“Of course,” Fiona said, turning to the two dragons gliding down to the ground before her. She heard the sound of footsteps racing up beside her and was not surprised to hear H’nez say, “They’re early, aren’t they?”

“I suspect M’tal wants a word with us beforehand,” Fiona said.

Bronze and gold settled on the ground, greeted warmly by Talenth and Jeila’s Tolarth, who bugled in greeting.

Bidenth is a great queen, Talenth declared.

Another sound distracted Fiona and she turned to see Zirenth exit his weyr and Lorana and Kindan climb quickly aboard.

“It’s traditional for the Weyrleader to greet guests,” H’nez said from the corner of his mouth as they approached the new Istan Weyrleader, putting up a cautioning hand and moving ahead of Fiona.

“Bronze rider,” Fiona said tartly, her hand grabbing his and pulling him back, “in case you haven’t yet noticed, I make my own traditions.”

“As you will,” H’nez said with a resigned sigh.

“M’tal!” Fiona cried, rushing toward the older man uninhibitedly and throwing herself into his arms. “It’s good to see you!”

M’tal crushed her against him in a quick hug, then pushed her back again. “I’ve not been gone that long, Weyrwoman!” he said. Then, with a worried look, he added, “Has something else happened?”

“No,” she assured him with a grin, “I haven’t destroyed anything yet today.”

“The day is young,” M’tal said, entering into the spirit of things.

“You, on the other hand,” Fiona said, “have been quite busy.” She glanced over toward Bidenth and was surprised to see not one but two women dismounting. Her expression cleared instantly and she turned to him with a look of contrition and pride. “Have you found how big your heart is?”

“Let us say that I’ve discovered that it is bigger than I thought,” M’tal replied, his voice soft and sounding troubled in the admission.

“And,” he added, “for all my Turns, I’ve discovered that you and I have much in common.” His eyes twinkled as he declared, “I should have told you that in my youth, I was considered something of a rebel.”

Fiona snorted with amusement. The two women approached and M’tal introduced them. “This is Dalia, Weyrwoman of Ista.”

Dalia’s face was lined, the corners of her eyes marked with crow’s feet and her cheeks with laugh lines. Her eyes were brown and her hair a fading red. Freckles speckled all over her face.

Fiona nodded and extended her hand, feeling her lack of years in the presence of the older woman.

“Congratulations, Weyrwoman,” Fiona said as she released her hand. “I hope you had an excellent mating flight.”

“Well, it was interesting, to say the least,” Dalia said drolly. “But perhaps not quite as interesting as the tale of yours.” Dalia glanced around. “Where are Kindan and Lorana?”