“I’ll bring a proper meal,” Manora promised and tamed to go. “You can help me, Menolly. And send your message.”
Menolly hesitated, obviously wanting to stay with Jaxom.
“I don’t intend to eat him, girl,” Lessa said, shooing Menolly off. “Much less scold him when he’s reeling. I’ll save that for later. Come up to the weyr when you’ve sent word to Ruatha.”
Jaxom felt obliged to protest their assistance, but they were convinced he needed it and by the time they’d reached the top of the weyrsteps, he ruefully sagged against their support. Mnementh regarded him kindly as Lessa and F’lar guided him into the weyr.
This was not the first time Jaxom had been there, and, as they led him to the living corner, he wondered if he was always going to enter Ramoth’s weyr consumed with guilt. Could Ramoth perceive his thoughts? Her jeweled eyes turned idly without a trace of agitation as he was solicitously settled in a chair, and a foot rest positioned. When Lessa was spreading a fur over him, muttering about watching for chills after exertion, she paused, staring at him. She put her hand under his chin and turned his head slightly, then traced the line of Threadscore with a light finger.
“Where did you acquire that, young Lord Jaxom?” she asked harshly, her eyes forcing him to look at her.
F’lar, alerted by the tone in her voice, returned to the table with the wine and cups he’d taken from the wall chest.
“Acquire what? Oh ho, the young man has trained his dragon to chew firestone but not to duck!”
“I thought it was decided that Jaxom was to remain in Holding at Ruatha.”
“I thought you said you wouldn’t scold him,” F’lar replied as he winked at Jaxom.
“About timing it. But this …” she gestured angrily at Jaxom, “this is entirely different.”
“Is it, Lessa?” F’lar asked in a tone that embarrassed Jaxom. They were momentarily unaware of him. “I seem to remember a girl wanting desperately to fly her queen.”
“Flying was no danger. But Jaxom could be.”
Jaxom has evidently learned a lesson. Haven’t you? About ducking, that is.”
“Yes, sir. N’ton’s put me in with the weyrlings at Fort.”
“Why wasn’t I informed?” Lessa demanded.
“Jaxom’s training is Lytol’s responsibility and we’ve no complaints on that score. As far as Ruth is concerned, I’d say that he too falls under N’ton’s jurisdiction. How long has this been going on, Jaxom?”
“Not that long, sir. I asked N’ton because … well …” Here Jaxom’s conscience interfered with his glibness. Above all else, Lessa must not think he had any part in returning that blasted egg.
F’lar rescued him. “Because Ruth is a dragon, and dragons ought to fight Thread with firestone? Right?” He shrugged at Lessa. “What did you expect? He’s Ruathan-blooded, like yourself. Just keep your hide and Ruth’s intact.”
“We haven’t flown in a Threadfall yet,” Jaxom admitted realizing as he spoke how much resentment showed in his voice.
F’lar gave him a friendly clout on the shoulder.
“He’s a sound lad, Lessa, stop glowering. If he’s singed himself once, he’s less likely to risk doing so again. Was Ruth hurt?”
“Yes!” The anguish of that experience was plain in Jaxom’s admission.
F’lar gave a laugh and waggled a finger at Lessa, who was still glaring at Jaxom. “There! That’s the best deterrent in the world. Ruth wasn’t badly hurt, was he? I can’t say I’ve seen you that often recently …” F’lar turned toward the killing ground as if conjuring up the white dragon.
“No,” Jaxom said quickly and F’lar grinned again at the relief in his reply. “It’s well healed. You can barely see the scar. On his left thigh.”
“I can’t say that I like all this,” Lessa said.
“We would have asked you, Weyrwoman,” Jaxom began, not entirely truthful, “but there was so much trouble just then. …”
“Well. ..” she began.
“Well,” echoed F’lar, “it really isn’t up to you, Lessa, but you do understand, Jaxom, how awkward it would be for you to be seriously hurt right now. We can’t afford to have a major Hold in contention.”
“I appreciate that, sir.”