arranged with Zenor and Nuella—to help her find and fashion a suitable gold ring. Terin kept silent on her

intent with the ring, but Fiona was willing to bet, in the silence of her mind at least, that the ring would be

sized to fit a young man’s hand—probably that of a certain bronze rider. So it was a double shock when

the riders returned that evening to land in the Weyr Bowl to see F’jian leap from his bronze Ladirth, race

over to J’gerd’s brown Winurth, and bodily drag the brown rider down to the ground.

“How dare you!” F’jian shouted as he slammed J’gerd to the ground.

From her seat on the queen’s ledge beside Fiona, Terin let out a shriek.

“Hold!” Fiona cried, her voice echoing loudly around the Weyr, her power of command surging as she

reached out to Talenth and, in an instant, stilled both riders and dragons as though they’d been frozen in

the wastes.

T’mar raced over to the two as they stood grappled but unmoving, cast a mixed look of admiration

and—fear?—toward Fiona, then gestured for her to release them.

Fiona did nothing of the sort, instead racing from her perch on her ledge to stand beside T’mar, gazing

at the two riders as they stood breathing raggedly, fighting against her control.

Let them go, a voice urged her. Fiona glanced around in surprise for the source and found no

one—all eyes were locked on the two riders. With a hiss, she released her hold on the two even as

J’keran and J’nos reached for the two riders and drew them apart.

“What happened?” Fiona demanded, glancing from F’jian to J’gerd and then to T’mar. The

wingleader shrugged.

“He accused me—” F’jian began hotly but broke off abruptly as he spotted Terin in the distance.

“You should know better—” T’mar began consolingly.

“Don’t talk to me, wingleader!” F’jian snapped back. “You have no command over me.”

“I do,” Fiona told him softly.

“A Weyrwoman is a Weyrwoman when her dragon rises,” F’jian retorted, the veins on his neck

straining with his anger.

“No,” Fiona replied, her voice steady and cold. “A Weyrwoman becomes senior Weyrwoman when

her queen is the first to mate in a new weyr.” She gestured around the Bowl. “Do you see any other

queen dragons here?” F’jian swallowed and glanced away from her, and she continued, “So we know

that if Talenth rises, I will be senior Weyrwoman.”

“It won’t happen here,” F’jian said in a snarl.

“No, it won’t,” Fiona agreed. She leaned in toward him, her eyes narrowed dangerously. “And it

doesn’t matter. Because I am a Weyrwoman, here or at Fort Weyr in the future. And because I am, the

dragons—and their riders—listen to me.”