AS SOON AS he could, F’nor left the Council Room in search of F’lar. He retrieved the pot of revolting grubs which he’d left in a shadowed recess of the weyr corridor.

He’s in his quarters, Canth told his rider.

“What does Mnementh say of F’lar?”

There was a pause and F’nor found himself wondering if dragons spoke among themselves as men spoke to them.

Mnementh is not worried about him.

F’nor caught the faintest emphasis on the pronoun and was about to question Canth further when little Grall swooped, on whirring wings, to his shoulder. She wrapped her tail around his neck and rubbed against his cheek adoringly.

“Getting braver, little one?” F’nor added approving thoughts to the humor of his voice.

There was a suggestion of smug satisfaction about Grall as she flipped her wings tightly to her back and sunk her talons into the heavy padding Brekke had attached to the left tunic shoulder for that purpose. The lizards preferred a shoulder to a forearm perch.

F’lar emerged from the sleeping room, his face lighting with eagerness as he realized F’nor was alone and awaiting him.

“You’ve the grubs? Good. Come.”

“Now, wait a minute,” F’nor protested, catching F’lar by the shoulder as the Weyrleader began to move toward the outer ledge.

“Come! Before we’re seen.” They got down the stairs without being intercepted and F’lar directed F’nor toward the newly opened entrance by the Hatching Ground. “The lizards were parceled out fairly?” he asked, grinning as Grall tucked herself as close to F’nor’s ear as she could when they passed the Ground entrance.

F’nor chuckled. “Groghe took over, as you probably guessed he would. The Lord Holders of Ista and Igen, Warbret and Laudey, magnanimously disqualified themselves on the grounds that their Holds were more likely to have eggs, but Lord Sangel of Boll took a pair. Lytol didn’t!”

F’lar sighed, shaking his head regretfully.

“I didn’t think he would but I’d hoped he’d try. Not a substitute for Larth, his dead brown, but—well…”

They were in the brightly lit, newly cleaned corridor now, which F’nor hadn’t seen. Involuntarily he glanced to the right, grinning as he saw that any access to the old peekhole on the Ground had been blocked off.

“That’s mean.”

“Huh?” F’lar looked startled. “Oh, that. Yes. Lessa said it upset Ramoth too much. And Mnementh agreed.” He gave his half-brother a bemused grin, half for Lessa’s quirk, half for the mutual nostalgic memory of their own terror-ridden exploration of that passage, and a clandestine glimpse of Nemorth’s eggs. “There’s a chamber back here that suits my purpose…”

“Which is?”

F’lar hesitated, giving F’nor a long, thoughtful look.

“Since when have you found me a reluctant conspirator?” asked F’nor.

“It’s asking more than…”

“Ask first!”