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Shock numbed Lessa.
Shock surely also numbed her successful rival - Halene had impressed Jilanth, but not before Jilanth's clumsy claw had raked a wound from shoulder to thigh. Even Lessa, newcomer to the Weyr, understood how close they had come to disaster - for the injury could easily have proven fatal, and if the new-hatched queen dragon had Impressed a girl to whom she'd dealt a mortal wound, the dragon would have followed after.
Halene lived. She might still die of infection. She might never walk again. But she was Weyrwoman.
The Hatching Ground had echoed with her screams, yet Lessa envied her. To hear F'lar tell it, the golden hatchling should have been her dragon.
F'lar!
She cursed his name silently, knowing she was really cursing herself. What a fool she'd been to give up her ancient Hold for the dragonman's ramparts in the air.
After all, surely every other woman here had been offered the same promise.
She looked them over, suppressing the old instinct to hide her own curiosity. Some of the women who had worn white on the sands appeared to be weyrfolk, and had scattered to their usual duties - or perhaps to help nurse Halene, or to celebrate with kin newly Impressed. Seven others stood or sat in knots in this cavern where they had been gathered up for the nonce. From what Lessa could hear, little remained of whatever courage or coercion had convinced these Hold-bred girls to stand for Impression, following Jilanth's bloody entrance into the world.
If it even mattered. Dragonmen had never ridden in Search before at Ruatha in Lessa’s memory. How long might it be before another queen hatched?
She would demand of F'lar that he restore Ruatha to her; Gemma, though of good bloodline, had no claim of kinship to Ruatha, and therefore Jaxom had no claim but Fax's to the ancient hold. Ruatha had suffered long enough under improper Holding.
One of the other woman looked at her, taking in her scowl and her tension. This one - whose soft skin and long golden hair suggested that she was no more resigned to denial than Lessa was, if for different reasons - smirked and moved closer.
"What did your dragonman promise you?" she asked, as if making courteous small-talk. "What glittering vision did he paint of your new status?"
"I need no dragonmen to accord me rank," Lessa snapped back. "I am Lessa of Ruatha."
"And yet, you're here," the woman observed.
"For now," Lessa said, disliking her. She looked the woman over more slowly and deliberately. This really was the most beautiful woman Lessa had ever seen. It was no difficulty to imagine why a dragonrider had selected her - only a wonder that this woman's kin of rank had agreed to the removal.
She let her tone fill with cynicism. "What did your dragonrider promise you?"
But the woman smiled, sly and supercilious, as if the promise made to her did not lie broken like the eggshells on the Sands.
*
F'lar was better at talking than he was at persuading.
"Pern needs you here," he said.
Lessa no longer believed it, and yet she could see that he did.
"To do what?" she retorted. "To wait on dragonmen?"
"To wait, yes," F'lar said with careful emphasis. "Jilanth must grow. She must lay queen-daughters. Either the hopes of Pern shall be shared between more queens - or the Weyr will fall."
Even Lessa could not quite bring herself to think, Then let them fall. The lessons drilled into her as a child of the Ruathan Bloodline still compelled her, after a decade in which she had little else to hold on to.
"How long will that be?" she asked next.
"A Turn, and more," F'lar answered. "Not two."
And Jaxom would still be a babe - but it would not be easy to unseat Lytol as Ruatha's Warder if it had prospered in two Turns of his oversight.
"You will find the hospitality of the Weyr more pleasant than Ruatha as you left it," F'lar continued, filling up a silence he imagined to be receptive. "We all work - yes, even the bronze riders - but I cannot imagine you have a horror of that. No one will compel you to become his leman."
Lessa was quite capable of deterring anyone with unwanted ideas in this regard, but she let her expression speak for her.
"You decline to return me to Ruatha, then."
"My wing and I are needed here," he answered glibly. "Or would you rather be returned without escort, like an unwanted goods?"
She had learned at their meeting that he could not be easily provoked by jibes at his honor.
No matter how warranted, here.
She withdrew. There was much to think on.
*
He had, at least, spoken truly about the relative freedom of life in the Weyr. Manora, the headwoman, was competent and fair. The riders, for the most part, were not boorish. While what they seemed to be offering - and with Lessa, they only offered once - was not the status of espousal, Lessa observed that many romantic and sexual arrangements around the Weyr appeared to thrive and offer stability.
Kylara, in particular, provided many examples to observe. And thrived.
If she had been chosen on Search for her looks, by dragonriders who hoped to enjoy her graces intimately, she seemed equally enthusiastic about that plan. Within weeks there were bets - however Manora discouraged them - on whether she would ever choose a favourite lover, or would proceed through the Weyr until she'd slept with every man then begin again at the beginning. The speculation itself was a revelation to Lessa - hardly as scornful as it would have been back at Ruatha, though not universally approving either.
F'lar, Lessa noted, did not escape Kylara's interest. But her dalliance with him was not long.
Candidly, Lessa could admit a certain respect for the way that Kylara sought her own pleasure and seemed to give up little in return. Almost, she might wish it was a tactic she were willing to employ in service of her goals. She did not possess Kylara's clear and classic beauty, but she knew that the fine bones of her Ruathan heritage and the intensity of her stillness and movement compelled attention - when she wanted it to.
But Kylara seemed content to weave herself into Weyr life and wait for the next queen egg - however long that took.
Lessa wanted more.
*
In late summer, the first tithe train came from Ruatha. F'lar did Lessa the courtesy of summoning her to read Lytol's report in his own words; Lessa did not betray that she had already gained access to this correspondence, and listened among the men who brought it besides.
"Ruatha has been generous," F'lar mused. Too generous, thought Lessa, disregarding her own hypocrisies. But of course a dragonman would fulfil his duty to the Weyr even if that meant a lack at home. She itched to return.
"Jilanth grows well," F'lar reminded her next. "And quicker, perhaps, than some expected." Lessa kept her expression neutral. She knew the gossip among the lower caverns; they had hoped for a larger, stronger queen than Nemorth. Jilanth might still surpass her dam in size, but it was more likely that she would reach maturity quickly.
"It is good to see Halene walking," Lessa offered politely. "And riding, too, ere long?" What she wasn't doing, as far as Lessa could tell, was ruling. Would that change when the queen reached maturity? F'lar was still waiting for something. Halene seemed too biddable to take the reins.
"It is best for a queen dragon to stay close to the Weyr in her early maturity," F'lar responded. At least he hadn't pretended to misunderstand her.
"You will send my letters back with the goods train?" Lessa asked next.
"Certainly," said F'lar, all affability to match her show of civility.
She kept up the same attitude of bland civility, knowing her own words would be read.
*
Of course, she didn't expect the words in the letter to be read by Lytol.
Two days after the Ruathan tithing train departed Benden again, she took a runnerbeast and rode after them, a copied map in her satchel, her hair gathered under her cap like a boy's.
She would catch up with the party while they were still over a week from Ruatha. She might not have Kylara's charm, but she had had the good part of a Turn to learn how unique her gifts were - and to practice mental influence on minds much more alert to it than Holders.
F'lar had pointed out that she had best make the most of her return to Ruatha; she agreed with him that an escort was best, and so, she would arrange her own.
The road to Ruatha was forested. That was to Lessa's advantage; while some lone riders might have feared bandits, Lessa most feared a dragon on patrol whose rider could haul her back.
The road rose for a while up a slope. At last it curved around the mountainside, and an incredible vista opened up before Lessa - a valley spilling sharply out before her with a river far below. Having had little opportunity to appreciate beauty in her life, Lessa stopped, dismounted, and frankly stared.
Then a dragon flew past above her, filling the view as he pivoted on a wing.
Not he - she. The lone dragon was brightest gold - an impossibility. Jilanth had not yet flown, and this dragon was bigger far than she. And Jilanth was the only golden dragon on all of Pern.
It was not just surprise that struck Lessa but alternating waves of dizziness and dread. Blasphemy to think it - but the presence of the dragon exuded a sense of threat she'd only ever felt before from the Red Star, the air around it shimmering like the air that rose from heated rocks, busy and queasy. Lessa swayed, reaching for the runnerbeast's saddle to steady herself; he stepped nervously.
Lessa felt as torn and tossed about as if she were the air the dragon beat with her wings. And the great eyes -
Go back, Lessa. We need you.
It had never hurt her like this before. The dragon's speech was so much more horrible than the mere sight. It felt wrong, and Lessa knew it felt wrong to the dragon, and felt the dragon's own anguish alongside her own.
But the dragon was pleading with her. Go back to meet me in the Turn ahead. I am yours and you are mine. I am Ramoth. See me and see yourself.
Lessa gladly broke away from the dragon's gaze to scan the rider.
The girl on the dragon's neck was herself.
The dragon and rider pivoted again, fleeing. They sped down the valley. Lessa knew, with utter certainty, that they sought distance before they went between, and if they had attempted to transfer locations before retreating, they would never have returned to Benden.
Lessa turned, and walked the patient runnerbeast down the road they'd come up; it was hours before she felt capable of mounting again, and she was nearly back to the Weyr before her head felt clear and she truly felt herself again.
*
She had been promised her life's companion would hatch from Nemorth's last clutch. Then, from Jilanth's first.
A promise she trusted far more from herself than F'lar!
Until now, the thought of Jilanth's first clutch had been abstract; she had paid lip service to its relevance to herself.
And F'lar was convinced that Jilanth would lay a queen, soon - when it seemed that Jora's Nemorth had not laid a queen in many years.
What drove his certainty? Beside his native arrogance.
Lessa set her mind to acquire far more knowledge about dragons than she had previously attempted.
She watched the occasional matings that occurred between green dragons and their blue, brown, and even sometimes bronze companions, and learned that greens could procreate, but were inhibited from doing so by the mineral that boosted their flame. She read all the available records by and about Jora, and probed Manora and the dragonriders as best she could to fill in the unwritten thoughts between the lines. She tried on one occasion to quiz Halene, but was dismayed and surprised to find that Halene's knowledge of her dragon's instincts and capacities was lesser than Lessa's own! R'gul had the teaching of her; and R'gul, it seemed, had a narrow view of what a Weyrwoman should learn before she was ready - or at all.
She was subtle, or tried to be; and among most of the weyrfolk, her change in attitude escaped remark. Only Kylara seemed to eye her with more frequent suspicion, as though aware that Lessa now intended to seriously challenge her for the next golden dragon.
The mating flight came upon them suddenly. The increased vividness and inner radiance of the dragon's hides; the tense aggression flickering through the riders; the low hum of the queen's hopeful mates - all of these signs Lessa had known to mark. As the bronze riders herded Halene to her chambers, Lessa mouthed along with the advice to let Jilanth only blood her kill.
But Halene had not been trained to prepare for this event. Jilanth ate half of her first kill before her rider could convince her to give it up.
Lessa linked to the young dragon's mind, finding it a maelstom, a thoughtless surge where she struggled to anchor a thought of her own. Yet she succeeded: Only take the blood!
Her will imposed, Lessa supervised Jilanth's next kill, and held her back from overindulging.
Jilanth crouched, and took to the skies.
Hunger slaked, her drivers now were arrogance and desire. That, Lessa had no need to assist with. She broke the connection clumsily, staggering physically, stumbling to her quarters through a Weyr that felt saturated with lust. Alone, she fumbled impatiently with her clothing, desperate to satisfy the need evoked in her body from echoing a hundred other alien needs. She cursed her own lack of experience in this area as she chafed as much as sated herself.
Unbidden, she thought of Kylara, who would have simply enjoyed the moment; who was probably even now in somebody's bed. But Kylara would not have had the mental strength to divert Jilanth from disaster.
She thought of Kylara, and reached satisfaction at last.
*
She could speak to all dragons on Pern; and her oblique enquiries had convinced her this was not a common skill.
Why, then, should she not attempt to speak to Jilanth's unhatched clutch, and secure her Impression thereby?
For Jilanth had laid a queen egg, to general rejoicing - and to Lessa's satisfaction, as she felt it was largely to her credit.
This time, the dragonmen on Search brought back only boys. Few enough spoke of it, but many watched Lessa and Kylara, considering which might impress. Although Lessa didn't hear of it directly, she knew the lower cavern was betting again.
The circle of girls was smaller on the Hatching day for Jilanth's first clutch. Immeasurably more able to understand what was going on, Lessa surveyed the rocking eggs and sent nudges here and there.
Two eggs broke at once near the women, a green and a bronze, and a diabolical urge filled Lessa: with a mental touch, she urged both of them towards Kylara. Meanwhile, Now, she sent towards the golden egg, filling her welcome to the world with warmth and enticement.
The green dragon, breaking free from Lessa's half-attention, turned aside and found her match. The bronze continued uncertainly towards Kylara, who was forced to step back just as the golden egg cracked.
Lessa stepped forward.
Ramoth, she thought, or the dragon thought inside her head, impossible to sort apart. You are/I am Ramoth.
And I am yours forever, Lessa continued, and this time it was her thought - but never her mind, never again - alone.
Joy and relief crashed over her. The future had kept its promise to her; she had kept the promises she made to herself.
*
In Lessa's chambers, after the new-hatched dragons had been fed and bathed and collapsed in insensible heaps to digest and grow, and after the Weyr - following a bloodless Hatching - had rejoiced and feasted, Kylara confronted her.
"I was expecting other tricks," she said. "But trying to match me to a bronze? Really, Lessa?" She seemed to have entered the weyr undecided whether to rage or smugly jeer; a smirk was now ascendant on her face. "I thought you simply weren't a sexual creature - but is it only that you don't want a man in your bed when Ramoth rises to mate?"
Lessa had hardly been planning at all. Kylara smirked wider at the vision clearly playing out in Lessa's head - a senior pair made up not of queen rider Weyrwoman and bronze rider Weyrman, but of two women each on dragonback.
"I see," Kylara murmured, as if Lessa's silence were admission. She stepped into Lessa's space, and Lessa tensed, expecting a slap, but instead Kylara leaned down and kissed her.
No slobbering conquest - instead a light press from fuller, softer lips than Lessa's own lips, in harmony with Kylara's full breasts warm against Lessa's own chest, and a gentle hand at Lessa's back, and blazing eyes daring Lessa to look away.
Lessa blinked, and Kylara broke the kiss.
"But if you think you can manage your dragon's demands on your own, who am I to gainsay you?" Kylara said too sweetly, and was gone, also unslapped, although the silence rang in Lessa's ears as if someone had indeed struck a blow.
Lessa shook her head - to clear it. She had ascendancy; she was queen rider. She was no longer a pawn to make use of, but perhaps it was time to consider what use Kylara would be to her.