knew their way around and had been more prepared for these first weeks with a new weyrling.

“She’s growing well.”

Fiona jerked, startled by the voice behind her. But she turned quickly enough to nod to Cisca, amazed

that such a big person could move so quietly.

“That she is,” Fiona agreed, giving Talenth a final pat. Fiona wasn’t quite sure how to deal with Cisca.

Having grown up as the only surviving child of a grieving Lord Holder, she’d never had to listen to an

older woman’s directions before. And the Weyrwoman was only six turns older than she was.

“Will you let me take your rider, Talenth?” Cisca asked the young gold dragon. As Talenth had curled

up once more and was engaged in her favorite pastime—sleep—she made no reply. Cisca smiled at

Fiona. “I think we can take that for a ‘yes.’ ”

Fiona looked expectantly at her queen fire-lizard, but Fire glanced her way only once, then lay her

head back down on her perch on the dragonet’s neck and closed her eyes, clearly saying, Go on

without me. With a smile, Cisca gestured for Fiona to follow her and led the way out of the weyr and

down the corridor to her own quarters.

“I’m to teach you your duties as a Weyrwoman,” Cisca said as they entered her rooms. Fiona’s eyes

widened as she caught sight of Melirth lounging in her weyr. Cisca caught her glance and laughed. “You

think you’re oiling now!”

Fiona’s attempt to stifle a groan was noticed by Cisca, who continued sympathetically, “Really, it’s not

as bad as all that.” She gestured to the small shapes surrounding her dragon. “The fire-lizards are an

immense help . . . most of the times.”

“My father has a fire-lizard,” Fiona said, forgetting that Cisca had met Jokester at the Hatching.

“Maybe you can entice your father into letting him help you and your little queen,” Cisca suggested,

gesturing to a day table flanked by several chairs.

“No,” Fiona said, shaking her head sadly, as she sat down. “With me here, Father’s only got

Jokester.” She pursed her lips, then shook her head again. “Anyway, if Jokester came, I’m not sure he’d

leave Fire alone.” She met the Weyrwoman’s eyes. “I think it would be best if Jokester stayed at the

Hold.”

“Did your father teach you much of holding?” Cisca asked, taking a chair of her own.

Fiona made a face. “That was all he ever talked about!”

“Well, he did you a service, then,” Cisca said. “Running a Weyr is not all that different from running a

hold.”

The look Fiona gave her was mulish.

“You don’t think so?”

“I can’t imagine that you’ve got to spend your time sitting with old grannies while they go on and on

about the good old . . .” Fiona trailed off as she noticed Cisca’s expression.