Zenor cast a nervous glance toward Fiona: What should he say? Fiona thought quickly, passing her pan to Finlar, who grasped it in surprise. “I could go see if she’s awake, sir,” she suggested quickly to Zenor.
“Yes, do that,” Zenor said gratefully, glancing back to the Weyrleader. “Perhaps we should wait for Nuella.”
“Perhaps,” M’tal said, glancing toward Finlar and the two pans, “I could try my luck in the river?”
As Fiona sped away she suppressed a giggle at the sight of Benden’s Weyrleader drenched up to his hips as he happily panned for gold. It was only when she was halfway to nowhere that she realized she wasn’t exactly sure where to find Nuella.
She scanned around nervously, then settled on the hills. She was certain that Zenor and Terregar would have quarried their stone from the hills, excavating quarters for the watch-whers at the same time as providing housing for the crafters.
Quickly she discovered that she’d made the right choice. She paused as the dark archway cut into the side of the hill came into view: the craftwork was perfect, the stones laid dry to form a tall archway that was properly recessed the regulation dragonlength into the hill, with room clearly set for two large steel doors, one set behind the other to provide double protection against Thread. She thought she could feel both Zenor’s mining craft and Terregar’s smith craft at work in its formation — a proper blend for Nuella’s queen.
Again Fiona found herself admonishing herself to remember that Nuella had not yet made her amazing night flight. The adoration of the Fort riders for the watch-whers was something that had already subtly disturbed the wherhandlers, unused as they were to anything but derision from dragonriders.
Glows lit the way inside, and Fiona turned to the sound of voices and the smells of cooking.
“Who are you and what are you doing here?” a woman’s voice demanded brusquely from the nearest hearth. “You’re soaking. Why aren’t you out in the sun, drying off?”
Fiona’s heart leapt as she took in the flour-smudged face, the stern look and the amazing smells arising all around her. This slim person was clearly of the same mold as her beloved Neesa, the head cook at Fort Hold since before Fiona was born.
“You must be Sula,” Fiona said, recalling Zenor’s glee at arranging to bring her with them from Mine Natalon.
“Of course I am. Now get out of here,” Sula responded sharply. “Don’t think to nab a dainty on your way out, either!” To herself she began muttering, “I work all day and all night and these kids just gobble it up without a word of thanks.”
“If you’ve dainties, you might want to send them down to the river,” Fiona said over Sula’s mutterings. The cook glanced at her sharply, and Fiona explained, “Weyrleader M’tal is here, looking for Nuella.”
Sula clasped flour-whitened hands to her cheeks, adding to the smudges already there, as she exclaimed, “Why didn’t you say so immediately!” She began bustling about the kitchen, twice as busy as she’d been before. “Oh, my!” She raised her voice to a bellow. “Silstra! Silstra, get over here, we’ve got company!”
She glanced again at Fiona. “Well, what are you still doing here? You’ve delivered your message, you — ”
Silstra bustled into the room, her face set to scold whoever had caused her to be disturbed. She stopped the moment she caught sight of Fiona and dropped a curtsy. “Weyrwoman, what are you doing here?”
“Actually, I was here to get Zenor to propose,” Fiona admitted, “but Weyrleader M’tal has dropped in and wants a word with Nuella.”
“Did he recognize you?” Silstra asked, her expression going anxious.
“No,” Fiona replied. “They sent me into the river to pan and I found some nuggets and — ” She cut herself short. “He thinks I’m a crafter or holder, and I’ve been sent to get Nuella before M’tal starts asking questions that Zenor and Terregar can’t handle.”
Silstra snorted. “Then you’d best be quick — neither of them are good at lying.”
Sula, who had been staring bug-eyed at Fiona ever since Silstra had identified her, finally found breath enough to gasp, “My lady, I’m so sorry! I didn’t — ”
Fiona stopped her with a raised hand and a grin. “You reminded me of our cook back at the Hold. It felt like being home.”
“Shards!” Sula exclaimed, shaking her head in dismay. “That a cook would talk so to a Lady Holder!”
“If she hadn’t, I’d be the size of a barge,” Fiona replied, still grinning. “I was always stealing from the kitchen.”
“I had you marked for a rascal,” Silstra murmured approvingly. Sula gasped in surprise. “You couldn’t manage your Weyr at this age if you hadn’t been a hellion as a child.”
“I only hunted tunnel snakes,” Fiona said in her defense.
“Exactly!” Silstra said. She turned to Sula. “But the Weyrwoman’s right about your dainties. Do be a gem and set out a platter that I can bring down.”
“And some iced
“It’s the only way to survive in the heat,” Fiona said. “But I think you’d best send down warm
“Oh!” Sula exclaimed, smudging yet more flour onto her cheeks with her hands. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I’ll lead you to Nuellask’s weyr,” Silstra said, turning so quickly that Fiona had to scurry to follow her. On the way, Silstra said over her shoulder, “I’m glad you’re here; I’ve about run out of things to say to Zenor.” She shook her head, adding fondly, “The lad’s afraid he’s not good enough for her.”
Fiona thought briefly of Kindan, wondering if he felt the same, and then realized that her previous mention of him and her meeting now with his oldest sister brought a pang of longing and familiarity to her heart.
“It seems to me that he loves her,” Fiona replied. “Isn’t that enough?”
“Sometimes,” Silstra said. “I think he’s afraid that she’ll say no, fearing that she’ll end up having to choose between him or her queen.”
“She won’t,” Fiona declared. “At least, she hadn’t in my time.”
“Don’t tell her that,” Silstra cautioned. “I can see how right you are to keep the future clouded. If she knew what she did, she’d feel trapped and without choice.”
“Yes,” Fiona agreed. “That’s one reason.”
Silstra paused outside a darkened archway. “Nuellask is in there.”
A moment later a curious chirp echoed in the corridor.
“She doesn’t usually do that,” Silstra muttered, surprised.
“I asked Talenth to speak with her,” Fiona explained.
“Who’s there?” Nuella called groggily from the entrance.
“It’s Silstra,” Silstra replied. “Weyrwoman Fiona is here with me.”
“M’tal’s down by the river,” Fiona added. “He’s asking questions.”
“M’tal?” Nuella repeated, her voice perking up. “I dreamed about him.”
“Should I have him come to you here?” Fiona asked. She added, “He doesn’t know about me — he thinks I’m a crafter.”
“Well, he’s right on that,” Nuella said, her voice approaching them. A moment later she stepped out, one hand outstretched. “Nuellask is sleepy; we can leave her here,” she said as she reached her hand toward Fiona, who grabbed it in response. Nuella smiled. “It’s good to have you here again, Weyrwoman.”
“We’ve been busy at the Weyr,” Fiona said, “or I would have come more often.”
“You are always welcome,” Nuella told her.
“So I did right, then?” Fiona asked, suddenly feeling her age and all the worry that she’d had about forcing the queen on Nuella and the wherfolk to move here.
“You did,” another voice chimed in from down the corridor. It was Arella. She added teasingly, “Didn’t you know that?”
“No, not really,” Fiona admitted in a small voice. “I only knew that there was a wherhold, not who was in it —
