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Lessa glanced back over her shoulder to check on Manora. Ramoth didn’t often carry anyone but Lessa, and she had an irrational fear that the older woman would fall off, or panic, or drop something between. Which was absurd. Lessa had checked the straps herself, and Manora was the epitome of serenity. She could calm a dying man or oversee a feast for the entire Weyr without blinking an eye, and she was used to going between.
“Ready?” Lessa asked.
“Ready,” Manora replied, smiling. “It’s not often I get the chance to ride a queen. In fact, this is my first time.”
That didn’t surprise Lessa. The queen before Ramoth had been Nemorth, who rarely flew because her rider Jora had been afraid of heights. (A fact which made Lessa wonder what sort of dragon Nemorth had been to have chosen someone so unsuitable.) The only other queen who had ever been at Benden was Prideth, before she’d been moved to Southern Weyr, and Lessa couldn’t imagine Kylara letting anyone ride with her except perhaps some favored lover.
“Thank you for asking me, Lessa,” Manora went on. “It’s an honor. And thank you, Ramoth.”
She doesn't weigh enough to be a burden, Ramoth remarked. Lessa decided not to pass that on.
“You’re welcome.” It came out more brusquely than she’d intended. Manora did not reply.
Lessa didn’t know herself why she’d offered to personally transport Manora to the silverfin run on the beaches by Southern Weyr. Half the women of Benden were going, with dragonriders assigned to drop them and their nets off. Lessa was going as a courtesy to Southern Weyr—that, and because she knew that if she was going, it would be impossible for Kylara to beg off.
As Ramoth launched into the sky, Lessa supposed it was because Manora had always been kind to her. Maybe under other circumstances, if Lessa hadn’t been Weyrwoman, they could have been friends.
She visualized the cliffs along the beach, with the distinctive jagged streak of pink stone that Orth, who had spotted the run approaching, had provided as a marker. Ramoth went between. They emerged from that freezing nothingness into a clear blue sky, the scent of brine, bright sun, and Southern’s distinctive humid heat.
Manora shivered behind her, then straightened. “Look! There they are!”
A silver tide was rapidly approaching the beach where a number of women already stood with nets and barrels. Lessa’s breath caught; it looked unsettlingly like a mass of Thread had fallen into the ocean.
Thread dies in water, Ramoth reminded her, unmoved.
“What a catch,” Manora said happily. “Enough to feed all seven Weyrs.”
Seven Weyrs, Lessa thought, marveling at it anew. It had been half a Turn since she’d brought them forward, and it was still hard to comprehend that those empty, echoing Weyrs were now full of men and dragons.
Ramoth found a stretch of empty beach big enough to land on, and settled down with a lightness that belied her size. Lessa climbed down and offered Manora a hand. Manora took it, and they unloaded their nets and barrels. More women, mostly from Benden, came over to help. Once Ramoth was free of encumbrances, she stretched out her wings. They glowed a translucent gold in the sun, casting colored light over the women below.
Kylara wasn’t there. It would be an astonishing insult for Benden’s Weyrwoman to come help Southern bring in the catch, and for Southern’s own Weyrwoman to fail to appear. But if anyone would do it, it would be Kylara.
The women of the two Weyrs mingled, chatting and complaining and catching up, as they waited for the silverfins to come in. A knot of teenage girls clustered together, and Sanra oversaw a handful of younger girls of nine or ten Turns. Manora went to talk to Southern’s Headwoman. Lessa stood apart, watching and listening with an odd kind of regret. She was on easy terms with few people, and there were even fewer she could call friends. F’nor. Robinton. She couldn’t think of anyone else.
I am your friend. Ramoth sent her so much love, warm and vast and unconditional, that Lessa forgot to draw her next breath.
You’re more than a friend, Lessa sent back. Of course she’d rather have Ramoth than any chattering woman. She’d chosen Ramoth over Ruatha!
No great thing came without a price, Lessa supposed. She could be Weyrwoman, or she could be Lady Holder. She could have Ramoth, or she could be an ordinary woman with other women to talk to. She couldn’t have both.
Kylara didn’t have friends either, only lovers, though it made Lessa’s lip curl to compare herself to that woman. How dare she insult Lessa! But Prideth was Ramoth’s daughter, and Lessa had a trick up her sleeve that Kylara could not command.
Ramoth, bespeak Prideth. Tell her—
A golden form appeared in the air above the beach, with a golden-haired woman astride her back. They must have just gone between when Lessa had spoken to Ramoth. Lessa watched Prideth land and Kylara dismount. Lessa had come dressed in practical clothes that she didn’t mind getting soaking wet, a light blouse and short trousers. Kylara wore a long, flowing green dress that Lessa was certain would become transparent the instant water touched it. No doubt she’d shirk the actual work, but make sure a wave caught her when the other dragonriders came back to collect the women and their catch.
Kylara dismounted with an artificial grace that made Lessa even angrier. Exactly who was she showing off for? No men were present.
“You’re late,” said Lessa.
“I’m exactly on time. I didn’t care to catch up on kitchen gossip,” Kylara returned. She picked up a net. “Here come the silverfins.”
The little fish came in a mass, flinging themselves toward the land. It was no difficult task to catch them—they swam straight into the nets. The unpleasant part was that you had to wade out and feel slimy fish thrashing about your ankles and feet. They spawned in shallow waters, and would beach themselves once they were done. But they spoiled very quickly in the sun, so the trick was to catch them while they were still in the water.
Lessa didn’t care for sensation of wading into fish, but she’d done much worse things as a drudge. Kylara, she was annoyed to see, tucked up her skirts into her sash, exposing far too much of her tanned bare legs, and gave a delicate shiver when she stepped into the fish.
Everyone gave both of them a wide berth, but she overheard a young girl from Southern asking, “Why do only women do this? Men do most of the fishing.”
“Because it’s easy,” said a slightly older girl from Southern. “You don’t have to be fast or strong.”
Kenelas, one of the kitchen women from Benden, remarked, “You should try lifting a cauldron full of water, then you’ll see how strong women have to be.”
Her two cronies nodded vigorously. One tensed her arms, displaying her muscles, and said, “That’s from kneading bread!”
“It’s tradition,” said Sanra. “I don’t know why.”
“It’s because of why the silverfins come,” said Manora. “For the spawning. They give birth, like we give birth, so someone thought it was…” She shrugged. “Appropriate? Lucky? I know at the Sea Holds, they have a little festival when it happens. They fry the fish and bake little cakes in the shape of them.”
“Are we going to fry them?” asked Felena, a willowy teenager with huge green eyes who was apprenticing under Manora.
“We’ll fry some and roast some,” said Manora. “But most of them we’ll preserve. We can pickle them to intensify the flavor—”
“Ugh,” Kylara muttered rudely, dumping a load into a barrel.
Manora seemed not to have heard her and went on without a pause. “—and dry them, and cook them and preserve them in jars, submerged in fat. If you store them in a cold cellar, they’ll keep all winter.”
Felena nodded eagerly, visibly storing away the information. She clearly idolized Manora, and Manora looked at her with a deep fondness. Lessa wondered what it would be like to train someone she actually cared for. She’d made sure Kylara knew everything she needed to be a Weyrwoman and a queenrider, but neither of them had enjoyed the process and it didn’t seem as if much of it had stuck.
Lessa was in the act of scooping up another netful of flopping silver fish when Ramoth called to her. Look.
With great delicacy, Ramoth bent her head and indicated a patch of sand on the beach, tucked away where part of the cliff had collapsed to form a shallow alcove. Prideth had also noticed something; she was indicating the same area with a shining talon. Both queens’ eyes were whirling blue with pleasurable anticipation. Kylara had also been alerted; she was standing stock still beside a barrel.
I don’t— Lessa began, then saw the sand move.
Something buried beneath the sand was rising up. The sand heaved, and a tiny brown dragon crawled out. It shook itself, sending sand flying, and stretched out its wings. Lessa stared, fascinated. It was Canth in miniature, more mature and well-formed than the awkward, ungainly dragon hatchlings, but no larger than her hand.
“A fire lizard,” someone gasped.
The little brown dragon gave a startled shriek and launched itself into the air. It vanished in the blink of an eye.
Everyone began to speak at once. “They’re real!” “Did it go between?” “Are there more?”
Another tiny dragon emerged from the sand, this one green and smaller. Its little head whipped toward the women, and it gave a squeak of alarm, leaped upward, and disappeared.
Lessa rounded on the women. “Be silent!”
The force of her will crackled around her. Absolute silence fell.
The tiny brown dragon—no, the tiny brown fire lizard—reappeared in mid-air, swooped down to the beach as far away from the women as possible, seized a silverfin almost as large as itself, and vanished with it. A moment later, the green fire lizard appeared on the rim of an unattended barrel, snatched up a silverfin, and also disappeared.
There are more. The clutch is hatching. Meditatively, Ramoth added, They are very hungry.
“You can hear them?” Lessa asked aloud, startled. “Are they like dragons?”
I can hear them. Not in words. They are relatives, perhaps. With some condescension, she added, Distant ones.
“Prideth says we can Impress them,” Kylara said. Casting a challenging stare at Lessa, she said, “I’m Impressing the queen.”
She grabbed a handful of fish and strode toward the heaving sand. Lessa had the impulse to stop her, but she could think of no good reason for it. If the fire lizards were like dragons—and they did seem to be, insofar as they could fly, go between, and be Impressed—maybe they could be useful.
Manora was standing beside Lessa, staring after Kylara. Lessa remembered sending C’gan out with firestone during that terrible first Threadfall, when he’d been the only person left to go. He’d come back Threadscored, and died in her and Manora’s arms. A fire lizard couldn’t carry firestone, of course, but sometimes messages were equally urgent.
More fire lizards were emerging. Kylara stood over them, holding the fish, waiting for the queen.
“Could I…?” Felena asked Manora, not Lessa.
Manora turned to Lessa. “Could she? Could any of us?”
Everyone was watching her. Only Lessa could make this decision. Kylara had no attention for anyone but herself and her own desires, and the other women had no authority or relevant knowledge in this situation. The fire lizards should go to dragonriders, of course, but they might all be gone between before any dragonriders appeared.
When we needed a queenrider, Kylara was better than no one, Lessa thought.
“Everyone who wants to try to Impress one, take some fish and get over there,” Lessa ordered. Remembering the instructions she’d gotten before she’d Impressed Ramoth, she said, “Don’t be afraid. If you feel any fear, try to think about something else. And don’t let them overeat!”
“How much fish is too much?” asked a girl from Southern.
Making a rough calculation based on dragon hatchlings, Lessa said, “No more than half their bodyweight. And no fish bones!”
With a pang of regret for Benden, which was too far away, she bespoke Ramoth. Alert Southern Weyr! Tell the dragonriders to come if they can.
Lessa was already striding toward the clutch, fish in hand. She wasn’t sure she even wanted to Impress a fire lizard—didn’t she have enough on her plate already?—but she thought again of C’gan’s ruined face and Tagath’s anguished keen. And if Kylara and a bunch of Lower Cavern women and little girls did end up being the only ones who Impressed, she should at least make sure one creature was in useful hands.
About half the women and almost all the girls had already clustered around the clutch. Felena, looking as if she might cry with joy, held a tiny blue in one hand and a mangled fish in the other. The girl who’d asked how much fish was too much wore a look of astonished happiness on her face and a pair of green fire lizards on her shoulder.
“Step away if you’ve Impressed,” Lessa said crisply. “Go find a quiet spot and feed your fire lizard. Not too much!”
Felena and the girl with the pair of greens stepped away, followed by the Southern Headwoman cradling a little brown.
Two Impressions by a single person, and women with a blue and a brown. Lessa supposed it was like the choice of Kylara for Prideth: no better options. Then she saw Manora’s serene face break into a delighted smile as a bronze fire lizard flew onto her hands and perched there, tearing at the silverfin she held, and thought that maybe it was more than that.
As she stepped away, Lessa said, “I’m so glad for you. You got a bronze!”
Manora glanced up, alight with happiness. “Will you teach me how to take care of him?”
“Of course,” Lessa promised.
An angry snort sounded beside her. Unlike most of the women, who were crouched down, Kylara was standing up and staring down at the clutch, looking discontented and resentful.
“Maybe this clutch doesn’t have a queen. Not all clutches do.” For Prideth’s sake, Lessa refrained from mentioning hers specifically. But she knew Kylara would take the hint.
“I don’t want a fire lizard if there’s no queen,” Kylara muttered.
“It’s your responsibility as a Weyrwoman,” snapped Lessa. “Take what you can get.”
Kylara stared at her, open-mouthed and astonished. It was perhaps the second time Lessa had ever seen her with an expression entirely uncalculated—the first time being when she’d Impressed Prideth. Then Kylara burst out laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Lessa demanded.
“You think I wanted a fire lizard to… What? Carry fish to the kitchen? Bring me my favorite necklace if I forget to put it on?” Kylara gasped, still laughing. “I wanted the queen because if they’re like dragons, and I have a queen, then when she rises to mate with a bronze…”
Astonished, Lessa exclaimed, “You want to have sex with Manora?!"
“No!” Kylara snapped. “I bespoke Prideth to call Orth and T’bor. I don’t know what’s taking them.”
“It’s only been a few minutes,” said Lessa.
But as with a dragon Hatching, time had gone by very quickly. Glancing around, she saw that all but one of the women and girls who’d gathered around had Impressed and stepped away. Kenelas and her two cronies all had greens. Sanra had a brown and a blue. Only Manora had a bronze.
Orth winked into view overhead, spiraled down, and landed with a splash in the surf near the clutch. He was followed by a younger bronze—N’ton’s Lioth—and a green Lessa didn’t recognize. As the men dismounted, scooped up fish, and came running across the sands, the last girl left, a young fosterling of Sanra’s, murmured to the little bronze that struggled out of the sand. It went straight to her and took a huge bite of the fish she held. The child picked up the bronze and turned to carry it away just as T’bor came panting up.
“You’re late,” Kylara said with venom in her voice. “You just got beaten to a bronze by a child of nine Turns.”
T’bor stared from her to Sanra’s fosterling, looking bewildered and hurt. N’ton and the greenrider dropped down to their knees, their faces alight with excitement and hope.
Lessa, doing a quick count of the hatchling fire lizards, felt sure that there couldn’t be many left. She had to decide if she wanted one or not—she hadn’t even tried to attract one. It would certainly be ironic, she thought darkly, if everyone Impressed except the dragonriders.
A moment later, that particular idea was disproven. A blue fire lizard emerged from the sand, snorting and flapping his translucent wings, followed by a dainty little green. Lessa, Kylara, and T’bor all hesitated. N’ton and the greenrider held out their fish, and the blue lunged for N’ton’s and the green snatched at the greenrider’s.
“Greedy as my Roth,” said the greenrider fondly, and took her off to show to his dragon. N’ton also walked away, crooning to his blue.
Lessa looked around the beach. Like when they’d all been fishing, everyone had separated out. The women and girls who’d declined to try to Impress were bunched up, watching. The people who'd Impressed were scattered, totally focused on their fire lizards. And then there were the three of them who’d neither Impressed nor refused their chance but hadn’t tried for any of the hatchlings yet, who were standing around a hump of sand that might have nothing more in it.
Ramoth? Lessa asked. What do you think?
I want you to do what you want, said Ramoth. I am not jealous of such a small and distant cousin.
That was good to know, not that Lessa had imagined she would be, but not exactly helpful. Kylara might be right that a fire lizard wasn’t actually useful. They probably couldn’t burn Thread. They couldn’t carry firestone. It was completely unknown how intelligent they were. But everyone who’d Impressed looked radiant. All these hardworking women and little girls and awkward teenagers—and the two dragonriders—were completely absorbed in their fire lizards. Lessa was certain that none of them were thinking of usefulness, or of the relative status of a green to a bronze. All she saw in their eyes was love.
You wanted a friend, Ramoth added. You could have a small one. There are still eggs cracking beneath the sand.
The sand heaved for a while, and then a knot of hatchlings spilled out, tangled up in each other. They separated into five, two greens, a brown, a bronze, and a glowing golden queen.
T’bor, Lessa, and Kylara all sat down at once.
I’m not going to let her have the queen, Lessa vowed. But her attention was caught by the bronze. It was perfectly proportioned, maybe a little smaller than the others but more lithe. It cocked its head, its eyes whirling red with hunger.
“Small friend,” Lessa murmured, and held out the fish. The bronze leaped for it, and for an instant it was aloft, skimming just above the sand. It landed in a tumble, forgetting to use its feet. She helped it up and fed it, and only as it began devouring the fish did she realize that she had Impressed.
It didn’t feel like Impressing a dragon, though she supposed she only knew that because she had something to compare it to. But a deep, warm happiness welled up in her heart, and she knew that she had found a friend.
She’d been so absorbed that she’d completely lost track of everything going on around her. When she realized that, she glanced up. T’bor had Impressed a green, a woman from Southern who’d initially declined to Impress was panting as if she’d been running and cradling the brown, and—Lessa sighed—Kylara’s hands were cupped possessively around the queen.
“What happened to the other green?” Lessa asked.
“Flew away,” said T’bor with a shrug. “They must be wild. Probably there’s lots of them and we just never see them.”
“So I have a queen, and you have a bronze,” said Kylara, staring hard at Lessa. “How… interesting.”
“Yes, and all the bronzes are going back to Benden,” Lessa snapped. “Ramoth, can you ask the Benden riders to come pick up all of us who’ve Impressed? We need to take care of our hatchlings.”
“So do we,” the Southern Headwoman chimed in. “Weyrwoman, if you don’t mind…?”
“Yes, yes.” Kylara waved a languid hand. After a moment, she said, “I bespoke Prideth.”
The silverfins were still churning in the waves. One of the women who’d chosen not to Impress said, “We can’t possibly fill these barrels alone. There’s less than half of us left.”
Lessa and Kylara looked at each other. For perhaps the first time, a current of shared feeling passed between them, and the feeling was mischief.
“The men will have to help,” said Kylara airily. “Fifteen from Benden and fifteen from Southern? Will that do?”
T’bor looked deeply insulted. “Men?”
“Yes,” said Lessa. “All the women who aren’t here are the ones we couldn’t spare.”
“I already bespoke Prideth,” said Kylara.
“And will you teach us how to care for our hatchlings?” asked the Southern Headwoman.
Kylara looked faintly alarmed. Hurriedly, N’ton said, “I’ll teach you.”
As dragons began to land on the beach to return the women and their fire lizards to their Weyrs, Lessa and Manora once again walked up to Ramoth. They were still a Weyrwoman and a Headwoman, but they both cradled stuffed and sleeping bronze fire lizards. The gap between them now seemed a very small thing, something that could be bridged with a single step. Maybe it always had been.
“Here,” Lessa said. “I’ll help you up.”