“You can’t handle the work you put on your plate until you’ve finished the food you’ve put there first,” Shaneese told her sternly, before turning back to H’nez, saying, “I understand that there’s an issue with the firestone?”

Fiona swallowed hard, crying in surprise, “How did you know?”

“I’m headwoman, it’s my duty,” Shaneese said, waving Fiona back to her meal, adding to H’nez, “Besides, it was obvious from the Weyrwoman’s surprise and your sudden return.”

Fiona felt Talenth pounce on a small sheep out in the pens at the same moment that she heard the queen’s triumphant whistling. She got the distinct impression that her queen was not all that hungry but had dispatched the sheep merely to placate Bekka.

Eating is important, Fiona chided her dragon and was chagrined to hear Talenth’s sardonic agreement, As you say.

After that, the Weyrwoman concentrated on her food.

She kept a half ear on the conversation and was relieved to discover that Shaneese and her assistants had already devised a plan to dispose of the old firestone. And, Shaneese assured them, there were plenty of hands ready to do the work.

“After all, there are nearly fifteen hundred weyrfolk,” Shaneese pointed out with a sense of pride. She raised a hand and made another one of her now all-too-familiar peremptory gestures, which was met with the prompt appearance of another woman, several Turns Shaneese’s senior who was introduced as Bevorra, Shaneese’s other assistant headwoman.

“She and the storemaster will arrange everything,” Shaneese said as Bevorra hustled off toward another group of women. She turned to Fiona. “So you only have to meet with the Lord Holders.

“You should probably visit Crom first: From what I’ve heard, Nerra’s more likely to listen to you than Lord Valpinar at Telgar.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Norik spoke up from where he’d been standing, near Fiona. She glanced up toward him. “Given the history between D’gan and Lady Nerra, I can’t imagine how you’ll be received in Crom.”

“D’gan was demanding,” Shaneese allowed, clearly reluctant to say more.

“He demanded that his dragon and his Weyr die for his arrogance,” Norik observed icily.

“As you say,” H’nez interposed smoothly, “he paid with his life. His deeds are done; you’ve written his eulogy and his dirge.”

“I have,” Norik said flatly, directing a look of challenge and appraisal toward H’nez. The bronze rider met his eyes unflinchingly until Norik lowered them and sighed wearily. “I’ve written too many sad songs. Perhaps it is time I found different lodgings.”