scent off the envelope was instantly recognizable.
“Mother Karina?” Fiona asked, glancing toward Shaneese. Shaneese nodded. “She used to trade with us. When—just before she passed, she asked me to keep this. She said I would know who to give it to and when.”
Fiona snorted. “She always liked being secretive.”
“She was my grandmother.”
“Mother Karina was your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew Tenniz?” Terin asked.
“He’s the reason I came here,” Shaneese said with a tone of resentment in her voice.
“Tenniz, is he still—?”
Fiona’s question was cut off by Shaneese’s curt headshake. She gestured brusquely toward Fiona’s envelope. “Open it.”
Fumbled-fingered, Fiona undid the string that was looped around the button that held the envelope closed. Inside she found a small parchment and a gold brooch. It was shaped like a harp.
She eyed it critically for a moment: The workmanship was both brilliant and unmistakable—Zenor had made it.
She glanced at the note and her breath caught.
I am sorry I cannot give this to you in person , the note read. But I knew that we would not meet again. Tenniz saw it. He said to tell you that it will all turn out right. Love, Mother .
Beside her, Terin sobbed and clasped something to her breast. As Fiona’s eyes fell on her, she turned and extended her hand to her. “I don’t understand,” Terin said with a sob, as she indicated the small gold trinket, “this should be yours.”
It was a gold fitting for a riding harness, in the shape of a queen dragon soaring upward.
“What does the note say?” Fiona asked, wondering if perhaps the labels had been switched and showing Terin her harper’s brooch.
Terin gestured to the note that lay on the table. Fiona looked down and read, “‘This is yours and no other’s.’”
Fiona felt a shiver as she read the note—a shiver of excitement and hope. Mother Karina had sent her a message with the two notes: The message was one of hope.
“What?” Terin demanded, taking in the look on Fiona’s face.
“I think you should keep it,” Fiona told her. She glanced toward Shaneese. “And I’m proud to meet Mother Karina’s granddaughter.”
“She spoke of you,” Shaneese said, her voice a whisper, her eyes filled with tears. Fiona gave her an inquiring look. “She said that when it seemed the darkest, hope would come and that it would be borne by someone she knew and loved.” She met Fiona’s eyes as she added, “Tenniz told her.”
Fiona was still absorbing that when Terin piped up. “There’s another envelope here.”
Both Shaneese and Fiona glanced over at the small box in surprise. At Shaneese’s insistence, Fiona retrieved the envelope. It was labeled: Lorana.
SIX
Mourn and grieve ,
Wail and cry .
Remember those
Who no more fly .
Telgar Weyr, later, AL 508.2.8
“There must be some mistake,” Terin said as she eyed the envelope suspiciously.
“Or perhaps Mother Karina hoped that we would bring it to her,” Fiona suggested. She looked at Shaneese. “Would you keep this for us?”
Shaneese shook her head. “No, I was told to give it to you as soon as I knew.”
“How did you know?”
“The time was right,” Shaneese said with a shrug. She nodded toward the two envelopes. “Besides, I was clearly right. They had your names on them.”
There was no arguing with that. Shaneese stood, silent, for a moment longer before she shook herself back into action.
“You’ll be needing a place to store that,” she said, nodding toward the box. “And you’ll be needing your quarters, too, Weyrwoman.”
Fiona shook her head, not up to the task of cleaning out the old Weyrwoman’s quarters, but Shaneese ignored her. She called out the names of two women who bustled over immediately and told them, “Weyrwoman Fiona needs to have quarters.”
“I’ll go with them,” Terin said after a quick glance to Shaneese.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Shaneese
“Mother Karina?” Fiona asked, glancing toward Shaneese. Shaneese nodded. “She used to trade with us. When—just before she passed, she asked me to keep this. She said I would know who to give it to and when.”
Fiona snorted. “She always liked being secretive.”
“She was my grandmother.”
“Mother Karina was your grandmother?”
“Yes.”
“So you knew Tenniz?” Terin asked.
“He’s the reason I came here,” Shaneese said with a tone of resentment in her voice.
“Tenniz, is he still—?”
Fiona’s question was cut off by Shaneese’s curt headshake. She gestured brusquely toward Fiona’s envelope. “Open it.”
Fumbled-fingered, Fiona undid the string that was looped around the button that held the envelope closed. Inside she found a small parchment and a gold brooch. It was shaped like a harp.
She eyed it critically for a moment: The workmanship was both brilliant and unmistakable—Zenor had made it.
She glanced at the note and her breath caught.
I am sorry I cannot give this to you in person , the note read. But I knew that we would not meet again. Tenniz saw it. He said to tell you that it will all turn out right. Love, Mother .
Beside her, Terin sobbed and clasped something to her breast. As Fiona’s eyes fell on her, she turned and extended her hand to her. “I don’t understand,” Terin said with a sob, as she indicated the small gold trinket, “this should be yours.”
It was a gold fitting for a riding harness, in the shape of a queen dragon soaring upward.
“What does the note say?” Fiona asked, wondering if perhaps the labels had been switched and showing Terin her harper’s brooch.
Terin gestured to the note that lay on the table. Fiona looked down and read, “‘This is yours and no other’s.’”
Fiona felt a shiver as she read the note—a shiver of excitement and hope. Mother Karina had sent her a message with the two notes: The message was one of hope.
“What?” Terin demanded, taking in the look on Fiona’s face.
“I think you should keep it,” Fiona told her. She glanced toward Shaneese. “And I’m proud to meet Mother Karina’s granddaughter.”
“She spoke of you,” Shaneese said, her voice a whisper, her eyes filled with tears. Fiona gave her an inquiring look. “She said that when it seemed the darkest, hope would come and that it would be borne by someone she knew and loved.” She met Fiona’s eyes as she added, “Tenniz told her.”
Fiona was still absorbing that when Terin piped up. “There’s another envelope here.”
Both Shaneese and Fiona glanced over at the small box in surprise. At Shaneese’s insistence, Fiona retrieved the envelope. It was labeled: Lorana.
SIX
Mourn and grieve ,
Wail and cry .
Remember those
Who no more fly .
Telgar Weyr, later, AL 508.2.8
“There must be some mistake,” Terin said as she eyed the envelope suspiciously.
“Or perhaps Mother Karina hoped that we would bring it to her,” Fiona suggested. She looked at Shaneese. “Would you keep this for us?”
Shaneese shook her head. “No, I was told to give it to you as soon as I knew.”
“How did you know?”
“The time was right,” Shaneese said with a shrug. She nodded toward the two envelopes. “Besides, I was clearly right. They had your names on them.”
There was no arguing with that. Shaneese stood, silent, for a moment longer before she shook herself back into action.
“You’ll be needing a place to store that,” she said, nodding toward the box. “And you’ll be needing your quarters, too, Weyrwoman.”
Fiona shook her head, not up to the task of cleaning out the old Weyrwoman’s quarters, but Shaneese ignored her. She called out the names of two women who bustled over immediately and told them, “Weyrwoman Fiona needs to have quarters.”
“I’ll go with them,” Terin said after a quick glance to Shaneese.
“You’ll do nothing of the sort,” Shaneese
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