Shaya kept her head down. Long pieces of her mousy blonde hair, matted into numerous dreadlocks, hid her face and fell halfway down her back. Since arriving at Benden Weyr, no one had attempted to remove this remainder of her previous existence from her. She tried hard to concentrate on the heavy pot that she had to scrub but it was very difficult not to overhear Headwoman Andina's discussion with Mara, her foster-mother who just happened to be in charge of the main kitchen in the lower caverns.
She wondered briefly, if she was somehow invisible, that the two women would have this conversation that fairly set her ears burning. Where she stood, she was hidden by the curve of the wall that led to the stores. The women were just hidden, near the entrance to the tunnel that led to the Great Hall.
"It's got Fessli beside herself with worry," said Andina, sighing explosively. "But the queen won't let anyone, not even Fessli, near the poor little dear. Tarth has flown in a few times bits of meat, but as soon as he's left his gift on the sand, Kiranth flies at him, snapping – all furious. The dragonet is tiny and she's protecting it from everyone. She won't even leave the Hatching Grounds."
"Oh, my…" breathed Mara. "And she won't be reasoned with? Surely the thing should never have hatched in the first place. They normally never do, except for that white dragon that the Harpers always tell about."
"Ruth?"
"That one, yes," stated Mara.
"It's been ages since any dragon has clutched a sport."
"And with the clutches being so small nowadays…"
"It's small wonder they clutch at all," added Andina. "No, this is not like Kiranth at all. And the wee little thing has shown no inclination to Impress. Sticks with the queen as if its life depends on it. And the colour… Now that is a cause for great debate. Some say it's a little queen but it's so dark it may as well be black."
Both women were quiet for a spell. It was, however, at this unfortunate point that the large iron pot elected to slip out of Shaya's slippery fingers, splashing both herself and the floor with liberal amounts of greasy water.
She hissed in frustration.
"Shaya! Be more careful!" exclaimed Mara, glancing 'round the corner.
"Aye, I didn't even know the girl was here," said Andina, also poking her face around the wall. "Ah, well, it's not for us to be caught gossiping like a pair of old wherry-hens. Come here girl. Now that you've overheard most of this story, you may as well take the Weyrwoman a pot of klah and some meatrolls. And spare a thought to curb your tongue 'round the other drudges."
Sheepishly, Shaya dried her hands on a cloth and faced the Headwoman. Andina, a spare woman who'd seen just over forty turns, regarded her with a slight frown as she patted her grey-streaked hair, which was captured in a severe bun.
"You're that holdless girl we took in last Turn, aren't you?"
"Yes ma'm," Shaya answered, examining her scuffed boots as closely as possible.
"Denesh's get? Well, you're not as objectionable as they've painted you out to be," the woman stated simply, without rancour in her tone. "You've acquitted yourself well, despite the wild stories that have been flung around."
Shaya winced. So, they did discuss her unfortunate situation… And here she'd hoped that she could slip into relative anonymity in Benden Weyr's Lower Caverns… Her late father's exploits had shocked most of the Northern Continent. Indeed, for the first twelve Turns, Shaya had not known any life but that of being the bastard get of possibly the most notorious bandit that had ever strode across Pern.
At thirteen Turns, now with the first bloom of her approaching womanhood upon her, Shaya had been relieved that she had not, eventually shared her father's fate and that Benden Weyr had agreed to take her in. After all, it was this weyr's riders that had finally put an end to her father's reign of terror.
Granted, that was not how she had seen the situation, while she'd been living the life of a bandit princess living among the holdless… Ah… how the mighty had fallen… but now, in retrospect, all she could do was shrug and accept the hand that fate had dealt her. After all, there was no old life to run back to.
"I shall do as you say, ma'm," Shaya answered in what she hoped was a contrite manner. In truth, her cheeks flamed and she felt as if she'd turned the same colour as a redfruit.
Careful not to tip the tray and spill the entire pot of klah, Shaya carried the refreshments to the Weyrwoman's quarters, a strange thrill flooding through her heart for the first time in a long time.