fiona didn’t catch. H’nez jerked upright, then glanced down in surprise at the diminutive woman by his side. Jeila looked back toward Fiona, shaking her head ruefully, but her eyes were dancing.

“She seems to have him well in hand,” M’tal said quietly even as Jeila changed their direction toward the head table.

“Weyrwoman,” H’nez said stiffly as they approached. Fiona schooled her expression, gesturing to empty seats, saying, “Wingleader, please join us.”

H’nez sat woodenly, seeming surprised at the offer.

“A good flight, from all accounts,” M’tal said, nodding to Jeila and H’nez. He grinned at the tall, thin bronze rider and added, with a gleam in his eyes, “Although you’d best be careful next time. Gaminth swears that he’s got the way of it with two mating flights in the same day.”

H’nez regarded the ex-weyrleader seriously for a moment until Jeila’s snort alerted him that M’tal was joking.

“Ginirth is ready any time, sir,” H’nez said, joining into the spirit of things.

“Two queens on the Hatching Grounds at the same time,” M’tal said. “I don’t think I remember a time when such ever happened at Benden.”

“Kindan and Lorana insisted on spending time in the Records Room to see if they found any Records of that occurring here,” Fiona said. She smiled at Jeila, as she added, “But I’m not worried: Neither Talenth nor Tolarth seem at all concerned.”

“I’m hoping for a queen egg and thirty others,” Jeila said, as she snagged a roll and put it on H’nez’s plate. She gestured for the butter, which M’tal pushed in her direction, and lathered the roll with it copiously before pushing it toward H’nez’s mouth. The bronze rider looked askance at the treatment until he caught the look in his mate’s eyes, and resignedly took the roll and ate it whole. She nodded appreciatively as he did, saying, “You need some more padding if you’re going to continue to share a weyr with me.” To Fiona, she said, “I thought I was bony!”

“Petite,” H’nez corrected her, his near hand reaching unconsciously for hers. “Thin-boned.”

“Perhaps for not much longer,” Jeila said, glancing up doe-eyed at the bronze rider. “Will you still want me when I get all bloated with child?”

“You’re with child?” H’nez asked, his eyes going round with alarm. “I mean, we just—I didn’t think—”

Jeila’s chuckles silenced him and, as he strove to recover his composure, H’nez looked around the table daring anyone to comment on his reaction. Taking pity on her mate, Jeila turned to Fiona, saying, “And how about you, Weyrwoman?”

H’nez cleared his throat hastily in alarm. Jeila leaned over to him and he bent down for another whispered conversation. When he straightened up again, Jeila was looking in Fiona’s direction with great interest.

“That must have been quite a mating flight,” the smaller weyrwoman told her.

“It was,” Fiona agreed.

“And how is T’mar?”

“When I checked on him this morning, he seemed better,” Fiona said, working to keep her worry out of her voice.

“Seemed?”

“You were there in his quarters during your mating flight,” Fiona reminded her. Jeila glanced up at H’nez, as if to check his response, before nodding in agreement.

“I didn’t pay much attention to T’mar or anyone in the room,” Jeila said. She pursed her lips as she added thoughtfully, “Except that I was surprised, at first, to see Lorana there and not you—and then I was suddenly grateful to have someone there talking me through Tolarth’s gorging.”

Fiona nodded sympathetically. Her eyes caught Jeila’s and the two shared a moment of understanding, tabling parts of the discussion for a time when they could be alone together. Again, Fiona found herself warming to this kind, perceptive person.

“Anyway, Seban said that afterward, he thought he heard T’mar murmur something,” Fiona said, returning to their original topic.

“He spoke?” M’tal asked, surprised. “What did he say?”

“‘Three times,’” Fiona answered, trying and failing to hide her blush.

“Three times?” H’nez repeated in confusion. “What does that signify?”

“I, when we were back at Igen, I decided that I needed some … instruction.” Fiona found herself blushing even redder.

“With T’mar?” Jeila asked, her eyebrows arching high. She pursed her lips tightly, even though there was a definite upward curve to them, before adding judiciously, “From all I’ve heard, he would have been an excellent instructor.”

“Anyway, as with all his lessons, I insisted that we perform the exercise three times,” Fiona finished lamely.

“I see,” H’nez said, his voice more diplomatically neutral than Fiona had thought possible. He glanced at her, asking, “So you feel that he was recalling the same reference?”

“A third mating flight will revive him?” M’tal wondered. He furrowed his brow. “Here or could it be any queen’s mating?”

“Because Minith and Caranth—” Fiona began thoughtfully only to find herself interrupted by a sudden call from Talenth. Come quickly!

“I must go,” Fiona said, rising from her chair. “Talenth wants me in T’mar’s quarters.”

Fiona raced across the Weyr Bowl toward the queens’ ledge. Her intent expression was such that weyrfolk and dragonriders alike veered out of her way, rather than delivering polite greetings and congratulations on the multiple mating flights. She acknowledged their kindness with a quick smile and a wave, keeping her pace quick and her course firm.

She was so quick that she was breathless by the time she made it up the ledge, past her quarters, Jeila’s quarters, and finally to the queen’s quarters that had been allocated to the injured bronze rider and his dragon.

Zirenth regarded her warily as she approached, his head flinching away from her, his eyes whirling a slow, steady red.

In T’mar’s quarters, Fiona found Seban, Bekka, Lorana, and Kindan all huddled around the dragonrider’s bed.

“What is it?” Fiona asked, edging her way in to look down at T’mar.

He was sweating and tossing from side to side.

“I don’t know,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “Seban called me when he first noticed and T’mar’s been getting steadily worse.” His blue eyes met Fiona’s, his expression somber. “With a head injury, there’s a great deal of pain, headaches, nausea, and sometimes memory loss.”

“Memory loss?” Fiona said, wondering how much T’mar might forget.

“Lorana and I were looking for similar cases in the Records,” Kindan said. By his tone, Fiona gathered that he hadn’t found any matches and that what he had found was disturbing. “Sometimes a serious knock on the head can cause the loss of months of memories. Most often the memories return slowly over time.”

“Most often?”

“Sometimes they don’t,” Kindan said, confirming her worst fear. “The Records suggest that a person who is in familiar surroundings recovers quicker than those who are in a strange location.” He waved at the quarters here. He grimaced as he added, “Also, the presence of a long-term relationship, a partner of long standing, has been shown to aid recovery.”

“Is this why he’s thrashing about so?”

“No,” Kindan said, shaking his head. “There was no mention of this in the Records.”

“Among those who survived,” Lorana added darkly. She glanced to Kindan, saying, “Tell her the rest.”

Kindan sighed heavily, and beckoned for Fiona to bend her ear close to his mouth, as he whispered, “A person who doesn’t regain consciousness in the first day rarely survives at all.”

“But why is he moving so? He seems upset,” Fiona protested. “And didn’t Seban hear him speak earlier? Isn’t that a good sign?”

Her eyes narrowed as she examined T’mar closely. Pushing the others aside so that she could kneel, she grabbed his hand and leaned over his face, trying to follow the movements of his lips.

“Three times, is that it, T’mar?” Fiona asked. She was certain that his hand had spasmed briefly around hers.

“If we have to wait for another mating flight, half a Turn or more, he won’t make it,” Kindan said.

“No, not here,” Fiona said, rising and turning to examine Zirenth. “Fort.”

“Fort?” Kindan said. “I’ve heard nothing of Melirth rising.”

Lorana’s eyes grew distant for a moment and then she grabbed Kindan’s arm and pulled him away forcibly, crying, “Come on!”

“Where are we going?” Kindan asked, holding his ground with a worried look toward T’mar.

“We’re going to Fort!” Lorana said, dragging him after her. “The bronzes are blooding their kills. We have to get there in time.”

“But you don’t know the coordinates!” Seban cried in warning.

“I do,” Fiona said, turning to start after them.

Stay here, Lorana told her. Just give us the image. Aloud, she said, “Zirenth! Rouse yourself, we’re going to Fort Weyr!”

To Fiona’s surprise, the bronze dragon stood up quickly and raced out of his weyr, jumping over the queens’ ledge and sidling up close to it, ready to receive Kindan and Lorana.

“You’ve no straps!” Fiona cried.

“Then we’d better not fall off!” Lorana said, increasing her pace into a full sprint. Kindan followed her lead, his reluctance lost.

“What are they doing?” Bekka asked in confusion. She gestured toward T’mar. “All the noise seems to have made him worse.”

“No,” Seban said, “not the noise, the dragons at Fort.” He glanced up at Fiona in confirmation. “He knows that the bronzes are blooding their kills.”

“Yes,” Fiona said. Outside she heard Zirenth’s bellow and the sound of the bronze beating his way into the air, then silence. The bronze, with Lorana and Kindan as his riders, went between to Fort Weyr.

“But if they’re blooding their kills now, how will Zirenth arrive in time for the mating flight?” Bekka asked. “Won’t he need to blood kills, too?”

“Yes he will,” Seban said. He shot a glance toward Fiona before adding, “Which is why Weyrwoman Fiona sent them back in time.”

Fiona took a deep breath and nodded, hoping that Lorana had realized her intent.

A noise from T’mar caused all eyes to turn to him.

“I’ll watch him now,” Fiona said.

Seban caught her eyes and nodded, placing his hands on Bekka’s shoulders and guiding his daughter toward Zirenth’s weyr and the queens’ ledge.

“He shouldn’t exert himself too much, Weyrwoman,” the ex-dragonrider cautioned her.

“I understand.”

“If you have Talenth call us when it’s over, we’ll see about changing his bandages,” Bekka said, a hopeful look flashing across her face when she mentioned Talenth. Fiona smiled and nodded, guessing how exciting it was for the youngster to have Telgar’s senior queen talk to her.

Fiona was pleased to realize that there was a little girl still lurking inside Bekka’s earnest, adult demeanor.

Her eyes dancing at this revelation, Fiona nodded in agreement, keeping her eyes on T’mar while their footsteps faded away. She turned then, to look at his bandaged leg. Yes, Bekka was not mistaken, the leg would need re-bandaging soon. Fiona frowned as she compared T’mar’s still body with the lively, energetic dragonrider she knew.

Kindan’s words came back to her: “A person who doesn’t regain consciousness in the first day rarely survives at all.”

But if T’mar didn’t survive, what would happen to Zirenth? Would the bronze remain, bonded to Lorana and Kindan? And what of the Weyr? How would the riders react to having someone like Kindan, a respected harper indeed but no dragonrider, in the position of Weyrleader?

Would Kindan stay? Would Lorana want to stay, under those circumstances? Why did they want to stay now, anyway?

For a moment Fiona regretted Talenth’s choice of mate and the strange outcome that had produced.

But was it Talenth, really? Fiona asked herself, recalling her thoughts from the day before. How much of the outcome had been her own desire?

You love Kindan, she told herself. You always have.

Ah, but how much of it was because he was safe? she taunted herself. How much because he was always there, out of reach, a constant reminder of things lost, of hopes never achieved?

He had Lorana now.

And you would poach his love away from her? she chided herself.

It’s only poaching if you refuse to share, the thought came to her with the force of the spoken word. This was not herself, Fiona realized, this was Lorana.

I would never hurt you!

I know, Lorana responded. Fiona got the impression that Lorana was straining, exerting herself, and needed to focus solely on the events immediately before her. With a soft touch, Fiona released the attachment, with the gentle wish that Lorana be happy.

“What am I?” Fiona asked herself aloud. Did other queen riders behave this way? Had there ever been such a connection? What would happen? How could she handle this?

Below her, she heard a change in T’mar’s breathing and looked down. The bronze rider’s face was contorted in a mixture of pain and pleasure. Touched by his pain and wishing to help, Fiona used her free hand to stroke his cheek.

“Fiona.” The word was the barest whisper.

“I’m here,” she assured him even as her heart leaped and her mind struggled with yet another worry: Do I love him?

“Three times,” T’mar breathed.

“Yes, three times,” Fiona agreed quietly. “Melirth rises. Zirenth is there.”

“Cisca?” T’mar’s brow furrowed, his expression troubled. “I love her.”

“Of course,” Fiona said. T’mar’s expression eased, his lips curling up slightly. Why shouldn’t he love her?

Just then, a wave of emotion engulfed Fiona. A murmur from T’mar proved that he had felt it, too.

T’mar’s hand spasmed around hers.

Gently, tenderly, with a passion no less intense for her controlling focus, Fiona traced his face with the fingers of her other hand. She traced his brows, which boldly framed thoughtful, passionate eyes, his gentle cheeks, the firm line of his nose, the sweet curve of his lips.

She could see the child still in the man and railed that she’d never had a chance to meet T’mar when he was younger. She could see, mirrored in the crow’s feet around his eyes, the easy smile, the long days spent squinting against the brilliant sun, the pain of friends lost, wounds not healed.

“I love you.” The words were hers. And, in saying them, she realized it to be true. He was a hard taskmaster, a person steadfast in his convictions, sometimes angry, always thoughtful, often kind. But, as his heart beat, so did hers.

“Kindan?” T’mar’s question was barely above a whisper but the name was spoken clearly.

“I love him, too,” Fiona said. She gave him a sad smile. “You’ll have to make do with someone who loves more than one man.”

“’Course, you’re a Weyrwoman,” T’mar said, struggling to open his eyes. “’S your job.”

“Shh!” Fiona whispered, gently rubbing his brow. “Close your eyes, you’ve got to rest, regain your strength.”

“As you say, Weyrwoman.”

She moved back then, thinking to call Bekka and Seban, but his hand tightened around hers once more, begging.

“Rest, and I’ll stay with you a bit longer,” she told him softly. “You’ve had a nasty fall, near smashed your skull. You might have headaches or worse, so rest easy.”

Again, his hand tightened on hers in an unspoken plea.

With a sigh, Fiona relented, not too reluctantly, and resumed her examination of his tanned face, looking more lively now with just the slight animation that his consciousness provided it.

They remained that way until she heard the noise of Zirenth’s return and, not without misgivings, had Talenth send for Bekka and Seban.

Footsteps, a pair of them, approached from Zirenth’s weyr and when a hand reached gently for her shoulder, she reached up behind her and clasped it gratefully.

“He woke,” she said quietly, even as Kindan came into view at her side. “He spoke.”

“That’s good,” Kindan said, sounding weary.

“I’ve sent for Seban and Bekka,” she told them. She smiled at the fatigue in Kindan’s voice. “You two should get some rest, timing it is very exhausting.”

Lorana snorted humorously. “To say nothing of mating flights!”

The sound of another two sets of feet, one quicker and softer than the other, heralded the arrival of Seban and Bekka.

“He woke?” Seban asked as he joined them. Fiona nodded. Seban gestured to her politely and, reluctantly, she released T’mar’s hand and stood back, allowing Bekka and Kindan to examine him.

Kindan’s face was lined with more than exhaustion when he was finished.

Fiona met his eyes demandingly and the older man gave her an astonished look in response. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Kindan said. “I’d like to send for Tintoval.”

Talenth? Are you up for a flight? Fiona asked her dragon. We should pay our respects to Melirth and Cisca.

Talenth’s response was an enthusiastic, Of course!

“I’ll see if she’ll come,” Fiona told him. She nodded to him and Lorana. “You two should get some rest—”

“A bath first,” Lorana said wistfully.

“Just be careful not to fall asleep in it,” Fiona warned. “Timing it can make you that tired.”

Lorana raised an eyebrow in surprise, then nodded compliantly when she saw that Fiona was deadly serious.

Fiona was still so concerned with their weariness that she put off her departure until they were both safely in bed.

“Are you going to tuck us in?” Kindan teased sleepily.

Fiona shook her head silently, her face going red. She quietly put on her riding gear, went to Talenth’s weyr, put on and double-checked the riding straps, and then urged her queen out to the queens’ ledge.

Talenth was glad of the exercise, even though Fiona could feel that the gold had some muscles that were still sore from the previous day’s exertions. To warm her up, Fiona had Talenth do a slow, lazy circuit above the Weyr before fixing the image of Fort Weyr firmly in her mind and giving Talenth the order to go between.

The cold of between was a tonic to Fiona, seeming to banish all the nagging thoughts that had been quietly demanding her attention. She counted slowly to herself, one, two, three—

And burst out above Fort Weyr without any bother. The watch dragon challenged her and Talenth bugled a response, the watch rider waving at her. Fiona waved back, surprised to see V’lex again, even though it hadn’t yet been a fortnight since their return from their journey back in time to Igen Weyr.

Fiona smiled to herself as she remembered the mating flight of V’lex’s green Sarinth; the first mating flight she’d ever experienced after her Impression of Talenth. Beneath her, Talenth rumbled in amusement.

Soon, you’ll be a mother, Fiona thought to her queen with a mixture of pride and teasing.

I’ll clutch, Talenth corrected her, adding wistfully, maybe there will be a queen egg.

Or two!

Two would be more, Talenth observed abstractedly. All the same, Fiona understood her dragon’s meaning: While two would be good, it would be more than Talenth could imagine.

It was another question for the Records, Fiona thought as she guided Talenth in a spiral down to the Weyr Bowl below. Did queens ever produce two gold eggs in the same Hatching?

The thought of two queen eggs hardening on the Hatching Sands brought another thought—would Lorana stand again? Briefly Fiona entertained the notion of Lorana dragon-borne, smiling and waving as she soared on a beautiful gold. Or would it hurt too much?

Fiona pushed the question from her mind, uncertain of how much of her thoughts were shared with Lorana.

“Lady Fiona!” a woman’s voice came to her from across the Bowl, toward the Dining Cavern. Fiona turned in time to see an older woman bearing down on her. She was familiar, Fiona realized, her mind straining to match the features and then—

“Merika!” Fiona called in response. “How are you? I’m sorry that I’ve been monopolizing Bekka but she’s—”

“Ah, you’ve been doing me a favor,” Merika said with a dismissive wave of her hand. Her expression changed as she added feelingly, “Not to mention the good it’s done her father.”

“But I’m sure that you miss her.”

“I do,” Merika said with a savage nod. “I miss her every day and I send a special thought her way.” She straightened. “But she’s doing good, as you say, and good for her father.” Her eyes danced as she added, “And for all that I love her, and she’s the youngest of my four, she’s worse than a nest of tunnel snakes some days.”

“Which is probably why she’s so dear to my heart,” Fiona said. “I made a fair number of marks hunting tunnel snakes.”

“I thought you two were well-matched,” Merika said in a tone which indicated that that had been a part of her willingness to let her youngest go to Telgar. “And I’d be doing both of you a disservice if I didn’t admit that I was much the same at the same age.” She smiled as she added, “After all, it takes a fair bit of flirting to catch the eyes of a blue rider, duty or no!”

“Well, I know for certain that Seban loves his daughter,” Fiona said, not certain how to deal with the question of blue riders and their duty.

Merika nodded wisely. “‘Love knows love,’” she recited. “Or perhaps it should be: love loves love.”

The phrase echoed thrillingly down Fiona’s spine. “Yes, that about sums it up between them.”

Merika brought a finger to her nose as though sharing a secret. “And not just them, for all the word’s been.”

Fiona was startled to think that her exploits were the talk of the Weyr and then, on reflection, somewhat pleased. “It seems that I’m in good company,” she teased the older woman.

Merika chuckled. “It’s not for nothing that they made up that saying about love knowing love.”

“I suppose not.”

“You’ll be looking for the Weyrleader or the Weyrwoman?” Merika said, glancing toward the senior queen’s weyr.

“Actually, I’m hoping to get Tintoval for a consultation,” Fiona said. She smiled toward the queen’s weyr. “I imagine that Lady Cisca probably won’t want to be disturbed.”

“Probably,” Merika agreed, her eyes dancing once more. “It was quite a mating flight.” She leaned in closer as she confided, “I wasn’t sure if Melirth was ever going to come close enough to any dragon to mate. After all, she’d just risen not a sevenday before!”

“The Igen Records said that it happens sometimes, especially when there are other mating flights that day. A second flight gives plenty of eggs,” Fiona said.

“Indeed,” Merika said. “But it seemed for the longest time that Melirth was torn between Rineth and Zirenth.”

“If so, I’m glad to hear it,” Fiona said. “T’mar regained consciousness.” Briefly, she told the older woman of T’mar’s injuries and their worries.

“Perhaps that was it, perhaps Melirth was encouraging him to recover,” Merika said, although she didn’t sound convinced. “And by the First Egg, we’ve never heard of one bronze rider being Weyrleader to two Weyrs!” She shook her head and chuckled, “Awkward, that’d be.”

“Awkward indeed,” Fiona said, wondering if such a thing had ever occurred in all the Records. Once again, she regretted the necessity that kept the Records of the Weyrs separate. She wondered how much more could be gleaned from reading the Records of all the Weyrs combined? She pushed the thought from her mind, returning to her present issue.

“Is Ellor about?”

“You’d find her in the Dining Cavern if she is,” Merika said. She gestured toward the far end of the Weyr. “I’ve got to check on Perilla, the mating flight’s probably brought on her contractions.”

“Do you need help?”

“Shards, no, Weyrwoman!” Merika said with a laugh. “I’ve been doing this for Turns now, since before you were born. I’ll manage.”

And with that, the older woman continued on her way, leaving Fiona behind, shaking her head at the similarities between mother Merika and daughter Bekka.

As predicted, Fiona found Ellor in the Dining Cavern, bending over a pot gently simmering and ordering the attendant to add more spices.

“There’ll be a lot of hungry mouths here later on!” Ellor said. To herself she muttered, “And no one can say when they’ll wander in.”

She looked up at the sound of Fiona’s footsteps, her expression cloudy, her lips pursed for an angry outburst only to burst into a huge grin when she recognized the Weyrwoman.

“Fiona!” Ellor said, rushing forward to crush the younger woman in a tight hug. She pushed herself away, gripping Fiona’s shoulders as she examined her. “I swear by the First Egg, you’ve grown a full hand since I last saw you and that not even a sevenday ago.” She shook her head. “They must be feeding you well at Telgar, and well they should, after all they’ve been through and you’ve done for them.”

“Ellor!” Fiona said, more to find the time to regain her breath and her thoughts than for any chiding. She laughed, saying, “They’ve been most kind to me at Telgar. Shaneese is the headwoman and she’s quite something.”

Ellor’s lips pursed disapprovingly. “I’ve heard of her,” she said shortly. “She’s got trader’s blood, hasn’t she?”

“There’s nothing wrong with trader’s blood,” Fiona rebuked her softly. “And, in case you’ve forgotten, I’m beholden to traders for my time in Igen.”

Ellor allowed her frown to fade. “Of course you are,” she said. “Not that they didn’t profit from the encounter, by all rights.”

“Profit was had by all,” Fiona agreed. “And is there harm in that? The Weyrs work to the profit of Pern by providing protection; our wares cannot be bartered, should we frown upon those whose can?”

Ellor shook her head, her expression mulish as she admitted, “No, I suppose we can’t.”

She looked up and met Fiona’s eyes squarely. “Why, you certainly have your father’s way about you to shame me in my own hearth.”

“I don’t mean to shame you,” Fiona said soothingly. “I merely wish to be fair.”

“Fair!”

“And it’s not that you aren’t, Ellor,” Fiona hastened to add. “If it weren’t for you—”

“What?”

“If it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t know half of what I know about running a Weyr,” Fiona told her. “Not to mention how to cook.”

“Ah, hungry, are you?” Ellor asked, relieved to find the conversation turning to matters closer to her mind.

“I am,” Fiona said, surprised at the admission. “It’s been a strenuous”—she ignored Ellor’s accusing chuckle—“several days and I’ve not eaten as well as I should.” She raised a finger and waggled it at the headwoman. “But don’t tell Shaneese, she’d be desolate after all she’s done to feed me.”

“Are you eating for two now?” Ellor asked.

Fiona made a face. “I don’t know.”

“It’d be early days yet,” Ellor agreed. She glanced up to Fiona’s eyes. “And perhaps you’ve enough on your plate with all that’s going on.”

“I promise to tell you all, if you feed me,” Fiona said, glancing wistfully toward the nearest table.

Ellor snorted once more and waved her to a chair. “For all that I’ve heard of Shaneese, even with your pining, I’d be addled not to know that she sets a good table, good enough that you wouldn’t be here just to be fed.” As she spoke, she bustled up a plate, soup bowl, and mug, and filled each, setting them and utensils in front of Fiona and gesturing for her to start eating. “What is it, then, that brings you here?”

Predictably, the question was asked when Fiona had just swallowed. Fiona gave Ellor an apologetic look as she cleared her throat. “T’mar’s conscious. I want Tintoval to check on him.”

Ellor pursed her lips thoughtfully before responding. “You’ll bring her back?”

Fiona gave her a look of surprised hurt in reply.

“It’s just that so many people seem to stay in your wake once attracted,” Ellor said, working hard to keep her expression neutral. “Lorana, Kindan, even that weyrwoman from High Reaches, Jeila.”

“I think Jeila chose Telgar more for H’nez than me.”

Ellor shook her head. “And why do you think H’nez is at Telgar?”

The question caught Fiona off balance. “He’d been fighting with K’lior, he wanted to be posted to another Weyr.”

“All true,” Ellor said, clearly believing none of those reasons to be the principal one.

“I’ve no love for H’nez!”

“No,” Ellor said. “And I’m sure he knows that, too.”

“So why would he want to be at Telgar?”

Ellor sighed, clearly debating something with herself before deciding to say, “Because you are good for him

“Fiona raised her eyebrows in response.

Ellor gave her a quick grin. “Sometimes, even when we don’t want to admit it, we know that someone has something we can learn from them.”

“H’nez can learn from me?”

Ellor nodded. “And you can learn from him.”

“He’s not without his strengths,” Fiona admitted reluctantly. “And Jeila seems a good judge of character.”

“And while I’ve never known him not to be a bit bullheaded, H’nez is perceptive enough to know his weaknesses,” Ellor said. “And driven enough to strive to remove them.”

“I certainly see ‘driven,’” Fiona said, taking a sip of her klah.

Ellor smiled in agreement. Deftly changing the subject, she asked, “And how long do you think you’ll need our Tintoval’s services?”

“How about if I promise to have her back in time for dinner—unless there’s an emergency?”

And so it was agreed. Fiona found Tintoval in her quarters and the healer was more than willing to accompany her, on one condition: “I want us to stop at the Healer Hall and see if Masterhealer Betrony has any journeymen or apprentices he’d like to have consult on this.”

Fiona grinned. “Thinking of educating the next generation?”

“That,” Tintoval conceded, adding with a grin, “and perhaps to tantalize some with the allure of Weyr life.”

“Well, anything that gets me more healers is all to the good!” Fiona said, adding, “But, as I recall, there were three apprentices sent there from Fort Weyr.”

“There were, and I’ve made sure that Cisca and K’lior know how grateful we are for it,” Tintoval replied. “They’re able, too, but they’ve a ways to go before they’ll walk the tables.”

They stopped briefly at the Healer Hall. Fiona had just enough time to look wistfully toward her father’s Hold before Masterhealer Betrony packed Talenth with three journeymen—two men and one woman, all older than Fiona—and sent them on their way.

“They’ve never been between before,” he warned Fiona just before she mounted. He smiled at her; he’d been one of the healers who’d tended her many scrapes as a youngster, so they were well acquainted.

“I’ll be careful with them,” Fiona said. She paused, thinking of Bekka. “And Master—” Betrony gave her an expectant look “—would you be willing to take on another apprentice?”

“How old is she?” Betrony asked, wryly guessing that Fiona’s candidate was a girl.

“She has twelve Turns,” Fiona said. She saw Betrony’s look but forestalled him, “Her mother is one of Fort Weyr’s midwives, and her father was a dragonrider.”

“Was?”

“He lost his blue to the sickness,” she replied sadly. “I think it’s only her love of life that’s kept him going.”

“So I’d be getting a package, eh? Father and daughter?”

Fiona nodded; she hadn’t thought of it that way.

“Is she as bad as you were?”

“Worse; she doesn’t sleep,” Fiona said. The Masterhealer’s eyes widened in surprise. “She takes little naps from time to time.”

“Oh, like our Tintoval,” Betrony said with a sideways look at the Weyr Healer. “Does she follow orders?”

“She’s dutiful,” Fiona allowed. “But willful.”

“And I’ve never dealt with that,” Betrony muttered sardonically, nodding toward Tintoval, who stuck her tongue out at him in response. Betrony snorted and shook his head. Then he turned to Fiona. “Where is she now?”

“She’s at Telgar with me,” Fiona said. “And I’d need a replacement for her.”

He nodded toward the healers. “Those are my best,” he told her. “I’d not let them go, only you say that she comes with her father.”

“Seban,” Fiona agreed. “Between them, they know enough about healing to handle a Threadfall.”

Betrony’s eyes widened in admiration. “Very well, if you wish, you may send her whenever you can spare her.”

“Thank you!” Fiona said, turning back to Talenth.

He took two long strides toward her and spoke quietly into her ear, “You can use this time to see which of these healers might work with you. I was about to send them off to the holds, so they’re all packed and ready to leave.”

“If they don’t work out, I’ve got Kindan and Lorana,” Fiona said.

“And,” he wagged his head at her with a grin, “from what I’ve heard, you’ve learned a fair bit yourself.”

Fiona nodded. “All those lessons you gave me.”

“I thought you were asleep!”

Fiona smiled, shaking her head. “Not all the time.”

She turned to hug the Masterhealer, who took the opportunity to say, “When you see Kindan, you might remind him that there are several people here—at both the Healer Hall and the Harper Hall—who are eager for a word with him.”

“I will!”

As she climbed up behind Tintoval, she said loudly, “Healer, be sure the others are properly hooked on with the riding straps. The weyrfolk are under strict orders to let plummeting healers fall.”

Tintoval turned back long enough to give Fiona a droll look, recalling their first meeting and how Fiona had been rebuked for risking the life of a queen and her rider for a mere healer, before turning back to be certain that the others were secure. Fiona craned around her side to make her own inspection and, satisfied, sat upright before ordering Talenth to leap once more for the sky.

“Remember, between only lasts as long as it takes to cough three times!” Fiona shouted loudly before giving Talenth the image of Telgar and the order to take them between.

They arrived as predicted on the third cough—Fiona was certain that she heard one hastily stifled—and Talenth began a gentle descent into the Weyr Bowl. Fiona was pleased by the exclamations and pointing hands of the journeymen gawking at the sights of the Weyr below them.

“I’m taking us to the queens’ ledge,” Fiona told Tintoval, as Talenth altered her course slightly, did a half-circle, and gently landed within a wingtip of the queens’ ledge.

Fiona was the first off, then Tintoval. Between them, they got the other three down. The girl—she looked to have perhaps seventeen Turns—was the last down and lightest. The middle man looked to have two more Turns than she, and the last was the eldest, seeming closer to T’mar’s age—old to be a journeyman.

The man sensed her curiosity and smiled at her as he introduced himself, “Birentir, formerly harper of Red Sands hold.” He gestured to the other two. “These are Cerra”—the woman—“and Lindorm.”

“I’m glad to meet you,” Fiona said, giving them all a brisk nod. She clambered up the side of the queens’ ledge and was surprised when two arms fastened on her legs and gave her a boost. She turned back and held out a hand for Tintoval, who took it and accepted a second boost from Birentir and Lindorm. Cerra had balked at the ascent and had trotted to the end of the ledge, climbing the rise as quickly as she could. Birentir turned to follow her progress and with a polite nod to the two women on the ledge, elected to follow her less strenuous route. Lindorm looked torn between clambering up and trotting around. Tintoval decided the issue by waving him toward the others. “Master Betrony would have my hide if you were hurt climbing the ledge!”

Fiona, feeling slightly guilty, waited for the others to join them, then led them into T’mar’s quarters.

“This is Seban and Bekka,” Fiona said as the other two rose at the sound of their arrival. A slight sound caused Fiona to glance over her shoulder and she was surprised to see Tintoval step back to the wall, where she leaned with arms folded, nodding pointedly to Fiona to indicate that she was going to monitor the proceedings, rather than lead them.

Fiona accepted her decision with a nod of her own and turned back, and, noting that Lorana and Kindan had joined them, she stretched her hand toward them, adding, “And this is—”

“Kindan!” Cerra cried, rushing toward him. “It’s good to see you!”

“You must be Lorana,” Birentir said with an engaging smile, raising a hand in greeting. “There are not enough thanks on all of Pern to repay you for what you’ve done.”

Lorana shook her head wordlessly. Fiona moved to her side and touched her hand briefly, just enough to let the older woman know that she understood her ambivalence, as she whispered, “You paid.”

Lorana twitched at her words but said nothing. Changing the subject, Fiona turned to look down at T’mar. “How is he?”

“Awake and wishing you’d all be quiet,” T’mar spoke up tetchily. “If you’re hoping to speed my recovery by shouting, it’s not working.”

Birentir’s features twisted into a frown as he bent down to the bronze rider, looking over his shoulder to ask Lorana, “How long since his concussion?”

“This is the second day,” Kindan said.

“When did he regain consciousness?” Birentir asked, turning back to gaze at T’mar.

“Today, after the third mating flight,” Fiona said. Birentir glanced her way with a dismissive look. Fiona felt her temper rising and was surprised to feel Lorana’s hand on her shoulder, soothingly.

“Mating flights are a strong emotional stimulant,” Birentir said. “And you said it took three?”

“Mine, Jeila’s, and Melirth’s at Fort,” Fiona said.

“What of his dragon?” Cerra asked, looking over her shoulder toward the sleeping bronze. Birentir glared at the interruption. “If he was unconscious, who controlled Zirenth?”

Fiona nodded at Kindan.

“You?” Cerra asked in surprise.

“Lorana and I, actually,” Kindan replied, reaching to grab Lorana’s free hand.

“If they hadn’t, Zirenth would have gone between forever,” Fiona told her.

“Who flew Talenth?” Lindorm asked, glancing from Fiona to T’mar.

“Zirenth flew her,” Seban said. “And, would you all, as our patient has asked, talk more softly?”

“Sorry,” Lindorm replied, glancing down at T’mar. “Does it hurt very much?”

T’mar nodded, unwilling to trust himself to words.

Birentir was still absorbing Seban’s revelation. “If Zirenth flew your queen, then who …?” His voice trailed off as his eyes settled on Kindan.

“We’re here for T’mar,” Fiona reminded the older healer testily, glancing pointedly in his direction.

“Masterharper Zist will be eager for your report,” Birentir told Kindan. “I’m surprised you—”

“Oh, please!” Cerra cut him off. “Would you get out of the way, so we can see to the patient?”

“I am examining him,” Birentir said haughtily.

“No, you’re not,” Fiona declared, gesturing for him to move away from T’mar. “In fact, you’re just leaving. I think you’ll find some food in the Dining Cavern.”

“You can’t—” Birentir spluttered in amazement “—I’m the senior here and you’re—you’re just a girl!”

Shh, Talenth! Fiona called as she felt her queen readying to bellow in angry support of her rider.

“You idiot,” Bekka snapped, with an impertinence that surprised everyone, “she’s the Weyrwoman, she can do anything she farding well pleases!”

“Shh,” Fiona said to Bekka. “You’re hurting T’mar’s ears.” She turned to the older healer, saying coldly, with all the dignity learned from Turns watching her father deal with such arrogance, “Journeyman Birentir, I believe that we no longer have need of your services.”

“I—” Birentir’s eyes shifted around the room nervously and he licked his lips. “I’m sorry if I offended, Weyrwoman.”

“I’m sure,” Fiona agreed, gesturing for him to move away. “My headwoman’s name is Shaneese, you might meet her in the Kitchen Cavern.”

Reluctantly, Birentir rose and backed away from the group, his lips moving as he searched for some words that might heal his breech.

Fiona turned her back on him, gesturing toward Cerra and Lindorm to take the older healer’s place. After he’d left, Fiona leaned over to Bekka and shook a finger at her warningly.

“Sorry,” Bekka said contritely, “but he wasn’t listening to the patient.” She glanced up at her father. “And if you don’t listen to the patient, how can you know what’s wrong?”

“We’ll talk about this later,” Fiona said, turning her attention back to T’mar.

Cerra ceded her position to Lindorm, saying, “I’ve not had much work with head injuries.”

“I’m no better,” Lindorm said, kneeling beside T’mar. “Really, Weyrwoman, for all that he’s an ass, Birentir probably knows the most of the three of us.”

“No he doesn’t,” T’mar corrected him softly, his eyes closed against the pain.

Cerra raised her eyebrows in surprise.

“If he did,” Kindan explained, “he’d know better than to irritate a Weyrwoman in her own Weyr.”

“We haven’t moved him much,” Bekka said, deciding that everyone was spending far too much time on unimportant matters—like manners—and not enough on her patient. “His leg was threadscored, we’ve dressed it and changed the bandages.

“We haven’t given him fellis for the pain nor numbweed for the wound for fear of affecting his coma,” she continued briskly, “but I’m getting worried about keeping him in the same position for too long—he’ll get bedsores if nothing else.”

Lindorm glanced at her in surprise, then asked calmly, “So what do you recommend?”

Bekka frowned in irritation. “If I didn’t know any better, and I could be certain that he had no spinal injuries, I’d say that we should try to move him in his bedsheets into his pool to let him soak a bit.” She frowned. “It’d be difficult with the bandages—maybe we’d be best off removing them while he’s bathing—but I think the warm water would aid in circulation.”

“Who did you study under?” Cerra asked her, amazed.

Bekka shrugged. “My mother mostly.” She threw a hand toward Fiona, adding, “And Weyrwoman Fiona knows a lot about Thread injuries, human and dragon.”

“Your mother?” Lindorm asked, his eyes going to Seban.

“Merika, midwife at Fort,” Seban said.

“Have you considered apprenticing at the Healer Hall?” Cerra asked. She glanced up to Seban, adding, “She has the gift.”

“Actually,” Fiona chimed in, “she’s a place at the Healer Hall as soon as we can let her go.”

Bekka’s eyes lit up and she leaped into the air in excitement but, with an apologetic look toward T’mar, did not shout in glee.

The import of Fiona’s words were not lost on the two healers and they exchanged wary looks.

“I know something of spines,” Cerra said. She glanced up to Bekka approvingly. “I think if we follow apprentice Bekka’s suggestion, we could use the chance to examine T’mar’s spine in the water.”

“The only danger is in moving him,” Lindorm pointed out.

“I’ve got to move sometime,” T’mar said.

“If only to use the necessary,” Fiona said, surprised at herself for not considering that need sooner.

“He flew a Threadfall when he was injured, so he was dehydrated,” Seban said.

“And his metabolism was slowed by the coma,” Lindorm added.

“If he’s to get better, he’ll need to get mobile, won’t he?” Fiona asked, glancing down to give the bronze rider an encouraging smile.

“Let me check his neck,” Cerra said, glancing up to Lindorm for agreement. When he nodded, she turned to Bekka and beckoned to her.

“Kneel beside me,” she said. Bekka knelt and was surprised when Cerra turned to her, placing her hands on either side of her neck.

“Your fingers are smaller, more gentle, so you’ll go first,” she told the young girl.

“Feel how I’m moving my fingers? I’m probing for anything out of place, anything that doesn’t feel right.” Bekka’s eyes widened in brief panic, then she closed them, her expression intent as she absorbed Cerra’s movements, ready to replicate them.

“Now, you do it to me,” Cerra said. “That way I’ll know that you’ve got it right.”

“’Cos if I don’t, he could die?” Bekka asked, wide-eyed.

“It’s possible but not likely,” Lindorm spoke up.

“Perhaps—” Seban began, only to stop himself with a deep sigh.

“Most likely, with your small fingers, you’ll do no harm,” Cerra assured the young girl. “That’s why we’ll start with your hands.”

Bekka took a deep breath, glanced up to Seban for an instant, then placed her hands gently behind Cerra’s neck. “Okay.”

Cerra closed her eyes and said nothing as Bekka ran her fingers up her neck, fingering each veterbra in succession.

“There’s a spot here, just before the last bone,” Bekka said, opening her eyes.

Cerra raised an eyebrow in surprise, put her hands to her neck, and felt the spot before nodding. “Yes, there is,” she said, smiling at the youngster. “Good for you! It’s nothing, just a misalignment—” She twisted her head quickly and Bekka jumped as the apprentice’s neck gave a loud pop! “There, back in place again.” She smiled at Bekka and gestured for Lindorm to join them. “Lindorm, let her practice on you, too.”

The other healer was only too willing and, after Bekka repeated her examination, pronounced himself completely satisfied with her abilities.

“You’ll make a great healer,” he told her with a smile. Shyly, she smiled back. Then he nodded toward T’mar. “Are you ready for the examination now?”

“Are you ready, Weyrleader?” Bekka asked, standing up and bending down over the Weyrleader, poising her hands on either side of his neck.

“I’m in your hands,” T’mar said.

Bekka ignored the remark, instead closing her eyes and reaching her hands down to delicately touch his neck. She went over it twice, before standing up and turning to Cerra. “I can’t feel anything wrong.”

“Okay, let me,” Cerra said. Bekka was happy to move away, particularly after Kindan assured her, “Whenever possible, healers like to get a second opinion.”

And a third. After Cerra had finished her examination, she moved aside to let Lindorm repeat the examination.

“I don’t feel anything broken,” Lindorm said as he straightened up after his examination. He smiled at T’mar as he added, “I think it’s safe to move you, Weyrleader.”

“Good,” T’mar said a bit distractedly. “In which case, the soonest the best.”

Bekka and Fiona scurried aside, willing to let the larger and stronger adults take on the burden of moving the fully-grown Weyrleader in his bedsheets.

Fiona watched the proceeding carefully, noting how Lindorm had no hesitation when it came time for him to step—fully clothed—into the warm bath so that he and Kindan could be on the far end of T’mar’s makeshift stretcher.

“We’re going to just lower the whole thing into the water,” Lindorm said to T’mar. “You’ll float off.”

“That sounds quite relaxing,” T’mar said.

Bekka quickly lifted her skirts and, with a quick twist, knotted them higher up as she stepped into the pool, declaring, “I’ll keep your head above water.”

“Hold his shoulders,” Cerra said.

Soon the whole maneuver was completed, the bedsheets removed and T’mar, still in his clothes, was floating in the water. His features relaxed into a look of pleasure.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to remove your clothes to complete our examination,” Lindorm said.

“I’ll be glad to get them off,” T’mar said.

“Perhaps Bekka should be excused,” Lindorm said.

“Not if I’m going to be a healer,” Bekka said. Her expression changed and she glanced down to T’mar, “Unless you don’t want me, Weyrleader?”

T’mar smiled. “Were you the one who changed the bandages on my leg?”

“Yes,” Bekka replied offhandedly, not seeing any connection.

“She’s been watching mothers give birth since she could crawl,” Seban said by way of assurance.

“But if you’re going to be embarrassed, Weyrleader, I promise I won’t look,” Bekka said in assurance.

T’mar’s lip twitched. “Do what you must, healer.”

Bekka’s face flamed into a brilliant smile at the compliment.

Safely in the water, Cerra had Bekka repeat her performance, this time checking T’mar’s spine. First she and then Cerra and Lindorm pronounced themselves satisfied.

“But this is no guarantee, Weyrleader,” Lindorm warned. “Your head injury could have caused injury to your spine as well. It could be that if you move the wrong way, you’ll sever your spinal cord.”

“And if I do?”

“You’ll be paralyzed,” Bekka told him. “The spinal cord is the nerve that runs the length of your body.”

“Which would make it difficult to fly Thread,” T’mar said drolly.

“But not impossible,” Fiona said. T’mar glanced at her in surprise and exasperation before saying, “With you, I believe it could be done.”

“Be certain of it,” Fiona told him.

“Very well,” T’mar said, “with such assurances, I think we should give it a try.”

Cerra glanced at Lindorm, who turned to Bekka. “What would you suggest?”

“To see if he’s paralyzed?” Bekka asked. When the others nodded, she continued, “Well, he’s not.”

“How do you know?”

“Because he couldn’t help twitching when I bandaged him,” she said. “If he was paralyzed, he wouldn’t have been able, would he?”

Lindorm exchanged a surprised look with Cerra, before shaking his head, “No, I suppose not.”

“And having said that,” Cerra continued, “the chances of his having a spinal injury are slight.”

“Because if he had, he would already have severed the cord?” Bekka guessed.

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” Kindan said, glancing at T’mar’s face.

“So he’s all right?” Fiona said.

“He still had a major brain injury,” Lindorm reminded her. “That can cause long-term problems.”

“Memory loss, mood changes, and other such-like,” Fiona said, glancing toward Kindan. “That’s what Kindan said.”

“Harper Kindan has the right of it.”

“We should get him out of the water, before he turns into a giant wrinkle,” Bekka said.

It was not quite as difficult an operation as the job of getting him into the water, particularly once Cerra and Lindorm had satisfied themselves that T’mar could move all his limbs freely.

“Does this mean I can get some fellis for my head?” T’mar asked testily as he reclined in his bathrobe, with Fiona gently drying his hair by rolling it in a towel and squeezing it.

“I’d recommend against it,” Lindorm said. “I know you’re in a lot of pain, but with a head injury such as yours, until we know you’ve fully recovered, we don’t want to do anything that might dull your wits.”

“That way we’ll know if your wits are dulling from the blow,” Fiona said.

Cerra gave her a surprised look; Lindorm merely nodded in agreement.

“When can I get back to my duties?”

“Duties?” Bekka snorted, as she worked to bandage T’mar’s leg. “Your leg has to heal yet!” She shook her head. “A month at least, just for that.”

“Probably six weeks,” Fiona said, glancing at the rebandaged wound.

“You can try sitting up later this week,” Lindorm said. “You shouldn’t walk, though, without someone to help you.” Seeing T’mar’s frown, the healer explained, “You were in a coma; it’s doubtless that you have a concussion. That can leave you disoriented, even feeling like you’re walking on air—which is not recommended with stone floors.”

“When you do sit up, have a care for any signs of dizziness or muzziness,” Cerra warned.

“Muzziness?” Fiona repeated, glancing at T’mar. “Muzziness can be caused by head injury?”

“Often,” Lindorm said, his eyes narrowed. “Why do you ask, Weyrwoman?”

“Because Fiona and I—and many others—have been suffering from some sort of muzziness for the past several Turns,” T’mar said in answer.

“Like Tullea,” Kindan spoke up suddenly.

“That’s what M’tal said,” Fiona said. T’mar looked at her questioningly, so she said, “Tullea timed it back to High Reaches Weyr and was there for the last three Turns. That’s where Minith clutched and the sickness-immune hatchlings grew. Jeila’s Tolarth is one of them.”

“During which time at Benden Weyr,” Kindan picked up the tale, “Tullea was the most difficult, irascible, and vindictive”—he shot a glance at Lorana—“person I’d ever seen.”

“M’tal thinks we could be timing it, too?” T’mar asked. “Or is this a result of our timing it back to Igen?”

“If it is,” Fiona said, “then wouldn’t all the injured riders from the other Weyrs feel the same effects?”

“The Benden riders were tired but they recovered quickly,” Kindan said, glancing at Lorana for agreement. His brows furrowed as he turned back to Fiona. “Are you saying that you still feel this way?”

Fiona nodded.

“And it’s slowed you down?” Kindan asked. When she nodded once more, his lips twitched and he said, “I was hoping that you’d just calmed down.”

Fiona’s eyes flashed and she deliberately turned away from him. Catching sight of Tintoval, who had observed the entire proceedings without saying anything once—a feat Fiona recognized was beyond her own capabilities—she asked, nodding toward Bekka, “So, do you think she’ll do?”

“Cerra, Lindorm?” Tintoval said, deferring the question to them.

Lindorm smiled and Cerra ruffled Bekka’s hair affectionately.

“She’ll do,” the young woman said. She frowned thoughtfully before adding, “In fact, I’m worried that she’ll outshine some of the older apprentices.”

“And it may be a detriment having her father with her,” Lindorm added thoughtfully.

“Seban goes with her,” Fiona said, even as Bekka started to make her own protest. “Seban, how would you feel about apprenticing yourself to the Healer Hall?”

Seban took a step back in surprise.

“What were your plans?” Lorana asked the ex-dragonrider.

Seban furrowed his brow. “I suppose I hadn’t thought about it,” he said, glancing toward Bekka. “My only thought was to help my daughter, here.” He pursed his lips as he added with a sad look toward Bekka, “But that includes, one day, leaving you to your own devices.”

“Here’s my request,” Kindan said, glancing to Fiona briefly, then smiling at Lorana and grabbing her hand. “I ask that you go present yourself to the Halls—Harper and Healer—as an apprentice.” He smiled at an old memory, adding, “There has been a long tradition of weyrfolk finding a calling at the Halls.”

“You’re not thinking of Mikal?” Seban asked, surprised at the comparison. M’kal—ex-dragonrider—had become a legend among healers in his lifetime before the Plague.

“Yes,” Kindan said catching Seban’s eyes with his own. “I most certainly was.”

“You’re a natural teacher,” Lorana said. Seban gave her an incredulous look.

“She’s right,” Tintoval said. “Half of teaching is knowing when to be silent and”—she gestured to her position at the outside of their group—“observing.”

“If nothing else, your memories of Weyr life would be invaluable,” Kindan said.

It was Bekka who brought up Kindan’s unspoken meaning, as she stepped forward and slipped her hand into his, “And, Father, you know what it means to lose a dragon.”

Seban’s face twisted with pain and Bekka tightened her grip, continuing, “I promised to become a healer so that this would never happen again.”

“Dragons are lost to Threadfall,” Seban murmured in response. “You can’t save them all.”

“No,” Fiona said, remembering F’dan and his blue Ridorth, and glancing sympathetically at Lorana, “we can’t.”

“You are a healer in your own right,” Seban said, also looking at Lorana.

“And if she wants to go, she’ll go with all my support,” Fiona said, nodding at Kindan and Lorana before adding, “But with her ability to hear any dragon, I would hope that she would stay at the Weyr.”

Seban nodded. Kindan gave Lorana an inquiring look that the older woman answered with a quick jerk of her head toward Fiona, saying, “Someone has to keep her from bullying all the other Weyrwomen!”

Fiona surprised everyone—including herself—with an indignant squeak. Kindan, Lorana, Bekka, and Seban allowed themselves a quick chuckle at her reaction while the healers all looked on, too anxious to make any noise, although Fiona was pretty certain that Tintoval’s eyes danced with glee.

“Well, Seban?” Fiona asked with all the dignity she could muster.

“Master Zist and Master Betrony would be overjoyed,” Kindan said.

“It’s a lot of hard work, little sleep, and you’d have everyone muttering about your age,” Tintoval cautioned. Fiona bit off a retort, realizing that the healer was taunting the ex-dragonrider with exactly the right tone.

“And you think that I’d let my daughter take up a challenge her father couldn’t handle?” Seban snorted. “Can we think about it?”

“No,” Fiona said. “I’ve promised to get Tintoval and two of the healers back before dinner and you’re to go with them.”

Seban turned his eyes toward T’mar who had watched the whole exchange silently. “Weyrleader?”

“I will stand by your decision,” T’mar told him softly.

“If you go as an apprentice in your own right, no one can say that you are there to guard Bekka,” Fiona said. Seban gave her a look that made it quite clear that he’d arrived at the same conclusion and Fiona felt her cheeks blushing at the unspoken rebuke his eyes conveyed.

“Very well,” Seban said, reaching down fluidly and pulling Bekka up into his arms, “we’ll go!”

Bekka buried her face in his shoulder but even so, her squeal of delight filled the room.

“You said two healers?” Tintoval asked, facing Fiona. She turned quickly toward Zirenth’s weyr and the Weyr Bowl beyond, saying, “I’d best get Birentir.”

“Leave him,” Fiona said. The others all looked at her. Apologetically she told Cerra and Lindorm, “I don’t question your abilities, nor your desires. But, as I have been recently reminded, sometimes my duties require me to learn new abilities.”

Lorana smiled at her in agreement.

“Birentir came to the Healer Hall not long after the Plague,” Tintoval said, her expression grave.

“As a patient,” Fiona guessed. Tintoval nodded even as her brows rose in surprise. “When he recovered, he—like our Bekka here—made a vow.”

“Yes,” Tintoval said.

“How did you know?” Cerra asked in surprise.

“I’d even guess that he had a daughter near my age,” Fiona continued, “and lost her in the Plague.”

“Yes,” Lorana said, following Fiona’s line of thinking.

“‘Arrogance is usually born of fear,’” Fiona said, nodding toward Kindan, who had told her that many Turns ago. Kindan jerked in surprise, delighted that she’d remembered. With a wry grin, she added, “I seem to have made it a habit to collect arrogant people.”

“It’s because you conquer your fear,” T’mar spoke up from his bed. All eyes turned toward him. “You still feel it, but you don’t let it rule you.”

“I don’t know about that,” Fiona said. The thought flustered her and she sought a means to divert herself from it. “Regardless, I think that we should get everyone back soonest, including Bekka and Seban.”

“I don’t think Talenth is up to eight,” Kindan said, a quick gesture including himself and Lorana in the count.

“Zirenth needs exercise,” T’mar said. Kindan and Lorana turned to him in surprise. T’mar met the ex–queen rider’s eyes, saying, “If you wish, I’m certain he’ll be happy to carry you.”

“And we’d like to work on this experiment,” Fiona added with a nod toward T’mar for his planning. “We’ve been trying to see if we can mix riders and dragons.”

“Uninjured riders paired with uninjured dragons?” Kindan asked, glancing from T’mar to Fiona and back. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That’s an interesting proposition.”

“So go test it,” T’mar said.

“Some more?” Lorana asked. “Remember that we already brought Zirenth to Fort Weyr.”

T’mar’s eyes narrowed. “Really?” he looked distracted as he probed his memories. “I hadn’t realized.”

“You’ve been through a lot,” Fiona told him. “You’re lucky to be alive and, if you don’t get some rest”—she gestured for the others to leave—“I’ll kill you.”

T’mar’s lips twitched but he closed his eyes, resolutely following her orders.

Fiona left it to Lorana and Kindan to organize the loading of Zirenth and Talenth while she went to the Dining Cavern. She was not surprised to find Birentir at one of the pottery wheels, working the clay under the tutelage of Mekiar.

“How is he doing?” Fiona asked, startling the older healer and causing him to ruin the bowl he was forming on the spinning wheel.

“He is learning,” Mekiar replied drolly, glancing up to Fiona. “I would say that at this moment he is learning patience.”

“Good,” she replied, “see that he does.”

Birentir looked askance at her words.

“You’re staying,” she told him. Birentir’s eyes widened further in surprise. “Bekka and her father are going back to the Healer Hall and I don’t need you there causing her grief on a daily basis.”

“You would prefer me causing ‘daily grief’ here?” Birentir asked with a flash of humor.

“You won’t be causing me daily grief, healer,” Fiona assured him. She softened her tone as she confided, “I’m more worried about fighting Thread without enough dragons.”

“I’d heard,” Birentir said, rising from his chair, his expression grave. “How bad is it?”

“No one really knows,” Fiona said. She shook her head, adding, “We all know that it’s bad but we haven’t exact numbers until we can figure our losses per Fall.”

“Master Archivist Verilan could help with that.”

Fiona cocked her head at him measuringly. “So, when you get over the fact that I’m nearly the same age as your late daughter, and deal with me for myself, you are willing to think, aren’t you?”

Birentir flushed hotly and Fiona held up a hand in apology.

“I don’t recall seeing you whenever I visited the Harper Hall,” Fiona said. “Were you hiding?”

“I was studying.”

“You’re older than most.”

Birentir nodded in acknowledgment.

“Tell me about it,” Fiona said.

“It was the Plague,” Birentir said. “I lost my whole family, wife, two boys, three girls.” He glanced into her eyes as he added, “My youngest would be about your age now.”

“I’ve nearly seventeen Turns,” Fiona told him.

“Yes,” Birentir said, “she had five Turns when the Plague struck.”

“I had only two,” Fiona told him. Birentir gave her an inquiring look. “I spent three Turns back in time at Igen Weyr.”

Birentir’s eyes widened. “I hadn’t heard.”

“We haven’t been back for very long, and we were sent here after …” Her voice trailed off, but Birentir nodded. The news of the death of Telgar Weyr had traveled quickly to the Harper Hall. Fiona shook herself. “So, you’ll be staying here,” she told him. “I’ll ask Master Betrony to give me your stuff and we’ll put you in the healer’s quarters.”

“Are you certain, even with my daily grief?”

Fiona smiled at the taunt and nodded.

“I’ll be sure to bring your gear back from the Healer Hall,” she told him.

“Thank you,” Birentir said, and Fiona knew he wasn’t referring to her promise about his belongings. She smiled again and, with a wave, hurried out of the Dining Cavern in time to climb up behind Bekka and Seban, who were already perched on her eager queen. The older man had stored their gear and secured them ably onto Talenth.

To Bekka, she asked, “Are you ready?”

“I hope so,” Bekka said.

“You’ll do fine,” Fiona assured her. Silently, she gave Talenth the instruction to rise and, after they circled the watch heights once, went between.

When they came out again, Bekka took one look down and gasped in surprise. She turned back to face Fiona, an accusing look on her face.

“I promised Ellor I’d get Tintoval back first!” Fiona said, stifling a laugh. Her expression softened as she added, “And I thought you might want to see your mother, too.”

“Thank you,” Bekka said, peering down intently into the Weyr Bowl below.

Zirenth appeared just behind them and followed Talenth as she spiraled down for a landing.

They were met by Ellor and Merika first. In the distance, Cisca could be seen on the queens’ ledge, walking quickly toward them.

“Should we wait?” Fiona asked Seban, glancing in Cisca’s direction. But Bekka rendered the question pointless, quickly untying herself and jumping down, running toward her mother while screaming at the top of her lungs, “Mother! I’m going to be a healer!” Seban gave Fiona an apologetic look, but Fiona waved it aside. Grinning, she jumped down from Talenth, patting the golden queen softly on her leg while Seban clambered down.

“Queens are a lot bigger than blues,” Seban said, glancing back up at their perch on the queen’s neck.

“Tolarth is even bigger,” Fiona reminded him.

“Is that a complaint?” Seban teased.

“Oh, no!” Fiona said, patting Talenth once more. “My queen and I are exactly the right size for each other.” She turned to face him, asking softly, “Wasn’t it that way with you and Serth?”

“It was,” Seban said in a choked voice.

“I’m sorry,” Fiona said, reaching out a hand consolingly. Seban glanced at it and took it, wrapping both his hands around it.

“Here’s the Weyrwoman,” Seban said, glancing in Cisca’s direction.

“Let’s go see her, then,” Fiona said, turning and using his grip on her hand to tug him along beside her.

Cisca met them halfway across the Bowl. “Fiona, is that Zirenth in the distance?”

“It is,” Fiona said. “We’re bringing back some healers to the Hall and needed another dragon.” She gestured toward Lorana and Kindan, adding, “T’mar’s still recovering, but he was willing to oblige us with his bronze.”

“And not for the first time,” Cisca said, giving the blond Weyrwoman a knowing look.

Fiona met her eyes squarely. “If it weren’t for Lorana and Kindan, we would have lost both Zirenth and T’mar.”

“Come with me,” Cisca said, waving toward the Kitchen. “It’s far too cold to converse out here; you’ll have to forgive my manners.”

Inside, seated with warm klah and fresh rolls, Cisca was much more relaxed.

“Congratulations on your flight,” Fiona said, raising her mug in toast.

“And on yours,” Cisca said, raising her own mug in response. She glanced around at a sudden eruption of noise and spotted Bekka with a group of friends, helping themselves to a snack. Glancing at the youngster, she asked, “Did she wear you out, too?”

“Hardly!” Fiona said, smiling. “Especially not with Seban to mind her.” She waved at Bekka and the youngster waved back before flying out of the Kitchen toward the living quarters. “But an opportunity arose to get her healer training, and so we’re taking it.”

“Wise.”

“I learned from the best,” Fiona said, nodding back at Cisca.

“And you’re here because of her?”

“No,” Fiona said. “I’m here returning Tintoval.” She explained how she’d purloined the Weyr’s healer, had gone to the Healer Hall, and had acquired the three journeyman healers.

“So you kept the older grouchy one?” Cisca said when Fiona had finished. “And why is that?”

Fiona shrugged, not quite certain of her reasoning. Cisca gave her a thoughtful look, then cocked her head toward Lorana and Kindan. “Are you keeping them, too?”

“I don’t know if ‘keep’ is the right word,” Fiona said defensively.

“We really haven’t made any plans,” Kindan said, looking over toward Lorana.

“We’re staying with Fiona,” Lorana declared. She glanced to the younger woman. “If you’ll have us.”

“I don’t see what’s in it for you,” Cisca said, pursing her lips thoughtfully as she gazed at Lorana.

“Well, for the time being, they get to ride Zirenth,” Fiona spoke up quickly. “And, of course, Lorana can ride Talenth any time.” She thought furiously for more inducements, but just then K’lior entered the Cavern and the conversation ebbed as they all waited for him to seat himself beside Cisca.

“You’re not twitting her, are you?” K’lior asked Cisca after he’d had his first revitalizing sip of klah.

Cisca pretended not to know what he was talking about and K’lior snorted in response, telling Fiona, “She’s jealous, you know.”

“I am not!” Cisca said, her eyes flashing with anger.

“Just the other day she said that she wanted a group of men, too,” K’lior said, smiling wickedly at Fiona.

Fiona was out of her chair in an instant, her cheeks burning.

“Fiona!” Cisca called even as she batted at K’lior and Kindan and Lorana rose from their chairs to follow the Telgar Weyrwoman. “I did not say that. I merely said that it must be hard—”

But Fiona merely turned back to her, saying carefully, “Weyrwoman, we’ve taken too much of your time,” before heading out to the Weyr Bowl and her queen.

Talenth! Tell Seban and Bekka we’re leaving!

“Fiona!” Lorana called from behind her. Fiona turned toward her, furious, her lips trembling. When Lorana caught up to her, she grabbed Fiona’s shoulders and looked into her eyes. “I don’t think she was trying to be mean. I think K’lior’s right: She’s just jealous.”

“Of what?” Fiona cried. “Of a mating flight?”

“No,” Lorana told her softly, “of us: what we are.”

“What are we?” Fiona asked quietly.

“Friends, I should hope,” Lorana said. “And more.”

“How can we be friends? We love the same person,” Fiona cried. She shook her head, tears flowing down her cheeks as she continued, “I can’t take him away from you, I swore I wouldn’t.” She looked up at Lorana. “Maybe it’s best if you and he were in another Weyr.”

“And what about T’mar?”

“I love him,” Fiona said, even as she realized, with the words, that he could be her anchor, he could save her from her misery.

“If we leave, what about T’mar?” Lorana said. “And Zirenth?”

Fiona absorbed her words slowly, her tears stilling and her eyes going wide. “Are you bound to them like you are to me?”

“I don’t think so,” Lorana said. She smiled at Fiona as she added, “But I’m glad to see that you realize we’re bound to each other.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, that’s something that you’re going to have to get over,” Lorana told her firmly. Fiona took a step back, straining at Lorana’s hold, her eyes wide. “If you love someone, you have to accept that sometimes you’ll hurt them, too.”

“But I don’t want to hurt you,” Fiona repeated. Her tears started again as she added, “And I love Kindan; I’m sorry, but it’s true.”

“Shh,” Lorana said softly, pulling Fiona closer to her. “Why shouldn’t you love him? You’ve got a big heart and you give it to everyone.”

The sound of footsteps broke the moment and Fiona looked up to see K’lior and Cisca standing by them.

“I’m sorry,” K’lior said, “I spoke without thinking.”

“He does that sometimes,” Cisca agreed, punching him lightly on the arm. “But, you know, he always means well.”

“Will you forgive me?” K’lior begged Fiona.

“Of course she will,” Lorana spoke up firmly. “She knows that sometimes we hurt those we love the most.”

“At least I do now,” Fiona said, dabbing away her tears.

“Come on back with us and we’ll give you a proper Fort lunch,” Cisca said, gesturing toward the Kitchen Cavern. “Besides,” she added, “Ellor would never forgive me if she didn’t get to feed up Lorana, here.”

“Oh,” Fiona said, trying for a lighter tone, “so this is all about Lorana, is it?”

“Of course it is,” Cisca said, holding out a hand toward Fiona. “It’s only because she can talk to all the dragons, you know.” When Fiona accepted her hand, Cisca maneuvered the smaller Weyrwoman until she had her arm wrapped around her shoulder. As they walked back to the Kitchen Cavern, she leaned down and said quietly, “You have a knack for making your life difficult.”

“My father preferred the word ‘interesting,’” Fiona said, glancing up into Cisca’s warm brown eyes.

“Well, just so you know, I’m not jealous,” Cisca told her. “I’ve seen a few of these relationships with the blue riders and green riders and—”

“They don’t last,” Fiona finished for her. Cisca’s eyes widened. “I know, I’ve seen them, too.”

“Just so you know what you’re getting into,” Cisca said. She looked measuringly at Fiona and then added more kindly, “Although, sometimes they do work out.”

“I know that, too,” Fiona said. “It takes a lot of work.”

“All relationships take work,” Cisca said. She shrugged. “Really, when you think about it, anything you care to do well takes work.”

“Now, you be good and listen to your father,” Merika called up from the ground below as Bekka settled into her perch behind Seban and in front of Fiona on Talenth’s golden neck.

“I will,” Bekka promised.

“And you,” Merika said, wagging a finger at Seban, “be good and listen to your daughter.”

“I will,” Seban called back with a chuckle.

“And both of you,” Merika went on, waving a hand in disgust at Seban’s amusement, “remember that there are those who love you and they’re only between away.”

“We will!” Bekka called back loudly.

“You too, Weyrwoman,” Cisca called, jumping up and down to gain Fiona’s attention.

“We will!” Fiona called back just as loudly, causing Cisca to gape in surprise and then laugh.

Come on, Talenth, let’s go! Fiona said to her queen as she waved goodbye to the Fort Weyr riders and weyrfolk gathered to see them off. Fort Hold.

The gold and bronze climbed up quickly in the afternoon air, circled the Star Stones once, and were gone, between to Fort Hold.

Fiona insisted upon circling Fort Hold’s Great Hall before they glided down for a landing in the field outside the Healer Hall.

“So, you’re back?” Betrony said as he approached from the Healer Hall. “And you’ve brought trouble?”

“We’ll need Birentir’s gear, sir,” Fiona said.

“Birentir, eh?” Betrony said, his eyebrows arching. “Good choice, good choice.” He glanced inquiringly toward Seban and Bekka.

Fiona got the hint and gestured toward them. “Masterhealer, may I present, with my compliments, Seban, formerly rider of blue Serth, and his daughter, Bekka.” To Bekka and Seban she said, “This is Masterhealer Betrony.”

“Kindan!” A loud voice boomed from the distance. “Report!”

“He’s supposed to use a drum,” Kindan growled affectionately. He turned to Lorana. “I’m sure he’d like to meet you, too.”

“And Kindan wants the protection,” Fiona added with a giggle. She waved Lorana off with Kindan. “I’ll catch up when we’re done here.”

Kindan waved a hand behind his back in acknowledgment.

“Don’t be too long and we’ll drill on recognition points!” Fiona shouted after them. She turned back to Betrony just as Lindorm and Cerra strode by with Seban and Bekka in tow.

“We’ll get them settled in, Master,” Cerra said in passing.

Betrony waved them on, adding, “I’ll have a longer meeting with you later.”

“Don’t worry,” Lindorm told Bekka as she turned wide, worried eyes toward the Masterhealer, “he’s not half as fearsome as the Masterharper.”

“You’ll be meeting him, too, tonight at dinner,” Betrony added with a smile.

“Don’t worry, Bekka,” Fiona told the young girl, “I survived.”

“You spent most of your time hiding up at the Hold, as I recall,” Betrony said reminiscently.

“Not true,” Fiona said. “Half the time I was down here, hiding from Father.”

“Or hunting tunnel snakes.”

“That, too,” Fiona agreed. She glanced toward the retreating forms of Seban and Bekka as they entered the hall. “They’re really very good.”

“We’ll see,” Betrony said judiciously. “Of course,” he cocked his head at her, “if they are, you know I’ll be wanting more.”

Fiona chuckled. She turned toward the Hold and said to the Master, “If you’ll forgive me, I think I might have time to pay my respects.”

“Your father’s up with the Masterharper,” Betrony said, gesturing in the other direction.

“Then I’m certain to have enough time to pay my respects!” Fiona said, marching off toward the distant Fort Hold.

The guards were overjoyed to greet her and waved her in through the great doors; once inside, Fiona turned to her left, heading toward the kitchen.

“There’s no use coming here—there’ll be no food until this evening, as you should well know!” a voice called out peremptorily as Fiona approached.

“Perhaps a cup of klah?” Fiona asked in her most waifish, pleading voice.

“Fiona?” the voice called.

“Neesa?” Fiona asked as she rounded the bend. She was met and hugged immediately by a round woman with gray hair and bright eyes. Immediately, Neesa thrust her away again with her hands on her shoulders, crying, “My, how you’ve grown!”

“I’ve nearly seventeen Turns now,” Fiona said. “I was back in time at Igen.”

“Back in time?” Neesa said. “Sallit, did you hear, Fiona went back in time.”

“She did, did she?” Sallit said as she bustled forward. “You’re so tall!”

“I grew,” Fiona said with a small smile.

“And you’ve got your own Weyr from what I hear,” Neesa said as she gestured toward the worktable. “Sit down, I want to hear all about it.”

“That’s good,” Fiona said, moving toward the table. Something in her manner alarmed Neesa who gave her a worried look and said, “What?”

Fiona’s face crumpled and she was in tears even before she found the bench. “I think I’ve done something terribly wrong!”

“Probably no worse than the tunnel snakes,” Sallit said, setting some mugs on the table and dragging a hot kettle from the nearby stove. “Let me brew us some fresh klah and see how the rolls are doing.”

“While you tell me all about it,” Neesa said, sitting beside Fiona and wrapping an arm around her comfortingly.

“You’ll hate me,” Fiona said.

“I doubt that,” Neesa said. “But it’s obvious you need to get this out of your heart.”

Slowly, Fiona told the two older women everything. Neesa had been her confidante, anchor, and disciplinarian all through her childhood at Fort Hold. The old cook doted on her and spoiled her, but only up to a certain point.

“You’re a Lady Holder and must act like it,” Neesa had told her many times.

Now, she haltingly told them about her time in Igen Weyr, about going to Telgar, about Talenth getting the sickness, how Lorana and Kindan came with the cure—

“He’s always been a good lad!” Neesa interjected.

—about T’mar’s injury—

“And he was the one …?” Sallit asked when Fiona got to that part of the story and Fiona nodded. “Ohhh!”

“Keep going,” Neesa prompted. Fiona told them about the mating flight and its consequences and how she was trying—

“You’ve taken a load on your plate and that’s no mistake,” Sallit said, glancing to Neesa.

“But you’re not the first,” Neesa told Fiona soothingly.

“What should I do?”

“You do what’s right for you,” Neesa told her. “You do what your heart tells you.”

“But my heart—”

“If you go this way, understand that it’s hard,” Neesa said. “For some it works, but for most it doesn’t.”

“Lorana said that there’d be pain.”

“She’s a smart one,” Sallit said. “There’s no love without pain, don’t let anyone fool you.”

“So I’m not terrible?” Fiona asked them. “I can do this?”

“I didn’t say that you could,” Neesa replied quickly. “Nor did I say that you couldn’t, either.” Fiona gave her a miserable look. “It’s your path, child. You’re the only one who can know for certain. And you’re not terrible.”

Neesa rose and Fiona rose with her. “You’d best get back to them, either way,” Neesa said. “You said you were going to drill them on going between?”

Fiona nodded.

“So it’s best you be about it, then,” Neesa said, motioning Fiona toward the door. “Come on, I’ll walk you back.”

When they reached the Healer Hall, Neesa stopped and hugged Fiona.

“You know, you had his heart a long time ago,” Neesa said. “Maybe you did him a kindness, taking those Turns in the past.”

Fiona shook her head. “I can’t be Koriana.”

Neesa smiled at her. “You never were: You were always your own person.” She reached out a finger and touched Fiona’s nose lightly. “You remember that. Remember that you’re special.”

“I’ll try.”

“Good,” Neesa said. “Now leave.” Fiona’s eyes widened and the old cook grinned at her. “The sooner you’re gone, the sooner you can come back.”