“It only helped for a short while,” Fiona replied. “I was afraid it could make things worse, open up the lungs to more infection.”
“I use it at night, to help him sleep,” S’ban said worriedly. “Should I stop?”
“Does he sleep easier when you do?” Tintoval asked.
“He seems to,” S’ban replied cautiously.
Tintoval glanced to Fiona, who shrugged. Then she turned to the blue rider. “I think that if it helps him to sleep, you should keep on doing it. Sleep is one of the body’s best defenses against illness.”
S’ban nodded in acceptance, but cast a questioning glance toward Fiona.
“It makes sense to me,” Fiona told him. “Besides, I learned Turns back never to argue with a healer.”
“Or a harper, I’ll guess,” Tintoval added drolly.
“I owe my life to a harper turned healer,” Fiona declared.
“That’s right,” Tintoval said, nodding. “You were at Fort Hold when Kindan — ”
“And you can be certain, S’ban, that Kindan will do no less now to fight this illness than he did to fight the Plague,” Fiona cut in, building smoothly on the healer’s start.
“He’ll need to be quick, if Serth is going to survive,” S’ban added, his expression bleakly honest.
“Tintoval,” Fiona murmured to the healer five hours later as they checked in on their tenth sick dragon, “it’s time for dinner.”
The healer nodded silently, her attention still on the sick brown dragon she was examining.
“Go on, healer, you need to keep up your strength,” G’trek told her.
“Will you come with us?” Tintoval asked respectfully.
G’trek shook his head. “No, I think I’ll stay with Korth, in case he needs anything.”
“Send word by Talenth if you have need,” Fiona said.
The brown rider nodded. “You can be certain of it, Weyrwoman.”
Outside, as they walked briskly toward the stairwell, Tintoval asked, “Wouldn’t he need his dragon to ask to talk to you?”
Fiona shook her head. “I’ll ask Talenth to listen for him.”
“And she’s old enough to remember that?”
“Well, yes,” Fiona replied, surprised at the healer’s question and startled that she’d never considered Talenth’s memory remarkable.
“Queens grow quicker than other dragons,” Tintoval commented half to herself. “I just never realized quite how capable they are.”
“I never thought that she couldn’t do that,” Fiona confessed.
“Perhaps that’s why she can,” Tintoval replied. At Fiona’s surprised look the healer shrugged. “In trying times most people rise to the occasion.”
Fiona shook her head ruefully, thinking again of Kindan and how he had risen above his despair to save everyone during the Plague. “Like Kindan.”
“He was the first one to encourage me to consider becoming a healer,” Tintoval told her. “I had barely eight Turns, but he recommended me to K’tan as an understudy.” She shook her head in bemusement at the memory, continuing, “Two Turns later I was at the Harper Hall.”
“I’m surprised we never met,” Fiona said.
“We did,” Tintoval told her with a grin. “But you had all of five Turns and you spent all your time in Kindan’s lap.” She winked at Fiona. “I seem to recall it was your birthing day.”
“It was! I fell asleep,” Fiona remembered. She had never felt more comfortable than curled up on Kindan’s lap.
“Kindan had a smile on his face the whole time,” Tintoval recalled, adding, “I was quite jealous, of course. Even your father couldn’t prise you away.”
“I never got to see much of him,” Fiona said, reminiscing. “And I knew on my birthday no one would make me go away.”
“Wise of you,” Tintoval agreed. “I was never quite that bold.”
Fiona suddenly found herself uncomfortable talking about Kindan like this. She felt as though her memories got tarnished by being shared so openly.
“And now, neither of us have him,” Tintoval continued with a distant look in her eyes. “He has eyes only for Lorana, the new queen rider.”
“So I heard,” Fiona said shortly.
“But she was here!” Tintoval recalled. “Didn’t you meet her?”
“No,” Fiona replied, heat rising to her cheeks as she remembered the reason.
“You weren’t too jealous, were you?” Tintoval asked with a sly grin.
Her taunt trapped Fiona into either replying or, by her silence, tacitly accepting the jibe. “Actually, I was suffering from a concussion,” she said finally. She told the healer the whole story of how she caught T’mar’s full weight, adding, “Perhaps you would have done differently?”
“For T’mar?” Tintoval asked with a broad smile. She shook her head. “No, for
“I do mind!” Fiona retorted hotly. “I was only trying to save him!”
Tintoval took a step back from the irate queen rider and spread her arms wide in apology. “Your pardon, Weyrwoman,” she said, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Fiona shook her head and gestured for the healer to keep moving as they exited the stairwell and started across the Weyr Bowl. The way was dimly lit with glows and Fiona could make out small groups of riders and weyrfolk heading toward the Dining Cavern.
“And, actually,” Tintoval continued a moment later, “you raised an interesting problem that I hadn’t considered.”
“I did?”
“Yes,” the healer agreed. “The issue of handling riders who are too injured to maintain their mount.”
“I think it’s pretty rare,” Fiona said with a shrug. “Usually the fighting straps keep them secure, but T’mar was unlucky.”
“Perhaps we could discover a better way to catch them,” Tintoval murmured thoughtfully. “Maybe something like Kindan’s parachutes?”
“Wouldn’t they have to be awfully big?” Fiona wondered. They were entering the well-lit Dining Cavern and she paused, glancing around for sight of T’mar.
“Oh, this feels just like home!” Tintoval exclaimed, her face brightening as she scanned the large room filled with dragonriders and weyrfolk.
T’mar wasn’t at the Weyrleader’s table.
“I’m sure that Cisca and K’lior will want to talk with you,” Fiona said, gesturing for the healer to follow her. As they made their way to the back of the cavern, she was pleased to see so many people she recognized and a bit surprised by their reaction to seeing Tintoval for the first time.
“A woman healer!” “Who would have thought?” “I hear that she was weyrfolk at Benden.” “Benden, eh? So why is she here, then?” “Well, they’ve
K’lior and Cisca greeted the healer warmly and gestured for her to sit beside them. Fiona glanced to see if there was a place for her, but a sharp look from Cisca dissuaded her and she made her apologies, climbing back down from the raised platform and scanning the large cavern again for T’mar.
She found him seated with his wing at a table near the northern entrance.
Well, there was nothing for it, Fiona told herself grimly. She straightened her back and raised her head, recalling her father’s instructions. “When apologizing, do it quickly and be forthright,” Lord Bemin had told her Turns back over an incident involving one of the cook’s favorite serving bowls. “And be certain that you mean it. There’s nothing worse than a half-hearted apology.”
But she could have died! Fiona protested to herself, wondering how her father would have responded.
“She didn’t,” he would probably have said, “and you weren’t angry with the bronze rider because of that.” She could imagine him sighing and drawing her close. “Lying does not become a Lady Holder, particularly if she lies to herself.”
