Youll pay for that, you scum, you sniveling boy-lover, Kylara screamed at him, enraged by the unexpectedness of his retaliation. Then she burst out laughing at the thought of Brekke as the Weyrwoman, or Brekke as passionate and adept a lover as she knew herself to be. Brekke the Bony, with no more roundness at the breast than a boy. Why, even Lessa looked more feminine.
Thought of Lessa sobered Kylara abruptly. She tried again to convince herself that Lessa would be no threat, no obstacle in her plan. Lessa was too subservient to Flar now, aching to be pregnant again, playing the dutiful Weyrwoman, too content to see what could happen under her nose. Lessa was a fool. She could have ruled all Pern if she had half-tried. Shed had the chance and lost it. The stupidity of going back to bring up the Oldtimers when she could have had absolute dominion over the entire planet as Weyrwoman to Perns only queen! Well, Kylara had no intention of remaining in the Southern Weyr, meekly tending the worlds wounded weyrmen and cultivating acres and acres of food for everyone else but herself. Each egg hatched a different way, but a crack at the right time speeded things up.
And Kylara was all ready to crack a few eggs, her way. Noble Larad, Lord of Telgar Hold, might not have remembered to invite her, his only full-blood sister, to the wedding, but surely there was no reason why she should remain distant when her own half sister was marrying the Lord Holder of Lemos.
Brekke was changing the dressing on his arm when Fnor heard Tbor calling her. She tensed at the sound of his voice an expression of compassion and worry momentarily clouding her face.
Im in Fnors weyr, she said, turning her head toward the open door and raising her light voice.
Dont know why we insist on calling a hold made of wood a weyr, said Fnor, wondering at Brekkes reaction. She was such a serious child, too old for her years. Perhaps being junior Weyrwoman to Kylara had aged her prematurely. He had finally got her to accept his teasing. Or was she humoring him, Fnor wondered, during the painful process of having the deep knife wound tended.
She gave him a little smile. A weyr is where a dragon is, no matter how its constructed.
Tbor entered at that moment, ducking his head, though the door was plenty high enough to accommodate his inches.
Hows the arm, Fnor?
Improving under Brekkes expert care. Theres a rumor, Fnor said, grinning slyly up at Brekke, that men sent to Southern heal quicker.
If thats why there are always so many coming back, Ill give her other duties. Tbor sounded so bitter that Fnor stared at him. Brekke, how many more wounded can we accommodate?
Only four, but Varena at West can handle at least twenty.
From her expression, Fnor could tell she hoped there werent that many wounded.
Rmart asks to send ten, only one badly injured, Tbor said, but he was still resentful.
Hed best stay here then.
Fnor started to say that he felt Brekke was spreading herself too thin as it was. It was obvious to him that, though she had few of the privileges, she had assumed all the responsibilities that Kylara ought to handle, while that one did much as she pleased. Including complaining that Brekke was shirking or stinting this or that. Brekkes queen, Wirenth, was still young enough to need a lot of care; Brekke fostered young Mirrim though she had had no children herself and none of the Southern riders seemed to share her bed. Yet Brekke also took it upon herself to nurse the most seriously wounded Dragonriders. Not that Fnor wasnt grateful to her. She seemed to have an extra sense that told her when numbweed needed renewing, or when fever was high and made you fretful. Her hands were miracles of gentleness, cool, but she could be ruthless, too, in disciplining her patients to health.
I appreciate your help, Brekke, Tbor said. I really do.
I wonder if other arrangements ought to be made, Fnor suggested tentatively.
What do you mean?