Jirana was a different matter, and by the end of the day Xhinna found herself exasperated at the way the girl shadowed her throughout all the exercises.
When they finally returned for the evening meal, Xhinna was ready to tear strips out of the youngster and bore down on her at the High Kitchen with just that intent.
“Jirana,” she began sternly as she seated herself opposite the young queen rider—and then she stopped. The other five green queen riders were all at the same table, all chewing slowly and looking not just tired, but subdued. When she noticed that while they cast nervous glances toward her, they reserved their most worried looks for Jirana, she changed her tone and her words in a heartbeat. “What is it, little one?”
“Nothing,” Jirana replied morosely. Xhinna made a derisive noise and the dark-haired, dark-eyed trader girl looked up at her, shaking her head. “Nothing you can change.”
Instead of returning to her dinner, Jirana kept her eyes on Xhinna, tracing every line in her face, scrutinizing her as though trying to drink a permanent image through her eyes to store in her brain—an image to keep when the original was lost.
Xhinna was stunned by the implications. She reached forward to touch Jirana’s hand, but the girl jerked it back as if stung—or touched by a cold spirit.
Xhinna realized that she could think of nothing to say to someone who had seen her death somewhere in the future. She looked away, her lips going tight, then looked down at her plate. In the distance she heard some babies cry and thought of her Xelinan, and then of Taria, of Tarena, of Taralin, of all the babies that she wouldn’t—
“No,” she said firmly, bringing her eyes back up to meet Jirana’s. The queen rider looked back at her in mild surprise. Commandingly, Xhinna said to her, “Finish your dinner.”
Jirana’s eyes flashed for a moment, but she complied, eating quickly and silently.
“Done?” Xhinna asked when Jirana put down her fork. The girl nodded and Xhinna rose. “Come on, then.”
The other young queen riders looked at Jirana, afraid to offer support, desperate to help.
“I’m going to talk to her alone,” Xhinna told them, trying to make her tone light. They didn’t seem very relieved at her words; Xhinna sighed and gestured for Jirana to follow her.
Outside, she led the girl up to the tops of the broom trees. In the dead of winter, cold breezes blew that cut through the warmth of wher-hide jackets and scarves built to withstand the cold of between, but the air was fresh, brisk—alive.
Xhinna found a spot that still had thick leaves and sat cross-legged. She beckoned Jirana to sit in front of her and the youngster complied, scooting her back against Xhinna’s chest tightly for both warmth and contact. Xhinna reached up and ran her splayed fingers through the girl’s fine, dark hair. Jirana leaned back contentedly.
It had been a special thing that had grown up between them in the past couple of Turns: that Xhinna and Jirana would trade turns combing knots out of each other’s hair although, in truth, as Jirana had the longer hair it was more Xhinna who did the combing and Jirana who did the luxuriating. But for Xhinna it was like really having the little sister she’d always wished for—a relationship entirely different from the one she had with Taria. There was a strange comfort in it, the warmth of a shared ritual, a hidden joke, a chance to love and be loving in the way that only sisters could.
“I’m going to die,” Xhinna said, leaning forward so that her soft words carried to Jirana’s ear.
The girl jerked and then leaned back again as Xhinna continued stroking her hair.
“Yes.” The word was whipped away by the evening winds, but not before Xhinna heard it.
“You’re going to die,” Xhinna said, her lips close to Jirana’s left ear.
“Someday,” Jirana agreed.
“I’m not dead yet,” Xhinna said. Jirana jerked out of her hands and turned to stare at her. Xhinna smiled. “Don’t kill me ahead of time.”
With a sob, Jirana turned around and thrust herself against Xhinna, wrapping her arms tightly around her and crying uncontrollably.
“I wish it were me!” she said when she finally found enough air to speak.
“And I wish it weren’t,” Xhinna replied firmly.
Jirana’s brows came together in confusion.
“I’d love to live to see you old. I’d love to see your children, your loves, to see your queen’s clutches,” Xhinna said. “But I’d much rather not see all that than have you miss it.”
“I want you with me,” Jirana said. She bit her lip and beat against Xhinna’s chest feebly with her fists. “It’s not fair! It’s not fair! It’s not fair!”
She collapsed against Xhinna again, muttering into her chest, “And it hurts so much.”
“Would it hurt less if you could share it with someone?” Xhinna asked, cupping her arms around the young rider’s back and rocking slowly back and forth.
“It’d just hurt them, too,” Jirana muttered despairingly.
“If anything happens to me, you talk to Seban,” Xhinna said. Jirana looked up at her. “He’s been through so much—he’ll hear you. You can share with him.”
“I’d much prefer to talk to you,” Jirana insisted.
“And I, you,” Xhinna agreed. “And so, now, is there anything else you’d like to tell me?”
“I could be wrong,” Jirana said in a small voice. “I hope I’m wrong.”
Xhinna wasn’t sure how much credence to put in the young Seer’s hopes. Thus far, she’d been right about everything.
In the end, Xhinna decided to take her own advice and said nothing about the incident to Taria or anyone else. From the looks of the five young green-queen riders, she guessed that they suspected something of what was up but did not know for certain.
K’dan, however, approached her late the next day, looking troubled.
“I’d like you to double the watch,” he told her without preamble. He explained that he and Fiona had been arguing over the frequency of the Falls. Given that no Thread had fallen on the Northern Continent until the dustfalls first seen at the start of the next Turn, there might be nothing to worry about. Then he added, “But …”
“ ‘Better safe than sorry,’ ” Xhinna quoted, grinning at him and raising a hand in a salute. “As you wish, Weyrleader.”
And so she’d reorganized the watch, so that her wing flew mid-morning over Benden and mid-evening over the Eastern Isle. Maleena, Kalee, and Torra were disappointed with the changes but Xhinna felt that they could easily be left in Jepara’s extremely capable hands.
“By the end of this week, at the most, you’ll be ready to join us,” Xhinna had promised them. Only one of their riders had succumbed to the lack of air the way Mirressa had, and the blue and his rider had been quickly recovered by R’ney, Jepara, and the other queens—much to their satisfaction. The promise mollified them all, except for Torra, who seemed to have greater empathy than most and had noticed the worried way Jirana had been following Xhinna with her eyes.
“You’ll be careful, won’t you?” Torra had asked in a moment when she’d managed to get Xhinna out of earshot. “Jirana’s really worried about you.”
“I know,” Xhinna had replied. “I’ll be careful. I’ve lots to live for.”
Torra opened her mouth, but could find nothing more to say.
Xhinna was just getting ready to return from her position in the evening sky over Benden Weyr when she spotted it—a dark smudge, spots …