Dragongirl

SEVENTEEN

“We’ll keep one Wing in reserve,” M’tal said, glancing thoughtfully at the three other wingleaders standing in the archway joining Ista’s Kitchen Cavern with the Weyr Bowl. “S’maj, your Wing’s been in the thick of things far too often, I want you to sit back this time.”

The grizzled old dragonrider snorted and nodded. “It’s time you others picked up the slack.”

The two remaining wingleaders chuckled. Both were younger than either M’tal or S’maj, but both had been dragonriders for close to twenty Turns. J’lian, a veteran of J’lantir’s famous “lost Wing,” was the youngest, having “only” thirty-three Turns.

“We’ll take care of the Fall for you, grandpa,” J’lian said, his eyes twinkling.

“Just make sure you get older, young one,” S’maj growled.

“As long as there are queens in the sky,” J’lian said.

“If we need any more help, we’ll call up the reserves,” M’tal said, referring to the half-wing that he’d decided to leave behind in reserve at the Weyr.

“Well, it’s not like they’ll be shirking,” S’maj said, “seeing as they’re hauling our firestone.”

“All the work and none of the glory,” J’lian said, shaking his head and glancing pointedly at the older wingleader.

“It’s enough to fly, dragonrider,” S’maj said, picking up on the bronze rider’s implied gibe.

M’tal smiled at the banter. He waved for the others to precede him onto the warm sands of the Weyr Bowl where all the fighting dragons clustered in a small portion of the vast expanse.

Thread would be falling over Igen, roiled and tossed by the turbulent air rising from the hot desert sands below. M’tal was worried about that turbulent air, but he kept his fear to himself, projecting a carefully schooled air of professional nonchalance.

“Fly well,” two voices called from behind him. He turned and spied Salina with Dalia by her side. M’tal smiled and sketched a salute to the two women. As he turned away from the two very different women in his life, M’tal found time to send a stray hope in Fiona’s direction that she, Kindan, and Lorana had managed to cement their relationship as well as he had with Dalia and Salina. It helped that both were mature women and not given to fits of jealousy. He couldn’t imagine Tullea in a similar situation but, he reflected as he clambered up Gaminth’s side, perhaps the Benden Weyrwoman would come to surprise him as well.

What! M’tal thought as Gaminth bucked and dipped the moment they came out of between over Igen. He was thrown first forward and then backward violently as Gaminth searched for an altitude where the winds were calmer. The hot air roiling up from the roasting sands below churned and swirled unpredictably, making it impossible to keep formation. The turbulence was far worse than he’d feared.

Spread out! M’tal ordered. Gaminth, have S’maj’s Wing go high as lookout.

The bronze dragon rumbled in agreement as he relayed the messages and the three fighting Wings spread out, seeking desperately to maintain what little formation they could in the fierce winds. Dimly, M’tal had the impression of S’maj’s Wing clawing upward, searching for a less turbulent level from which to scan for Thread.

This is going to be rough, M’tal thought.

The air is troubled, hot, Gaminth thought. Perhaps too hot for Thread?

No, I don’t think so, M’tal responded even as he heard a dragon bugle warningly, its voice distant and thin in the rough air.

S’maj has spotted it, Gaminth said. M’tal nodded, craning his neck upward and twisting from side to side to spy the thin wisps of deadly Thread.

There! he called, pointing at a clump and willing Gaminth to rise to meet it. With a bellow, the bronze surged upward in response to his unspoken command, jaws open, ready to flame. But as they approached, a buffet pushed them to one side while pushing the Thread away to another. Instinctively, Gaminth dove after the twisting Thread, twisting around to follow it as it slipped away again and again, saved by the fickle wind. Finally, to their surprise, the winds favored them, nearly blowing the Thread directly onto them but not before Gaminth’s flame rendered it harmless ash.

Good! M’tal cried, slapping his dragon affectionately on the neck. Let’s get back to the others.

But even as they resumed their climb, M’tal found himself astonished as he saw how scattered his Wings had become, each dragon following their individual clumps of Thread on the fickle winds.

Shards! M’tal swore to himself as he tried to imagine a way to reunite the dragons into a coherent fighting force. This is going to cost us.

As if in confirmation, two dragons, one after the other, bellowed in pain and vanished between as they tried to fight off Thread that had fallen upon them unseen or were suddenly blown by the churning winds aloft.

One returned quickly, the other, M’tal noted with a grimace, did not return at all.

Tell S’maj to join in, M’tal said. We’re going to need every dragon.

Should we call up the reserves?

No, M’tal said, it’s going to be hard enough to get more firestone without exhausting them beforehand.

They rejoined the forward line of dragons in their fight against Thread. Gaminth spotted and dove for a new clump, burned it, and rose again in search of more prey—all with the ease of previous Falls. Perhaps they were beyond the turbulent air, M’tal mused hopefully.

A sudden shout, a hiss of air and a dragon’s bellow were all the warning M’tal had as another dragon dove over his head, its jaws agape with flame roaring into a clump of Thread directly above and just behind him.

M’tal had only a moment to recognize that the other rider’s sudden appearance was all that had saved Gaminth from a terrible Threading—and probably death—before the dragon and rider veered upward sharply and disappeared once more between. They were not gone so quickly that M’tal didn’t get a good look at the rider’s back—and the large double black bars encased in a bright red diamond on the back of his leathers.

M’tal knew those colors well, for he’d worn them himself for many Turns. The man who saved him was wearing the colors of Benden’s Weyrleader.

M’tal had barely time to send an unspoken thanks after the rider before another clump appeared and he and Gaminth dove upon it, flaming it quickly to char.

As they scanned for more Thread, M’tal glanced over the condition of his Wings and saw that all were spread out, ragged, many had holes left by missing dragons—injured or killed by the Thread blown erratically by the hot desert air.

Here and there, however, M’tal spotted another dragon winking into existence above them, burning through unseen clumps in the same manner as he’d been saved. Each time, it was the same dragon and, whenever he could see, the rider the Benden Weyrleader’s badge. Light glinted off the dragon’s hide, specks of gold mixed in with darker colors.

A rumble from Gaminth distracted him and M’tal leaned forward as his dragon burned through another clump of Thread and another. M’tal forgot about the Benden Weyrleader as he resumed his fight against the fickle Thread.

“Shards, M’tal, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” B’nik protested once again, pulling back from the older dragonrider’s hearty embrace.

“You don’t?” M’tal repeated, his hands on B’nik’s shoulders, pushing the other man away from him so that he could see his eyes. B’nik had not much of a sense of humor, but it was foul enough that he might try to play a trick on his ex-Weyrleader, especially if Tullea had urged him on.

“No,” B’nik repeated firmly, using his own hands to push M’tal’s hands off him and stepping further away, “I don’t.”

M’tal’s face fell. “Then if it wasn’t you, who stole your jacket?”

“My jacket?” B’nik repeated blankly.

“Your Weyrleader’s jacket,” M’tal insisted. “I might have been mistaken in you—the distance was great—but the jacket and its emblem are unmistakable.” Which hardly bore the mention, as the purpose of the Weyrleader’s jacket was to be visible at all distances.

“No one stole my jacket,” B’nik assured him. “It’s in my quarters, just oiled.”

“Someone rode Fall with us,” M’tal said. “Someone rode Fall and saved us.”

“But it wasn’t me.”

“No,” M’tal said after a moment of thoughtful silence, “I think it was.”

B’nik drew breath to make a heated retort but M’tal raised a hand placatingly. “Not today, but perhaps some time in the future.”

“You mean I timed it?” B’nik asked in surprise.

“Yes,” M’tal said. “I expect you did.”

“But when?” B’nik asked. “And why only me? Why not a full Wing at least?”

“I don’t know,” M’tal said. “I suspect perhaps you wanted firsthand knowledge of the effects.”

B’nik pursed his lips thoughtfully. “That would be prudent.”

“Indeed it would,” M’tal said. “Nothing less than I’d expect from you.”

“Expect what?” Tullea demanded as she strode up to join them in the Weyr Bowl.

“M’tal thinks I timed it back to his Fall today,” B’nik said.

“Saved my hide,” M’tal said.

Tullea paled. “Timed it?” she said to B’nik. “When?”

“Not yet, apparently,” B’nik said, “or I’d remember.”

“You certainly would,” Tullea agreed feelingly. She turned to M’tal. “How many others were there?”

“I only saw him,” M’tal told her. He glanced over to B’nik’s quarters and Caranth lounging in his weyr. His eyes narrowed as he added, “Caranth looked darker than he does now.”

“It could have been a trick of the light,” B’nik said.

“Possibly,” M’tal said, shrugging off his doubts. “I only caught glimpses of you.”

“So you’re going to time it, eh?” Tullea asked, turning her head up appraisingly to her Weyrleader and mate.

“Apparently.”

“In a way, I’m saddened,” M’tal said. The others looked at him in surprise. “I was hoping that we wouldn’t need to time it.”

Tullea gave murmured heartfelt agreement.

“Why?” B’nik asked, turning from her to M’tal.

“Because it means that we soon won’t have the strength to fly alone,” the older dragonrider said.

B’nik pursed his lips and nodded in grim agreement.

“The baby’s fine,” Lorana told Fiona, barely keeping her irritation out of her voice. “Why don’t you check on Talenth? She’s ready to clutch.”

“She’s got nearly a fortnight before that,” Fiona said, glancing from their quarters back to Talenth’s weyr, where the gold was dozing; shifting once in a while to find a more comfortable position. Fiona turned back to Lorana and added quietly, “But if you want time to yourself, I’ll let you be.”

Lorana gave her a grateful smile. “I appreciate your efforts but—”

“You need some time to yourself,” Fiona finished for her with a smile.

“I understand.” She rose and made her way to Talenth’s weyr and the Weyr Bowl beyond, turning back to add, “Call if you need anything.”

Lorana raised a hand in weary acknowledgment and then stretched herself out on the bed. Shaneese and Bekka both assured her that she would feel worse before the baby arrived, but for the moment Lorana did her best not to consider the notion. She was only in her sixteenth week with easily another twenty-four before the baby was born, but she was already heartily sick of “peeing for two” as Shaneese had so succinctly put it.

The baby certainly seemed to enjoy its confinement to the fullest extent possible, going so far as to kick his mother awake in the middle of the night. And, through their strange and special link, whenever Lorana woke, Fiona woke with her. Deep inside her, Lorana recognized how much of a gift that was. She was extremely grateful that the younger woman not only never complained but positively delighted in doing everything she could to help. A warm flood of love for Fiona’s kind nature warred within Lorana against her need to vent, to release all the tension that was forever building in her, to get away from all the demands of her life.

And lately, she’d been having dark dreams. Her mind went to the strange brooch Tenniz had given her and his note: The way forward is dark and long. A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern.

The first price? Lorana thrust the thought away as the baby kicked once more, as if in protest.

“You’re worrying too much,” Bekka said as soon as she caught sight of Fiona in the Kitchen Cavern. Bekka and Seban had been delighted with the request that they return—as healer apprentices—to Telgar and between them had convinced Jeila, Lorana, and Fiona that they and Telgar’s established midwives would be more than capable of handling any pregnancy. The two were welcomed back to the Weyr with such enthusiasm that Fiona suspected it would be hard for them to consider returning to the Healer Hall. Not only that, but Seban exerted a steadying influence on Birentir while still maintaining a respectful deference for the journeyman’s greater medical knowledge. Fiona got the distinct impression that while Masterhealer Betrony would sorely miss Bekka and her father, that he’d been quite happy to force Birentir to take on the mentoring role. For her part, Fiona found herself looking at Birentir as someone who was being groomed as a future Master himself.

Fiona’s eyes danced with delight at the young girl’s complete lack of respect. She gestured toward an empty table, saying, “Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”

Bekka followed her and sat opposite, immediately continuing, “You worry too much about Lorana.”

“She practically threw me out of our quarters,” Fiona confessed. She raised her eyes to meet Bekka’s and her tone shifted. “I do worry about her,” she said. “She’s like a big sister to me, more even, and Kindan loves her so and it’s his child, so …”

“It’s going to be all right,” Bekka told her firmly. The incongruity of the small, ever-active young girl assuring the senior Weyrwoman was not lost on her. She leaned forward to peer up into Fiona’s face. “I’ve seen a lot of pregnancies, there’s nothing wrong with this one.”

Bekka’s assurance had assumed greater merit after she’d been instrumental in the last two of Telgar Weyr’s deliveries. The two established midwives had both found themselves quite relieved to have her additional knowledge—not to mention her irrepressible energy—available for their aid.

“But I’m still worried,” Fiona said, her voice low and troubled.

“Your worry isn’t helping either Lorana or the baby, Weyrwoman,” Bekka told her as gently as she could. “It makes the both of them more nervous.”

Fiona nodded and took a long steadying breath. “What should I do, then?”

“Stop fussing so much,” Bekka said. “You’re acting like you’re afraid she’ll lose the baby at any moment.”

Fiona started to speak but Bekka stopped her with a raised hand.

“Honestly, Weyrwoman, it’ll be all right,” Bekka said. “The baby seems to be thriving, Lorana’s doing well—”

“She’s having nightmares,” Fiona told her.

“That’s normal,” Bekka assured her. “Many mothers, particularly first-time mothers, worry and have nightmares.”

“She’s afraid she’ll lose the baby.”

“And you’re afraid you’ll lose the both of them, aren’t you?” Bekka asked knowingly. When Fiona, frowning, gave her a reluctant nod, the young girl continued, “Isn’t it possible that the both of them are picking up on your distress?”

Fiona bit her lips glumly and nodded once more. “What can I do?”

“Just be certain that they’re both loved and cared for,” Bekka said. “Lorana’s tall, taller than you, and she’s broad enough in the hips that she’ll have no problem birthing this child.”

Fiona frowned, still unable to rid herself of a deep foreboding.

“If you can’t keep your moods in check, then it would be better if Lorana found quarters by herself,” Bekka said.

A new voice joined in from Fiona’s side. “Perhaps you’re worrying about Lorana to avoid worrying about other things.”

Fiona turned; it was Shaneese. The headwoman sat beside her, laying a basket full of warm rolls on the table. Bekka dove in and shamelessly grabbed one, gesturing for Shaneese to continue talking.

“Like what?” Fiona asked.

“Like Talenth and her clutch,” Shaneese said. “Or you and Kindan.”

“Or her and T’mar,” Bekka added around a mouthful of roll and a mischievous look.

“So what do I do?” Fiona asked, turning toward the older woman.

“Spend more time with T’mar,” Bekka said. “Let Lorana and Kindan have time together; let Lorana have time alone.”

“She’s got some good ideas,” Shaneese told Fiona. She turned to the young healer, her eyes twinkling. “You know, she’s just about as difficult as you, Weyrwoman!”

Fiona smiled even as Bekka growled in response.

“I’ll be right next door,” Fiona said to Talenth as she made her way to T’mar’s quarters that night. Lorana and Kindan had both protested her plans, but she had heard the hidden relief in their voices. She kept Shaneese’s and Bekka’s words firmly in her mind and kept her expression neutral, her thoughts calm as she bade them good night and made her way to her queen’s lair.

Talenth gave her a drowsy acknowledgment and went just as quickly back to sleep.

I’ll bet you’ll be happy to fly again, Fiona thought to her queen, only to be met with silence. With a sympathetic grin, Fiona walked out of the dragon’s lair and over to T’mar’s quarters. She greeted Zirenth warmly and crossed the distance to T’mar’s room quickly.

T’mar met her at the entrance. “Weyrwoman—?”

Fiona wrapped her arms around him. “Just hold me,” she said. “Hold me all night.”

Wordlessly, T’mar scooped her up and brought her to his bed. He left her there as he finished readying for sleep, pausing only long enough to pass her one of the nightgowns she’d left in his closet. She slipped into it, carefully folding her day clothes and placing them on a nearby chair neatly, in readiness for any need.

With a nod, he gestured for her to get up as he pulled the blanket aside and motioned for her to get into the bed first, carefully removing the warming stones that had been set at the end of the bed. Fiona scampered in gratefully, her feet finding the warm spot and relishing it even as T’mar crawled in beside her and pulled the blankets over the both of them. Silently, she nuzzled her head up under his and was soon asleep.

She awoke in the middle of the night, her face wet with tears and she realized, in surprise, that they were hers.

“What is it?” T’mar whispered, hugging her more tightly.

“Something’s going to happen,” Fiona said, her chest tight with dread. “Something horrible.”

“We’ll survive,” T’mar said.

“Not all of us.”

The dark mood remained with Fiona over the next several days, even as three more riders returned to full fighting ability, giving Telgar a strength of one hundred and forty-six—nearly five full Wings.

Perhaps, she reasoned, it was because she spent so little time now with Kindan and Lorana, or perhaps it was because Talenth was so lethargic, burdened with the weight of her eggs.

Terin caught up with her as she was finishing her morning rounds of the injured.

“I haven’t seen you in a while!” Fiona called in greeting. The younger girl blushed brightly.

“I’m sorry,” Terin stammered, “it’s just that F’jian …”

“I can understand,” Fiona said. She raised an eyebrow conspiratorially. “Should I have Bekka see you?”

“Oh, no!” Terin said, raising her hands defensively. She blushed again. “It’s not—well, we—I mean, I’m not ready for that just yet.”

“Anyway, it’s wise to wait a Turn and a half,” Fiona said, referring to an old saying: “A Turn and a half proves the love.”

“Not everyone waits that long,” Terin said, her eyes flashing challengingly.

“Some wait longer,” Fiona said with no bite in her tone. Terin drew breath for a quick retort and cut herself off, a thoughtful look on her face.

“But when dragons rise …”

“Dragons are a passion of their own,” Fiona reminded the younger girl. Terin blushed again and ducked her head in a quick nod of agreement. The thought caused Fiona to reach out tenderly with her mind to her queen, even though she was certain that Talenth was sleeping—

“She’s clutching!” Fiona yelled, turning on her heels and sprinting toward the Hatching Grounds.

Why didn’t you tell me?

I knew what to do, Talenth said, sounding a bit strained as she passed another egg. Come see.

Lorana, Talenth is clutching! Fiona called excitedly.

I know, come quickly, Lorana responded, causing Fiona a moment’s chagrin at the notion that her dragon had chosen Lorana to escort her to the Hatching Grounds—until she dismissed the notion as silly; doubtless Lorana had heard Talenth’s departure from her weyr and had, naturally, followed.

Fiona was down the stairs and racing across the Weyr Bowl as she realized that Talenth’s clutching was early.

“Fiona!” T’mar’s voice called out from the Kitchen Cavern. “What is it?”

“Talenth’s clutching!” Fiona shouted in response, not breaking her stride as she raced on by.

“Talenth?” she heard H’nez’s voice echo. “What about Tolarth?” “It’s early!” another voice declared ominously.

Fiona disregarded the complaint, passing into the Hatching Grounds, her feet registering the warmth of the sands as she raced to the far end where Talenth lay exhausted after her labors, her eyes whirling in a swift green of pure contentment.

“I count twenty-one,” Lorana said as Fiona approached. She reached out for the younger Weyrwoman, giving Fiona a cautioning look. “I’ve heard that’s very good for a first clutch.”

“Talenth, you’re marvelous!” Fiona agreed even as she eyed the eggs and tried to hide her disappointment. No queen! Twenty-one eggs and no queen egg. And, were the eggs smaller than normal?

There’s no queen egg, Talenth said, sounding disappointed in herself.

“That’s normal for a first mating flight,” Fiona assured her steadfastly. “But now that you’ve figured out how to do it, you’ll be certain to have a queen next clutch.”

“Having them early will mean that they’re ready for flying against Thread that much sooner,” T’mar told the queen, his tone full of approval. Fiona shot him a questioning look, which the Weyrleader subdued with a quick jerk of his head.

And the clutch is small, Talenth said. Are the eggs smaller, too?

Don’t worry, love, they’ll be fine, Fiona told her. She continued to comfort her queen for several minutes, only leaving when Talenth was calm enough to lay her head down on the warm sands for a well-deserved rest.

Let me know if you need anything, Fiona said, as she made her way from the Hatching Ground once more into the Weyr Bowl. Talenth made no response; the sound of her slow, steady breathing carried clearly to the entrance: She was already asleep.

“She’s asleep,” Fiona said as T’mar joined her. She looked up worriedly. “Did we do wrong, to have that mating flight the way we did?”

T’mar pursed his lips thoughtfully. Finally, he shook his head. “A queen rises when she’s ready,” he said. He gave her a wry look as he added, “Do you think you really managed to align her passions to yours rather than the other way around?”

The notion startled Fiona and T’mar chuckled at her expression. “A queen often mates for the good of the Weyr, often against her rider’s desires or interests,” he said. “In the course of your life, there’s no guarantee that you might not find yourself with several partners.”

“Several more partners,” Fiona corrected with a smile.

“Riders are often much like their dragons,” T’mar allowed noncommittally, although his eyes gleamed humorously.

“You still haven’t answered the question.”

T’mar shook his head. “I’ve given you all the answer I have, Weyrwoman.”

“But if—”

T’mar cleared his throat and grabbed her by the arm, forcing her closer to him. “What I’m more worried about,” he told her in a voice pitched for her ears alone, “is whether the low numbers and early clutch are related to the cure to the dragon sickness.”

Fiona paled as she absorbed his meaning.

“We won’t know until the others clutch,” T’mar said, gesturing for her to start moving once more. “As I said, and as you know, it’s not uncommon for a queen’s first clutch to be smaller than her norm.”

“And she was ill not long before.”

T’mar acknowledged that with a nod. “That would have an impact, certainly.”

“So what do we do?”

“Wait,” T’mar replied. “If the other clutches are normal, then we’ve probably no cause for alarm.”

It was odd, Fiona thought as the days passed, that T’mar’s worries about the possible effects of the dragon cure would cause Fiona to dismiss or at least downplay the various whispered conversations that abruptly ceased when she came near. She knew they were talking about Talenth’s clutch and was certain that some of the conversations were condemning her for allowing Talenth to select Zirenth—as if she had a choice!—over a different dragon, one with a conscious rider and not the pairing of Lorana and Kindan.

Fiona was pretty certain that some of the more traditional weyrfolk were also chatting critically about her own choice of partners, but Turns of similar such chatter as she grew up at Fort Hold had inured her to the effects of such gossip—“Some people can’t live without carping” had been Neesa’s response Turns back when a very young Fiona had been taunted by some of the Hold youngsters.

Fiona’s reaction was quite different if she overheard any criticism of Lorana or Kindan, as one group of weyrfolk discovered when she overheard them.

“Lorana and Kindan saved the dragons of Pern!” Fiona roared at them. “And anyone who cannot give them all due honor for their sacrifices need not remain in this Weyr.”

The women blanched, one looking beseechingly in Shaneese’s direction. That was a mistake, as Shaneese bustled over to the group and weighed in heavily on Fiona’s side.

“I can see that you’ve all had too much idle time on your hands,” Shaneese had said in conclusion, “and I’m glad that you’ve all volunteered to help the healers with their medical laundry.” She glanced toward Fiona, who gave her a slight nod of encouragement. “The Weyrwoman and I are certain that you will give all your efforts to ensuring that all their fabrics and tools are thoroughly sterilized—steamed for a full ten minutes.”

Stunned beyond words, the women could only nod in mute agreement.

Fiona’s determination to talk with Lorana and Kindan about the issue was undermined the next morning just after breakfast when Lorana announced, wide-eyed, “Minith has clutched!”

Before Fiona or any of the others could react, Jeila dashed up, crying, “Tolarth is clutching!”

Everyone raced to the Hatching Grounds where Fiona quickly set herself as guard, turning back every gawker with a stern, “She needs no distractions!”

Indeed, Jeila was the only one the queen would allow into the Hatching Grounds. Talenth, a mother with only a sevenday’s more experience, was tolerant of the other dragon’s mood.

It’s easier when no one’s watching, Talenth told her rider calmly, adding tantalizingly, Ooh, that’s a large one!

Lorana shared a smile with Fiona but said nothing, waiting patiently with H’nez and the other riders until Jeila finally called them in.

“That’s a queen egg, for sure!” H’nez said as he noticed the larger gold-hued egg that Tolarth had pushed off to one side and was watching protectively.

“Aren’t you wonderful?” Jeila cried, scratching her queen’s eye ridges and beaming with pride. She turned to Fiona, saying, “Twenty-two and one’s a queen!”

“I’m glad we’ve got a queen egg,” J’lian said as he and the other riders approached.

“That’s forty-three altogether,” Kindan said.

“That makes a good dent on our losses,” T’mar said, bestowing a huge grin on Jeila and H’nez both.

“And a queen!” H’nez said, as proud as if he’d done the clutching himself.

“Not bad at all for a first clutching,” one of the blue riders allowed. Catching sight of Fiona, he added hastily, “Meaning no disrespect to you, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona waved a hand dismissively. “None taken.”

“Tullea’s Minith clutched twenty-two,” Lorana reported. “One queen egg.”

T’mar and Kindan exchanged worried looks to which Fiona added a frown and then, with a jerk of her head toward Lorana, gestured for them to head back to the Weyr Bowl.

The two men followed her lead, catching up to where she waited out of earshot of the others.

“Could this have something to do with the cure to the illness?” Fiona asked the question that was troubling all of them.

“That’s only three queens, Fiona,” Kindan said. She gave him a look; his tone had made his own unease quite clear.

“If the cure means that the queens clutch early and light, how will that affect us?” T’mar asked, glancing first at Fiona, then at Kindan.

“Well,” Kindan said, “it will mean that we have fighting dragons sooner—”

“Only a little—” T’mar interjected.

“—and that we’ll take longer to replenish our numbers,” Kindan finished, nodding in agreement with T’mar’s remark.

“We don’t have enough at the moment,” Fiona said. “Getting only a few—”

“We can’t say what the future holds,” T’mar said. “It could easily mean that the queens will clutch more often.”

“It could also be just a response to whatever was in the cure,” Kindan said. Fiona arched an eyebrow inquiringly. “It would make sense for the queens to have clutches quickly right after they’ve been cured so that they can produce more queens to increase the dragon population.”

“Then why didn’t Talenth have a queen?” Fiona said. “For that matter, why didn’t each clutch consist only of queens?”

Kindan shrugged. “Lorana and I only learned enough—and were taught enough—to know how to make the cure; we don’t know nearly enough to understand all that was involved.”

“From what I remember, Kitti Ping, who made the dragons, spent her entire life learning her trade and couldn’t pass it all on to her daughter,” T’mar said.

Kindan frowned. “I’m not sure how much of our knowledge of Wind Blossom is accurate; it seems that that watch-whers were created more by design than mistake.” He held up a hand to contain T’mar’s objections. “I think our Records from the times were purposely misleading.”

Weyrleader and Weyrwoman gave him shocked looks.

“It wouldn’t be the first time that Records were changed according to the feelings of the times,” Kindan said.

Fiona made a face and nodded in agreement. “I saw plenty of that in the Records at Igen,” she said. “It was obvious that those writing the Records had their own views of things.”

“And, as they were writing the Records, those were the views that are remembered,” T’mar said with an understanding nod of his own. He turned back to Kindan. “But that still doesn’t answer our question now.”

“No,” Kindan said, “it doesn’t.”

“I’m more worried about how Lorana will take it,” Fiona said. Kindan gave her a sharp look, so Fiona explained, “How could she, after all that she gave to find the cure, handle learning that that same cure has caused such harm?”

“We don’t know that it has,” T’mar said. “If the other queens clutch early and light, that would be another matter.”

“And so, in the meantime we do nothing?” Fiona asked, looking askance at the Weyrleader.

“I think better that than assuming the worst.”

Fiona’s expression made it clear that she was not content with that answer, but she chose not to argue it.

“The next question is what to do with all the onlookers once the excitement has died down,” T’mar said, partly to distract her from her concerns.

“Well, I’ve already spoken to Talenth and she’s no problem with having some of the younger ones sleep in the Hatching Grounds with her,” Fiona said. Her eyes flashed in challenge as she continued, “And I’m definitely going to have Xhinna touching all the likely eggs.”

“There’s only one queen egg,” T’mar said.

“Who said anything about a queen egg?”

More news came at lunch—Melirth at Fort Weyr had clutched, again only twenty-two eggs—and then again before dinner, when Lorana relayed the news that Bidenth of Ista had laid twenty-two eggs as well.

“All the queens are laying light,” Lorana remarked anxiously to Kindan.

Kindan shook his head, flexing open a hand in a dismissive manner. “There were queen eggs in the clutches at Fort and Ista.”

“We talked about this earlier,” Fiona said to the ex–queen rider, trying to assuage her concerns, “and we thought it might be possible that the cure caused the queens to clutch early.” She heard Lorana’s horrified gasp and added quickly, “To get them started again, and rebuild our numbers.”

“But they’re laying light!” Lorana said, her eyes wide and worried. “Kindan, what if they only lay light?”

“They might lay more often,” Kindan suggested, shaking his head. “We don’t know what Wind Blossom planned, perhaps this is normal.”

“And, even if they don’t, at least they’re not going to die of the sickness,” Fiona said. “I think we should consider this a good thing.”

“What if it isn’t?” Lorana asked. “What if this is a sign that something’s wrong?”

Nothing Kindan nor Fiona could say to the ex–queen rider seemed to console her. And it was clear that Lorana hadn’t been the only one to come to that conclusion.

Naturally, Tullea chose to appear in person to vent her ire.

“Saved the dragons!” Tullea snarled as she confronted a stricken Lorana in the middle of the Weyr Bowl the very next day. From the Hatching Grounds, Talenth shrieked angrily, echoed immediately by Tolarth and the bronzes of the Weyr.

Fiona saw the ruckus and raced over to it, coming in on the last of Tullea’s words.

“I don’t know about you, Weyrwoman, but I owe Lorana not only my queen’s life, but my own sanity as well,” Fiona cut in quickly, her blue-green eyes flashing ominously even as all the dragons in the Weyr backed her up with a tremendous roar of discontent. “If my queen had gone between—as hers had—I doubt I would have had the courage to continue seeking to cure others.”

“Maybe she didn’t,” Tullea said with a bitter smile. “Maybe all she did was create a way where the rest of us would suffer her same agony.”

Fiona’s hand flew from her side but she contained herself before actually striking the Benden Weyrwoman. A bronze dragon burst into view overhead and warbled anxiously—B’nik with Caranth.

“I understand your worry, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said, folding her fingers against her palm to leave only the index finger pointing. “Lorana shares your concern, too. And you may be certain that I—and she—will do all in our power to solve this problem if it is, truly, a problem.”

B’nik leaped down from Caranth and raced to Tullea, wrapping an arm around her waist and tugging her away from the others.

“There’s a queen egg at Benden, isn’t there?” Fiona called to forestall any futher outburst.

“Yes,” Tullea snapped. “Just the one.”

“Talenth laid none,” Fiona said. “Perhaps you should count yourself lucky.”

“I’m sure they’re all greens,” Tullea said, “given the way they were mated.”

Fiona firmly stood on her temper, letting her anger dispel with one long sigh and only acknowledging Tullea’s words with a curt nod.

“Greens are good fighters,” T’mar said breathlessly, having raced from his weyr up to Fiona’s side. “We could use as many of them as we could get.”

Tullea snorted in response but allowed herself, finally, to be led away by B’nik.

It was only after the gold and bronze dragons had disappeared between that T’mar allowed himself a sigh and gave Fiona an appreciative look. “B’nik has much on his hands.”

“We’re well shut of her,” Kindan assured Lorana later that evening over a quiet dinner in their quarters. Fiona was present although she’d already declared that she would be staying with T’mar that evening.

“She is a bit … difficult, isn’t she?” Fiona said. She turned toward the older woman. “I don’t know how you managed with her.”

“Not very well,” Lorana admitted. “Nor very long, when it comes to it.” She glanced speculatively at Fiona and the younger woman easily guessed that the ex–queen rider was wondering how long their relationship would remain equitable.

Fiona reached for one of Lorana’s hands, grabbed it, and pressed it to her cheek. Always.

Lorana gave her a surprised look and then shook her head, her lips parted in a smile.

“Whatever we have, the Records at Igen—and here at Telgar—never mentioned,” Fiona told her feelingly.

“There have been plently of multiple partnerships,” Kindan said.

“That’s not what I’m talking about,” Fiona said.

“I know,” Kindan said. “I was going to say that the Records do not mention any mating flight like ours.”

“Another thing for which to be grateful to Lorana,” Fiona said, catching the dark-haired woman’s deep brown eyes. “She was the only one who could keep Zirenth from going between when T’mar had his concussion.” She paused for a moment, reflecting on her own frantic memories of that horrid day, and added, “Without Lorana we would have suffered a triple tragedy, perhaps worse.”

“Which only goes to say that you,” Lorana retorted, nodding first to Fiona and then to Kindan, “both of you, have very prejudiced views.”

“For which I, for one, am extremely grateful!” Fiona said with a chuckle. She released Lorana’s hand and gently gave it back to her. “And now, I think it best if I left the two of you—I mean, the three of you!—to your rest.”

T’mar was already asleep when she entered his quarters. He’d resumed drilling the wings as soon as Tullea had left, in preparation for their next Fall over Upper Crom in four days’ time and, perhaps in response to Tullea’s tirade, he’d worked the entire Weyr into exhaustion.

Fiona spent a moment examining his features. He seemed more careworn than she’d ever recalled him, his face pinched in a combination of pain and anger. She turned away, shucking off her clothes and slipping into her nightgown before looking back toward him once more, her own expression anxious. Was this the right thing to do? Should she leave Kindan and Lorana to themselves, instead of being a constant reminder—goad, if one were honest—of the things neither had? She, a queen; he, a bronze—and both a love uncomplicated by third parties?

Some hint of displeasure seeped into her from the distance, words unspoken but their intent clear: Stop that!

In the same unspoken, unvoiced manner, Fiona apologized and then buried her thinking deeper, beyond the ken of either Lorana or Talenth. And what if something were to happen to either? How would Fiona survive without her queen? How would she survive without Lorana? The bond between her and the older woman wasn’t quite as strong as that between rider and dragon, Fiona knew, but it was also different. Beyond love, beyond friendship, beyond—even—being. They weren’t two halves of the same whole; they were two women bound not just by their love for the same man—which, in itself, ought to be an endless well of jealousy and betrayal—but also by mutual respect, caring, and love for each other and the two dragons in their lives. Fiona sighed as she realized that Lorana was even more than that; she was the only person on Pern who felt all dragons, and their deaths, intimately. Fiona’s eyes snapped open for a brief worried moment as she pondered: How could anyone suffer such pain and survive? Until she realized, as her eyes closed and her breathing slowed once more, that the pain was balanced by an equal measure of joy.

She turned toward T’mar, seeking to bury her head against his shoulder and wrap herself around his warmth, and opened her eyes for a moment. Still asleep, he moved with her, his arms going around her and, even as she watched, the care and worry etched in his face smoothing away, vanishing. Fiona stretched her neck up and kissed him on the cheek before burrowing once more into his warmth and drifting into a restful, dreamless sleep.