Now why did Lytol have to tell Lessa? Jaxom groaned to himself, with a flash of his previous discontent.

“Did you find anything?” Felessan demanded as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Find anything?”

“Yes, in the bowels of the Hold.” Felessan’s eyes widened and his voice took on Lytol’s inflections.

Jaxom kicked at a rock, pleased by the trajectory and the distance it flew. “Oh, empty rooms, full of dust and rubbish. An old tunnel that led nowhere but an old slide. Nothing great.”

“C’mon, Jax.”

Felessan’s sly tone made Jaxom look at him closely.

“Where?”

“I’ll show you.”

The weyrboy led Jaxom into the Lower Cavern, the main chamber with a vaulting roof where the Weyr met for sociability and evening meals. There was a smell of warm bread and simmering meats. Dinner preparations were well along, tables set and women and girls bustling about, making pleasant chatter. As Felessan veered past a preparation table, he snatched up a handful of raw roots.

“Don’t you dare spoil your dinner, you young wher-whelp,” cried one of the women, swinging at the retreating pair with her ladle. “And a good day to you, Lord Jaxom,” she added.

The attitude of the weyrfolk toward himself and Felessan never failed to puzzle Jaxom. Why, Felessan was just as important as a Lord Holder, but he wasn’t always being watched, as if he might break apart or melt.

“You’re so lucky,” Jaxom sighed as he accepted his share of Felessan’s loot.

“Why?” the younger boy asked, surprised.

“You’re—you just are, that’s all.”

Felessan shrugged, chomping complacently on the sweet root. He led Jaxom out of the Main Cavern and into the inner one, which was actually not much smaller, though the ceiling was lower. A wide, banistered ledge circled the Cavern a half-dragonlength above the floor, giving access to the individual sleeping rooms that ringed the height. The main floor was devoted to other homey tasks. No one was at the looms now, of course, with dinner being prepared, nor was anyone bathing at the large pool to one side of the Cavern, but a group of boys Felessan’s age were gathered by the miggsy circle. One boy made a loud, meant-to-be-overheard remark which was fortunately lost in the obedient loud cackles of laughter from the others.

“C’mon, Jaxom. Before one of those baby boys wants to tag along,” Felessan said.

“Where are we going?”

Felessan shushed him peremptorily, looking quickly over his shoulder to see if they were being observed. He walked very fast, making Jaxom lengthen his stride to keep up.