As soon as the diners finished, they dismantled the tables and pushed back the chairs so that there’d be space for the dancing. The musicians, re-assembling in smaller units so that the dance music would be continuous, were tuning up their instruments again.
When all was ready, K’vin led Zulaya - resplendent in the red brocade dress of her portrait - on to the floor for their traditional opening of the dance. Iantine caught himself wanting to sketch the distinguished-looking couple, but he’d hidden his pad in the pile of tables and had to content himself with storing the details in his mind.
He’d never seen Zulaya flirt so with K’vin and the Weyrleader was responding gallantly. He did notice some riders talking among themselves, their eyes on the two Leaders, but he couldn’t hear what was said, and while the glances were speculative it wasn’t his business.
Next the wing leaders handed their partners out on the floor for three turns before the wing seconds joined them.
Then Tisha - partnered by N’ran, the Weyr medic - whirled very gracefully in among the dancers. The first dance ended, but now the floor was open to everyone. The next number was a brisk two-step.
“Will you dance with me, Debera?” Iantine asked, with a formal bow.
Eyes gleaming, head held high and smiling as if her face would split apart, Debera responded with a deep dip. “Why, I was hoping you’d ask, Iantine!”
“I get the next one,” Leopol cried, appearing unexpectedly beside them and looking up at Debera, his eyes exceedingly bright.
“Did you sneak some wine tonight?” Iantine asked, suspicious.
“Who’d give me any?” Leopol replied morosely.
“No-one would give you anything you couldn’t take another way, Leo,” Debera said. “But I’ll keep you a dance. Later on.”
And she stepped towards the floor, Iantine whisking her away from the boy as fast as he could.
“Even for a Weyr lad, he’s precocious,” Debera said, and she held up her arms as she moved into his.
“He is at that,” Iantine replied, but he didn’t want to talk about Leopol at all as he swung her lithe body among the dancers, and eased them away to the opposite side of the floor from Leopol.
“He’ll follow, you know, until he gets his dance,” she said, grinning up at him.
“We’ll see about that,” and he tightened his arms possessively around her strong, slender body.
Will I dance when I’m older? Iantine clearly heard the green dragon ask.
Startled, he looked down at Debera and saw by the laughter in her eyes that the dragon had spoken to them both.
“Dragons don’t dance,” Debera said in her fond dragon tone
Iantine had noticed that she had a special one for Morath.
“They sing,” Iantine said, wondering how he was ever going to eliminate Morath from the conversation long enough to speak about them.
She’ll listen to anything you say, Morath’s voice, so much like Debera’s, sounded in his head.
Iantine grimaced, wondering how under the sun he could manage any sort of a private conversation with his beloved.
I won’t listen then. Morath sounded contrite.
“How long do you think you’ll be at Benden, Ian?” Debera asked.
He wondered if Morath had spoken to her, too, but decided against asking, though he didn’t want to discuss his departure at all.
Certainly not with Debera, the reason he desperately wanted to stay at Telgar.
“Oh,” he said as casually as he could, “I’d want to do my best for Lord Bridgely and his Lady. They’ve been my sponsors, you see, and I owe them a lot.”
“Do you know them well?”
“What? Me? No, my family’s mountain holders.”
“So were mine.”
“Were?”
Debera gave a wry laugh. “Don’t let’s talk about families.”
“I’d far rather talk about us,” he said, and then mentally kicked himself for such a trite response.
Debera’s face clouded.
“Now what did I say wrong?” He tightened his arms on her reassuringly. Her expression was so woeful.
She’s been upset about something Tisha told the weyrlings yesterday. I know I said I wouldn’t interfere, but sometimes it’s needed.
“You didn’t,” Debera said at the same time so he wasn’t sure who had said what, since the voices were so alike.
“But something is troubling you?” She didn’t answer immediately, but her hands tightened where they gripped him.
“C’mon, now, Deb,” and he tried to jolly her a bit. “I’ll listen to anything you have to say.”
She gave him an odd glance. “That’s just it.”
“What is?”
“You wanting to talk to me, dance with only me and Ooooh,” and suddenly Iantine had a hunch. “Tisha gave all the riders that don’t-do-anything-you’ll-be-sorry-for at Turn’s End lecture?”
She gave him a startled look, and he grinned back at her. “I’ve been read that one a time or two myself, you know.”
“But you don’t know,” she said, “that it’s different for dragon riders.”
“For green riders with very immature dragons.”
Then she gave him a horrified look as if she hadn’t meant to be so candid.
“Oh!” He pulled her closer to him, even when she resisted, and chuckled. All those casual questions he’d asked dragon riders explained all that she didn’t say.
“Green dragons are. how do I put it, kindly? Eager, loving, willing, too friendly for their own good.”
She stared up at him, a blush suffusing her cheeks, her eyes angry and her body stiffening against the rhythm of the dance.
They were about to pass an opening, one of the corridors that led back to the storage areas of the Weyr. He whirled them in that direction despite her resistance, speaking in a persuasively understanding tone.
“You’re the rider of a young green and she’s much too young for any sexual stimulation. But I don’t think a kiss will do her any damage, and I’ve got to kiss you once before I have to go to Benden.” And he did so. The moment their lips touched, although she tried to resist, the attraction that they each had for the other made the contact electric. She could not have resisted responding - even to preserve Morath’s innocence.
Finally, breathless, they separated, but not by more than enough centimeters to let air into their lungs. Her body hung almost limply against his, and only because he was leaning against the wall did he have the strength to support them both.
That’s very nice, you know.
“Morath!” Debera jerked her body upright, though her hands clenched tightly on his neck and shoulder. “Morath dear, what have I done?”
“Not as much to her as you have to me,” Iantine said in a shaky voice. “She doesn’t sound upset or anything.”
Debera pushed away to stare up at him - he thought she had never looked so lovely. “You heard Morath?”
“Hmmm, yes.”
“You mean, that wasn’t the first time?” She was even more startled.
“Hmmm. She knows my name, too,” he said, plunging in with a bit of information that he knew might really distress her, but now was the time to be candid.
Debera’s eyes widened even more and her face had paled in the glow light of the corridor. She leaned weakly against him.
“Oh, what do I do now?” He stroked her hair, relieved that she hadn’t just stormed off, leaving all his hopes in crumbs.
“I don’t think we upset Morath with that little kiss,” he said softly.
“Little kiss?” Her expression went blank. “I’ve never been kissed like that before in my life.” Iantine laughed. “Me neither. Even if you didn’t want to kiss me back.” He hugged her, knowing that the critical moment had passed. “I have to say this, Debera, I love you. I can’t get you out of my mind. Your face… and…” and he added tactfully because it was also true, “Morath’s decorate the margin of every sketch I draw. I’m going to miss you like… like you’d miss Morath.” She caught in her breath at even the mention of such a possibility.