The next morning her hand ached and throbbed, and she was stiff from the fall and the climbing. Her half-formed notion of going back to the Dragon Stones’ cove was thwarted by the weather, of all things. A storm had blown in from the sea that night, lashing the harbor with pounding waves. Even the Dock Cavern waters were turbulent, and a wind whipped with such whimsical force that walking from Hold to Cavern was dangerous.

The men gathered in the Great Hall in the morning, mending gear and yarning. Mavi organized her women for an exhaustive cleaning of some of the inner Hold rooms. Menolly and Sella were sent down to the glow storage so often that Sella vowed she didn’t need light to show her the way anymore.

Menolly worked willingly enough, checking glows in every single room in the Hold. It was better to work than to think. That evening she couldn’t escape the Great Hall. Since everyone had been in all day, everyone needed entertainment and was going. The Harper would surely play. Menolly shuddered. Well, there was no help for it. She had to hear music sometime. She couldn’t avoid it forever. And at least she could sing along with the others. But she soon found she couldn’t even have that pleasure. Mavi gestured to her when the Harper began to tune his gitar. And when the Harper beckoned for everyone to join in the choruses, Mavi pinched Menolly so hard that she gasped.

“Don’t roar. You may sing softly as befits a girl your age,” Mavi said. “Or don’t sing at all.”

Across the Hall, Sella was singing, not at all accurately and loud enough to be heard in Benden Hold; but when Menolly opened her mouth to protest; she got another pinch.

So she didn’t sing at all but sat there by her mother’s side, numb and hurt; not even able to enjoy the music and very conscious that her mother was being monstrously unfair.

Wasn’t it bad enough she couldn’t play anymore—yet—but not to be allowed to sing? Why, everyone had encouraged her to sing when old Fetiron had been alive. And been glad to hear her. Asked her to sing, time and again.

Then Menolly saw her father watching her, his face stern, one hand tapping not so much to the time of the music but to some inner agitation. It was her father who didn’t want her to sing! It wasn’t fair! It just wasn’t fair! Obviously they knew and were glad she hadn’t come before. They didn’t want her here.

She wrenched herself free from her mother’s grip and, ignoring Mavi’s hiss to come back and behave herself, she crept from the Hall. Those who saw her leave thought sadly that it was such a pity she’d hurt her hand and didn’t even want to sing anymore.