“Only because the right dragon’s not been hatched,” T’mar declared stoutly. Fiona and Lorana nodded emphatically in agreement but Kindan kept his doubtful expression.

For the next three days, until the next night Fall at High Reaches Weyr, Fiona felt Kindan grow more distant from her. At first, she put it down to nerves, exhaustion, and drill, but when he returned from the second night Fall at High Reaches, his attitude toward her was unmistakable. Rather than speaking to her, he made his report to T’mar only, excluding her from his line of vision and holding tightly to Lorana while he spoke.

“A lot of their losses were because they were unused to flying with the watch-whers and wouldn’t listen to Lorana,” Kindan said, running a hand through his dark hair in exasperation.

“How bad was it?” Fiona asked. Kindan said nothing; it was Lorana who replied, looking up from the seat into which she’d half-fallen on their return. “Bad. They lost three dragons, had three seriously injured, and five minor injuries.”

“Between their losses from the first night Fall and this one, they’ve only five wings now fit to fly,” Kindan said.

“One hundred and fifty fighting dragons,” Lorana murmured, her eyes wide with worry.

“We’ll find a way through,” Fiona assured her, curving her lips up into a smile. “We’re here now because of you; we won’t fail.”

Lorana made no response. Kindan gave Fiona a sour look that both startled and hurt her.

“We need to rest,” Kindan said to T’mar, gesturing politely toward Lorana and helping her up from her seat. T’mar nodded and waved them away. When they were gone, his eyes sought Fiona’s.

“He hates me,” Fiona said, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“Of course,” T’mar agreed. “Who else could he hate?”

Fiona’s brows furrowed at his question.

“He can’t hate Lorana, and hating himself is much the same,” T’mar told her. “You, on the other hand, are a living reminder of all his faults and failings.” He shook his head wearily. “You are the obvious target.”

“But I didn’t do anything!”

“Which is all the more reason,” T’mar told her with a wry grin. “He hates that he’s so angry that he has to find someone to take it out on. He’s chosen you because you’re the Weyrwoman and he’s hoping you’re strong enough to weather his storm.” T’mar pursed his lips and gave her an inquiring look. “Are you?”

Fiona was about ready to protest once more that it wasn’t fair but the words died on her lips. Was it fair that Koriana died of the Plague? Was it fair that Lorana lost her queen in her attempts to save Pern?

“Is he afraid to love me?” Fiona asked at last, feeling her heart churn heavily in her chest, as though weary of beating.