“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.
&n
bsp; 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.”
FOURTEEN
Sands heat,
Dragons prove.
Times meet,
Eggs move.
Telgar Weyr, morning, AL 508.2.15
Birentir’s ministrations to T’mar the following morning proved Mekiar’s point: The healer was courteous, attentive, and efficient. T’mar, however, was querulous, difficult, and restless.
“You be careful, bronze rider, Talenth is certain that she’ll rise before the Turn’s out, and she might choose a different dragon next time,” Fiona chided him.
“Was it the dragon or the rider?” T’mar asked, giving her a knowing look. “Or will you arrange it that there’s another comatose bronze rider to suit your whim?”
“I might at that,” Fiona answered calmly, her anger tempered by a warning glance from the healer. “Although, seeing as I’ve gotten rather good at catching you when you fall, I might just stick with Zirenth.”
With a sour look, T’mar subsided. Birentir finished his inspection and rebandaged the bronze rider’s leg in silence.
“I’m sorry, I’m not much of a patient,” T’mar told the healer grumpily as he left.
“A head wound is debilitating and can leave a person feeling out of sorts, my lord,” Birentir said. He glanced at Fiona, adding, “The Weyrwoman assures me that your normal behavior is much more agreeable.”
T’mar smiled at that.
“And how soon can we expect normal behavior?” Fiona asked quietly as she and Birentir slipped by Zirenth onto the queens’ ledge and into the Weyr Bowl proper.
“If he doesn’t improve in a sevenday, I’ll ask you to bring the Masterhealer here,” Birentir said. Fiona bit her lip anxiously until he added, “I haven’t seen too many cases but, if my memory serves, he’s progressing pretty much on schedule.” He paused. “But stress always delays recovery and he’s not sleeping as much as I’d like.”
“We’ve Threadfall here in four days and not even a full flight to fly against it,” Fiona said. She turned her head back to T’mar’s weyr. “
It’s a wonder he sleeps at all.” She frowned as she added, “And the meeting today won’t help, either.”
“He’s not to be moved or move himself beyond trips to the necessary and back,” Birentir warned.
“Which is why we’re bringing the Weyrleaders here.”
The healer nodded unhappily. He had reluctantly consented to Fiona’s suggestion only when she’d included the Masterhealer among the attendees. She was glad that he’d agreed: The man had visibly mellowed in the past two days, but he still had trouble thinking of her as anything else than a tall lass of thirteen Turns with her father’s lordly airs.
“Telgar was the logical choice anyway,” Fiona continued, more to herself than Birentir. “We’re in the middle time zone, which makes it convenient to everyone.”
“Including the Istan Weyrleader,” Birentir remarked drolly.
“Including the Istan Weyrleader,” Fiona agreed, her eyes dancing.
Lorana had surprised everyone two days before when, just after their return from the Healer Hall, she announced that High Reaches’ queen, Lyrinth, was rising. No sooner had she made her announcement, than she’d added that Ista’s Bidenth was also rising.
“I’d better go, they’ll need help at Ista; they’ve too few bronzes,” M’tal had said immediately on hearing the news, calling silently to Gaminth, who darted in to land beside him in the Weyr Bowl.
“Come back when you can, we’ve more to discuss,” Fiona had told him. M’tal had waved an acknowledgment before clambering up his bronze and departing between.
What Fiona hadn’t realized with her blithe dismissal was that the ex-Weyrleader would not be able to return until this day and then only as Weyrleader of Ista.
“I thought he loved Salina!” Kindan had exclaimed angrily when Lorana told them that M’tal’s Gaminth had flown Istan Dalia’s Bidenth, making him the Weyrleader of the southernmost Weyr. Salina had been M’tal’s mate for Turns; her queen was the first to die of the sickness.
“He does,” Lorana assured him with a puzzled look at his outburst.
“‘How big is your heart,’” Fiona breathed to herself. She realized that M’tal, in giving her advice, may also have been advising himself.
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