As Brekke felt for Wirenth’s mind, she was astonished at the incoherence, at the rough, wild emotions. Wondering what could have happened to a queen who’d been so peacefully asleep, Brekke raced through the corridors, to be met in the Lower Cavern by Pilgra, wide-eyed with excitement.

“Wirenth’s ready to rise, Brekke. I’ve called back the riders! She’s on her way to the Feeding Ground. You know what to do, don’t you?”

Brekke stared at the girl, stunned. In a daze she let Pilgra pull her toward the Bowl. Wirenth was screaming, as she glided into the Feeding Ground. The terrified herdbeasts stampeded, keening their distress, adding to the frightening tension in the air.

“Go on, Brekke,” Pilgra cried, pushing her. “Don’t let her gorge. She won’t fly well!”

“Help me!” Brekke pleaded.

Pilgra embraced her reassuringly, with an odd smile. “Don’t be scared. It’s wonderful.”

“I—I can’t…”

Pilgra gave Brekke a shake. “Of course you can. You must. I’ve got to scoot with Segrith. Varena’s already taken her queen away.”

“Taken her away?”

“Of course. Don’t be stupid. You can’t have other queens around right now. Just be thankful Kylara’s at Nabol Hold with Prideth. That one’s too close to rising herself.”

And Pilgra, with one last push at Brekke, ran toward her own queen.

Rannelly was at Brekke’s elbow suddenly, batting at the excited fire-lizard who darted above their heads.

“Get away! Get away! You, girl, get to your queen or you’re no Weyrwoman! Don’t let her gorge!”

Suddenly the air was again full of dragon wings—the bronzes had returned. And the urgency of mating, the necessity of protecting Wirenth roused Brekke. She began to run toward the Feeding Ground, aware of the rising hum of the bronzes, the expectant sensuality of the browns and blues and greens who now perched on their ledges to watch the event. Weyrfolk crowded the Bowl.

“F’nor! F’nor! What shall I do?” Brekke moaned.

And then she was aware that Wirenth had come down on a buck, shrieking her defiance; an altered, unrecognizable Wirenth, voracious with more than a blood urge.

“She mustn’t gorge!” someone shouted at Brekke. Someone gripped her arms to her sides, tightly. “Don’t let her gorge, Brekke!”

But Brekke was with Wirenth now, was feeling the insatiable desire for raw, hot meat, for the taste of blood in her mouth, the warmth of it in her belly. Brekke was unaware of extraneous matters. Of anything but the fact that Wirenth was rising to mate and that she, Brekke, would be captive to those emotions, a victim of her dragon’s lust, and that this was contrary to all she had been conditioned to believe and honor.