Cisca smiled at the younger girl. “Perhaps you understand being weyrfolk better than you imagined.”

Fiona nodded ruefully. She started to say something but stopped abruptly, stricken.

Cisca said nothing as she too was suddenly stricken.

Outside, dragons bellowed in anguish, their voices almost drowned out by the nearer sound of

Melirth’s keening. Fiona could hear Talenth’s anguished cry mingling with the others.

I’m here! she called to her dragon.

Talith is no more, Talenth told her sadly.

A hand covered Fiona’s and she looked up as Cisca told her sadly, “That is one of the extra prices

dragonriders pay.”

The death of Talith and his rider J’trel left Fiona distraught for the next several days. She tried to hide

it from Talenth, but the young queen was too perceptive.

What is hurting you? Talenth asked in mixed tones of confusion and protectiveness.

Talith, Fiona replied.

Who?

Never mind, Fiona assured her, her tone as bright as she could make it. Let’s get you oiled up

again; you’ve rubbed it all off in the sand.

Later, when Talenth was sleeping, Fiona sought out the Weyrwoman.

“You want to know why Talenth doesn’t remember?” Cisca asked. She smiled. “That’s one of the

gifts of the dragons—their memories are short, they forget most things quickly.”

“You say most things?”

“Sometimes they remember; usually the strangest things.” In response to Fiona’s confused look, she

added, “You’ll soon find out for yourself.”

“How did Talith die?” Fiona asked the question she’d been dreading for days.

“J’trel was old,” Cisca said. “They went between together.”

“Do dragons die of old age?”

“No one really knows,” Cisca said, shaking her head. “Usually the rider dies of old age first and the

dragon goes between. ” She smiled at Fiona. “You’ve many Turns before that’ll be a concern for you.”

Fiona nodded and returned to her quarters to curl up comfortably with Talenth.

Yet it seemed that Cisca was wrong. Four days later, Fiona was startled awake in the middle of the

night. Talenth was trembling in her sleep, and none of Fiona’s comforting could still the hatchling, yet

neither did the queen wake.

Fiona heard voices nearby and stumbled out of her quarters toward the sound. Her fire-lizard stirred

on her perch atop Talenth and flitted to Fiona’s shoulder. Fiona shushed her absently and strained to

hear.

“Ban the fire-lizards?” K’lior was saying to Cisca.

“That’s what they said,” Cisca agreed. “The fire-lizards have gotten sick and three—at least—have

died. They’re afraid that the dragons—”

“Dragons?” K’lior broke in. He started to say more, but at that moment Fiona stumbled on a pebble

and the noise distracted him. “Who’s there?” he called, thrusting his head out the doorway of his

quarters.

“It’s me,” Fiona said, coming farther down the corridor. “I heard voices.”