“I suppose that’s so,” she said. “You could bring them along.” She saw Taria’s hesitation, her worried glance toward Xhinna and added, “The offer is always open.”

Taria managed a nervous nod and glanced imploringly toward Xhinna. Fiona gave her friend a nod, which Xhinna returned with a smile before happily tugging Taria away with her back to the children’s table.

So now it was just her and Terin. Fiona shivered, thinking that the nights at Telgar seemed colder than those at Fort even while she knew that wasn’t so; she was just spoiled by her time in hot, dry Igen.

Back in her quarters, she had just changed into her nightgown when she heard the alarming sound of a dragon coughing. Her immediate relief that it wasn’t Talenth again was dashed when her own queen coughed not a moment later.

Bekka rushed in just as Terin rushed out of the bathroom, her eyes wide with fright.

“Is she okay?” Bekka asked.

The other dragon coughed again, the echoes confirming Fiona’s first worried conclusion: It was Ladirth.

Fiona sent Bekka off with Terin, who was clearly so upset by Ladirth’s illness that Fiona feared her worry alone would keep both rider and dragon awake all night.

With an impulsive burst of energy, Fiona grabbed all her blankets and bedsheets, twisted around to pull them over her shoulder, and strode into Talenth’s quarters.

“I think it’s just you and me, love,” she said as she arranged thick blankets on the floor so that she could lie against Talenth’s chest.

She was just dozing when a voice surprised her: “May I join you?”

It was Seban. He didn’t wait for an answer, carefully moving to her side and encouraging her to prop herself against him. The warmth of his body, his arms wrapped comfortably around her, the father-ness of him, was all just too much and she buried her face against the hollow of his neck, biting her lips firmly to keep from bawling.

“There’s no shame in crying, my lady,” Seban told her softly, his free hand stroking her hair. “There’s no one here but you, me, and your queen.” Fiona felt herself shudder but could not let herself go: She was the Weyrwoman, she was the strength of the Weyr, the people depended on her, the people looked to her.

“No one’s looking,” Seban assured her, almost as if he’d read her mind. “And if they were, what would be the harm in that?”

As if his words were the key to unlock her grief, Fiona suddenly found her tears flowing down her cheeks, her sobs uncontrollable, her nose running, and her whole body shaking with grief.

“You take so much on such young shoulders,” Seban was saying softly. “You have the right to let some of it out.”