“No, I wasn’t referring to that,” Fiona said. Lorana was just starting her twelfth week and only just beginning to show—although, having been in close proximity with her for some time, Fiona had known that she was pregnant for a while. Her lips tightened into a frown, as she added thoughtfully, “Though that might have something to do with it.”

Kindan nodded. “She’s at the stage where going between should be avoided.”

Fiona turned back toward him, eyes flashing. “That’s not it at all, Kindan!”

The harper took a step back, arms raised defensively, alarmed at her fierce reaction.

“What is it, then?” Kindan asked, lowering his arms and stretching out his hands beseechingly.

“It’s … everything,” Fiona said, throwing her arms open wide. “It’s that Talenth and Tolarth both will soon clutch, that we’re losing dragons every three days and all the clutches on Pern will be too little too late and that, on top of it all, she has a child coming into the world and she doesn’t know where she fits.”

“With me,” Kindan said with a decisive nod of his head.

“With us,” Fiona corrected. Kindan gave her a questioning look. “Here, in this Weyr—Telgar—where she’s central to everything, where she can speak to all dragons, coordinate with Nuella and the watch-whers, and be surrounded by those who love her.”

“So where is the problem?”

“The problem is with her, Kindan,” Fiona replied tetchily, surprised at his obtuseness. “The problem is that she sees all she is not—not a Weyrwoman, not a mother, not a mate—and it worries her.”

“How do you know so much about her feelings?”

“I didn’t,” Fiona said. “Mostly I learned it from Shaneese and Mekiar.”

“Do they have any suggestions?”

“Patience, sympathy, comfort,” Fiona said with a heavy sigh. “All the things I’m not very good at.”

Kindan grunted in disbelief.

“It’s true!” she said, giving him a sour look. “I’m better at cheering, at encouraging than I am at comforting.”

“I think you’re wrong,” Kindan said. He raised a hand to forestall her hot retort. “It may be that you feel inadequate to meet her needs but I can’t see how”—and he gestured toward Talenth’s egg-laden belly—“you can’t be sympathetic about her pregnancy.”

Fiona let out the breath she had gathered for her argument with a rueful grin. “I suppose I do understand something of that.”

“And,” he continued, his voice going soft, “I expect you’ve dealt with the same issues of being a mate—”

“True.”

“—and I think you can imagine her concerns about not being a Weyrwoman,” Kindan concluded.

“Ever since T’mar’s recovery, I’ve watched her slip deeper and deeper into sorrow,” Fiona said, her expression bleak. Kindan nodded in understanding.