But then, that was only logical since they were inseparable.

Inseparable! That's what bothered him most. He knew that his love for Debera would be constant, but any love left over from Morath for him could scarcely match his commitment.

Did it have to? After all, he was totally committed to his work.

Could he fault her for being equally single-minded? There was, however, a considerable difference between loving a dragon and loving to paint. Or was there?

Maybe it was as well, Iantine thought, tucking his pencil behind his ear and closing his pad, that he was going to Benden after Turn's End. Maybe if Debera... and Morath were out of sight, they might also go out of mind and his attachment would ease off.

"You got your Turn's End clothes ready? Need ironing, er, anything?" Leopol asked, his expression wistful.

"You did 'em yesterday, and I haven't worn 'em yet," he said, but he ruffled the boy's thick hair again and, looping his arm over the thin shoulders, steered him to the kitchen. Let's eat."

"Ah, there's not much to eat," Leopol said in disgust. "Everyone's getting ready for tonight."

"They've been getting ready all week," Iantine said. "But there's bread and cold meats set out."

"Huh!" Iantine noticed that Leopol had no trouble making himself several sandwiches of what was available, and had two cups of soup and two apples. He noted that he had no trouble eating, either, though some of the smells emanating from the ovens - and all were in use were more appetizing than lunch.

He intended to enjoy himself this evening.

Then Leopol, eyes wide with excitement, leaped from the table.

"Look, look, the musicians are here!" Glancing outward, Iantine saw them dismounting from half a dozen dragons. They were laughing and shouting as instruments were carefully handed down from dragon backs and carisaks were pa.s.sed around. Tisha sailed out, her a.s.sistants with her, and shortly everyone was in the Lower Cavern and being served a lunch considerably more complicated than soup and sandwiches. Leopol was in the thick of it, too, the rascal, and the recipient of a huge wedge of iced cake. Iantine selected a good spot against the wall, sharpened his pencil with his knife and opened his pad. This was a good scene to preserve. If he got them down on paper now, maybe he could listen to the music this evening without itchy fingers.

As he worked, he realized that Telgar had rated some of the best musicians, called back from wherever their contracts had taken them, for Turn's End celebrations. He'd finish in time for the concert, and that would be that for the day!

It wasn't, of course. But then, he found it hard not to sketch exciting moments and scenes. Especially as he didn't want to leave this pad anywhere that it could be casually opened.

And he could listen to the music just as well while drawing.

Sketching also kept his hands where they should be and not itching to go round Debera's shoulder, or hold her hand.

Sketching did allow him some license, for he could always apologize that he didn't realize his leg was against hers, or that their shoulders were touching or that he was bending his body close to hers. After all, he was so busy sketching, he wouldn't be noticing externals.

If Debera had found the contact unpleasant or annoying, she could have moved her leg away from his, or moved about on the bench. But she didn't seem to mind him overlapping her from time to time in the zeal to get this or that pose.

Truth was he was totally conscious of her proximity, the floral fragrance that she used which didn't quite hide the new smell of the lovely pale green dress she was wearing. Green was her color and she must know that: a gentle green, like new leaves, which made her complexion glow. Angie had told him the color of Debera's Turn's End gown, so he'd bought a shirt of a much deeper green so that they'd go together. He liked the way she'd made a coronet of her long hair, with pale green ribbons laced in and dangling down her back. Even her slippers were green. He wondered if there'd be dancing music, too, but there usually was at Turn's End. Although maybe not, what with the 'Landing Suite' first. He bent to ask her to reserve dances for him, but she shushed him.

"Listen, too, Ian," she said in a soft whisper, gesturing to his pad. "The words are as beautiful as the music." Iantine glanced forward again, only now realizing that there were singers, too. Had he been that rapt in being next to Debera without Morath?

I'm here. I listen, too and Morath's voice startled him, coming into his head so unexpectedly.

He gulped. Would the dragon always be able to read his mind?

He asked the question again, more loudly, in his own head.

There was no reply. Because there was no reply? Or because there was none needed to such an obvious question?

But Morath hadn't sounded upset that he was luxuriating in Debera's proximity. She had sounded pleased to be there and listening.

Dragons liked music.

He glanced over his shoulder to the Bowl and could see along the eastern wall the many pairs of dragon eyes, like so many round blue-green lanterns up and down the wall of the Weyr where dragons made part of the audience.

He began then, obediently, to listen to the words, and found himself drawn in to the drama unfolding, even if he'd known the story from childhood. The musicians called it the 'Landing Suite' and this verse was about leaving the great colony ships for the last time. A poignant moment, and the tenor voice rose in a grateful farewell to them where they would orbit over Landing for ever, their corridors empty, the bridge deserted, the bays echoing vaults. The tenor, with creditable breath control, let his final note die away as if lost in the vast distance between the ships and the planet.

A respectful pause followed and then the ovation which his solo had indeed merited burst forth. Quickly Iantine sketched him, taking his bows, before he stepped back into the ensemble.

"Oh, good, Ian. He was just marvelous," Debera said, craning her head to see what he was doing. She kept right on clapping, her eyes shining. "He'll be delighted you did him, too." Iantine doubted that, and managed a smile that did not echo the stab of jealousy he felt because Debera's interest had been distracted from him.

She likes you, Ian, said Morath as if from a great distance, though she was ranged with the other still flightless dragonets on the Bowl floor.

Ian? he echoed in surprise. Other riders had told him that, while dragons would talk to people other than their own rider, they weren't so good at remembering human names. Morath knows my name?

Why shouldn't I? I hear it often enough. And Morath sounded sort of tetchy.

Morath may never know just how much that remark means to me, Iantine thought, taking in a deep breath that swelled his chest out.

Now, if he could just get her by herself alone. But she's never alone, now that she's my rider.

Iantine stifled a groan which he wanted neither dragon nor rider to hear and compressed his thoughts as far down in his head as he could. Would it all be worth it? he wondered. And tried to divorce himself from Debera for the rest of the concert.

He didn't pay such close attention to the second and third parts of the 'Landing Suite', which brought events up to the present. A cynical section of his mind noticed that Chalkin's impeachment was not mentioned, but then it was a very recent incident which the composer and lyricist would not have known about. He wondered would it ever make history? Chalkin would love it. Which might well be why no-one would include him. That'd be the final punishment anonymity.

Dinner was announced at the conclusion of the Suite, and the big Lower Cavern was efficiently reorganized for dining.

In the scurry and fuss of setting up tables and chairs, he got separated from Debera. The panic which that caused him made it extremely clear that he could not divorce his emotions from the girl.

When they found each other again, her hand went out to him as quickly as his to her, and they remained clasped while they waited in line to collect their food.

Iantine and Debera finally found seats at one of the long trestle tables where everyone was discussing the music, the singers, the orchestration, how lucky they were to be in a Weyr which got preferential treatment. There was, of course, a tradition of music on Pern, brought by their ancestors and encouraged by not only the Teaching Hall but also Weyr and Hold. Everyone was taught how to read music from an early age and encouraged to learn to play at least one instrument, if not two or three. It was a poor hold indeed that could not produce a guitar or at least pipes and a drum to liven winter nights and special occasions.

The meal was very good - though Iantine had to concentrate on tasting it. Most of his senses were involved in sitting thigh to thigh with Debera. She was quite volatile, talking to everyone, with a great many things to say about the various performances and the melodic lines that she particularly liked. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes very bright. He'd never seen her so elated. But then, he knew he was feeling high with an almost breathless antic.i.p.ation of the dancing.

He'd have her in his arms, then, even closer than they were now. He could barely wait.

But he had to, for of course on First Day, ice-cream, the special and traditional sweet, was available and no-one would want to miss that. It was a fruit flavor this year, creamy, rich, tangy with lots of tiny fruit pieces, and he was torn between eating slowly - which meant the confection might turn sloppy since the Lower Cavern was warm indeed - or gulping it down firm and cold. He noticed that Debera ate quickly, so he did the same.

As soon as the diners finished, they dismantled the tables and pushed back the chairs so that there'd be s.p.a.ce for the dancing. The musicians, re-a.s.sembling 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 rea.s.suringly. 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 pa.s.s 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 s.e.xual 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."