«The rust will do very well, and I'm grateful for the loan of it.» She smiled around at the women in the room, trying to locate the donor but no one met her glance. «This will be fine. I won't be long,» she added, smiling again as she entered the bathing room and pulled the curtain across. She hoped they would all take the hint and leave.
She lolled longer in the warm scented water than she intended, easing muscles made tense by the afternoon's excitements. Only when she finally emerged and was rubbing her hair dry did she hear a noise in the outer chamber and realize that someone was waiting for her.
«Lady Oma?» she called out, dreading the answer.
«No, it's only Oklina,» an apologetic young voice replied.
«Did you find the shift?»
«I'm in it.»
«Do you need help with your hair?»
«It's short enough to dry quickly.»
«Oh!»
Moreta smiled to herself for the chagrin in the young voice. «I'm distressingly self-sufficient, Lady Oklina,» Moreta said, pulling the rust dress over her head, «except that I cannot do up the back of the gown.» She pulled the curtain aside as Oklina rushed forward, nearly colliding with Moreta and almost collapsing with embarrassment at her awkwardness.
Oklina bore a marked resemblance to her brother but none to Lady Oma, if indeed the woman was the girl's mother. The dark complexion, which suited Alessan, did nothing for the girl yet she had a sensitivity in her face and a grace of movement that had its own appeal. And, Moreta noted enviously, thick long black plaits gleamed in the well-lit room.
«I'm awfully sorry it's only me. Lady Moreta, but it's time to serve the roasts and with so many guests …» Oklina deftly settled the bodice to Moreta's hips and began lacing the back.
«If I had been watching where I walked,»
«Oh, Marl wanted to sink into the ground with the slops. Lady Moreta. He rushed here to us with your gown and hovered in the washroom, fretting about the stains. You must have been furious to have a new gown ruined in the first wearing, before you had a chance to show it off or dance in it.» Oklina's voice reflected her awe, which was quite understandable since she was obviously wearing a dress handed down from older sisters.
«I shall dance much more easily in this.» Moreta twitched experimentally at the rust skirts.
«Alessan sent word that you had to be enticed with a gown pretty enough to make you stay for the dancing.»
«Oh?»
«Oh!» Oklina's eyes widened at her indiscretion, and she blinked back sudden tears, her expression very solemn. «He hasn't been to a Gather or danced or sung or been himself since Suriana died. Not even when he became Lord Holder. Tell me, was he pleased when Squealer won?»
«Ecstatic!» Moreta smiled gently at the girl's obvious adoration of her brother. «Creditable win, too. Five lengths.»
«And he actually smiled? And enjoyed himself?» At Moreta's reassurance, the girl clasped her hands under her chin, her dark eyes shining. «I did see the start,» her expressive face clouded briefly, «and heard the yells. I'll bet the loudest was from Alessan. Did you see Squealer afterward? And you met Dag. Dag is never far from that runner. He's been so devoted. He knows so much about racing because he rode for Lord Leef before he got so old. He can spot winners every time. He had faith in Alessan's breeding when everyone else thought he ought to give it up before Lord Leef,» Oklina broke off with a gasp. «I talk too much.»
«I've been listening.» Moreta was not unaccustomed to outpourings of repressed emotions. «I think Squealer is going to repay all the time and effort Alessan, and Dag, have put into him.»
«Oh, do you really think so?» The prospect brought a fresh spasm of delight to Oklina. «Listen, the harpers have begun.» At the sound of music, the girl wheeled to the window, its metal shutters open to the darkening sky.
«Well, then, let's go dance. It's time to enjoy ourselves.»
For a moment, Oklina looked apprehensive, as if she wouldn't be allowed to enjoy herself. Younger members of Hold families were often saddled with the onerous duties of a Gather, but Moreta would make it a point to see that Oklina did dance. The girl smiled graciously and gestured for Moreta to precede her from the room.
The corridors and the Hall were empty, but drudges were opening the glowbaskets arranged on the forecourt as Moreta and Oklina hastened by. Moreta paused on the ramp, to look up to the fireheights. Orlith slept, eyes closed, in the setting sun, likely to remain somnolent until the evening breeze chilled the air. Other dragons, their rainbow-colored eyes gleaming, watched the scene below.
«Oh!» Oklina's tone was a yip of delighted fear. «They are such awesome creatures.» She paused, then blurted out, «Were you terribly scared?»
«When I Impressed? Very much so. The Search reached my father's hold the very day of Impression. I was scooped up and taken to Ista in a scurry, told to change, and then shoved onto the Hatching Ground before I knew exactly what was taking place. Orlith,» and Moreta could never suppress an exultant smile at the memory, «forgave me for being late!»
«Ohhhh,» Oklina expelled a long sigh of bliss.
Moreta waited, recognizing the girl's yearning to be found on Search and to impress a queen dragon. Once when faced with such envious yearnings, Moreta had felt unaccountable guilt over her good fortune at Impressing Orlith, her friend, her sure consolation, her life. That reaction had gradually been replaced by the knowledge of the great gap between wish, fulfillment, and acceptance. So Moreta could smile kindly at Oklina while her mind reached out to her sleeping dragon. «If my brother hadn't been my father's successor, he might have been a dragonrider,» Oklina confided to Moreta in a sudden whisper.
«Really?» Moreta was startled. She hadn't heard that Ruatha Hold had been approached for one of its sons, not since she joined the Weyr ten Turns before.
«Dag told me.» And Oklina nodded her head vigorously to support her statement. «It was twelve Turns ago. Dag said Lord Leef was in a fury because Alessan was to be the heir, and though Lord Leef told the dragonriders they could have any other member of his Hold, Dag said that no one else was acceptable to the dragons, how do dragons know?»
«Search dragons know,» Moreta said in a mysterious voice, a rote reply after so many repetitions. «Each Weyr has dragons who sense the potential in youngsters.» Moreta deepened the mystery in her voice. «There are folk, weyrborn, who've known dragons and riders all their lives who don't Impress, and complete strangers, like myself, who do. The dragons always know.»
«The dragons always know …» Oklina's whisper was half prayer, half imprecation. She stole a quick look up the fire-heights as if she feared the somnolent dragons might take offense if they heard.
«Come, Oklina,» Moreta said briskly. «I'm dying to dance.»
CHAPTER III
To Moreta, of all the Gathers she'd ever attended, the Ruatha Gather at that moment of dusk evoked best what Gathers should by folk from weyr, hold, and craft assembled to eat, drink, dance, and enjoy one another's company. The glowbaskets on their standards cast patches of golden light on the crowded tables, on the dancers, on the clusters of people standing about talking, and on the circles of men near the wine barrels. The darting figures of children wove in and out of the light patches, and occasionally their laughter and shouts cut across the music and the stamping of the dancers. The smell of roasted meats and warm evening air, of dust and pungent glows, and wine reinforced all prospect of entertainment.
Nine harpers graced the platform and five more sat waiting their turns. Moreta couldn't pick out Tirone, but the Masterharper might be circulating among the tables. Alessan might not like the Masterharper, but Tirone would discharge his obligation to the new Lord Holder's first Gather.