Fiona dug deep into herself to find enough cheer to spread it to Talenth and counteract the dragon’s despair, but she realized that even her reserves were stretched. She knew how much the rest of the Weyr looked to her, how they shook their heads in amusement when they thought she wouldn’t notice over her ever-cheerful manner, how she managed to find something good in the hardest of times. Oh, the old ones would prattle on and warn her that she was taking things too easily, but Fiona knew with a certainty that the mood of the entire Weyr was influenced by her cheerfulness and that mothers would tell their daughters, “See? The Weyrwoman’s not worrying, why should you?”

Dragonriders, too, took their cues from her, as did Jeila and even Lorana.

Fiona’s lips turned down as she thought of Lorana. The ex–queen rider was finding it increasingly difficult to bear up under the weight of the loss of dragons and riders in Threadfalls, which she felt all too keenly. Fiona had a secondhand glimpse of Lorana’s pain; she felt it more fully than Kindan, but she also knew by dint of the same strange bond that allowed Fiona to feel Lorana’s pain that Lorana purposely shielded her from a lot of it.

Ironically, it was their strange connection that kept up Fiona’s spirits. If two people could form such a tight bond, then anything was possible, wasn’t it? At least, that’s how Fiona reasoned the matter.

Theirs was a strange relationship, Fiona mused. In some ways, Lorana reminded her of Tannaz … Fiona’s hand stopped moving on Talenth’s eye ridge as that notion froze her into stillness. Lorana was like Tannaz; would Lorana choose Tannaz’s course if the situation continued to get worse?

Fiona realized that she’d stopped breathing and forced herself to take a fresh breath. The difference was that Fiona was older, knew herself more—she could help Lorana where she couldn’t help Tannaz. Still …

She started as a hand clasped her back at the base of her neck and turned quickly, her sea-blue eyes flashing, only to find herself looking up into Kindan’s face, his blue eyes framed by stray locks of dark hair.

The harper’s lips were quirked upward. “Woolgathering?”

Since that night three sevendays before, Kindan’s manner with Fiona had thawed into a warm, easy companionship.

“Yes, I suppose so,” Fiona said, glancing back affectionately to her dragon. “She says she feels heavy.”

Kindan chuckled. “No doubt she does with all those eggs weighing her down.”

“How’s Lorana feeling?”

Kindan’s eyebrows furrowed.