“We’ll do what we must,” T’mar responded in a tone more acerbic than he’d meant. H’nez jerked in reply, his eyes glowering. In an effort to restore the mood, T’mar turned to Jeila. “And how is your Tolarth today, Weyrwoman?”

“She’s doing well, thank you, Weyrleader,” Jeila said, her tone almost as frosty as H’nez’s. Fiona shot her a surprised expression, which the other weyrwoman ignored.

“She can hardly sleep with all the little ones crawling over her,” H’nez growled. He glanced at Fiona, then turned back to T’mar. “I don’t see why you allow it; none of those will Impress.”

T’mar flushed at the heat in the other man’s words.

“Xhinna and Taria will stand on the Hatching Grounds,” Fiona said. “It’s right that they get to see the eggs early.”

“And it’s good for the rest of the Weyr,” Kindan said. At H’nez’s look, he continued, “Children are the future of the Weyr, we all know that.”

Jeila gave the harper a warm smile and turned to H’nez, her hand caressing his possessively. The lanky rider looked down at her hand and covered it with his other hand, his mood lifting.

Fiona gave the weyrwoman a quick, probing glance and leaned back in her seat, her eyes glowing brightly. Jeila was definitely pregnant; her previous fears had clearly vanished.

The dark-eyed weyrwoman noticed her expression and gave just the slightest shake of her head, imploring Fiona to keep the revelation to herself. Fiona nodded.

“We’ll have weyrlings soon enough to teach,” Fiona said, raising her voice and casting about for Shaneese even as she rose from her chair. “I doubt I’ll need to ask Shaneese, but it is a Weyrwoman’s duty to see to such things as preparations for the weyrling quarters.” With a nod toward T’mar, she added jokingly, “And, O Weyrleader, whom will you entrust with the care and rearing of our future flock of flamers?”

“Kindan,” T’mar replied immediately. The harper, who was eyeing Jeila with an abstracted, thoughtful air, startled at the mention of his name.

“Weyrleader?” Kindan asked, bemused.

“He’s no rider!” H’nez said.

“He knows the lore!” C’tov shouted back, having paid closer attention to the conversation than Fiona had expected, given his unusually morose look.

“It’s all moot until they’re older, anyway,” F’jian said in Kindan’s defense. “It’s not as though he doesn’t know the drills, and he’d be teaching them the ballads regardless.”

Kindan’s eyes widened as he caught up with the import of the conversation and he turned to T’mar in surprise. “You want me to be Weyrlingmaster?”