Dared realized he was rubbing his knee absentmindedly and forced himself to stop. The conversation had long left him behind. He dismissed his meandering thoughts and made an effort to attend. The tableau was the same as before his mind had wandered. Haligon sat propped up in his bed, bony hands resting on the sleeping furs. His eyes were sharp and some of his color had returned. Johannon stood at his bedside, his hands folded behind his back. Daxel lounged in a padded chair across from Dared. His posture oozed nonchalance, but Dared could read the tension in the young lord's eyes.

Haligon let out a hoarse cackle and thumped the bed as if the Masterhealer had told a joke. "A month! It's been seven days since I fell ill, Johannon. I won't spend another full month flat on my back like some invalid."

"Yes, my lord, you will," Johannon said with a patient smile. "Your body needs to rest. I don't want you to strain yourself and run the risk of a relapse."

Haligon grumbled testily to himself like a toothless old uncle.

"Listen to the man, father," Daxel said, holding up a glass of blood-red wine to the light. "Why would we bring him up from Fort only to ignore his advice?"

"Suddenly so concerned about saving my life, Daxel?" Haligon said archly. "It's touching."

"I was exiled for three Turns, father. Am I not allowed to miss you?"

"I'm not sure if it's me you miss, or your chance at succeeding me."

"That's enough," Johannon said in a voice of quiet authority. "You can continue sniping at each other when the Lord Holder has recovered. On top of bed rest, Lord Haligon, I also advise you to avoid arguments and sarcasm."

"That would make things blessedly quiet around here," Daxel said with an acidic smirk.

"My advice applies to you as well, young Daxel," Johannon said sharply. His dark eyes glittered with cold disdain. "You would do well to show your father more respect in his ill health."

The chamber door swung open to a tray-carrying Aegellan. He stepped into the room, face impassive as always. He glanced slowly around to gauge the scene.

"Ah, cousin. I was just about to make a toast. To my father's health." Daxel raised his glass and drained half of the crimson liquid.

"You are kind, cousin. My lord." Aegellan bowed, acknowledging Dared and Johannon with formal nods. "I had Bora bring up the extra furs you requested." He stepped aside to let a serving girl past. Daxel arched an eyebrow as she passed, her hips swaying gently. She bobbed a quick curtsey and deposited her load at the foot of Haligon's bed.

"Thank you, Bora," Johannon said. The girl blushed prettily and hurried from the room, Daxel's eyes following her as she left.

"Johannon, you're a saint," Haligon sighed. "Forgive us for subjecting you to our petty quarrels."

"Did I miss something?" Aegellan asked, setting his tray at his uncle's bedside.

"More mush?" Haligon said with a mournful frown.

"Masterhealer's orders." Johannon's smile was strained around the eyes.

"Ah well, you do know best, as my son has so kindly pointed out."

Daxel lifted his glass in silent salute, eyes cold above a mocking smile.

"If that is all, I will take my leave for the afternoon." Johannon bent slightly at the waist. He left the room, taking his calm control with him. A familiar tension settled around the Ruathan lords in his wake.

"Dared, I owe you an apology as well," Haligon said, lifting a shaking hand to his forehead. "We've put on quite the display."

"No apology is necessary," Dared replied.

Haligon managed a rueful grimace. "You have my thanks, Harper." He seemed to sink back into his pillows, looking like a much older man. "What news of the northern Holds?"

With effort, Dared stood, ignoring his ruined leg's complaints. Bad news should never be given sitting down. Hands folded behind his back, he gave his report and watched Haligon's face grow solemn. "Benden still awaits your decision, Lord Haligon," he finished.

"The dragonriders of Pern will always have Ruatha's support," Haligon said sternly.

Aegellan shook his head. "It disturbs me that Lord Tennol would feel otherwise."

"Tennol is no fool," Daxel said from his chair. He stood fluidly and sauntered to the foot of his father's bed. "The world has changed. The time is ripe to make our own way."

"And abandon the Weyrs?"

"Weyr," Daxel corrected his father. "Crom has never been bound to Benden. Neither has Ruatha, for that matter."

Haligon's face darkened. "Bound? Need I remind you that your sister was Weyrwoman—"

"Mardra's gone," Daxel said flatly. "And with her, the Weyr under her leadership and four others. Obviously, they were no longer needed. This is the Holder's time, father. Gods and demons have gone, leaving us men to our own devices."

"Gods and demons?" Dared repeated curiously.

Daxel turned lazily to face him, wearing a patronizing smile. "The dragonmen. Thread. Both quickly becoming relics of a past age."

Dared matched Daxel's smile with one of his own. "A bold claim to make in a harper's hearing."

"Are you going to slap my wrist for my heresy, Harper?" Daxel asked.

Dared shrugged. "Heresy in children is to be expected. Sophistry in a young lord, however, cannot be helped." He lowered himself slowly back into his seat. He was tired. With Daxel's presence in the Hold, Dared's work at home was as wearisome as it was abroad. The Harper had little desire to continue the conversation.

"My lord Haligon, should we leave you to rest?" Aegellan asked, his dark eyes settling on Daxel. It was less a suggestion than it was a veiled command.

Dared took his cue, heaving himself upright with an ill-concealed groan. "My lord Daxel, would you accompany me out? I would like to hear more of your thoughts, but let's not disturb your father." It was the last thing he wanted to do, but his occupation lately had very little to do with what he wanted.

To his relief, the young lord nodded acquiescence. "Have I been deemed worthy to match wits with a Harper?" he asked, bowing and gesturing sardonically for Dared to lead the way out.

"You'll have no wordplay from me," Dared said wearily. "I'm content to shut up and be an ear." If only Daxel could do the same. But he didn't voice this last thought, only smiled at the young lord and limped out.

Miyra woke to darkness. Barrak was still sleeping beside her, his breathing low and even in the quiet. The pain that had awoken her faded slowly. She caught her breath and wiped sweat from her forehead. The shoulder she had been sleeping on was numb, but it took too much effort to turn over on her own and she didn't want to wake Barrak.

Spring was still weeks away, but Miyra sweltered in the added warmth of her pregnancy. She flipped the blankets off of her and closed her eyes. Another interrupted night of sleep. She could count on one hand the number of times she had slept through the night in the past month. According to her calculations, the baby still had three weeks to go. The pain returned and Miyra's eyes shot open. The contraction only lasted a few seconds. She started counting once it was gone. She thought about everyone she loved, hoping for their health and happiness. Barrak, her family in Lemos, Dared, Layla, Ransom, Roe, the baby girl she delivered last month. At the end of her list, she added another quick prayer for Ransom. Five minutes passed before another contraction hit. She shifted onto her back, but remained in bed even as her heart pounded. It was too early. She didn't want to wake Barrak for nothing.

The contractions came faster and grew in length and intensity. After a particularly strong one, she dropped her head back into the pillow, gasping and sweaty.

"You weren't supposed to come for three more weeks!" she scolded her belly. Apparently her baby had a mind of his own.

"Barrak." She reached over and shook his shoulder. "Barrak!"

"Hmm?" He grunted. His eyes fluttered open for a brief second before sliding shut again. "What's wrong?"

"I think it's time."

"What? What time—oh!" He sat up and placed his good hand on her belly. "Is the baby coming?"

Miyra bit her lip and nodded as another contraction began. "Help me up," she gasped. Barrak obeyed with alacrity, stacking pillows behind her back.

"Go fetch Levine," she said once she was settled, hiding a smile at her husband's nervous solicitation. She had asked the journeywoman to attend her just the other day.

"Will you be all right by yourself?" Barrak asked worriedly. He brushed her hair back from her forehead.

Miyra managed a breathless laugh. "I'll be fine. If this baby's like most, he won't come for hours yet."

Barrak kissed her and squeezed her hand. "Let's hope she's like most, then." He threw on trousers and boots. "Hold on, love. Help is coming."

Miyra sat back and kicked the rest of the blankets off. Through the window, she could see the moons dipping back towards the mountains in the west.

"I just washed the sheets yesterday," she muttered, fingering the pillow covering behind her back. "Well, baby, if you can't follow any of my other timetables, would you at least try to make it out by dawn?"

As usual, Riand was the last to leave the classroom once Ransom dismissed his students. The little boy marched up to Ransom and pulled on his tunic.

"When wi' you pway ya dwum again?"

Ransom smiled faintly and held up his injured hand. "Not for a month at least. Until then, I can only sing."

"At least you don't sing half bad, Harper boy," Layla said. She leaned against the lintel of the classroom, green eyes seeming to laugh at him.

"Thanks," Ransom replied lamely, discomfited at Layla's sudden appearance. He had avoided company for most of the past few days.

Riand, on the other hand, had no such inhibitions. "Waywa!" He shot to the door, pudgy arms held out.

"My little man Riand!" Layla scooped him up into a hug. "Oof! Not so little anymore, are you? I swear you get bigger every day."

"You shouldn't sweah. Ma says it's bad."

"Wouldn't want to cross your ma, would I?" Layla nodded solemnly, slipping a quick wink in Ransom's direction as she set Riand down. "Me and Riand go way back. His ma took care of me when I first came to Ruatha. Levine's her younger sister, you know."

"I didn't know that." Ransom took another look at his pupil, trying to find a resemblance to the lanky journeywoman in Riand's grubby face.

The boy tugged on Layla's tunic impatiently. "Why don't you evuh come visit?"

"I'm sorry, little man. I have a lot of apprentice work. You could come see me and your auntie Levine."

Riand shook his head, suddenly shy. He hugged Layla quickly around the knees and darted from the room without a goodbye.

"What a funny kid," Layla said with a sideways smile.

"Don't you have afternoon sectionals, Layla?" Ransom asked, reaching up to adjust his tambour on his shelf. He missed playing.

Layla straightened up, the laughter gone from her eyes. "My section got a break. I haven't seen you in a few days."

"I've been busy."

"So've I, but I don't avoid my friends."

"I haven't been avoiding you." Ransom straightened a stack of scores on the table to keep his fidgety hands busy. "I've just had a lot on my mind."

Layla rolled her eyes. "Roe's right, you're terrible at lying. Anyways, I didn't come to see you just to bemoan your absence. I wanted to give you the news."

"What news?"

Layla's eyes danced with excitement. "Miyra's baby was born yesterday!"

Ransom' s heart thunked against his ribs. "Is everyone all right?"

"Of course! Miyra's birthed at least a hundred babies. Getting her own out shouldn't have been so bad, right? Levine was attending her, so Denmar had to take over her class yesterday. My class got the afternoon off today because we're ahead on all our work."

"Have you seen them?"

"Not yet." Her smile widened. "It's a girl, though. Levine told me. Said she looks exactly like Barrak."

"Has she been named?"

"I don't know. We can go find out today."

Ransom nodded unenthusiastically. On any other day, he would want nothing more than to see Miyra and her baby, but he still felt out of sorts. Out of small tasks to occupy himself, he shoved his hand into his pocket as an awkward silence descended.

Layla flicked her hair over her shoulder with an impatient toss of her head. "Look, you don't have to tell me what's made you clam up like this, but will you at least stop running away from everyone?"

"I'm not running away."

"You're right. You're not running. You look more like a watch wher tripping over its chain to hide in its den."

Ransom shrugged a shoulder. "Running has never been my specialty."

"No, you're too busy getting your face rearranged by bullies." Layla waited expectantly, her head tilted to one side. At Ransom's continued silence, she sighed. "Okay, maybe that was a bad joke. How are your fingers?"

"Broken."

Unfazed, she grinned cheekily. "Then you can't be busy now. You can't practice, so you should come with me." She skipped to him and pulled on his arm.

"Layla—"

"Come on, Ransom," she pleaded, shaking his shoulder. "You haven't even talked to your brother in the past few days. Roe's been making some really beautiful things. We should go see him. If he's not busy, then we could all swing by Miyra's to see her." The look in her wide green eyes could melt a rock.

No girl had ever looked at Ransom like that before. He realized with a strange sensation in his chest that Layla was very pretty. He found himself nodding in agreement. Before he fully realized what was happening, Layla clapped her hands and seized his elbow to drag him from the room.

"You probably haven't heard that Petrand's back in the Crafthall," she began, looping her arm through his once they were walking. "Shards, I hate him. At least the journeymen are cracking down on him and his gang. Everyone's heard what happened. No one's impressed with him anymore, especially since he got beat by a kid half his size." She elbowed him playfully. "That'd be you, you know."

"Watch it, I've a bruise there," Ransom protested.

"You have not, you big baby."

The breeze tossed her curls into Ransom's face. He tried to edge away from her, but she had a firm grip on his arm.

"So, I've shared my news," she continued as they crossed the courtyard. "What do you have?"

"Nothing."

"Rubbish. You're a harper. You have to know about something interesting in the Hold."

"Lord Haligon is improving. The Masterhealer is returning to Fort in a few days."

Layla nodded. "I know. Winna has the kitchen in a frenzy preparing a feast to send him off and celebrate Haligon's recovery."

"Daxel is staying longer, though."

"I'm sure that won't speed up Lord Haligon's recovery," Layla shook her head. "Holders and their politics."

Ransom sent a chunk of gravel skittering down the path. "I wager it's simpler than that. Not all fathers and sons get along, you know."

Layla watched him from the corner of her eye, but he refused to give her more than that. It had been only a few days since Moregan's visit. Raw wounds wanted no prodding.

Ransom caught a flash of sandy hair in the corner of his eye. Petrand and Nils were approaching the path from the apprentice dormitory. Layla stiffened beside him.

"Ugh," she muttered. "Please don't start anything, Ransom."

Petrand saw them coming and his eyes narrowed. But for a few scrapes, his face showed no sign of their fight. Ransom's remorse for hurting him drained away. They passed each other on the path, Petrand staring daggers at them. Ransom met his gaze fearlessly until the other boy looked away. A small spark of triumph leaped up in his chest.

Layla sighed in relief once the weaver boys were behind them. "Thank goodness for that. I was afraid he was going to say something and lower everyone else's intelligence with his idiocy. Can't have that, can we? You, for one, don't have brains to spare."

"No, they've all been talked out of me by some weaver girl."

Layla clapped Ransom's shoulder with a happy laugh. "You made a joke! It's about time you stopped moping around."

"I wasn't moping."

Layla pulled a dour face. "You look like you woke up under the wrong end of a draybeast." She pulled the Crafthall door open. The racket of the workshop washed over them as they stepped into the high-ceilinged room. "Roe's in the back." Layla lead the way through rows of looms that ranged from huge, complicated tapestry rigs to small handlooms for simple projects and trimming. Ransom breathed in the earthy scents of wood oil and wool mixed with the sharp tang of dye.

"Brenthon's pulled Roe to help with designs for the tapestry," Layla said. "It's unheard of. None of us other apprentices are even allowed near it."

"What's the tapestry?" Ransom asked.

"Lord Haligon commissioned it near the end of the Pass. Everyone says it'll be Brenthon's masterpiece. He wants the final design done by the Spring Festival, but the tapestry itself will take Turns to complete."

Roe's workstation was in the back corner. His dark head was bent over a table as three apprentices watched him avidly.

"Roe!" Layla elbowed past the apprentices and touched Roe's shoulder. "Look who's here to see you!" She threw a casual arm around Ransom's shoulders.

Roe's smile didn't quite make it to his eyes, his gaze lingering for the briefest moment on Layla's arm. Even so, he pulled Ransom into a hug and tousled his hair. Where have you been? I've hardly seen you. You've even been waking up before me.

"Sorry Roe," Ransom said and ducked away. "I had a lot on my mind."

"I practically had to drag him here," Layla said. "You should show him your drawings."

Roe grinned and pushed Ransom to the table to show off his work. Ransom sucked in his breath. The table was covered in drawings of dragons—whirling in flight, wings flung wide, spouting gouts of flame.

"These are incredible!" Ransom exclaimed. Roe beamed, a smudge of charcoal darkening the pale skin of his forehead. Ransom bent over the table for a closer examination. Roe's hand ranged from loose and expressive strokes to painstakingly precise hatch marks. Each sketch showcased his talent. A mix of emotions wove through Ransom's insides. He was fiercely proud of his half-brother, but he was also painfully aware of the half they didn't share.

"What more do you have left to draw?" Layla asked.

Roe picked up a slate and chalk lying on the table to scrawl a response. Three men with flamethrowers.

"Do you have a lot of work left for today?"

Roe shrugged and continued writing. Not really. I have no formal tutorial, just work to complete on my own time.

"Then you should come with us!" Layla pronounced. "Ransom and I are going to Miyra's cothold to visit her and the new baby."

Roe's eyes widened in surprise. "The baby…born?" he asked haltingly. "Now?"

Layla rolled her eyes. "Weren't you paying any attention yesterday? Denmar announced it in front of the whole crafthall!"

"Denmar…" Roe flapped his fingers to imitate a talking mouth and shrugged. "Too fast."

"Oh, sorry Roe." Layla seemed to deflate. "I forgot you're still learning lips."

"It's okay." Roe tweaked her nose, leaving a smear of charcoal on her fair skin. "Let's go!" He jerked his head towards the exit. Layla looped her arm through his. Before they set off, she twisted and caught Ransom by the sleeve with her other hand.

"Don't you run away on me now," she said, her green eyes narrowed.

"I wouldn't do that," he protested, pulling out of her grasp. "I want to see Miyra as much as you do."

"Good. I have my eye on you, Harper boy."

"What for?" Ransom shot back boldly. "You already have Roe wrapped around your finger."

He was rewarded as Layla blushed bright red, but his satisfaction was short-lived.

"Ow!" He rubbed his arm, still stinging where she had smacked him.

And so it went all the way to Miyra's cothold. Layla and Ransom ribbed each other good-naturedly, Roe applauding whenever Layla scored a good hit.

"Whose side are you on, Roe?" Ransom demanded in mock indignation after Layla delivered a particularly bruising remark. "I'm your brother!" Shaking his head as Layla and Roe laughed behind him, he knocked on Miyra's door.

Layla sobered up quickly, digging an elbow into Roe's ribs. "Hush! There's a baby inside!"

The door opened. Levine stood in the doorway, a smile blooming across her face. "You three! What a pleasant surprise! Come on in, Miyra'll be so happy to see you."

"How are they?" Layla asked in a loud whisper, Roe close behind her.

"They're resting in the bedroom." Levine cocked her head towards a closed door.

"Is Miyra awake?" Ransom interjected.

Levine nodded. "You all have impeccable timing. I was just making a run to the necessary. Go on in."

Miyra raised her head as they stepped into the bedroom, a smile smoothing the weariness from her face. She was propped up in bed, her head bent over a bundle in her arms. Her dark hair hung loose over her shoulders, making her look almost girlish.

"All three of you at the same time?" she said. "Can your craft superiors spare so much talent at once?"

"I don't know about the boys, but Brenthon's relieved to see me go," Layla said, plopping herself at Miyra's bedside. "He's always grumbling about me."

"That means he likes you, m'girl," Miyra said. "Brenthon's a genius with yarn, but everything else in life he does completely backward."

Layla shrugged off the compliment. "Enough about me. Can we see her?"

Miyra laughed quietly. She pulled a fold of soft blanket away from the bundle in her arms, revealing a tiny pink face.

Layla gasped. She leaned forward and rested her elbows on the bed. "She's beautiful!"

Roe bent forward to get a closer look as well, eyes wide in wonder. Above them, Miyra's face glowed.

"What's her name?" Layla asked.

"Kara," Miyra replied. "Barrak named her."

"That's lovely," Layla said.

"He likes traditional naming. It's a good thing we didn't have a boy, or he'd be named Barmy." Miyra trailed off as her chuckle turned into a hoarse cough.

Layla hopped up, her eyes wide in concern. "Let me get you some water." She darted from the room.

"Are you all right?" Ransom asked, taking Layla's place.

Still coughing, Miyra nodded, careful to turn her face away from the baby. "Yes," she gasped. "I just choked on my own spit." She shifted half-heartedly beneath the covers. "Will you take her for me? I need to sit up. I've a terrible crick in my back."

Ransom held up his bandaged hand. "But I can't hold her."

"Nonsense. If my one-handed husband can do it, you can too." She snorted at his hesitation. "I just gave birth, so you have to do as I say. Now come here."

Ransom reluctantly obeyed, shuffling forward. Miyra laid the baby gently in his arms, resting her head securely in the crook of his elbow. He held his breath, not daring to move a muscle. Kara's soft weight was barely more than his tambour. She was so small, so fragile. He looked down at her little face, at the tiny fingers curled over the edge of the blanket, and gingerly eased out a low exhalation. Then her eyes opened and his heart stopped. Bluer than Roe's, her eyes looked off in different directions, as if eager to see everything at once. She opened her mouth, tasting the air. What was going on in her mind, he wondered, as she experienced the world for the first time? To her, everything was new, innocent as freshly fallen snow. She was perfect. Ransom realized he would do anything to protect her.

"She's awake!" Layla whispered, appearing at his elbow with a cup in hand. "Isn't she beautiful, Ransom?"

"I think he's in love," Miyra replied with a wink. She had pushed herself into an upright sitting position and smiled gratefully as Roe adjusted the pillows behind her back. "I've never seen a harper rendered speechless."

"How do I give her back?" Ransom murmured, afraid she would break if he spoke too loudly. "I don't want to drop her."

"Here." Miyra leaned forward to take her daughter. Ransom surrendered the precious bundle, breathing normally at last. A little fist waved over the edge of the blanket, still newborn-thin and fragile as spun sugar. "These are your uncles and auntie, my Kara," Miyra said, turning her slightly so that she faced the others. "They're going to watch out for you, am I right?" She gave the three apprentices an expectant look.

"I will, at least," Layla said, leaning forward. "These boys have a hard enough time watching out for themselves."

"We'll teach you important things," Ransom said solemnly. "Like how to stand up to bullies and get into proper mischief."

Miyra snorted and tucked Kara into the crook of her arm. "Let's postpone the mischief until she's out of nappies, eh m'boy?"

"How about until she walks?"

Miyra shook her head and sighed in exasperation. "You're impossible."

The apprentices didn't stay for long, saying goodbye after a few minutes. "Leaving so soon?" Levine asked as they filed out of the bedroom.

"We don't want to tire Miyra out," Layla explained. "She needs her rest, and Roe has drawings to return to."

"Give my regards to my first years," Levine called. "Make sure Denmar isn't working them too hard."

Ransom stayed silent for most of their walk back to the Crafthall. Roe and Layla chatted as well as they could, alternating between improvised gestures and Roe's stilted speech. Ransom walked in the wake of their interaction, glad he wasn't needed to translate. He was wrapped up in his thoughts. Just moments before, he had held a newborn human being with all her life stretching out before her. It was a marvel. He still felt Kara's slight weight in his arms. Fervently, he prayed she would have a good life. If he could help her to that end, he would.

Ransom parted ways with the others feeling refreshed. Dared had left him with the assignment to practice the tenor parts on all the major Ballads and Teaching Songs, but he had wasted the past few days brooding. Now, he was ready to tackle the task. He set off toward the classroom, already humming to himself.