Dragongirl (44 page)

“No,” Shaneese said, her lips curving upward in a smile.

“Well, if she’s not going to be there and you’re going to bring the hot stones, I see no reason for you to have to traipse across the cold Weyr Bowl back to your quarters by yourself.”

“I really couldn’t ask you to escort me back after flying two Falls,” Shaneese demurred.

“And I,” T’mar confessed, “couldn’t imagine myself capable.” He paused as if in thought. “But if you’ll be so kind as to bring the hot stones, then—if you don’t mind—you could just as easily rest with me.” He added quickly, “Not that I’ll be much company, with two Falls flown.” He held up a cautioning hand as he added, “I’ll probably snore.”

“Fiona says that your snores are cute,” Shaneese said, grinning. Her grin faded as she added, “I’d like to hear them.”

“Then, if you wish, you shall,” T’mar told her, placing a hand on her shoulder companionably.

“I’ll look forward to it,” the headwoman said, her face blossoming with a grin that again showed her marvelous dimples.

“Now, I’d best be about my duties,” she said, turning away and gently removing the hand he’d placed on her shoulder, her own grasp lingering for a moment before she let him go. “I’d hate for people to say I was monopolizing you.”

“Of course,” T’mar allowed with a smile of his own. Much refreshed, he turned to survey the rest of the group in the Weyr Bowl. The riders and dragons were a small knot nearly lost in the growing dusk.

Small, T’mar thought grimly, and soon to be smaller. His eyes sought out the slim form of Fiona. He spotted her and saw that she was looking in his direction. He waved at her, smiling.

That girl takes on entirely too much to herself, he mused. And yet, he had to admit that now he was looking forward to his return from the Fall in a way he would not have expected—and he owed it to her forethought and caring. He raised his hand to his mouth and expansively blew her a kiss. Fiona theatrically caught the kiss, clasped it to her breast, held her hand there while raising her other hand to her lips and returning the gesture to him in the grandest style.

If anything were to happen to her, I don’t know what I’d do, T’mar thought grimly.

You’d survive
, Zirenth responded, surprising T’mar, who’d believed that he’d kept his thought to himself. He got a glimmer of feeling from his bronze and the chord resonated with him: She’ll see to that.

Is that why, T’mar mused, his heart suddenly going cold, she arranged this evening with Shaneese?

T
rue to his word, T’mar practically stumbled into his bed that evening when he returned from the Fall. He was extremely grateful that Shaneese was there and quickly demolished all her attempts to leave him alone. He was glad that he did; the headwoman was older and more mature in the ways of people than Fiona, but she was nearly the same size while more pleasantly rounded. Her brilliant eyes and bright teeth shown in her dark face with an intensity that Fiona’s blue eyes and tanned skin would never realize, but there was a similarity between the two that T’mar couldn’t identify in his exhaustion.

“Thank you,” he said a moment later as Shaneese rubbed his back with a warm oiled stone. “I didn’t think about that.”

“Fiona suggested it,” Shaneese murmured quietly.

“She suggested the whole evening,” T’mar grumbled. He felt Shaneese stiffen for a moment and then she continued moving the oiled stone over his sore muscles. She sighed, and T’mar turned his head back to cast her an inquiring glance.

“Can you love more than one person?” she asked him softly, her hands not pausing in their work.

“Yes,” T’mar said. He thought for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “It takes time and effort and caring but it can be done. Fiona does it.”

“Fiona is a world unto herself.”

“No,” T’mar replied slowly, “not really.” He felt the headwoman’s surprise and added, “She doesn’t even want to be her own world; she wants all of us in it and she’ll do whatever is required to
make
that so.”

Shaneese thought on that, moving the oiled stone to another tight spot and rubbing.

“She snares people in her delusions,” she suggested at last.

“No, honestly, I think she inspires them to share her dreams.”

“Even now?” Shaneese asked, her question encompassing all the pain and loss that Telgar and every Weyr had endured since the beginning of the Third Pass.

“Particularly now,” T’mar replied. He thought for a moment, adding, “She is not without limits. I know that she’s afraid and that she hurts—”

“I’ve seen that, too.”

“—but as long as she can keep her spirits up, she’ll keep our spirits up,” T’mar finished. “She knows that if we lose hope, we’ll lose everything.”

“And so she arranged for me to be here tonight to keep up your hopes?” Shaneese asked with a trace of irritation creeping into her voice.

“No,” T’mar replied, “I think she expects that to come in the morning.” He turned over and grabbed the stone from her hand, dropping it back into the basket at the side of his bed as he gestured for her to lie down, telling her with a mischievous grin, “And for that, you’ll need your rest.”

Shaneese closed her eyes for a while and then opened them when she was certain he was asleep. She could see his eyelids flutter and his mouth work in silent pain as his dreams replayed the events of the last Fall. A feeling of tenderness overwhelmed her and she ran her hand across his cheek, stroking him out of his nightmare and back into relaxed slumber. She looked at him as he slipped into a deeper sleep and then laid her head beside his.

Weyrwoman, I accept, she thought as his slow breathing turned into gentle snores.

“
W
hat are you doing here?” Kindan’s voice betrayed his surprise as he spied Fiona curled up on the warm sands of the Hatching Grounds.

“Waiting for you,” Fiona replied with a smile, taking great enjoyment in the harper’s increased surprise.

“I was just shooing—”

“—the shell-seekers,” Fiona finished for him, her brows furrowing in confusion. “I’ve never quite understood the logic …”

“It’s complicated,” Kindan agreed, turning back to herd the last of the weyrling riders out of the Hatching Grounds and back to their beds. Fiona waited patiently, carefully settling the most disturbed knot of youngsters who were camped out near Tolarth’s clutch. She was satisfied with them pretending to sleep, knowing that they would soon bubble up again, their excitement overwhelming their fatigue. Fiona smiled; she hadn’t guessed that the
first
Hatching would increase the interest the younglings had in the
second
clutch. She suspected that Shaneese or any of the older weyrfolk could have told her but Shaneese—Fiona’s face lit with a wicked grin—was otherwise indisposed at the moment, or at least so she hoped, and all the other weyrfolk were probably too busy with their anticipated joy at the Weyrwoman’s discomfort. That they were wrong in their assessment pleased Fiona even more; she liked children and enjoyed their wide-eyed excitement, breathless babbling, and the sheer joy they brought to every activity.

“Complicated, you said?” Fiona murmured to Kindan several minutes later as he, having finally seen off the last of the weyrlings, made ready to head back to the weyrling barracks himself.

“Complicated,” Kindan agreed, willing to put off his next duty for a moment. He frowned, gesturing toward the children. “And why is it, Weyrwoman, that you are in charge of this brood?”

“It’s part of a deal with Xhinna and Taria,” Fiona said, adding quickly, “So what about this seeking egg shards is complicated?”

Kindan shrugged. “First, it depends upon the seeker.”

Fiona raised an eyebrow politely and Kindan’s lips curved upward as he acknowledged her restrained response.

“For those who’ve Impressed, the purpose is obvious: The shard represents a memento, a good luck piece,” he explained. Fiona nodded in understanding, then flicked her eyes for him to continue. “For those who didn’t Impress, it’s more like a promise, a token of a future possibility.”

“So did you take a piece?”

“No,” Kindan replied, shaking his head. Fiona gave him an inquiring look. “I have pieces of Kisk’s egg and pieces of Valla’s egg; I think I’ve got all the tokens I need.”

Fiona reached into her vest pocket and pulled out a shard, grabbing one of his hands with her other and placing the shard in his hand, clasping both hands around his and forcing his fingers to close.

“Then this is for you,” she said. Kindan’s brows twitched and he pulled his hand out of her grasp, holding up the piece to the light.

“It’s a blue shard, from Tazith’s shell,” Kindan said as he examined it. His blue eyes looked down to meet hers. “Are you saying that I should set my hopes on a blue?”

Fiona chuckled, shaking her head. “No, I’m saying that you should consider that some shells are harder than others.” She took a quick darting step toward him and stood on her tiptoes to rap him gently on the skull. “But that doesn’t mean there won’t be a hatchling coming forth.”

Kindan met her twinkling eyes with a dour expression. “It’s also possible that not all eggs hatch.”

“That’s an old saying,” Fiona agreed. “But it refers to chickens and other fowl, not dragons.”

Kindan snorted softly at the correction. He glanced around, noticing Talenth curled up in the distance for the first time, and glanced meaningfully in her direction.

“Talenth decided to keep Tolarth company,” Fiona explained. In a whisper she added, “I think it might have more to do with the hot sands, personally.” Fiona turned to Talenth and, impulsively, back to Kindan, grabbing his hand and tugging him after her. “Maybe you should try it, it’s good for muscles.”

“But—”

“Xhinna will take care of the weyrlings,” Fiona told him, carefully keeping her face away from him lest her expression reveal that that was part of her plan.

Much later, as they lay in a quiet sheltered spot that had, Kindan noted, been both carefully chosen and carefully prepared, he muttered to himself, “Good for the muscles!”

“I didn’t say which,” Fiona purred in response, nuzzling up close against him.

A short while later, as Kindan was still trying to decide whether he was glad, angry, or bemused over the whole thing, Fiona rolled over and sat up, staring down at him sleepy-eyed. “You’ve got to go,” she told him, her tone half-sad, half-firm.

“Go?”

“Lorana needs someone to be with her, too, you know,” Fiona said, her eyes losing focus as they peered unseeing into the distance. She glanced back at Kindan and turned to the pile of clothes nearby, pulling out his trousers and sliding them toward him.

“Lorana—” Kindan began in protest but Fiona cut him off.

“—she needs someone to
be
with her, Kindan, nothing more,” she said chidingly. “I’ve got to watch the weyrfolk here.”

Fiona pulled on a night tunic and snaked a pair of sandals—neither of which Kindan had seen her wearing previously, he noted with some amusement—and then hustled him into getting dressed.

“I’ll walk you to the exit,” she told him, adding a quick kiss and intertwining the fingers of one hand with his.

“What if some of the children see us?”

“Well, those who are old enough to know probably don’t care—and they’re not here, most likely—and the rest are too interested in the eggs to notice us,” Fiona decided with an easy twinkle in her eyes. “Besides, I like children and I’ve discovered I’m pretty good at distracting them when they ask awkward questions.”

“That’s only because there’s not so much difference between you and them,” Kindan said gruffly.

“It may be,” Fiona said easily. “But I like to be prepared, so I think it’s wise to spend time with children, don’t you?”

“So this”—Kindan waved a hand around the Hatching Grounds with a firm nod toward their cozy quiet place—“is all for the children?”

“Yes,” Fiona replied, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “Either about keeping them or”—she lowered her voice suggestively—“getting them.”

Kindan groaned.

“Really, Kindan,” Fiona said, her brows arching downward disapprovingly, “you would think, being a harper and all, that you’d understand that at the end of things it’s all about children.”

Kindan gave her an inquiring look.

“Without children there is no future and no reason for living,” Fiona told him. Her mood lifted as she added with a giggle, “Besides, they’re too incredibly cute!”

“You were cute,” Kindan blurted out suddenly.

“I hope I still am,” Fiona said, batting her eyelashes at him outrageously.

Kindan chuckled. “You still are.”

“Then I’ll say good night to you, Harper Kindan, and please give my best to Lady Lorana.”

Kindan waved and took off briskly across the cold Weyr Bowl toward the Weyrwoman’s quarters, wondering how it was that Fiona always seemed to get exactly what she wanted.

It was, he decided as he increased his pace up the ramp toward the weyr and sleeping Lorana, because she quickly decided on her goals and never wavered from them.

Something I learned from you, Kindan heard her saying in his head.

He shook himself, wondering whether he had really heard her or if he was just imagining her response.

“Kindan?” Lorana called from the bed.

“You’re supposed to be asleep,” Kindan called back softly, a smile curving his lips as he crossed the last of the distance between the entrance and the bed.

“Fiona’s been tormenting you again, hasn’t she?” Lorana asked in sympathetic humor.

“How—did Talenth—?”

“No,” Lorana replied with a laugh, “it’s just that I understand her.”

“How so?”

“She’s frightened,” Lorana told him sadly. “She’s afraid she’ll lose everything and she’s doing her best to grab what she can.”

“A child?” Kindan asked in surprise. “From me?”

“From you, from T’mar, as many as she can get,” Lorana said.

“She said that children are the future,” Kindan said musingly.

“Without children there is no future,” Lorana corrected in oblique agreement. Kindan could see her glance down in the dim of the glows to her own belly. He threw off his clothes, pulled on a night tunic—not at all surprised to see it ready to hand, draped over the back of a chair—and quickly dove into the bed.