“My girl, you think entirely too much about yourself. I assure you that no one was thinking any such thing. Now hold your hand, so, for a moment”

The blood spurted up as Mavi released the pressure on the tendon in Menolly’s wrist For one instant Menolly thought she might taint, but she was determined not to think of herself again. She pretended that she didn’t own the hand that Mavi was going to have to fix.

Mavi now deftly fastened a tourniquet and then laved the wound with a pungent herbal lotion. Menolly’s hand began to numb, increasing her detachment from the injury. The bleeding ceased, but somehow Menolly couldn’t bring herself to look into the wound. Instead she watched the intent expression on her mother’s face as she quickly stitched the severed blood vessel and closed the long slice. Then she slathered quantities of salve on the cut and bound the hand in soft cloths.

“There! Let’s hope I got all that packtail slime out of the wound.”

Concern and doubt caused Mavi to frown, and Menolly became fearful. Suddenly she remembered other things: women losing fingers and ...

“My hand will be all right, won’t it?”

“We’ll hope so.”

Mavi never lied, and the small hard ball of sick fear began to unknot in Menolly’s stomach.

“You should have some use of it. Enough for all practical purposes.”

“What do you mean? Practical purposes? Won’t I be able to play again?”

“Play?” Mavi gave her daughter a long, hard stare, as if she’d mentioned something forbidden. “Your playing days are over, Menolly. You’re way past the teaching ... ”

“But the new Harper has new songs ... the ballad he sang the first night ... I never heard all of it. I don’t know the chording. I want to learn ... ” She broke off, horribly frightened by the closed look on her mother’s face, and the shine of pity in her eyes.

“Even if your fingers will work after that slice, you won’t be playing again. Content yourself that Yanus was so indulgent while old Petiron was dying ... ”

“But Petiron ... ”

“That’ s enough buts. Here, drink this. I want you in your bed before it puts you to sleep. You’ve lost a lot of blood, and I can’t have you fainting away on me.”

Stunned by her mother’s words, Menolly barely tasted the bitter wine and weed. She stumbled, even with her mother’s help, up the stone steps to her cubicle. She was cold despite the furs, cold in spirit. But the wine and weed had been liberally mixed, and she couldn’t fight the effect. Her last conscious thought was of misery, of being cheated of the one thing that had made her life bearable. She knew now what a dragonless rider must feel.

Chapter 4

Black, blacker, blackest

And cold beyond frozen things.

Where is between when there it naught