S’liran was by far the most confident and poised, he brought order out of chaos in any situation—doubtless, B’nik ruefully admitted, the result of his superlative training by D’vin when he was a weyrling at High Reaches Weyr. That S’liran’s Kmuth was one of the first bronzes born with resistance to the dragon sickness—and the largest bronze he’d ever seen—only added to the young man’s prowess.

W’ner, on the other hand, was an old rider. Experienced, yet prone to rely perhaps too much on others; he loved to hear the sound of his own voice. It was a pleasant voice and what he said with it usually made sense, if it often seemed to B’nik that he could have easily used fewer words to convey the same meaning.

In an odd way, it was somewhat refreshing to realize that the problems of who would lead the Weyr were soon going to be out of his hands. He found himself spending more time relaxing, more time enjoying each new dawn, more time bouncing children on his knee when he visited the Lower Caverns—even despite Tullea’s pointed remarks about their parentage, parentage he didn’t dispute much to her annoyance and his amusement.

In a way, B’nik mused, what I’ll miss most is how I’ve changed. Knowing that he was going to die, B’nik no longer had a reason to put up with Tullea’s antics or demands and Tullea had dropped them as soon as she’d accepted that he was going to die. Their relationship had grown steadily stronger, more intimate, restful.

If he had one regret, it was that he could not live long enough to see how their new relationship would unfold.

“B’nik?” Tullea said, impatient at his lack of a response. “Did you hear what I said?”

“So now we have two full Wings,” T’mar remarked bitterly as he and Fiona ate quietly together in the Records Room. She’d sent Terin to relieve Bekka in her watch of Lorana. Fiona wondered if anyone guessed at the growing sense of unease the Weyrwoman had about the ex–queen rider. Bekka had assured her repeatedly that Lorana’s pregnancy was advancing normally—the young healer was rather tart in her choice of words: “You worry too much!” Still, Fiona worried.

Bekka’s hints that Fiona’s worries were prompted by her own pregnancy were ones that she couldn’t dismiss—that she was merely projecting her own fears onto the other woman was a distinct possibility.