“You’ve a Fall tomorrow, you shouldn’t be worrying,” she said before bending back down to tease his lips once more.

Fiona woke early, eyes narrowed, inhaling deeply of the morning air: Something disturbed her. With a tender glance at T’mar, she shifted the blankets and quickly rose out of bed. She slid her feet into her slippers, found the robe she’d left at the end of the bed, shrugged it over her shoulders, and felt around for the small glowbasket at the front of the bed. Its light was weak and in need of recharging, which suited her as she only needed it to provide her with a clear view of her path into Zirenth’s lair.

The big bronze was sleeping, his breath coming in slow, steady waves. Clearly he was no more disturbed than T’mar. Fiona crept quietly past him, leaving the unnecessary glow at the weyr’s exit.

She stood there in silence, her senses stretched, trying to locate the cause of her worry. Frowning, she turned her head toward her own weyr, and listened. Her eyebrows rose in surprise as she recognized a noise closer, coming from Terin’s new weyr.

The sound was an odd mix and it was only when she ducked away from a sudden gust of dust that Fiona could make sense of it: Terin was sweeping Kurinth’s lair and muttering—no, crying—to herself.

“Terin?” Fiona called softly, having stepped away to avoid another cloud of dust.

The younger weyrwoman stopped sweeping and muttering abruptly. A moment later she spoke, sounding miserable. “Fiona?”

Fiona entered the lair and saw that poor Kurinth was huddled in one far corner, her eyes whirling a distressed red as she eyed her mate with alarm. Fiona stepped forward briskly and grabbed the broom from Terin’s hands. The youngster looked up at her in surprise, her lower lip quivering. Even in the dim light, Fiona could tell that she’d been crying: Her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks tear-streaked.

“I couldn’t sleep,” Terin confessed miserably. She gave Fiona an anxious look as she added, “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“Come here,” Fiona said, turning toward Terin’s darkened quarters as she reached for the younger girl’s hand. She led them to Terin’s bed and sat down, pulling the young weyrwoman down beside her. She pulled Terin’s head onto her shoulder and held it, stroking the young dragonrider’s soft red-blond hair soothingly. “Talk.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” Terin repeated. When Fiona remained patiently silent, she added, “I kept thinking of him.” She lifted her head off Fiona’s shoulder and turned her head up to face her, her eyes flashing dimly in the low light. “He got drunk because he’s afraid,” she said, her voice miserable. She choked back a sob before continuing, “He’s afraid he’s going to die. Or worse.”