From his position behind S’ban, H’nez shot Fiona a look, but she shook her head, steeling herself for what she knew she must say to Serth. She shivered in fear until she felt a head rest on her shoulder and another arm wrap around her.

“You can do this,” Xhinna murmured.

“Weyrwoman,” L’rian said from her other side. “It’s time.”

Fiona took a deep, steadying sigh.

Serth, if you’re ready, you can go, she called. From on high, Talenth bugled encouragingly, the sound of her voice echoing around the Weyr before other, quieter voices responded.

With an unsteady heave, Serth found his legs, stumbled forward to the ledge outside, and fell into the air. For a moment his wings cupped the night sky, and then he was gone, between.

“No!” S’ban wailed desperately, trying to follow his blue but being restrained by all those who surrounded him. “No, no, no …” His voice faded into silence broken only by the sobs of those who surrounded him, enfolding him in all the love they could muster.

He is gone, Talenth said, her keen complete.

“Fiona!” Cisca’s angry shout echoed around the Weyr Bowl at first light that morning.

Fiona rose quickly—but still quietly enough not to alarm Xhinna. The two had just barely returned from the wake that had started with the loss of Serth and had ended when S’ban—Seban, now—had collapsed, drunk beyond his pain, to be carried by H’nez and L’rian to his bed, where he was tucked in with his current partner and surrounded by piles of small children.

“He’ll make it,” L’rian had declared as he leaned on Xhinna’s strong shoulders. He glanced at Fiona and gave her an approving nod. “Thank you, Weyrwoman. I know how hard it is for you.”

Fiona had found no words for a reply, but L’rian hadn’t expected any. Talenth picked them up at the ledge and flew them back to the queens’ ledge, let them dismount, and clambered up to her bed, to curl up and fall immediately into a deep sleep.

Now, heading out to Talenth’s weyr, she found the gold dragon awake, her eyes whirling a troubled red. Before Fiona could ask what was wrong, Weyrwoman Cisca barged in.

“You should have told me!” Cisca bellowed, her brown eyes flashing. “How dare you tell a dragon of my Weyr—” She cut off abruptly, her eyes going wide as Melirth bellowed from the Weyr beyond.

“What is it?” Fiona asked, suddenly more alarmed by Cisca’s silence than her rage.

The bronzes are blooding their kills, Talenth replied, her tone sounding eager, excited, passionate in a way that Fiona had never heard from her before.

“Go!” Cisca cried. “Take Talenth!” And with that, she turned on her heel and rushed out of the room.

“Talenth?” Fiona repeated in confusion.