“We think that we can get enough drill done in seventeen days.”

“Is that enough?”

“It’s all we can afford,” T’mar told her simply.

Fiona narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously.

“Talenth will have three Turns then,” he explained.

“What’s that—oh,” Fiona responded, breaking off in chagrin. “She’ll be ready to rise.”

“I thought you would want to have the largest choice possible,” T’mar told her softly. “She deserves

no less.”

It was a moment before Fiona could find her voice. “Yes,” she said quietly. “Yes, that’s very

considerate.”

T’mar made a slight half-bow in his chair. “I try, Weyrwoman.” He finished his klah, rose, and said to

her, “And, with your permission, we will drill this morning and clean after midday.”

“Yes, that seems good,” Fiona agreed, also rising from the table. Karina, who had sat at the far side

watching them in silence, glanced from one to the other and shook her head sadly. Fiona noticed and

shot her a challenging look.

“You will be leaving in thirty days,” Karina told her, pushing back her chair. “We must get ready.”

Fiona grinned at her. “Last chance for ice!”

The cleaning, as Fiona had expected, was tiring and irritating. None of the riders were pleased with

her as they sat for their evening meal, especially faced, as they were, with the knowledge that they would

be repeating their efforts in other weyrs for the next sevenday at the least.

F’jian groaned as he stretched after dessert, glancing apologetically toward the Weyrwoman, but he

was less out of sorts than many of the others who had not had to do such menial duties for the better part

of a Turn.

“We need to leave the Weyr better than we found it,” Fiona reminded, trying vainly to suppress a

glower.

“I know Weyrwoman,” F’jian replied apologetically. “It’s just that my muscles forget.”

“It’ll be easier tomorrow,” she assured him.

“Or the next day,” J’keran muttered sardonically from his seat at the far end of the table.

“Or the next,” Fiona agreed.

“They grumble but they’re not upset.” T’mar’s voice coming from right beside her was startling; he had

been silent throughout dinner. He seemed ready to say more but restrained himself.

“What?” Fiona prompted.

T’mar hesitated before replying, “I only wanted to say that I think you’re doing a great job as

Weyrwoman.” He paused, again obviously weighing his words carefully, and seemed ready to remain

silent until Fiona gave him a challenging look. “I hope you won’t be angry at this, but I wonder how you

will handle becoming a Weyrwoman when we return, and you are not the Weyrwoman.”

“It’ll be a relief,” Fiona responded impulsively. T’mar raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, and

Fiona reassessed her feelings. “I’ll miss it, certainly, but I think I’m too young—”