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Lessa had not consciously counted the colors of the newly-hatched dragons, riveted by the contrast between the Impressed and the injured candidates. Nevertheless when the nearest egg rocked violently twice, and split in two to reveal a small bronze dragon, she realized she must have been keeping track, because she was certain this was the first bronze. Several candidates moved towards the hatchling, but it shook off the nearest contemptuously, scanning the crowd, and then made in the direction of the queen egg. The male candidate nearest the girls fumbled to get out of the way and tripped.
Exasperated, Lessa broke from the circle to haul him to his feet and out of the way before another candidate was made a casualty by being trod on with dragonet claws. The bronze hatchling reached them, and Lessa put her hand out to turn it aside at the shoulder. The dragons were clumsy and uncertain, and she was sure it was only stupidity that had led to any of the near-adult humans being injured.
Then the bronze dragon swung its head back towards Lessa, and she was lost, rapt in the whirling gaze. She was warm, floating on a wave of joy and empathetic regard she had never before experienced. She would never be alone again, never need to be lonesome, for Tamath was here with her, and he had the best, smartest, bravest rider in the world - Lessa of Ruatha.
Unthinking, Lessa dropped to her knees and wound her arms around the small bronze dragon. In the stands and around her on the sands of the Hatching Ground itself, there was a commotion, voices were being raised; and there were cries of pain from the direction of the promised queen egg as it was the last to hatch. Lessa was oblivious to them all, only raising a hand to scratch Tamath's eye ridge as directed. She only stirred herself when blue riders landed on the sands to lead the new riders and their dragons out of the cavern, and Lessa and Tamath rose to follow, Lessa leaning over to help the hatchling get his balance.
Lessa didn't know much about the Weyr. Half-remembered Teaching Ballads and the occasional dragonrider guest of her parents had stopped at the age of eleven when Fax had invaded Ruatha, and since been supplanted only by wild and base rumor until that very day. F'lar had been frustratingly vague. Lessa had not in fact been totally confident in discounting the idea that dragons ate human flesh, although she was soon certain that the meat scraps provided to the new riders were from entirely mundane beef, especially as one of the stripped carcasses was still hanging near the immense basins.
She had remembered, vaguely, that there would be a number of candidates for the queen egg and so F'lar's proprietary offer of the position of Weyrwoman had been arrogant. But she was not at all certain she was remembering correctly that only male candidates were presented to fighting dragons, or that her memories, if correct, were representative of real Weyr policy. At the age of eleven she had been aware that she was youngest and female and therefore very unlikely to succeed at Ruatha, older male heirs being the preferred rule - but there had still been some chance, especially as her father had always been proud of her and had spoken once speculatively of recommending her as his heir to the Lord Holders. After the rest of her family had died, she had been fully prepared to oust Fax and take over as Lady Holder.
Now that she had Impressed a bronze dragon and it could be absolutely demonstrated possible for a woman, she would have guessed that women riding fighting dragons was similar in the Weyr: unusual but not unheard of, depending on circumstances. Holders often complained that the Weyr was in various ways degenerate, immoral and that dragonmen were like women in that they had sex with each other, so she might have guessed it to be more acceptable in the Weyr, not less.
However, the reactions rapidly disabused her of the idea that her Impression would be considered an unusual but routine event. People kept ducking into the room and staring at her, or pointing her out, and then leaving. The other candidates stared at her, and she felt no small amount of hostility crowding the room around the basins. Tamath creeled anxiously, and Lessa bent to reassure him, relieved to have her attention taken from them.
Of course, the male candidates had been weyrbred: queens were supposed to prefer Holder women but Lessa had never heard anything of the kind about fighting dragons, and with only a dozen or so eggs on the grounds, there would be far more adolescent men in the Weyr than dragons. Lessa, bronze rider, stood in the place of someone's friend or brother, then.
Well, she could handle hostility, but Lessa, bronze rider, had to live in Benden Weyr, now far more than a few hours ago: she could go nowhere else with a bronze dragon, particularly a young one. She had better find a way of bringing some of them around. Shifting as though she was searching for a particularly choice scrap of meat, she took a look around and discerned what she could through expressions and her own innate sensitivity, gauging which of the other new riders were most angry or hostile, which were merely curious or - disconcertingly - attracted to her.
Lessa here had to halt, because Lessa was a practiced conspirator, interferer, liar, bluffer and even worker, but Lessa of Ruatha had, she admitted in her own mind, absolutely no idea how to make friends. Crushing self-doubt was answered and banished by Tamath's instant reassurance: Lessa was wonderful and pretty and smart, how could anyone not want to be her friend? Lessa smiled unconsciously, dipping her head, and thought, Thank you, but I'm not sure they'll agree.
There was a boy to one side of her who had been hurt - she thought he was the one who one dragon had walked over, actually - and was struggling to manage feeding his green dragon. His pain had totally distracted him, and he was neither seething over Lessa, nor eyeing her up in the blood-splattered white candidate's robe. Lessa stuffed two gobs of meat into Tamath's jaw at once, and then turned to him, trying to pretend to a confidence she didn't have. "If she'll move closer, I can help and you can rest your arm in between," she said.
The boy sent her an intensely relieved look; when he turned his face towards her, Lessa could see there were tears in the corners of his eyes. "Ometh?" he said, coaxingly.
You hurt, Lessa heard Ometh tell her rider, now that she was paying attention.
If you move over, I can help your rider and he'll hurt less, said Lessa, remembering how Mnementh had understood her. The hatchling sent an astonished glance to her, but moved willingly so that Lessa could lob meat in her mouth, then turn back to the increasingly hungry Tamath.
Lessa glanced over and saw one of the other, angrier boys about to say something. She pushed on him, hard - dragonriders in general might be dangerous and difficult to influence, but tired, emotionally exhausted and angry people were not, as a rule - and, exhausted beyond any more creative solution herself, made him forget what he was going to say. He stumbled, mouth opening and closing, and Lessa nudged his brown dragon, who was already starving and readily creeled in hunger. The boy looked down, and affection drowned out his anger.
One problem dealt with, Lessa thought wearily, snatched up a meat scrap to give to Ometh, and then turned to feed Tamath again, bending mid-movement to kiss his eye ridge comfortingly. "I'm Lessa," she said to Ometh's rider, and was astonished by it. What a simple thing, to give her name - her personal name - to a stranger! What a wonder, to do it with no fear of discovery!
You are here and you are my rider and nothing else matters, said Tamath.
"I'm Jem," said the boy, smiling through the tears of pain in his eyes. "It's nice to meet you."
The dragons were no sooner satisfied with their meals than they were practically dropping off as they walked. The blue riders returned to lead the new riders to the weyrling barracks. Lessa went automatically to follow the others, but her way was barred at the doorway by a large, husky man with shoulder knots she was certain she should recognize, but could not.
"Not denying that," he was saying to the men who followed him, "But still, don't know if it's appropriate--"
F'lar was among them. Lessa flushed when her eyes met his odd, amber-colored ones. Tamath hissed, and she looked rapidly down, soothing him automatically.
"The young men do sleep in mixed dorms," said an older woman patiently.
"Weyrlings," said the first man severely, "Must not risk their dragons' development with - inappropriate--"
Lessa flushed angrily, finally realizing in her exhaustion what the subject of discussion was, and said, "At Ruatha I slept on the cheese room floor. I'm sure that twelve other people will inhibit any - 'inappropriate activities.'"
"She's a drudge?" said one of the unfamiliar men, looking at F'lar incredulously. Of course, F'lar would not have the time - if he'd had the inclination - to tell anyone who she was before her Impression.
Tamath was increasingly upset, roused from his near stupor by the argument. Lessa furiously raised her chin. "I," she said, "Am Lessa of Ruatha - last of my Bloodline, and the sole surviving issue of Lord Kale and Lady Adessa." She nearly added her claim to Ruatha hold, but bit it off at the last second. She was a bronze rider now, and dragonriders did not Hold. Instead, she said, "I have been - in hiding from Fax these ten past Turns."
"As a drudge," said the man who had spoken, but he was more amused than disdainful now, if that could be called a victory.
"There is no contesting Impression," said F'lar, with a look at her almost as though he thought she had defied him intentionally. "Unless you're proposing that they should be turned out, Weyrleader..."
"What?" the first man said, and Lessa realized why she thought she should have recognized his shoulder knots. "Turned out?" he said, disoriented and alarmed. Lessa, recognizing the look of an overwhelmed and uncreative leader, was dismayed. She didn't know why she had expected any different from the Weyr.
At her feet, Tamath leaned piteously into Lessa's skirts, nearly unbalancing her. Lessa looked down, filled at once with affection and concern. "Excuse me," she said. "Tamath is exhausted. If we could retire to somewhere to sleep...?"
"Let them stay with the weyrlings, tonight," said the woman who had first argued with the Weyrleader. "It isn't as if anyone gets up to anything after a Hatching feast. None of them will have the energy."
Despite these ominous words, Lessa found that very soon the dragonets were asleep, and they were all shepherded back into the Lower Caverns for the Hatching feast. She was stopped on her way out by the woman, who introduced herself as Manora, the Headwoman of the Lower Caverns, and diverted into storage for 'decent clothing.'
"The weyrlings all had it on hand, but of course F'lar swooped you up and brought you here with nothing," said Manora.
Lessa thought of the rags still lying, presumably, discarded in F'lar's bathing room. "I didn't have much," she admitted, cheeks burning.
Manora shot her a sharp look. "In hiding as a drudge at one of Fax's holds? I don't wonder. Still, you're one of us now, and we'd better find you some things from storage... Such as they are," she said, sighing as they entered a storage cavern nowhere near a quarter full.
To Lessa what was left looked well enough, ample and of good quality in comparison to anything that could be found at Ruatha in recent years. But it was clear that the Weyr storage caverns had been laid out with an expectation of more. Manora strode into the clothing stores and began to look through pieces. "You'll need riding gear," she said, "And trousers - you don't object to trousers?" Lessa shook her head. "But at least one or two nice dresses, something for the Hatching Feast tonight..."
Lessa sluggishly caught up, frustrated by her own exhaustion. There was something she wanted badly to know, and her instinct was to prevaricate and wait to hear more, but she had to get used to asking. This was not Ruatha: she was not supposed to be a drudge, desperate to escape notice, and she also didn't know the rules or expectations of the Weyr and had to find out to manage them. She had to think a minute how to phrase her request, but she eventually said in response to one of Manora's earlier comments, "The Weyrleader doesn't seem to be pleased to have me."
Manora shot her a sharp look over the dresses she was quickly scanning through. "R'gul," she said, "Doesn't like to be surprised." Lessa filed the name away. "He prefers when everything is entirely traditional, and he doesn't have to deal with - let alone make - innovations. We'll go search the Records tonight and come up with a precedent for him, and most likely he'll settle down. F'lar is right. The dragon's choice is always right. Do you want to sleep in the barracks? There are several empty weyrwoman's quarters..."
"The other riders," said Lessa, "Are already going to be difficult, aren't they?" She hesitated, however. The drudges' sleeping quarters weren't likely better than whatever lay ahead, but Lessa no longer had the protection of using her special talents to prevent anyone from noticing her too often, or of ten Turns' accumulated filth. "Is it likely to be... unsafe?"
Manora's look turned searching, but she said, "The Weyr's norms are... different." Lessa nodded; she knew that much. "The dragons know about any strong emotions in the Weyr, and often weyrbred humans can perceive them. Weyrlings are discouraged from fighting, or from harboring strong grudges, in case they affect the dragons. You may have a difficult time, but the dragons' responses will alert the Weyr if anything turns violent."
There were about a thousand holes in that statement, but Lessa took it for the reassurances it actually contained and nodded. "I'll stay in the barracks, then."
The dress Manora found for her was a revelation. If Lessa had been impressed by the green dress F'lar had found for her and yanked off a few hours later, this was something else entirely: a gown dyed a bright scarlet, with a handspan of embroidery around the hem, the cuffs, and the neckline. It was a few inches too long at the hem, but Manora helped Lessa tuck a fold of the skirt into the sash so that she could walk easily, showing the over-stitched slippers she unearthed in Lessa's size. As a child, Lessa knew distantly, she had had much finer gowns, gowns with gold worked into the fabric and the embroidery both, but that was like something from another life.
Shyly, Lessa let Manora help her into the gown and put her hair up with a few pins, and took her new bag of personal belongings to the empty barracks before joining the Hatching Feast. Warily she stowed them in the trunk at her bed, wishing it locked, and touched Tamath's head, gently. Her dragon was fast asleep and would probably not stir before she returned, exhausted by the effort of being born.
Lessa took a deep breath, and told herself that she had seen Fax dead, and had no excuse for fear now. Then she strode from the weyrling barracks into the Hatching Feast.
The Lower Caverns were pandemonium: to Lessa, accustomed to depopulated Ruatha, the few hundred weyrfolk at Benden might have been thousands. They were not sullen and quiet as at Ruatha; they talked, laughed raucously, ate exuberantly, drank as much as they liked, played music, danced. The dance going on as she entered was acrobatic and totally unfamiliar, accompanied by an elderly man with a rider's shoulder knots on the gitar and a rhythmic, cacophonous clapping of hands.
Lessa looked elsewhere and saw F'lar watching her. She was relieved and hated it: but he was the only familiar face, and when he beckoned she went, despite herself.
"Shards," F'lar said, "You do clean up pretty."
"Oh, shut up," said Lessa, perching uncertainly on a chair and hesitating when F'lar offered her the platter of meat.
"You'll want to eat while you have time," said the man with him, who Lessa distantly recognized as another rider who had accompanied him to Ruatha: the F'nor who F'lar had mentioned placating? "Any time Tamath is awake you won't have time, and most of the time he's asleep you'll be drilling. And you look half-starved."
Lessa accepted the advice and the meat. F'lar was frowning at her, still, so she smiled and said, "Disappointed you didn't get to pick the new Weyrwoman after all?"
F'nor threw back his head and laughed. F'lar said, caustic, "I should have. No - that's not a criticism of you, Lessa. Shells! You Impressed the first dragon you touched. If you'd gotten to the queen..."
"Well, it's too late now," said Lessa, accepting another slice of meat and bread to go with it. "Not that I'd ever give up Tamath..." Her eyes grew misty and she blinked rapidly, embarrassed.
F'nor and F'lar were smiling at each other, each distant-faced. "No," said F'nor, distantly, "Of course not."
"R'gul is going to give you a hard time," said F'lar, grim again. Was he ever anything else?
"Manora said as much." Lessa nibbled on the bread. She searched the crowd for young men she remembered from the other new riders, but in a sea of unfamiliar faces it was nearly a lost cause. She did find Jem, seated and with that arm finally immobilized in a sling, a few tables away. "She said something about finding precedent...?"
F'lar and F'nor exchanged another unreadable look. "Or 'finding' it," said F'nor with a caustic little smile. More reassuringly, he added, "Manora knows how to handle R'gul. She's been doing it a long time."
"Manora is F'nor's dam," said F'lar.
"But not yours?" Lessa frowned. She had had half-siblings once, she knew, but at eleven Turns it had been a shadowy and nebulous concept. Her mother had not looked directly at them. Fax, of course, had executed all.
"It's common in the Weyr," F'nor said, and to Lessa, "You'll have a lot to learn this way. Queen riders are expected to be Holders."
"But not bronze riders," said Lessa.
"And it won't be completed tonight," said F'lar, seeming to settle on an emotion, and picking amusement. "Go and enjoy your Hatching Feast, Lessa - you only get the one that's yours."
She recognized a dismissal and accepted it, but as she rose she said, "Who is the new Weyrwoman?"
F'lar snorted. F'nor, carefully neutral, said, "Kylara of Telgar. I hear she's Lord Larad's full sister. The one with the floor-length blond braid, if you recall." Lessa didn't, and scanned the room, but F'nor added, "She isn't here. R'gul has the traditional duty of instructing the Weyrwoman, and he has ordered her confined to her quarters except for bathing and feeding the new queen."
"Oh, a fine thing not to tell me about your expectations," Lessa said to F'lar, and went from the table. To her surprise, two tables away someone asked her to dance, and while she confessed she had no idea how, the pleasure of the heavy, full skirt swirling around her was enough to entice her to agree.
Soon, Lessa had no time to think of the life that might have been, the new Weyrwoman Kylara, or anything else. Manora or F'nor or someone found precedent, eventually, in old and nearly-illegible records: at one time recruitment of women to ride green dragons had been more or less routine, up to the discretion of Weyrleader policy, and there were other one off incidents when they Impressed bronze, brown or blue, never very common but acknowledged. These incidents had been dismissed as legend, but Lessa provided the proof in repetition. The records were fairly clear that the individual women had ridden against Thread, trained as weyrlings and generally filled normal duties. Apparently when green riders were common there were generally separate, female weyrling barracks, but as Lessa was the only one, and R'gul resoundingly refused the question of whether, if he wanted female barracks designated for Lessa, they would allow female candidates to stand for green fighting dragons in the future, she was left in the one, male - or now unisex - barracks.
Lessa encountered R'gul himself only once, watching the weyrling instruction with a diffident face. He glared at her when she spotted him, and stalked off immediately. Alarm raised the hair on her neck, but he made no further appearances or approaches, and far from further alienating her from the other weyrlings, they seemed to find R'gul's frustration with her entertaining: if anything it endeared her to them. This was a welcome relief in the company of a bunch of teenage boys, Lessa admitted to herself privately: the eldest of them was just her age of twenty-one Turns, and mostly they were at least three or four younger. Even the eldest seemed Turns younger.
Galling as it was to be lumped in with these children, younger than Lessa remembered ever being, and treated as though she needed supervision, the work was too hard and the newness of it too consuming for her to spend very much time resenting it. She might have already had a thorough grounding in Teaching Ballads at Ruatha hold - ten Turns ago - but the Weyr's collection was different, including an extensive selection of detailed ballads on aspects of weyrlife Lessa had never before considered, and of course, it had been ten Turns. And that was only the theoretical part of her duties: the vast majority of Lessa's time was spent feeding Tamath, bathing Tamath, oiling Tamath, or involved in various chores assigned to weyrlings, some educational like making and repairing riding gear, some decidedly not.
On the one hand, this was not the glamorous and powerful life F'lar had conjured for her to get her to leave Ruatha. On the other hand, Lessa would not have wanted to be confined to the Weyrwoman's quarters like the unseen Kylara, and most of the time she was too tired to care, anyway. And very soon, within the Turn, they would be taught to fly and then to ride between, at which point she could go back to Ruatha any time she liked - if not exactly to stay.
Besides, there were only seven bronzes, all wing leaders, all seated at Council. Lessa would have a not insubstantial vote immediately when she graduated weyrling training. And, she thought sometimes, very late at night, when Tamath was asleep and she was nearly there herself, there was the lofty position of Weyrleader, which she could not believe R'gul could maintain for long and which was in reach only for bronze riders.
In six months, the weyrling dragons were nearly all flying alone, and Tamath, along with the largest of the browns, had been declared by the Weyrlingmaster and Weyr Harper C'gan nearly ready for flight with a rider. And in six months, Lessa, to her own small amazement, had friends: to Jem, she had added Maret among the weyrlings, and Kemi from the younger women of the Lower Caverns, along with, if Lessa flattered herself, Manora herself, and F'lar and F'nor. There was a mood of breathless anticipation towards the new queen that quickly explained why Lessa had not faced too much lingering resentment, except by the oldest of the failed candidates: Nemorth had always laid small clutches, of a dozen or so, but the new queen Ramoth was expected to lay at least twenty, enough for nearly all of those who would still be young enough to stand in two or three more years.
The evening of C'gan's announcement that he would make his final decisions about the first rider flights the next morning, Lessa, Jem and Maret trudged into the Lower Caverns once their dragons were asleep, tired but exuberant. They were joined immediately by Kemi, who had her own look of flushed excitement and was obviously dying to give them her own news through Maret's excited explanation that he or Lessa might be allowed to fly the next day.
Lessa normally held herself somewhat in reserve, but she badly wanted to know about any event that might influence events at the Weyr. When Maret had broken off, she said, "And what happened in the Lower Caverns today, Kemi?"
Kemi needed no further invitation. "Well," she said, leaning in conspicuously and lowering her voice, "I was sent up to clean in the Weyrwoman's quarters, right? And I think they forgot I was there, because when I was straightening the living quarters, they got into an argument in the Weyr proper."
"They?" said Jem.
As though it wasn't obvious, thought Lessa, but she was still gratified when Kemi said, "The Weyrwoman and the Weyrleader, of course." She grinned at them. "I didn't get a good look, but I did hear a slap... and see R'gul leave past me a minute or so later with a big red mark on his cheek."
The weyrlings giggled at this. R'gul had his supporters, but most of the youth in the Weyr chafed at his severity. It was R'gul, Lessa had learned, who had flatly banned dragons from leaving the Weyr unnecessarily, and ended routine Weyr attendance at Gathers and festivities by fiat. Even those too young to remember other policies had been told about them.
"If she doesn't like R'gul," said Maret, cautiously, "You think..."
"Maybe," said Kemi mysteriously.
Lessa sighed internally, and took a bite of bread silently. Everyone in the Weyr knew certain basic facts of life - like how the Weyrleader was selected - and Lessa was catching up some through weyrling instruction, but only the official versions of facts. When the subject came up directly they tended to redirect. Weyrfolk, Lessa had learned, stringently avoided open conflict whenever possible: dueling was banned, resources were held in common except for the most menial and personal of property, even sexual relationships were never exclusive and open jealousy severely disapproved of. R'gul's habits of issuing commands by fiat aside - business was supposed to be discussed in Council by the bronze riders and Weyrwoman and hashed out thoroughly in advance before votes that were more of a formality. R'gul's conduct, which broke most of these norms for all his harping on strict adherence to Tradition, was a subject of disapproval by nearly everyone, but for the very same reason no one would openly express dissent.
Instead, there was a palpable air of waiting, focused on Kylara and the young queen Ramoth. Their confinement only added to the mystery, and whenever Kylara brought Ramoth out to feed or bathe - always accompanied by a bronze rider - the Lower Caverns would bustle with people coming out on manufactured errands, finding excuses to go to wherever the new queen was. Her growth was marked by everyone with delight, often in the same breath as complaints about R'gul were alluded to and then dropped. Of course, traditionally, Lessa knew, the Weyrleader was the rider of the dragon who mated with the Weyrwoman's queen. But things could not be so simple: for one thing, why had F'lar's Mnementh, the largest and strongest of the adult bronzes, not flown Nemorth, if that was all? Why did Kylara's preferences come into it? Lessa had the distinct feeling that the weyrfolk were waiting not for another gamble, but with the expectation that they could act - that support in Benden Weyr for different bronzes mattered. But she hadn't cracked the how yet... and whatever happened was not yet to happen soon.
Which, Lessa reflected ruefully, was just as well. She meant to be in a position to maneuver when that time came, but with Tamath still half-grown and herself not yet able to fly him alone, she was in no place to seriously challenge R'gul. She must learn the rules of the Weyr first, and she must learn to fly her own dragon.
But the news of Kylara and R'gul's quarrel stuck with her. If the queen was so central to replacing R'gul, Lessa mused, perhaps she ought to take an interest. After all, Kylara had been banned from leaving her quarters, but the bronze riders attended her apparently more or less at will, as did certain wing seconds like F'nor. And Lessa might be a weyrling, but she was also a bronze rider.
In order to make any plausible excuse for attending Kylara, Lessa and Tamath must be able to fly. Lessa nearly held her breath the next day. She was small, but she justified to herself, that would surely make it easier for Tamath to carry her, and Tamath was by far the largest of the weyrling dragons. Lessa had gained muscle along with weight back at the Weyr, and for the first time in her memory her bones did not loom obtrusively in her reflection on those rare occasions she had time to look in the mirror in the bathing chamber.
C'gan let them attempt flight, though his wariness was palpable. Holding her breath, Lessa mounted just as she had been shown a dozen times, climbing the newly sewn and re-checked straps harnessed on Tamath, and settled between his neck ridges. Tamath was pleased: Lessa was exactly where she should be as his rider. Impatiently they awaited C'gan's last instructions. Then Tamath crouched, Lessa clutching the riding straps, and pushed off, immense bronze wings spread--
And they were aloft! Lessa wanted to scream in joy, feeling the power of her dragon underneath her, watching the figures of C'gan and the other weyrlings shrink, feeling her stomach drop as they shot upwards. Tamath brought his wings down powerfully, buoying them up, up. They could fly forever, Lessa and Tamath thought in one, fly anywhere, they were unstoppable..
With difficulty, Lessa turned her thoughts back to the instruction and told Tamath to bank a wing and circle the bowl. Tamath grumbled but obeyed. Back in her own mind, Lessa was aware that Tamath was still half-grown, grew hungry easily and might be overextended and unable to fly for days or weeks as a consequence, or worse, seriously injured. With difficulty she restrained them both to a lap around the bowl, then a gentle half-circle before they lapped the bowl in the other direction and - Tamath grumbling again - spiraled down to a textbook landing.
C'gan was praising them, the other weyrlings staring in mixed envy, hostility and pleasure, but Lessa's mind was elsewhere: she had briefly glimpsed the sleeping, golden queen on their flight.
Kylara had been Weyrwoman of Benden for coming on nine months now and she was bored out of her skull.
Ramoth was wonderful, of course. Ramoth was beautiful and strong and Kylara's very own and she loved Kylara with a strength and purity that she had never before experienced: never would either of them be alone again. If it weren't for Ramoth, Kylara would never have stayed.
Then again, if it weren't for Ramoth, Kylara thought carefully when the dragon child was fast asleep, her situation would be nowhere near so intolerable. R'gul had confined her to her quarters, and in the pitifully inhabited Weyr, anyone who saw her out of bounds would immediately recognize her and be certain of it. Surely some of the Weyr's inhabitants must not agree with R'gul, who Kylara thought dismally lacked even Larad's way with people, but as Kylara had no opportunities to obtrusively scope out the denizens of the Weyr and precious little chance for gossip, she had no idea who those hypothetical dissenters might be.
Instead she had the bronze riders, all seven of them, from husky, ineffective R'gul, to severe and handsome F'lar, to young, exuberant K'net; and a few of the braver wingseconds. They danced attendance on her, coming up to aid her to the feeding grounds or the lake with Ramoth, offering her news - selectively, and in some cases daring to flirt, although R'gul often lingered nearby and would chase off those men Kylara liked best. She was certain they were all attracted to her - well, the bronze riders, some of the browns might not actually like women - but she'd had little chance to take advantage of it with so little privacy from R'gul and the constant excuse that she was 'risking Ramoth.' Hah! As if Ramoth hadn't sat through dozens of green flights by now. More likely R'gul didn't want to let her form any attachments that might risk his precedence when Ramoth rose to mate.
Kylara had no intention whatsoever of having R'gul. She wasn't entirely certain how much influence she would have, although Ramoth's indifference to Hath was reassuring on that score. But if Hath did fly Ramoth, Kylara mused, she could always shove R'gul off the side of the Weyr after he fell asleep the next night and claim he'd tripped. What could they do, execute her? The former Weyrwoman Jora was universally loathed by everyone Kylara had met in Benden, but they'd been stuck with her to the end of her life nonetheless.
But that delightful opportunity was more than a year off at this venture, most likely, and Kylara wasn't quite rash enough to resort to murdering R'gul out of hand when there was a different possible means of replacing him at hand that would leave her reputation at the Weyr better suited. In the meantime she copied Teaching Ballads - endlessly - and when she could no longer bear it she roused Ramoth, or threw tantrums, or picked fights over petty details until R'gul gave up - which also had the benefit of making him hesitate to refuse any reasonable request of hers lest she throw another fit. That way Kylara had at least got the indulgence of sending a woman from the Lower Caverns up to clean, although she swore R'gul was timing it for her lessons so Kylara wouldn't get a chance to speak to any of them. She got what she could out of the besotted bronze riders, too, although they were depressingly reserved on the Weyrleader's obvious faults, to a man. K'net chafed most obviously, and Kylara had deliberately cultivated a soft spot for him, but he'd need firm handling as a leader and she wasn't sure Piyanth was up to beating out Orth or Mnementh in flight.
There was one more bronze, one of the weyrlings, although Kylara had only had distant looks at him and his rider - a small boy, probably one of the younger candidates. Discreet questioning on the subject of the frequent green flights had established that queens were generally the last to reach sexual maturity: most greens rose for the first time in the vicinity of their first Turn, while male dragons might first express interest anywhere from one Turn to one and a half. A very young rider might delay the dragon's sexual maturity, though generally not much beyond the age of two.
Of course if the boy who rode the newly-hatched bronze was very young, a victory in the Weyr's mating flight was profoundly unlikely. The last bronze rider's identity was just one more piece of information Kylara desperately wanted, although she wasn't so surprised that the other bronzes wouldn't discuss yet another, much younger rival with her readily.
So Kylara thought, until an unexpected visitor arrived to see her to the feeding grounds one day: the youngest bronze, whose name was Tamath (the dragons remembered each other's names), alighted on the ledge, and swinging off of him was, unmistakably, not a young boy but a woman: dressed in leather riding gear, with a black plait swinging over her shoulder on the way down and small but unmistakable breasts.
A woman! Kylara mused, shocked. Meanwhile the last bronze rider turned to Ramoth and bowed, deeply. "My duty to the queen," she said. Ramoth's eyes whirled faster with interest and unaccountably, Kylara blushed.
She cleared her throat, uncomfortable, and rose, gathering her skirts in one hand. "We thank you," she said. "I don't believe we've met!"
"Lady Kylara," the bronze rider said with another bow. She seemed hesitant for some reason, but before Kylara had to ask again she said, "My name is Lessa, rider of bronze Tamath." Something about the name rang a very distant bell in Kylara's memory; perhaps she had heard Lessa mentioned after all by Manora and assumed it was the name of one of the women of the Lower Caverns. "If you're willing, we're here to assist you to the feeding grounds."
Of course, though Tamath and Ramoth were hatched out of the same clutch, the bronze and his rider had been flying together for months, while Kylara was battered with R'gul's nonsense insistence that queens didn't fly. She smoothed those thoughts away, mind racing with other plans, and made herself smile brightly. "Of course," she said, "We thank you," and she got up to allow Lessa - considerably shorter, but with the visible, dense muscles of a working rider - to help her up to Tamath's back. Actually those muscles were quite something on a slender woman. Kylara regarded them with a certain intrigue, and leaned speculatively against Lessa's chest once mounted.
I like her, Ramoth announced spontaneously of another rider for the first time Kylara could recall.
Well, don't get too attached, my heart - we're just meeting them.
There wasn't much chance to talk on the glide down from the queen's weyr to the lake, although Lessa earned some good will by willingly following Kylara to the side to help scrub the immense Ramoth. Kylara was still dwelling on the unexpected discovery of a female rider. She decided there was no use in being subtle and asked outright, "Are there many other female riders? I didn't see any among the weyrlings, but then I thought you were a boy watching you train from the ledge."
Lessa looked up from her spot rubbing sweet sand into Ramoth's shoulder. "I'm the only one," she said, a curiously flat pronouncement. After a moment she seemed to realize this was a conversation and added, "After my Impression they found other cases in the Records, but the most recent was three centuries ago."
"I wasn't informed of that," said Kylara crossly, although it wasn't as though she had been able to think of much but Ramoth (and the desperate desire to sleep) for the weeks after the Hatching when that must have happened. Still, Kylara was supposed to keep the Record.
"R'gul doesn't like anything unusual," said Lessa, flatly.
Now that was an oddly direct statement. Kylara decided to fish: "You're weyrbred, then?" she said, smiling flatteringly and hitching her skirt a bit higher into her sash. She knew what they said about green riders. Perhaps the same was true of a woman who Impressed a bronze.
"No," said Lessa, black eyebrows flying up. "Holdborn."
"From where?" said Kylara sweetly. Lessa certainly didn't look Southern or much like the typical Telgar Holder, but she was near Kylara's age and pretty enough Kylara seriously doubted she could have come from one of Fax's Holds, not without all her will beaten out of her, or at least some seriously disfiguring scars.
Lessa was silent for a long while, as though it was a hard question, or perhaps as if F'lar's irritating taciturn silences had rubbed off on her. Then she said, like a concession, "From Ruatha."
"Ruatha?" Kylara stopped dead. Ramoth turned her head a moment later in the silence, inquiring why they had both stopped scrubbing.
"From Ruatha," said Lessa, grimly, eyes distant. "I am the last of the Blood. Nearly eleven Turns ago, Fax killed all of my family... but me. I hid in the watchwher's lair, and when F'lar rode on Search, I achieved Fax's death."
Kylara's mouth fell open. She might have thought this an insane tale, but Lessa rode a bronze and presumably was not lying. What an incredible way of joining the Weyr, only to become just another weyrling! And that was why her name was familiar, too: Kylara had once known the name of Lord Kale's youngest daughter, in her adolescence.
But of course Lessa rode bronze, and would not be a weyrling forever. A question mark hovered in Kylara's mind, but what she said - and very nearly meant - was, "That must have been so hard for you."
Lessa jumped as though startled. "I - I suppose," she said, as though she had not actually thought about this question. For a moment Kylara thought Lessa might cry, or flee, but Ramoth had grown bored and turned over, splashing them both liberally in lake water, and they were distracted.
Kylara had no time to consider developments after that until Ramoth was bathed, fed, and she had been escorted back on bronze Tamath to her weyr, sopping wet gown and all. Kylara sensed an opportunity here: "Oh," she said, when Ramoth had crawled into her stone bed and collapsed, instantly, asleep. "That dragon child soaked both of us! If you'd like to dry off, I can lend you another dress..." Kylara, of course, had packed several bags on the night of her Search, and in her enforced idleness commandeered a certain amount of cloth and thread for more clothing. "And if you don't mind terribly, I could prevail on you to help with my hair? It will be a tangled mess by now... If they don't need you for weyrling training, that is..."
Lessa's face was inscrutable, but she said, "I'm not needed," apparently as her total and complete answer. Kylara shrugged it off and went to the window in the living quarters, hauling both tunics off unceremoniously (they weren't her best outfits by any means - she'd learned not to wear those bathing Ramoth) and taking her time arranging them to dry in the sunshine. When she glanced innocently over her shoulder, turning so that the line of her face and her breasts would be back-lit golden by the window, she saw Lessa was blushing. "Here, we can dry yours, too!" said Kylara, breathless and gleefully naked.
Lessa balked. Kylara turned away, letting her take her time, and rummaged in her clothes chests. She had a lot of height and shoulder on Lessa, but she had tacked up the hem of a few simpler dresses for chores, and together with a belt they probably wouldn't drown the other rider. "Here," Kylara said breathlessly, "Once you've got your wet things off, see if the hem is a good length on you." Then she turned deliberately back to the clothes chest for her own clothing and took her time.
Patience was rewarded. As Kylara decided laboriously between the blue and the green over-tunics, she finally heard the sounds of leather being shucked off. She didn't dare look until she had finished her selection, but when she finally turned she had a rewarding view of Lessa's slim, muscled body, studded with old scars. Kylara frowned, wondering what on earth Lessa had been disguised as for years. But then Lessa was straightening and Kylara hastily took her eyes away and led them to the bathing chamber, where she threw her dry things over a shelf and plunged unceremoniously into the water with sweet sand to wash her body before she begged Lessa's help at the laborious task of untangling and washing lake muck from her long gold hair.
Kylara's braid had hung near her ankles since early adolescence. She could manage it herself if she had to - and given she wasn't about to beg R'gul's assistance and he'd be horrified even if she did while Ramoth remained a child, she'd had to for most of the past months - but it was an excellent excuse to command someone's attention, and really much easier with help. At home she'd had a maid whose main job was managing her wardrobe and hair, and every time it had to be washed they'd spent the full day on it.
Lessa was plainly not entirely sure how to go about things when she picked up the comb and the braid, but Kylara chattered and thanked her and beamed her brightest smile, and eventually some long lost memory which presumably predated Fax kicked in and Lessa relaxed into the motions of combing. She wasn't an easy woman to flatter, but Kylara kept at it and eventually her answers about the weyrling training and the denizens of the Lower Caverns, who Kylara pretended an effusive interest in, became longer and easier. For her part, Kylara profoundly enjoyed Lessa's increasingly proximity as she relaxed and moved up the braid, the warmth of her breasts brushing Kylara's shoulders when she leaned forward, the slenderness of the fingers Kylara spied on her shoulders and the delicate ankle that dangled, finally, over the edge of the pool at her side.
Of course R'gul couldn't leave her unattended for long: he walked in when Lessa was disentangling the knots at the nape of Kylara's neck and spluttered impotently, shocked beyond belief, Kylara thought nastily, at the sight of two naked women in her weyr. "What on earth--"
"R'gul!" said Kylara, reaching back to firmly remove Lessa's fingers and comb from her hair and thereby achieve freedom of movement. "Lessa was helping me with my hair." Then, because she had always believed the best way of defending one's self was to attack before it became an issue, she rose to her feet, confronting R'gul with her full and temporarily forbidden naked body, and advanced. "Why did you not inform me of her presence here? In my capacity as Recorder alone--"
R'gul was saying something that Kylara didn't deem worth listening to. She changed tactics rapidly: "I would have appreciated knowing there was another Holder Lady here, if nothing else!" then, before he could object that rank was meaningless in the Weyr continued, "And isn't it the duty of the bronzes to attend the queen? In any case," she said, taking a few steps further into slapping range. R'gul unwisely let her force him into a retreat. "How dare you storm in here without knocking - I suppose you thought you were about to walk in on me in some orgy? As if I'd risk Ramoth! Really, the way Holders carry on about dragonmen I didn't expect you all to be such prudes," she said, backing him all the way out into the corridor accessing the weyr. Ramoth was still asleep, but bronze Tamath poked his head into the corridor and focused one whirling orange eye on R'gul.
R'gul fled. Or stormed off, possibly.
Kylara turned, finally, to check on Lessa, and found her pressed to the opposite wall of the dry part of the bathing room, having retreated as far from R'gul as possible, with her scarred arms wrapped around herself: but she had her head thrown back, laughing.
Lessa came to see her often over the coming months, which Kylara appreciated as much because her presence could instantly banish R'gul. Sometimes he would seem to wind himself up to chastise them, but invariably Ramoth would wake restlessly, or Hath would stir, or something of the kind would divert him and take the wind from his sails. Kylara lavished Lessa in attention, as much for the amusement of Lessa's uncertainty how to take it as for the irritated jealousy of the other bronze riders, all of whom clearly had not considered the newest, female bronze rider a new contestant until Kylara began making obvious statements of her preferences.
Oddly F'lar, who for all his reserve had struck Kylara as one of the most competitive, was nearly the least jealous. Kylara screwed up her resolve, dismissed her instincts and flat out asked him about it one day, after a few weeks of failing to work him around to the subject indirectly. "You don't mind that I like Lessa," she said, when F'lar's gaze caught on the riding harness Kylara had insisted on mending for Lessa earlier.
"I don't," F'lar said, cautiously.
"The others do," said Kylara, irritated by his reserve. "And I thought you wanted me yourself, or at least you wanted to be Weyrleader. So why don't you mind?"
F'lar laughed. "Direct, aren't you?" he said; then his eyes went distant briefly, the look of a rider communing with dragon. Kylara unconsciously looked back, half-longing, towards the sleeping Ramoth in the main weyr. Then F'lar said, "Lessa believes, as I do. I believe she would have been Weyrwoman if she hadn't Impressed before she got to the egg." Kylara bristled at this insult, but F'lar was harder to divert with screaming fits than R'gul and he went on before she could work herself up, "She speaks to all dragons, like Moreta."
Kylara reeled back, a thousand moments when Hath stirred at a fortuitous moment coming to mind, and F'lar took the chance to continue, "I've planned to be Weyrleader since F'lon taught me; he was Weyrleader before R'gul, you know. He was my father." With no pause for that revelation F'lar went on, "And I'll still compete in the flight. But a strong enough queen rider's preferences usually tell, which is why R'gul didn't want you forming relationships with any of us in the first place."
"Will the Weyr accept Lessa as Weyrleader?" Kylara said. If she trusted F'lar to give an honest answer, this was the crucial question. She couldn't ask Lessa's opinion without having explicitly discussed their plans.
"It's tradition," said F'lar obscurely, and shrugged. "The Weyr is near revolt against R'gul. The question you ought to ask is if your brother and the other Lord Holders will listen to Weyrleader Lessa. You know that the tithes have been less and less adequate."
"I had noticed, thank you, I did spend the first twenty-odd Turns of my life eating adequately," Kylara retorted, with no intention of confessing that she and Manora had discussed the systematic additions of F'lar's wing through raiding: but an idea had crept in. "The bronze riders must account for all their coming and going," she said to F'lar, "Even if they have discretion for exercises with their wings."
"We're never meant to be alone, no," F'lar said, raising a heavy brow.
"But the weyrlings are drilling in reference points." Kylara had gleaned quite a lot of information about normal instruction from Lessa. "They go by themselves."
"Whatever you're planning had better be quick," said F'lar, and looking not at all certain, he left the Weyr.
Kylara took a deep breath and put Lessa's riding gear aside, and went to write a letter to her brother. She had to play her cards right. She hadn't been permitted to write to him, and as far as she knew he hadn't been informed his sister was Weyrwoman, but that wouldn't be enough in and of itself. Bringing him marching against the Weyr with an army would hardly help matters. She had to emphasize the complicity of the Lord Holders in her condition - the inadequacy of the supplies... The potential to oust R'gul and replace him with a Weyrleader of Kylara's personal preferences, knowing that Larad liked to believe her easily influenced by strong men like him, and would read into that the possibility of a real role dictating Weyr policy through her... And the carefully anonymous reference to a certain candidate she thought would be more agreeable, if the Weyr could be provisioned adequately and Kylara seen as responsible for it through him...
When Lessa came to see her next, Kylara brought the letter with her to the ledge. "Lessa," she said, with her most desperately appealing gaze. She was never sure how much Lessa responded to her flirting, but she must give this her all. "I have no right to ask this," she said breathlessly, "But I hoped you would do me a favor... It's risky..."
"Tell me," said Lessa confidently, raising her chin.
Kylara took a deep breath. "R'gul's stopped me from writing to my brother, Larad of Telgar," she said, hoping that this might tug on the orphaned Lessa's heartstrings, always assuming Lessa actually had a heart. "And there's this issue of provisions. I thought I might prevail on him to see sense - especially with the stores so empty - but I must get a letter to him to do that. I know the weyrlings are practicing landmarks..."
"I've learned Telgar," said Lessa, and swallowed. "A queen can inhibit the dragons. If you get Ramoth to stop Tagath from telling C'gan where we really were, we can go on our next exercises tomorrow."
This was exactly what Kylara had hoped, and she passed the letter from her sash to Lessa, who quickly tucked it inside her riding jacket. But it was not the whole of her scheme, so she pressed ahead: "F'lar tells me he thinks you would be a good Weyrleader," she said, and as Lessa's eyes flashed in surprise, she added, "Because he says you believe - but not what you believe in. What is it, Lessa, that you share with F'lar?"
Unexpectedly, Lessa's face had gone white. She turned to look out the ledge at the sky, searching for some danger: Fax's signal fires? Kylara thought blankly. Hath and R'gul returning? But Lessa said instead, "The Red Star."
"Thread," breathed Kylara, uncertain how to take this. Lessa and F'lar might simply be deluded, but...
"The danger is real," said Lessa, and the force of her conviction was enough to persuade Kylara not to argue. They could always hash that part out later after R'gul was dealt with.
Lessa confirmed she had passed off Kylara's letter to the Telgar watchman, but after that they had to wait: Lessa had hardly been able to wait for the Lord of Telgar to issue a reply sneaking out on a training exercise, and Kylara knew Larad would want to deliberate over her letter before acting. Amusingly, since he could hardly send a private message to his sister by drum codes and a single messenger would raise questions, the most discreet way of answering her would be a tithing train... And Kylara would have loved to see his face confronted with that notion, but he might or might not actually come so far himself.
In the meantime she amused herself in between the tedious lessons playing with R'gul and seducing, piece by piece, Lessa. As they grew closer Kylara became more confident that Lessa was not resistant so much as nearly oblivious: she reacted to Kylara but hardly seemed to know why, for all they had discussed Lessa becoming Weyrleader. Kylara could not seriously investigate the issue while she was supposed to be courteously observing chastity until Ramoth was grown, and she was also constantly watched by the other bronze riders - but with Lessa all but melted in her arms one moment and oblivious to Kylara's most obvious ploys the next, that might have been just as well. If Kylara didn't know better she'd think Lessa was actually a virgin.
Months passed, and Kylara was starting to believe that Larad had either dismissed her for raving or the message had never actually been passed on to him in the first place, when the news of another tithing train sighted swept the Weyr, from entirely the wrong direction to be the loyal three. Kylara made sure Lessa was with her when they arrived - wearing a gown instead of riding gear, although it took fifteen minutes of Kylara's best pouting to accomplish. She also ensured that Larad's man got a good, long at the dark haired woman at Kylara's side - and was introduced to her as Lessa, last of the Ruatha Blood and a dragonrider. That, and the tithing train, were worth far more than Larad's letter, full of platitudes about behaving herself and not causing trouble for the Weyr, too.
"Like that tells me anything," she said, once her brother's man had gone.
Lessa leaned over Kylara's shoulder and snorted.
"Well, it might not be news for you," said F'lar, who had arrived just as the tithing train leader departed. "It tells us how much practice you have."
"You'd better get out of range if you're going to speak to her like that," Lessa advised F'lar solemnly.
"Watch yourself," said Kylara to Lessa, "You're in range, too, you know." But she was smiling, and it wasn't even a calculated expression this time.
Autumn progressed: Ruatha's tithing train, too, was added to their stores this year - and more plentiful than Telgar's for all Ruatha had been impoverished for too long. Ramoth approached her second year and her growth, finally, slowed. Lessa and F'lar, and F'nor as well, consulted on the subject of Thread, often in Kylara's quarters when R'gul wasn't around to stop them, although Kylara maintained a skeptical distance and a wait and see attitude towards the whole issue. As Ramoth approached readiness to rise, R'gul took to haunting her quarters with much greater frequency, eyeing Lessa up skeptically as she became more confident in ignoring him. He must think Kylara as ignorant as he had desired: he had told her absolutely nothing of dragon mating, presumably wanting her unable to plan. But Lessa had shared her own lessons willingly, and Kylara had spun those confidences into encouragement for F'lar to give in and explain a few things neither of them had known. Kylara would be ready.
On the day when Ramoth woke, ravenous and glowing, and the bronzes were already blooding their kills, Kylara was ready. She took the ferocious will with which she had defied her parents, her brother and every one of her childhood nurses - not to mention R'gul - and she bent Ramoth to it, forcing her to drink only the blood from her kills on the feeding grounds. Half-aware, Kylara turned, looking at the circle of bronze riders, seven men circling around her, eager, and the slight, dark figure of Lessa, aware enough to meet Kylara's eyes with all her intensity of personality...
And then Ramoth trumpeted and launched herself up, skyward, and Kylara was utterly gone. She flitted through the clouds, circling the Weyr bowl and spiraling off into the Benden Mountains, darting behind peaks, then diving low between her lovers and skimming valleys. Eight bronzes started out in pursuit, but one by one they dropped out, exhausted by Ramoth's great stamina and greater desire, unable to withstand the trials of the chase. Kylara and Ramoth were one in their desire to outpace their lovers, to stretch their wings and really fly for the first time, escaping the Weyr bowl that Ramoth's adolescence had spent itself out trapped inside. Every mountainside view, every canyon, every stream was new to Ramoth and to Kylara, and the cold, thin mountain air buoyed her dragon passion higher.
When she turned to consider those in pursuit, she found them four: Hath, who she couldn't bear, and Mnementh and Orth who were fine, high-spirited bronzes, and Tamath - young, nearly as large as Mnementh already and from the same clutch that had produced Ramoth's prodigious size, and more importantly the dragon who had spent so many afternoons perched on Ramoth's ledge, attending her while she drowsed and their riders talked. Ramoth banked, spiraling over Tamath's head to tease him. Unlike the others, he had lasted in this chase because of his attachment to her, not to the only queen, and he put on a desperate burst of speed as she came nearest him and caught up. Together they twined themselves, and fell...
Kylara came back to herself: she was clinging to Lessa's hands in the darkness of her quarters, where someone must have guided them. Lessa looked no more aware than Kylara. They hadn't made it to the bed, but were standing in the stairway, bent against the side of the door opening... Ramoth and Tamath were pulling out of their paired dive, still bound together with a passion that embraced their riders: but where was Lessa? Kylara touched her face and Lessa jumped under her fingers: awake but staring, blankly.
"Come on," Kylara said, huskily, drawing her towards the bed furs. She wondered that Lessa even could draw back now - the only thing Kylara wanted was to have Lessa's hands or tongue or even knee between her legs, to join Ramoth in passion before she burnt up from the inside. But Lessa had always drawn back at the last minute. "Lessa!" Kylara said, urgently tugging her down. "Lessa, are you even here?" She pulled Lessa's head around by the base of her plait.
Lessa's gray eyes flickered and focused on Kylara with difficulty. "I'm here," she said, sounding not at all certain, but then she leaned forward, finally, and kissed Kylara herself. The dragons were flying back home, lazily, exhausted by the passion of their first mating flight; they could safely take care of themselves. Kylara opened her mouth into Lessa and gave this kiss her everything: it was her most important kiss yet, so much more significant than the ones she had allowed her once-time fiance to steal, let alone the tumbles in back corridors of Telgar or among the lonesome wheat stands spreading out around the Hold.
Kylara wedged her arm around Lessa's neck and her feet around Lessa's calves, felt Lessa's hands coming around her own shoulders, fumbling at first and then tightening, steadier. Kylara broke the kiss only to trail her lips across Lessa's delicate cheekbones, up over a tender eyelid, and then kissed the arch of her brow. Lessa laughed under her, uncertain, and Kylara stifled it with another kiss to her lips.
"Is this..." Lessa said.
"You've never done this before?" Lessa shook her head under Kylara, and Kylara smiled, almost wickedly. "Don't worry," she said, "I have so much I can teach you," and dropped her head to nuzzle between Lessa's breasts. Tomorrow would be for triumph, for suppressing R'gul's inevitable protests, for reorganizing the Weyr. Now, their dragons lay on the heights of Benden Weyr, and Kylara had Lessa in her bed, all to herself.