Dragonheart

“I know that,” Fiona replied, her tone just short of a snap. “It’s just that . . .”

“I see,” Nuella said after it was clear that Fiona had finished speaking. “Sometimes you’d like to, is that it?”

Fiona nodded before remembering that Nuella was mostly blind, then said, “Yes.”

“And you’re afraid that you might?” Nuella asked.

“I’m afraid of the consequences,” Fiona said, nodding toward the sleeping baby. “Not just that,  but also how it will affect the other riders.”

“Worry about yourself,” Nuella told her. “You can’t control how the riders will feel, and besides, they will have feelings whether you do anything or not — you and Terin are the only two eligible women for them.”

“There are trader girls, too,” Terin piped up.

“Not eligible,” Nuella said. “They  won’t be going back to your time in nine months.”

“Nine months,” Fiona repeated thoughtfully.

“That’s not much time at all,” Terin said.

“And then it will be more than seven Turns before I’ll see either of you again,” Nuella mused regretfully. She gestured toward her sleeping daughter. “She’ll have over seven Turns then.”

“I’ll have almost fourteen,” Terin said. She glanced at Fiona. “I’ll be nearly the same age as you were when we came here.”

They heard the sounds of Zenor returning in the other room and moved to join him.

“Wine,” Zenor said as he placed a tray on their dining table, snaking glasses around to each in turn. He poured for Nuella first and carefully placed the glass in her outstretched hand. He waited until she’d tasted it and pronounced it “Wet” before he served the others.

“Are you trying to get us drunk?” Fiona asked as she eyed the large glass Zenor had filled to the brim in front of her.

“Of course!” Zenor agreed pleasantly. He filled his own glass and raised it. “To Fiona, Weyrwoman of Pern!”

“Fiona!” Terin and Nuella echoed enthusiastically. Fiona went bright red. Terin took a large gulp of her wine and giggled.

“To Nuella, Wherwoman of Pern!” Terin cried, raising her glass once more. Fiona sipped her cool wine only to find Zenor scowling at her.

“This is not Benden white, Weyrwoman,” Zenor told her brusquely. “This wine is meant  to be gulped!”

“It is?”

Zenor nodded emphatically. “I said to Silstra, ‘Silstra, I’ve two very nervous weyrfolk who need to talk and laugh — what sort of drink would you recommend?’ ”

“You told Silstra?” Fiona cried, aghast.

“I did indeed,” Zenor said, raising his glass again and gesturing that she should do the same. “And she said, ‘Well, if it were the Weyrwoman, she’d have to have Benden white, but as I know  it isn’t, then you should have this instead. It doesn’t cost much and they won’t remember in the morning.’ ”

“And you believed her?” Terin demanded in surprise.

“I wasn’t sure,” Zenor confessed, refilling their glasses. “I imagine I’ll find out in the morning.”

What Fiona found out in the morning was that her head ached terribly, her mouth felt funny, and she was sure she’d said far more to Zenor about her worries than she’d ever imagined.

Somewhere between the third and the fourth bottle of wine — they seemed to appear from between — Fiona found herself pouring out all her worries and fears to Zenor. Nuella had quietly taken herself off to bed.

“ . . . and I almost kissed him!” Fiona exclaimed as she summed up her encounter with F’jian.

“I’m glad you didn’t,” Terin murmured beside her, her eyes carefully fixed on her glass.

“He’s cute but he’s not my kind,” Fiona admitted, dimly becoming aware that she was missing something from Terin’s response.

“Tell me more about F’jian,” Zenor said to Terin. She blushed but, under his gentle questioning, proceeded to regale them with tales about his kindness, his smile, his strong arms —

“I’ll say!” Fiona agreed, earning a scowl from her friend. Again feeling that she was missing something, Fiona turned to Zenor appealingly, but the goldcrafter only cut his eyes toward Terin, indicating that she should keep listening.

“What does he think of you?” Zenor asked Terin softly.

“I don’t think he knows I exist,” Terin said morosely.

“He likes your cooking,” Fiona told her, earning herself another glower from Terin.

“I think she’s looking for more than that,” Zenor told Fiona quietly.

“Oh,” Fiona said, suddenly understanding. Her face split into a broad grin and she turned to Terin. “You fancy him!”

“He seems like a good choice to me,” Zenor observed smoothly, smiling at Terin. He refilled Fiona’s glass and nodded for her to have some more wine while he said to Terin, “And if he likes you, he’ll show excellent sense.”

“But I’ve not yet thirteen Turns!”

“Age has nothing to do with it,” Zenor told her kindly. He smiled fondly as he continued, “Nuella hadn’t more than twelve Turns when she first kissed me.”

“What was it like?” Fiona asked in wonder.

Zenor blushed bright red. “It was marvelous.”

Terin let out a deep sympathetic sigh and Fiona found herself following, although in her mind’s eye it wasn’t F’jian she thought of kissing — the person was a nebulous image, taller, older, but no one she could quite identify with certainty.

“Maybe you should just kiss him,” Fiona suggested to Terin. “Like Nuella.”

Terin’s eyes grew huge at the notion and she shook her head in mute denial.

“From what I’ve heard,” Zenor began, “from Fiona — ” He nodded to the Weyrwoman. “ — and T’mar and countless others, you’re the sort of woman that any dragonrider would be proud to call his mate — ”

“Ew!” Terin exclaimed, scrunching up her face. “I don’t want to . . .” She trailed off uncomfortably.

“Well, you want to kiss him, don’t you?” Fiona demanded matter-of-factly. Reluctantly Terin nodded, and Fiona’s face took on a triumphant expression, but before she could speak, Zenor said, “Kissing is a good thing.” Fiona glanced at him sharply, but he persisted, “A kiss is good enough by itself for most people I know.”

Fiona closed her mouth, considering his words.

“And a kiss isn’t such a big thing that it would of itself cause anyone to talk too much,” Zenor continued, topping off Terin’s glass and passing it to her. She sipped reflexively. Zenor turned the conversation to Fiona, asking, “And who would you kiss, Weyrwoman?”

It was Fiona’s turn to blush then. Sometime later she felt the warmth of Terin’s head resting on her shoulder and realized that the younger woman had fallen asleep.

Zenor seemed not to notice, as he was engaged in a lengthy account of Silstra’s wedding and Kindan’s part in it, a topic which Fiona found quite engaging.

“M’tal said that he’s with Lorana now,” Fiona broke in as Zenor paused to sip his wine.

“I don’t know who that is,” Zenor told her and raised a hand to stop her from telling him, saying, “And if she’s from the future, I think it best if I know nothing more.”

Fiona stopped, frustrated, until Zenor asked if she would share her memories of Kindan, which she gladly did. Somehow her memories reminded her of her flight to Fort Hold with T’mar and that got her talking about T’mar.

“ . . . he’s so demanding, always saying, ‘Do it three times, then you’ll know!’ ” she exclaimed, shaking her head and suddenly wishing she hadn’t. The room started spinning. Zenor was instantly at her side, deftly removing the glass from her hand and steadying her, offering her a drink from a glass of water and talking soothingly all the while.

When she recovered, she shrugged off Zenor’s suggestion that she get some rest. She had to tell him