Nuella’s face split into an honest grin as she rushed toward the sound of his voice, hands outstretched. “My lord!”
“M’tal,” the dragonrider corrected her. “My friends call me M’tal.”
Beside her, Fiona felt Arella’s surprise. She guessed that even though the wherhandler had met Benden’s Weyrleader several times before, this impulsive, uncontrolled display of affection for one attached to the watch- whers removed any lingering suspicion that all dragonriders fell into two groups: those who despised the watch- whers, and those who sought to use them for their own purposes.
“M’tal,” Nuella corrected herself, folding herself into his arms and hugging him cheerfully.
“It’s been too long, I’m afraid,” M’tal said when they broke apart. “When I’d heard about your Nuelsk, I thought that I should wait until you were settled before asking you — ”
“What?” Nuella wondered.
“Actually,” M’tal said, gesturing around with a free hand, “I’d meant to inveigle you into something like
Nuella turned her head toward Fiona, then hastily, as if realizing her error, back to M’tal. “It all just sort of happened, my lord.”
“I wish we had known about the gold here sooner,” M’tal said wistfully. “It would have eased the pain everywhere, for people are willing to work that much harder in the hopes of getting beautiful jewelry.”
He glanced toward Terregar. “How did you find it?”
“It was on some old maps at the Smith Hall,” Fiona improvised quickly, taking in the look of impending terror on Terregar’s face. “I was cleaning — ”
“Hiding,” Terregar corrected acerbically, grinning at Fiona with gratitude hidden in his attitude of long- suffering affection.
“Ah, so you’re craftbred!” M’tal said to Fiona. He turned back to Terregar, adding, “Quite an honor to the Smithcraft. Master Veclan must have been sorry to let her go.”
“Actually,” Fiona said in all honesty, “I think he was grateful to see the back of me.”
Terregar snorted.
“Lady Silstra is preparing a platter, my lord,” Fiona said, aiming her glance halfway between Terregar and M’tal and throwing in a sloppy curtsy for good measure.
“I’ve kept you all too long,” M’tal said, turning toward Nuella and politely reaching for her hand. “If I can just have a word with this kind lady — ” He paused and glanced at Arella. “ — and Arella, too, I’ll let you go back to your work.”
The look on Arella’s face when she heard M’tal name her was one of surprise suffused with delight.
Nuella glanced toward Fiona, who caught the look and said, “I’m sorry for having disturbed you, my lady.”
“Well, it was an important interruption,” Nuella said dismissively. “Just see that all your interruptions are as important.”
Fiona nodded, then remembered Nuella’s eyes and amplified, “I will, my lady.”
With one final scrutinizing look and a sardonic mutter of, “Very much an honor to your craft!” M’tal took his leave of Fiona and the others.
There was a moment of silence as the remaining workers waited for the Weyrleader to move out of earshot, and then they all gave a collective sigh of relief.
“That was awkward!” F’dan declared as he stepped out of the crowd.
“Did M’tal notice you?” Fiona asked.
“He did and I told him my rank and Weyr,” F’dan assured her. He glanced toward Terregar. “I wonder if my presence here might have inclined him more toward offering protection.”
“I’m sure it did,” Terregar said, his lips curving upward. He turned his attention to Fiona. “And now that that latest excitement is out of the way — and, I hope you do not take this badly, I must confess that excitement seems to follow you, Weyrwoman — what was it that you came to see us about?”
“Rings,” F’dan reminded him.
“We’ve already negotiated your price.”
“A day’s work here from both me and my blue,” F’dan told Fiona. From the look on Terregar’s face, Fiona guessed that the smith was still recovering from his shock while simultaneously calculating how to use F’dan and Ridorth to his best advantage. Fiona found herself liking this bearded man and could see why Silstra had found his quiet competence so attractive.
“With an option for another day for the same price,” Terregar reminded F’dan.
“Such option to expire upon our departure from Igen,” F’dan said, repeating the last part of their agreement.
Terregar nodded. “You drive a good trade, dragonrider.”
“I learned it from the best,” F’dan said, and surprised Fiona by glancing in her direction.
“And what is it you want to trade today, Weyrwoman?” Terregar asked, his attention once again returning to her.
“Actually, all we want is a moment of Zenor’s time, if we could,” Fiona said, glancing toward the red-haired man. With a smile she added, “And perhaps to see the ring.”
Terregar’s eyebrows rose. Did Fiona detect a gleam of humor in his eyes?
“It’s better in the sunlight,” Terregar said. “Zenor, why don’t you take them outside?”
Zenor, seeming distracted, led them through the doorway and into the midday sunlight. A wind swept the worst of the heat from them, but all the same, Fiona felt they couldn’t stay long before they’d be driven back inside.
“Come on, Zenor, give,” she said peremptorily, holding out a hand, palm open.
Zenor reached into his tunic and pulled on the leather thong tied around his neck. He looped it over his head and dropped it into Fiona’s outstretched hand.
“I don’t think it’s good enough,” Zenor said morosely even as Fiona’s mouth opened in a large “Oh!” of astonishment.
“Zenor, it’s amazing!” she exclaimed, holding the gold band up close so that she could examine every intricate detail. “Three bands wound together, how did you do it?”
“I had help from Terregar,” Zenor said. “Although he did say that I was as addled as a wherry to even think of such a piece.”
“It’s never been done before,” F’dan explained. “There’s never been enough gold of such quality, nor” — he nodded respectfully toward Zenor — “anyone so deft at such workings.”
“I was always good at making things,” Zenor said with a diffident shrug of his shoulders.
“You know,” Fiona said judiciously, returning the ring to Zenor, “you’re right. There’s something wrong with that ring.”
“I knew it,” Zenor groaned. F’dan gave Fiona a startled look of disbelief. “I just knew it,” Zenor continued. With a pleading look he asked Fiona, “What is it?”
“It’s not on Nuella’s finger!” Fiona exclaimed, her eyes flashing in irritation.
“Huh?”
“You can’t see your work in its proper light until it’s in its proper setting,” she told him. “And that ring was made for her finger. That’s its proper setting.”
She reached for his hand, latched on, and tugged. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Zenor asked, lurching after her like a herdbeast being led to pasture.
“I think I’d best see to Master Terregar,” F’dan said hastily, taking off in the opposite direction. “I’m not sure I should be seen more by Weyrleader M’tal today.”
Fiona ignored his words, concentrating on keeping Zenor in her grip.
Halfway toward the wherhold, Zenor grasped her intention and suddenly dug in his heels.
“No, I can’t, it’s not the right time,” he told Fiona feebly. “I’m not ready.”
Fiona released his wrist and turned around to face him.
“Do you love her?” she asked.
“Huh?”
