“Like she did with Caranth?” M’tal mused. No one who had a dragon could forget that day when Lorana had pulled all their power for her desperate failed grab for the dragons of Telgar Weyr and her subsequent successful grab of Caranth from between.

“Something like that.”

“I should go check on him,” H’nez said, forcing himself wearily to his feet.

“That’s my job, wingleader,” Fiona said, waving him back into his seat. “You should rest.”

“You should all rest,” Shaneese said, approaching the table and glancing around the nearly empty cavern. She glanced toward M’tal. “If you’d like, we can put you and your brilliant Gaminth in a weyr for the evening.”

“I put T’mar in the empty queen’s weyr,” Fiona said apologetically, “or I’d let you have it.”

M’tal rose and gave her a gracious half-bow. “I think that Gaminth will have no trouble giving me a lift to our weyr.”

Fiona rose as well, pausing as H’nez rose more slowly from his chair. “Do you need a hand?”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Don’t be such a baby,” Fiona said, grabbing his arm at the elbow. “You can barely stand, much less walk.”

H’nez tried to move away from her, but M’tal blocked the wingleader’s movement with a deftly timed lurch of his own.

“If anyone’s watching, they’ll just think that the Weyrwoman is conferring with the Weyr’s senior rider,” Fiona assured him.

“I need to check on the riders,” H’nez protested.

“They’ve been seen to, my lord,” Shaneese said, coming up behind them and deftly propping H’nez’s other elbow. “Telgar takes care of its own.”

Realizing himself overborne by both Weyrwoman and headwoman, H’nez permitted them to escort him back to his quarters.

“I’ll walk you back to your quarters, too,” Shaneese said as Fiona started across the Weyr Bowl.

“Thanks, but I don’t—”

“You won’t be as stubborn as he is, will you?” Shaneese asked, jerking her head back toward H’nez’s weyr.

“No, of course not,” Fiona said with a long relenting sigh.

“Wise.”

Fiona waited only long enough to be certain that Shaneese wouldn’t see her before she left her weyr to check on T’mar.

Zirenth roused at the sound of her feet outside his lair and regarded her quietly for a moment, his multifaceted eyes whirling a slowly green, before returning to his slumber.

Zirenth’s actions alerted Kindan and Lorana. They looked up expectantly from their seats placed beside T’mar’s bed.

“How is he?”

Kindan frowned. “His breathing is steady.”

That description didn’t sound very reassuring to her. She moved closer to the bed, standing behind Kindan’s chair, to peer down on the sleeping bronze rider.

“He looks peaceful,” Fiona said. She turned to Kindan. “Does he have a fever?”