Dragonheart

dizziness engulfed Fiona and she nearly fainted, gripping the riding straps tightly and leaning forward against Talenth’s neck.

T’mar!  Fiona cried. Too many times!

She only sensed T’mar’s feeble response, finding the shadowy form of the bronze behind her. Without waiting, Fiona formed the image of Igen in her mind and ordered Talenth and Zirenth to jump between  back to safety.

The watch dragon bugled worriedly as they reappeared in the warm Igen air and swiftly descended to the Weyr Bowl below, dragons and riders scrambling toward them anxiously.

“Get T’mar!” Fiona shouted above the din as she struggled to shake off the severe lethargy that had turned her legs to stone and kept her shivering in fright.

“Come on down, Weyrwoman,” F’jian called, raising his arms wide. “I’ll catch you!”

Sluggishly, Fiona undid her straps and threw her leg over Talenth’s neck to slide down off it and into F’jian’s waiting arms.

He caught her easily with one arm under her knees and the other under her shoulders.

“Are you all right?” he asked worriedly, peering down into her eyes.

Fiona found herself looking up at him, seeing the intensity of his gaze, sensing his concern, and suddenly she felt more than all right, in fact — a bugle from Talenth startled her back to reality.

“Yes,” she said shakily, gesturing for him to set her down. “Thanks for catching me.”

“My pleasure,” F’jian replied with more warmth than Fiona found comfortable. Had he been about to kiss her? Had she been about to kiss him ?

They were the same age or nearly, but Fiona was startled by the flood of emotions that surged within her. I’m not ready, she told herself firmly. Her body disagreed.

NINETEEN

White wine for wonder,

Red wine for blunder.

Wherhold, Late Evening, AL 500.8.18

Fiona grinned to herself as she gripped Terin tighter to calm her as Talenth steepened her spiral downward to the landing area outside of the Wherhold.

“I thought dragons didn’t see in the dark,” Terin called back over her shoulder nervously.

“They see,” Fiona assured her. “Just not as well as watchwhers.”

Terin’s response was a wordless noise, not quite a squeak.

Terin’s noise was nothing compared to T’mar’s when Fiona had told him her plans earlier that day.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” Fiona had assured him. “You and the rest are going to be drilling, Karina is here to keep the pots stirred, and Terin and I need some time with Nuella.” She’d paused, waiting until he opened his mouth in protest before adding, “It’s the polite thing to do.”

T’mar’s protest had turned into a strangled noise.

“As Weyrwoman, it’s my duty to maintain relations with our holds,” Fiona had added, her tone as demure as she could make it without laughing.

T’mar seemed ready to burst with objections and Fiona’s expression dared him to try but the wingleader had finally managed to say only, “As you will, Weyrwoman.”

Fiona had savored his assent for the victory it was. Ever since her almost-kiss with F’jian, and T’mar’s comments about her weight, Fiona had been very careful of her behavior around the male riders. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust them, it was that she didn’t trust herself — or know how to handle her feelings.

Thus the trip to the Wherhold and Nuella, who was nearest her age.

She jumped down first and then helped Terin dismount. The other girl was a bit shaky but recovered quickly.

A figure approached them from the shadows and called out, “Weyrwoman?”

It was Zenor.

“Zenor!” Fiona cried gladly. “How’s the baby?”

“Nalla’s doing fine, Weyrwoman,” Zenor replied with a broad grin. “She’s even sleeping through the night, now.” His grin slipped as he added, “Mostly.”

Nalla was born within the expected time after Nuella’s wedding, just — close enough that Zenor had to endure many good-natured taunts from envious wherholders.

“To what do we owe the honor?” he asked, as he gave her a strong hug and then moved to hug Terin, who squeaked in awkward surprise at the gesture.

“We’re here to beg shelter,” Fiona told him. She gestured for him to lead the way. “In particular, we want to talk with Nuella.”

“Watch-wher business?” Zenor asked.

Fiona felt herself blush. “No, it’s more . . . personal.”

“Ah . . . girl business!” Zenor said knowingly.

“Sort of,” she admitted.

Zenor wrapped an arm around her shoulders comfortingly and led them to the quarters that he and Nuella shared. The air held a touch of the strange odor that Fiona associated with newborns — a mix of many things, including powders, incense, the warm musk of watch-wher, and a faint whiff of used diapers. It was not quite unpleasant nor quite appealing.

From her other side, Terin leaned close and murmured, “It smells like babies.”

“It should,” Zenor replied, much to Terin’s chagrin. “Although it should really smell like just one baby, sometimes it seems as though Nalla is determined to make the stink of three babies.”

“Fiona!” Nuella’s voice called welcomingly from inside the room. “And is that Terin?”

“It is,” Terin said, moving forward into the room. “Fiona’s come to talk about boys.”

“Oh,” Nuella said. Fiona and Zenor entered the room at that moment, and Nuella turned her face toward them, adjusting her grip on Nalla as she did. With a grin toward Zenor, she added, “They have their uses, most times.”

Zenor helped Fiona to a seat and then asked her frankly, “Would you like me to leave you alone?”

“No, stay, Zenor,” Nuella said before Fiona could reply. She nodded toward Fiona. “Anything you say here stays between these walls. Zenor is an excellent listener, a good counsel, and  he’s a boy — he has insights I might not.”

“But — ”

“I’ll get some wine,” Zenor said, rising from his chair and leaving quickly.

“Here,” Nuella said, gesturing toward the baby sleeping in her arms, “help me put her in her crib.”

Fiona found herself moving before she thought about it. With a sly grin, Nuella slid the baby into Fiona’s arms before rising from her chair and beckoning to Fiona and Terin to follow her.

They went into the next room, one that had been recently hewn out of the rock to accommodate its newest inhabitant. The walls were finished with touches of wood and daubed with a pink coloring. The smell of new baby was stronger there.

“Bottom first, then slide your arms out from under her head,” Nuella instructed as she nodded toward the crib.

“I know how,” Fiona said with a touch of acerbity in her voice.

“But you’ve never done it before,” Nuella replied, her tone of voice carrying two meanings.

With a tender glance at the beautiful child in her arms, Fiona slid Nalla into her crib.

“I’m not sure I’m ready,” Fiona said, as she slid her arm slowly out from under Nalla’s head.

“If you think you’re not ready, you’re not ready,” Nuella assured her. “There’s no reason to rush.”