Dragonheart

“As are manners,” Kentai agreed just as loudly. And, while she wasn’t sure if H’nez had recognized the harper’s tone, Fiona was certain as she walked away that the Weyr’s harper was not referring to her.

They stopped to pick up dinner for Tannaz and Melanwy, then hurried off to the Weyrwoman’s quarters. When they arrived, they found Melanwy urging Tannaz to “Get in the bath, now! You’ll catch your death of cold.”

Tannaz’s eyes were flat, dark, unresponsive, but something in the intensity of Melanwy’s words caused her to move listlessly toward the bathing room.

Melanwy spotted Fiona and Xhinna as she looked around for a place to put the towels. “Don’t just stand there gaping!” she snapped. “Take these towels to the laundry and get more!” She waggled a finger warningly at Xhinna. “And mind you that they’re not new towels; they’ll just be dirtied by all this muck.”

“Actually, I think they should be burned,” Fiona said, surprising herself with her words.

“Burned?” Melanwy responded, eyebrows rising to the top of her forehead in outrage. “We don’t burn towels at Fort Weyr , young lady, no matter what strange things you might have been taught at your Hold!”

“They’re infected,” Fiona replied. “They should be burned to prevent the spread of this illness to other dragons.”

Melanwy’s expression abruptly changed to contempt. “Well, of course,” she sneered, “and we’ll just send to the holders for more.”

“Yes, we will,” Fiona responded through gritted teeth, anger coursing through her. “And you’ll  address me  as Weyrwoman!”

“You!” Melanwy repeated. “A mere strip of a girl, barely two months Impressed?”

“Yes, her,” a new voice declared loudly from behind Fiona.

Fiona was so angry that she couldn’t look back at Cisca — she kept her gaze locked with Melanwy’s, making it clear that young or not, she was not going to stand for such poor manners.

“You’re no better,” Melanwy muttered under her breath. “Should’ve been Nara .”

“But it’s not Nara !” Cisca responded sharply. “ Nara is dead, her dragon’s gone between,  and I  am the senior Weyrwoman of Fort Weyr!”

There was the sound of dragons roaring in acknowledgment. Fiona was dimly aware that Talenth had been one of them.

It’s all right,  Fiona assured her dragon. I’m all right.

Of course,  Talenth replied unperturbedly. Fiona got the distinct feeling that had Fiona not been all right, Talenth would have been in Kalsenth’s weyr immediately. Her dragon’s fierce loyalty filled Fiona with joy.

“I’m sure Melanwy had just forgotten, Weyrwoman,” she declared, still staring at the old headwoman. She gestured to the archway to Tannaz’s quarters. “You’d best help Tannaz with her bath — we’ll take care of things here.”

As if in a daze, Melanwy nodded and turned to obey. Fiona was surprised that the older woman hadn’t continued to argue: it was as if Melanwy had suddenly lost her spirit. In the night outside the weyr, dragons bugled again.

“You need to be careful when you do that, Fiona,” Cisca said quietly.

Fiona turned on her heel and found the Weyrwoman standing right in front of her. “Do what?” she asked, bewildered.

“Dragonriders can sometimes force people to their will,” Cisca explained. “Not many, and most not as well as you just displayed. It’s a dangerous gift and you can find yourself using it on others unwittingly. Later, Melanwy may feel that you forced her, stripped her of her will.”

“You mean,” Fiona asked with some fear, “I can make people do things they don’t want to do?”

“Yes,” Cisca said. “Dragonriders learn to recognize it and defend against it, but others . . .”

Xhinna had pressed herself tightly to the wall, her eyes going warily from Fiona to Cisca and back again.

“But,” Fiona began slowly after a long silence, “ doesn’t everyone work to get people to do things they don’t want to do?”

“There’s a difference between cajoling and forcing,” Cisca replied. She waved to Xhinna. “You cajoled Xhinna into helping you; you forced Melanwy. Do you feel the difference?”

Fiona hesitated, then nodded slowly. “I was angry at Melanwy,” she said, “I needed  her to do what I wanted so that I could calm down.”

Cisca lowered her eyes and sighed, then looked up again with a grin. “Not that I can blame you this time,” she admitted, “but you’re going to have to learn when  you are using that power, at the very least.”

Fiona gave her a quizzical look.

“It can become second nature to you, like breathing,” Cisca explained. “And then you’ll always use it. If you do, you’ll never know when people are responding because you made them or because they want to.”

Fiona shivered at the idea, both thrilled and horrified . . . and wondering how often she’d done it before.

Cisca must have guessed her thoughts. “You may have used the power before, but you wouldn’t have been nearly as strong as you are now that you’ve Impressed.”

Footsteps echoed and then K’lior walked in.

“Queen riders are the strongest,” he said, catching one of Cisca’s hands in his. “Bronze riders are next.” He grinned over at his Weyrwoman. “We learn to resist the power early on.”

“You’ll get more control over it when your dragon rises to mate,” Cisca added.

“Mate?”

“Yes,” K’lior replied. “When a queen bloods her kills and rises to mate, she’s a mindless creature with only one intent.” He nodded to Fiona. “You’ll be the one to control her, to force her to your will — ”

“And,” Cisca continued, interrupting smoothly with a clenching of her hand around K’lior’s, “when you learn to control your dragon, you learn to control your power at the same time.”

“I don’t understand,” Xhinna murmured from her place at the wall.

“Fiona will,” K’lior replied, nodding toward the young Weyrwoman. “When the time comes.”

“But that’s Turns away,” Cisca said with a wave of her hand. She looked over at Xhinna. “Why don’t you take those dirty towels to . . .” She trailed off, considering whom to suggest.

“I know it’s not my place to say it, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said, pushing herself from the wall to stand upright. “But it seems that Ellor’s always around when there’s need and she knows much more than desserts.” She swallowed nervously, then finished in a rush, “She’d make a great headwoman — you can ask anyone!”

K’lior made a strange noise in his throat, Fiona looked at Xhinna as though she’d never seen her before, and Cisca looked thoughtful.

Pressing her advantage, Xhinna continued, “As long as Melanwy still thinks she’s in charge, she’s going to cause trouble, Weyrwoman.” She flicked her eyes up to meet Cisca’s then, feeling that she’d overstepped herself, dropped her gaze to the floor again and muttered, “At least, that’s what I’ve heard some saying.”

Cisca gave Xhinna a considering look, then said, “Why don’t you take these to Ellor and ask what’s to be done with them?”

“Of course, Weyrwoman,” Xhinna said, darting out of the archway and into the Bowl with all possible speed.

“She may have a point,” K’lior murmured.

“She does  have a point,” Cisca agreed.

The sound of a dragon coughing reverberated through the night air. Cisca shook her head, then looked back at Fiona, but it was clear that her thoughts were elsewhere as she muttered to herself reflectively, “Ellor would  make a good headwoman.”

“I’ll see to the glows,” Fiona suggested demurely. After all Cisca’s talk about power, she wanted to prove to herself that she could still do some things the usual way.

Cisca nodded. “We’ll be in our weyr, if you need us,” she said, turning to leave, but K’lior blocked her.

“Actually, I think we’ll be in the Council Room,” he said. In response to Cisca’s questioning look, he explained,