“Iantine, what can I say to that? I’m a dragon rider. You know that Morath is always first with me,” she said gently, touching his face.
He nodded. “That’s as it should be,” he said, although he heartily wished he could be her sole and only concern.
“I’m glad you do know that but I don’t know what I feel about you, Ian, except that I did like your kiss.” Her eyes were tender and she glanced shyly away from him. “I’m even glad you did kiss me. I’ve sort of wanted to know - - -“ she said with a ripple in her voice, but still shy.
“So I can kiss you again?”
She put her hand on his chest. “Not quite so fast, Iantine! Not quite so fast. For my sake as well as Morath’s. Because,” and then she blurted out the next sentence, “I know I’m going to miss you… almost… as much as I’d miss Morath. I didn’t know a rider could be so involved with another human.
“Not like this. And,” she increased her pressure on the hand that held them apart because he wanted so to kiss her for that, “I can’t be honestly sure if it’s not because Morath rather likes you, too, and is influencing me.”
I am not, said Morath firmly, almost indignantly.
“She says…” Debera began as Iantine said, “I heard that.”
They both laughed and the sensual tension between them eased. He made quick use of the opportunity to kiss her, lightly, to prove that he could and that he did understand about Morath. He had also actually asked as many questions about rider liaisons as discretion permitted.
What he’d learned had been both reassuring and unsettling. There were more ramifications to human affairs than he had ever previously suspected. Dragonrider-human ones could get very complicated and the green dragons, being so highly-strung and sexually oriented, were the most complex.
“I guess I’m lucky she talks to me at all,” Iantine said. “Look, love, I’ve said what I’ve wanted to say. I’ve heard what Morath has to say, and we can leave it there for now. I’ve got to go to Benden Hold and Morath has to… mature.” He gently tightened his arms around his beloved. “If I’m welcome to come back… to the Weyr, I will return. Am I welcome?”
“Yes, you are,” Debera said as Morath also confirmed it.
“Well, then,” and he kissed her lightly, managing to break it off before the emotion that could so easily start up again could fire, “let us dance, and dance and dance. That should cause no problems, should it?”
“Of course,” the words were no sooner out of his mouth than he knew that having her so close to him all evening was going to be a trial of his self-control.
His lips tingled as he led her back, her fingers trustingly twined into his. The dance was ending as he put his arms around her, so they managed just one brief spin. Since he now felt far more secure, he did let Leopol partner Debera for one fast dance, or he’d never hear the last of it from the boy.
Other than that surrender, he and Debera danced together all night, cementing the bond that had begun: danced until the musicians called it a night.
He was going to hate to be parted from her, more now because they did have an understanding - of sorts - but there was no help for it.
He had the duty to Benden Hold.
New Year 258 After L(anding) - College, Benden Hold, Telgar Weyr
On the first official day of the New Year, 258 AL, Clisser had a chance to review the four days of Turn’s End. Frantic at times, certainly hectic despite the most careful plans and the wealth of experience, the main performances - the First Day ‘Landing Suite’, and Second Day Teaching Songs and Ballads - had gone very welclass="underline" far better than he had anticipated given the scanty rehearsals available for some of the performers. The tenor, for instance, had been a bit ragged in his big solo; he really should have held that final note the full measure. Sheledon glowered from the woodwind section: he’d’ve sung the part himself, but he hadn’t the voice for it.
But then, the only solos which Sheledon wouldn’t find fault with would be Sydra’s, and she never failed to give a splendid performance.
Bethany’s flute obbligatos had been remarkable, matching Sydra’s voice to perfection.
Paulin had been on his feet time after time, applauding the soloists and, at the finale, surreptitiously brushing a tear from his eye. Even old S’nan looked pleased - also fatuous, but on the whole Clisser was relieved at the reception. He hoped the two performances had been popular elsewhere on the continent. A great deal of work had been put into rehearsals by folks who had little spare time as it was.
The Teaching Songs and Ballads had been just as well received, with people going about humming some of the tunes. Which was exactly what the composers had hoped for. Fortunately, honors were even between Jemmy and Sheledon for catchy tunes. He caught himself humming the ‘Duty Song’ chorus, which had gone particularly well. He wouldn’t have to deal with a laborious copying of the Charter once youngsters learned those words off by heart. It certainly fitted the bill.
Copies of all the new songs were being made by the teachers themselves, who would then require their students to transcribe them, and that saved a lot of effort for his College.
Really, a printing press of some kind must be put high on the list of Kalvi’s engineering staff. They’d managed quite a few small motor-driven, solar panel gadgets; why not a printing press? But a printing press required paper and the forests were going to be vulnerable for the next fifty years no matter how assiduous the Weyrs were in their protective umbrella.
One tangle of Thread could destroy acres of trees in the time it took to get a ground crew to the affected area.
He sighed. If only the organics plastic machinery were still operating… but the one unit housed in the Fort storage had rusted in the same flooding that had ruined so much else.
“Ours not to wonder what were fair in life,” he quoted to himself, “which is a saying I should have made up to remind me that we’ve got what we’ve got and have to make do.” He couldn’t help but feel somewhat depressed, though.
There had been some high moments these last few days, and it was hard to resume normal routine. Not everyone on the teaching staff was back, though all should have checked in by late evening. He’d hear then how the performances went elsewhere. He’d have to wait to learn how the new curriculum was working. By springtime he’d know what fine tuning would be needed. He could count on Sallisha for that, he was sure.
By springtime, Thread would fall and the easy pace they had all enjoyed would be a memory.
Ah, that was what he had to do - he’d put it off long enough write up the roster for ground crews drafted from students over fifteen and teachers. He’d promised that to Lord Paulin and, what with everything else, never produced it. He pulled a fresh sheet of paper from the drawer, then stopped, put it back and picked up a sheet from the re-use pile. A clean side was all he needed. Mustn’t waste, or he’d want soon enough.
Lady Jane herself led Iantine to his quarters, asking all the gracious questions a hostess did: Where had he been for Turn’s End? Had he enjoyed himself? Had he had the opportunity to hear the splendid new music from the College? What instrument did he play? What did he hear from his parents?
He answered as well as he could, amazed at the difference between his reception here and the one he’d had at Bitra. Lady Jane was a fluttery sort of woman, not at all what he would have expected as the spouse of a man like Bridgely. She must be extremely efficient under all that flutter, he thought, contrasting the grace, order and appearance of the public rooms with those at Bitra, and seeing a vast difference between the two.