Xhinna lowered her tunic, moved over to Taria, and bent down to gently kiss each of the three welts. She turned her head and pressed her ear to Taria’s belly and listened for a moment, her eyes widening in surprise as she made out the sounds of the life moving within. Then she rose, gently pulling Taria’s tunic back over her belly, her hands going to the green rider’s as she stood.
“I should have come for you earlier.”
“I thought we could manage on our own,” Taria said. “I knew what you were doing.”
“You did?”
“Not at first,” Taria admitted. “At first I was too confused, too dazed by J’keran’s attention and that awful drink—”
“We’ve got better,” Xhinna offered shyly.
“Not until the baby comes,” Bekka growled tersely from beside the sleeping Jirana.
“I’m sorry about Razz,” Xhinna told her friend.
“I know,” Taria said. “I’m sorry we didn’t find an answer.”
Bekka shushed them as she noticed Jirana stirring. Xhinna turned to the girl, saw the pain on her face, and knelt down at her side, opposite Bekka.
“Jirana, it’s all right, you were right,” Xhinna said. “I spoke with Laspanth; I trust you.”
Ask the queens, Xhinna heard clearly.
“Ask the queens what, sweetie?” Xhinna asked, tenderly stroking the girl’s dark hair.
For help, Jirana said.
“We did that,” Xhinna assured her. “We did that and they helped you. You need to rest now, get better. You want to be healthy when Laspanth hatches, don’t you?”
The girl sighed and Xhinna felt her slipping into a deeper sleep.
“I’ll stay here,” Bekka said, gesturing to Jirana. “You go away—you’re disturbing her.”
Xhinna nodded and, with one last brush of Jirana’s soft hair, rose. She was surprised when she felt a hand slip into hers: Taria.
FIFTEEN
A Greeting Foretold
In the end, beyond talking quietly and hugging, Taria was too exhausted for more than sleep. Xhinna fed her carefully, a light broth, and kissed her on the forehead as she lay beside her, as though Taria had never left.
J’keran was an issue that would wait for another day.
Ask the queens. She shook her head in wonder at Jirana’s words. The little girl was almost too trusting. Her gift made it hard for her to distinguish between what was real and what was wanted.
She wandered over to the egg that held Laspanth. She no longer doubted Jirana about that: She’d felt the strangeness of the dragonet inside, felt the quiet strength that was such a mirror of Jirana’s own strength. A queen from a green—how could that be?
K’dan and X’lerin must have been right. In the evolution of fire-lizards, the queens, bronzes, and browns must have come after the blues and greens. The queens were smarter than all the others, the leaders of their clutch. But what about that first queen? She couldn’t protect herself in the shell, how had she survived? How had she made her green mother dame and blue sire know about the tunnel snakes?
With a sudden insight, Xhinna moved to Laspanth’s egg, placed her hands on it, closed her eyes, and opened her mind.
Laspanth, where are the tunnel snakes? she thought, hard, at the form inside the egg.
Nothing. And then— She heard it first, a rustling, rock-moving noise, slithering, sliding. And then suddenly it was as if the ground beneath her were lit with glows, showing map lines where tunnel snakes burrowed, digging and rising toward their helpless prey …
“Xhinna? What is it?” Bekka cried.
Xhinna realized that she had been screaming. “Rouse the Weyr!” she called, crying to Tazith, sending bursts of thought to the queen weyrlings, to Pinorth, to X’lerin.
“Xhinna, are you okay?” Bekka called anxiously, rushing to her side.
“Grab my hand!” Xhinna said, clasping Bekka’s wrist tightly and pulling her hand to Laspanth’s egg. “Reach out, feel, close your eyes, and see!”
Bekka gasped as she felt and heard the first whisperings of Laspanth’s thoughts.
Beyond her, dragons bellowed in anger and excitement. Xhinna felt Tazith, pictured a large site underground, heard the blue digging furiously and then roaring with glee as he surprised a group of tunnel snakes and tore them to pieces with his jaws.
All around her, the dragons roared, the riders cried, and the night air was rent with the sounds of dying tunnel snakes.
A noise alerted Xhinna and she spun as she saw Jepara approach with Scruff on her lead, chewing on something greenish and spitting out bones, buzzing with pride in her achievements.
“She got six!” Jepara cried happily. “And Sarurth got three.” She grabbed Xhinna and hugged her, as Scruff ran in circles, wrapping her lead around the pair of them. “And Sarurth can hear the tunnel snakes, she can spot them. She says that Laspanth showed her how.”
Xhinna saw Taria approaching, eyes wide in surprise. Xhinna bent down and picked up the Mrreow. “This is Scruff—she killed six tunnel snakes.”
“She’s pretty,” Taria said, letting the grime-stained Meeyu sniff her.
“I should have listened to you,” Xhinna apologized once more.
“And I should have come back. The Mrreows aren’t enough.”
“They are now,” Xhinna said. “The dragons find them, the Mrreows dig them out and kill them.”
“Indeed, they are!” an ichor-covered Jepara agreed fervently.
Certain that all the eggs were once again safe, Xhinna went back to check on Jirana.
“It’s a wonder she’s still asleep,” Bekka snorted in disgust.
“She’s not,” Xhinna said as she peered down at Jirana, watching her chest rise and fall. “But she’s too tired to talk, too excited to cry, and too sore to do either.” She stroked the child’s hair once more, smiling down at her. “Behave, little one, or I’ll talk to your queen.”
A small smile played across Jirana’s lips, and then she let out a deep, slow sigh and slipped into sleep.
Xhinna assigned J’keran to guard Jirana, saying, “If she dies, you die.”
The brown rider had been abject in his apology, but it hadn’t spared him her wrath. True to her word, she’d beaten him to a pulp, limiting her revenge to a swift kick where it hurt the most, followed by a double-fisted blow to his chin as he collapsed.
He had awakened, groaning, to find a knife pointed at his neck.
“Say it,” Xhinna growled, standing above him. “You know the words.”
J’keran swallowed, feeling the tip of the knife prick his skin. “Wingleader, I have struck another in anger; my life is forfeit.”
“Louder, so the others can hear,” Xhinna said, flicking her knife to the left and right before resting it, once again, under the point of his chin. J’keran’s eyes followed her blade, saw those standing around him in a tight knot. He recognized X’lerin, K’dan, W’vin, bronze rider J’sarte, T’rennor and—V’lex.
“Weyrleader, my life is forfeit. I struck another in anger,” J’keran said more loudly, his eyes darting toward X’lerin, his heart sinking as he acknowledged his shame. The person above him was no longer a mere girl, a mere blue rider, an upstart. He’d been wrong not to accept what he’d seen, arrogant to think that he might know better.
He had clenched his jaw tight as he felt the knife bite into his skin. He would not cry out; he would at least die with honor.
The blade stopped. “Your life is forfeit,” Xhinna said, standing back, sheathing her knife, and gesturing for him to rise. “You live for the Weyr now.”
J’keran rose slowly and knelt before her, head bowed, ignoring the drop of blood that spilled to the ground.