“She’s the one who Impressed Tolarth’s queen?” Sonia asked. Fiona nodded. “So what did he leave Lorana?”
“It looked like a brooch but, if so, it was unfinished,” Fiona said, describing the gold staff with twined serpents that marked the symbol of a healer. She mentioned the odd small holes on either side.
“And what did his note say to her?”
“‘The way forward is dark and long. A dragon gold is only the first price you’ll pay for Pern.’”
Sonia glanced away, staring at nothing as she mulled over those words.
“And what did he say to you?” Sonia asked as she looked back at the Weyrwoman once more after she finished her musings.
“My note was from Mother Karina,” Fiona said. “Tenniz had her tell me that ‘it will all turn out right.’”
“That seems to leave a great burden on you!”
“Pardon?”
“Well, doesn’t that make it your responsibility to determine what ‘all turn out right’ actually means?”
Fiona gave her a confused look.
“Would it be all right for you if Lorana’s price was her life?” Sonia asked by way of example.
“No,” Fiona said. “I would sooner lose Talenth than her.”
From up on the watch heights, Talenth bellowed in agreement.
“She saved Pern,” Fiona said, gesturing up toward Talenth, “she saved my dragon.”
“Sometimes, as Tenniz seems to know, the price of a job well done is the payment of a higher price,” Sonia told her softly.
“Then she won’t pay the price alone,” Fiona declared, her eyes flashing angrily.
“I wish I could agree with you,” Sonia said. “But whatever pain you’re willing to suffer for her will only add to her pain, not replace it.”
“She’s been through too much already!” Fiona said, the pain in her voice wrenching at Sonia’s heart. “It’s time for someone else to take over.”
Another dragon burst into the sky above them, creeling with pain, her left wing hanging limply as she plunged through the sky.
Silently, Sonia’s Lyrinth rose from the Weyr Bowl as Fiona’s Talenth dove from her position on the watch heights, working together to position themselves under the falling green, catching her and lowering her gently to the ground.
“I think they need us now,” Fiona said, as she started racing toward the injured green.
Sonia was an instant behind her, shocked at how well her Lyrinth had worked with the younger Talenth. She eyed the back of the blond Weyrwoman thoughtfully as she raced to catch up.
Hours later, covered in ichor, exhausted, cold from the afternoon winds that had picked up, Sonia turned from the younger Weyrwoman in time to be wrapped warmly in D’vin’s arms.
“Her,” Sonia said, as she struggled to breathe in the bronze rider’s tight embrace, “her too.”
D’vin raised an eyebrow in surprise but reached out and dragged Fiona into his embrace. He was surprised to see Sonia wrap an arm around the other woman, surprised to see Fiona return the embrace, and surprised by how tightly the younger Weyrwoman squeezed him back. Most of all, he was surprised by one thought: Sonia doesn’t share. Apparently, that had changed.
“You are going to stay here the night, they’ll manage without you,” Sonia said as she eyed a nightgown thoughtfully and threw it toward the younger Weyrwoman. It would be big but it would do, she decided. “Put that on.”
“But—”
“The correct answer is: ‘Yes, Weyrwoman,’” D’vin called out drolly. “In fact, the only answer is—”
“Yes, Weyrwoman,” Fiona dutifully finished, chuckling. She’d drunk too much wine, she could feel her cheeks heating and tingling with the effects as she added superfluously, “That’s the answer at my Weyr, too.”
“So you’ve got them well-trained,” Sonia said. She canted her head appraisingly as Fiona slipped on her nightgown. “As I thought: big but not too big.” She gestured toward the sleeping quarters beyond. “D’vin’s not the warmest man but between the three of us, we’ll keep you from getting too cold, even in that.”
Fiona’s thoughts of further protests were eliminated by a yawn.
Stay there! Lorana’s voice told her adamantly.
You should be sleeping, Fiona said, secretly glad to have the contact with the ex–queen rider.
“What was that?” Sonia demanded of her suddenly.
“What?” Fiona asked, startled by the words spoken out loud.
“You weren’t talking with your dragon,” Sonia said, eyeing her thoughtfully.
“Lorana,” Fiona confessed. Her cheeks flushed hotter: She wanted to keep that a secret.
“You can talk to her?”
Fiona nodded mutely, going pale.
Sonia eyed her for a long moment before asking, “And what did she say?”
“‘Stay there,’” Fiona repeated. She gave Sonia a beseeching look. “I don’t want anyone else to know.”
“Why?”
Fiona shook her head, unable to come up with a quick answer. “It’s special. We don’t know if it will last—”
“How long have you had it?”
“Since the mating flight,” Fiona said. “She and Kindan—well, Kindan and she—I don’t know, they were with Zirenth when he rose.”
“And T’mar?”
“Still unconscious,” Fiona said, adding, “If Lorana hadn’t held Zirenth when T’mar was injured, he would have gone between.”
“And so you and Lorana …?”
Fiona shook her head, blushing furiously again. “Kindan,” she said in a small voice.
“Whom you’ve always wanted,” Sonia said.
“Yes,” Fiona agreed in a whisper, eyes lowered in shame. She raised them again to meet Sonia’s. “But I want Lorana, too. Like a sister, only more.” She paused, groping for words and then shook her head when she couldn’t find them, saying desperately, “I never realized that love is so different.”
Sonia quirked an eyebrow upward in question.
“I love Kindan,” Fiona said slowly, trying to make her meaning clear, “and I always will. I want children with him.” She paused. “But I want to help Lorana raise her children.”
Fiona hadn’t heard D’vin’s quiet footsteps approaching behind her so she started when he spoke up softly, “If she’s cut, you bleed?”
“Yes,” she said. “But not like with Kindan or T’mar.”
“A heart grows when you love,” D’vin said, carefully keeping his eyes on Fiona. “The more you love, the more you can love.”
“As a Holder, I was expected to marry,” Fiona said. She shook her head slowly. “I was expected to have only one man.”
“A queen rider doesn’t have that choice,” Sonia said.
“Her queen chooses in the mating flight,” Fiona said in partial agreement. “But she chooses all other times.”
“A good Weyrwoman—”
“—has the Weyr’s best interests at heart,” Fiona cut in, smiling at the older woman. “I know that.”
Sonia gave her a wicked look, as she said, “But a Weyrwoman doesn’t have to be good all the time!”
Fiona’s face took on a sober look. “I’m only beginning to understand love,” she said slowly. “I’m beginning to see that there are many types.” She turned to face D’vin. “There are two men in my life right now, Weyrleader.”
D’vin nodded, understanding the unsaid part of her words. He smiled, gesturing toward Sonia. “I’m glad because there’s only one woman in my life!”
“And that woman is cold and wants to get warm,” Sonia declared, grabbing Fiona’s hand and tugging her along. “So let’s stop chattering out here and get under the blankets!”
In the middle of the night, Fiona woke, startled by the breathing of the two people next to her.
Lorana! she called out drowsily.
I’m here, the woman’s thoughts came back to her quickly, unperturbed. Kindan’s with me.
Good, Fiona thought with relief. She added a quick mental caress, an apology for disturbing the other woman and received a comforting thought in return: a feeling that Lorana appreciated the contact, the warmth of the mental touch. Satisfied and relieved, Fiona rolled over into a dreamless sleep.
Even so, when she woke the next morning, she was still sore and tired, more tired than she had felt for a long while. She was also eager to get back to her Weyr.
Sonia sensed this and let her go after they’d finished seeing to the worst of the injured.
“Remember: ‘Five coughs between, keeps the figure lean,’” Sonia told her warningly as Fiona sat astride Talenth and prepared to leave.
“At Telgar, they say ‘seven,’” Fiona said. “But I’ll be careful.”
“So you want the baby?” Sonia asked, not able to keep the surprise out of her voice.
“Of course!”
“Who is the father, then?”
Fiona smiled and shook her head. “Does it matter?”
“Perhaps to the father.”
“Well, there’s a choice of two, and even if I knew for certain, I wouldn’t tell them,” Fiona said. She caught Sonia’s look and explained, “My child is going to have two fathers, two mothers, and a whole Weyr for parents.” She paused and added, “As will Lorana’s.”
Sonia cocked her head sideways at the younger woman thoughtfully. “Well, whatever you wish.” She stood back from Talenth and gestured in the time-honored signal. “Fly safe!”
Fiona was greeted with glee by T’mar and Birentir when she returned to the Weyr. After the Weyrleader let her out of his embrace, he invited her to join him and the wingleaders in the Council Room.
“My Council Room?” Fiona teased, as the Council Room was off the senior Weyrwoman’s quarters.
“I hope you don’t mind,” T’mar said. Fiona waved his apology away, grinning and shaking her head. Her mood evaporated when she entered the Council Room and saw the expressions of the other wingleaders.
“How bad was it?” H’nez asked the question that was on all their lips.
“The injuries were the worst,” Fiona said, “the losses, less so.” She grimaced. “I don’t know if it will help that they’ve only three days before they ride again.”
“Probably,” T’mar said. “D’vin will work them hard, as he must, and that will distract them.”
“So where are we now?” H’nez asked, frowning. He glanced down at a tally slate set between the riders on the table.
Fiona glanced at it, spoke with Talenth, and reached for the tablet, quickly wiping away old numbers and replacing them with the current strengths of all the Weyrs.
“It’s better than you think,” she said as she put the slates before them once more. “High Reaches has eighty-nine, Ista has ninety, Benden has one hundred and eight, Fort has ninety-six.”
“So against the two Falls, the one over Benden Weyr will have over two full Flights, as will the Fall at Keroon,” T’mar said. The other wingleaders around the table relaxed visibly.
“What about burrows?” H’nez asked. “That Fall over Upper Bitra was all in mountains.”
“I’ve volunteered to help with the sweeps,” T’mar said. “We’ll bring in ground crews where needed.”
“Makes sense,” C’tov said. “We need training, we don’t have a Fall for another six days—”
“Five,” H’nez corrected.
“—five days,” C’tov said with a nod toward the older rider, “so we can help and train at the same time.”
T’mar nodded. “How soon can you be ready?”
“Give us a quarter of an hour,” C’tov said, rising from his seat, “and we’ll be over Bitra’s mountains.”
“Talenth and Tolarth will come, too,” Fiona said, sending a silent order to the two queens. The other riders looked at her in surprise, so she explained, “Well, you can’t expect Terin’s Kurinth to fly with us, can you? She’s a little young yet!”
F’jian nodded emphatically even as he looked a little wistful. Fiona laughed at his expression. “Just give them time, F’jian, give them time!”
The remaining bronze riders joined in with her until the youngest bronze rider raised his hands in surrender and rose from his chair with all the dignity he could still muster.
T’mar caught up with her after the others had filed out. “That was a good idea, to have the queens along.”
Fiona nodded. “And we need the exercise,” she said in agreement, spearing him with a look as she added, “I don’t want to get fat after all!”
T’mar grimaced as the barb struck home but a moment later his expression changed. “You will be careful, won’t you?”
“As will Jeila,” Fiona said. “We’re not going that far and we’re not going to time it, so we’ll only get three coughs between.”
T’mar’s eyes took on a troubled look as he digested her words but he, wisely, merely nodded in agreement.
“We’re both early enough, as far as the Records indicate, that even a longer jump poses no threat,” Fiona assured him. “It’s the end of the first trimester and the beginning of the third that are the most susceptible.” She paused for a long moment, then added sweetly, “And, by the way, how did you know I was pregnant?”
T’mar blushed bright red, unable to speak.
“Really, it’s too early to tell,” Fiona said when she decided that she’d had enough enjoyment at his expense. “And Bekka says that nothing’s really certain until about the twelfth week.” She gave him a challenging look, quirking her eyes upward questioningly.
“I was hoping,” T’mar said.
Fiona burst into a bright grin. “Good! Don’t forget that when it comes time for diapers.”
Telgar’s Weyrleader snorted in amusement, his eyes dancing.
Fiona and Jeila were very careful going between, even going so far as to obey H’nez’s admonition to wait until the fighting dragons had arrived over Upper Bitra and could give them a sense of the winds before setting out.
The cold of between seemed harsher and longer to Fiona, even as bundled up as she was in the extra wher-hide vest that Bekka had insisted upon for both the weyrwomen.
Immediately upon their arrival in the air over the Bitran mountains, Fiona regretted her submission to the young healer’s demands: The vest made her very warm, almost hot, and Fiona loosened her wher-hide jacket to let some of the cold Bitran air cool her off but decided not to, for fear of losing the flamethrower strapped on her back.
She and Jeila took positions close to the mountains, veering left and right to scan into tree-lined valleys, looking for any sign of burrowed Thread.
They had been looking for scarcely an hour when Jeila paused and Tolarth whirled in the air, making a tight circle over one spot. Fiona and Talenth circled around long enough to get a look at the drooping trees, the dark center, and confirmed the burrow.
We’ll land there, Fiona said, giving Talenth an image close to the burrow.
As the queen started a slow, almost lazy, swirl to descend to the location, T’mar’s Zirenth burst above them bellowing loudly.
What are you doing? Zirenth demanded.
Going for the burrow, Talenth responded reasonably.
You’re a queen! the bronze declared, and that was an end to the discussion.
Fiona glowered as the bronze rider and two blues made their way to the ground. She watched as they flamed the burrow into crisp char.
Tell T’mar to send in a ground crew, Fiona said acerbically to her dragon, we’ve only one Weyrleader.
To her surprise, the bronze rider looked up and waved agreement, turning back to his bronze and soon he and Zirenth were aloft and then between, gone, doubtless, to Bitra Hold for a suitable ground crew.
They seemed to take forever to get back; she and Jeila had spotted three more burrows and H’nez had dispatched the smaller greens and blues to flame the worst of the infestations, but it was clear that only flamethrowers working directly on the ground would com
pletely eradicate the tougher of the burrows.
When T’mar returned, Fiona could tell just by the way Zirenth flew that the Weyrleader was furious.
T’mar says you and Jeila may fight on the ground, Zirenth relayed in a resigned tone.
Why?
He says that if we wait on Bitra, all Pern will be Threaded, Zirenth responded.
Fiona grunted in response. She’d heard about Bitra when she’d been at Benden; this merely confirmed her worst impressions of the Hold and its Lord Holder. She instructed Jeila to take the first burrow, aided by two blues, while she and Talenth descended toward the third burrow with a green and a blue at her side.
What would it be like, she mused, to have greens and blues as escorts for the queens’ Wing all the time? Queens’ Wings, perhaps? She had never read of such things in the Records, but Igen’s deserts were so dry and barren that they never had many burrows. The lush plains of Telgar presented a different possibility.
The work was hot and straining. After her third burrow, Fiona relegated most of the work to the sturdy riders, taking time to divest herself of her wher-hide vest and, later, even of her wher-hide jacket as she labored to support those fighting the burrows.
It was late morning before they had finished. Eleven burrows had been destroyed. Even so, still wary, T’mar left a dozen dragons behind to ride another final sweep.
“You idiot!” Bekka roared as she caught sight of Fiona when the queen landed back at the Weyr Bowl later that day. Bekka squatted and retrieved the vest and jacket that had fallen as Fiona had started to scramble down Talenth’s side.
“What?” Fiona asked, surprised at how sore she felt. Her head felt odd, too.
Bekka ignored her question, pulling on the sleeve of her tunic to drag Fiona down to her height and placing a hand on her forehead quickly.
“Into bed, right now!” Bekka growled, sending the Weyrwoman off to her quarters.
“But Lorana—” Fiona’s protest was cut short.
“Right, tell her she’ll need to move,” Bekka said quickly. “You get into the bath, make it as hot as you can take it, and don’t come out until I get you.”
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