The Seventh Wing - 4. Chapter 4

Benden Weyr, as the host of this turn's Spring Games, opted to hold the competitions over Nerat Hold, on the far-eastern edge of the continent. This came as some relief to the southern Weyrs of Ista and Igen, as Benden Weyr was north enough to still be sprinkled in snow. Nerat, bordered by the Eastern Sea, was much more hospitable. Like the turn before, at Ista, the wing competitions were held over the ocean, with barges, yachts, and dragons clustering the water to allow for a better view. Traditionally, the Spring Games ushered in the Gather season, and Nerat had quadrupled its occupancy for the long day of competition. Fences had been disassembled to make room for the multiple gatherings and to allow for traders and visitors to camp out on the wide fields. Much of the staff and students of the local Farmercrafthall were pressed into service to help, adding to the weyrfolk minding the formalities and the holders organizing the festivities.

The earliest competitions began as soon as the sun rose, following the opening ceremonies. Multiple events were held simultaneously, so the crowds fluctuated and shifted throughout the day. Rotations of harpers filled the gather squares from noon on, and the stalls were packed almost from the time the traders and merchants opened for business. Dragons winked in and out of existence in the designated arrival zone, and those riders not competing trolled the grounds or watched the events, dressed in their Gather best.

After nine sevendays of Lioleth's voice berating him in his mind, J'day just wanted the exhibition done and over with. In the few moments he had to himself, J'day found it rather fascinating the way he and F'rian had fallen into an easy routine. Now that the hearth was properly tended daily, there was klah first thing in the morning, followed by training with F'rian and Lioleth.

F'rian was a strict taskmaster, taking J'day and Gibbrenth down to the lake to practice their moves. The greenrider would sit on Lioleth's neck ridges and send pointers along to J'day through their dragons. The suggestions were usually more than welcome, as the constant, Wrong! Wrong! from Lioleth tended to be very discouraging, and gave J'day a headache. He'd tried asking her not to talk to him directly, but she had steadfastly refused, either to understand what he wanted or to understand why it was necessary. F'rian didn't hold her back, either, telling J'day that they didn't have time to for coddling.

Stung, J'day had snapped back, "Well, we can't all be perfect, can we?" At which point F'rian had gone into one of his moods and not spoken more than two words together for the better part of a sevenday.

The moods were not something J'day had ever expected and he found them exceedingly hard to deal with. Most of the time, the greenrider was a laid-back, easy-going person, albeit obsessively neat and organized, but occasionally he'd take it in his head to care about something seemingly at random. The first occasion had come within the first two sevendays of the new living arrangements. J'day had dropped his clothes haphazardly after a long evening's practice, as was his wont, splashed in and out of the bathing pool, and come out again, wrapped only in a towel, to see F'rian glaring at him, propped on his crutches and holding J'day's breeks in the fingers of one hand.

He'd gestured around the sleeping alcove, that J'day suddenly realized looked far too neat and tidy for his own tastes, and told J'day that if he was just going to dump his things without a care, then he needed to just pick one spot. He'd handed off the offending breeks as if they were a particularly distasteful sock, and turned away. Dressing, J'day had found his shoes neatly lined up under the sleeping couch, and his clothes perfectly creased, folded, and organized in his clothes chest.

He'd paused and looked around. The weyr was cleaner and tidier than it had been since J'day had moved in. He'd stared around in amazement; not being a particularly observant person, he hadn't noticed when things had started looking better. He'd scolded F'rian, but the man just shrugged and replied that he couldn't live in a wherry pen and if he didn't like it then he should do it himself. J'day hadn't quite been sure how to take that, but he did like having clothes always neatly put away and pressed, clean without having to wonder when they'd been washed last, and useable dishes without having to wash them first.

Then there was the morning he didn't put his shaving kit back in its accustomed place and F'rian had thrown a fit; or the bizarre possessiveness he had about some things, like a particular pillow or mug or coat hook. Faranth forbid J'day to change which side of the bed he wanted to sleep on!

He supposed arguments wouldn't be so bad if they would just blow over quickly, but F'rian held onto things for days. The sheer lunacy of having to tip-toe around a man in his own weyr had J'day ready to sleep somewhere else at least every other day or so until he'd figured out the most likely triggers and adapted to them. Then again, fighting with F'rian was almost enjoyable. He had an acerbic tongue when he chose and, were he not still injured, J'day was almost sure some of their confrontations would have turned physical which, for some reason, was a turn-on. He'd grounded one shouting match to an abrupt halt when he realized he'd been staring at F'rian with a less than innocent grin and that the man had been giving him back the same look.

"Don't look at me like that!" he'd snapped.

F'rian had given him a puzzled stare. "Like what?"

So kissable! J'day had thought, but he'd just shaken his head and gone on to do something else.

F'rian's eyes were the most expressive, changing color based on his moods. Anger, fear, or other strong emotions made the brown of his eyes seem darker. They could change color almost instantly, like a dragon's eye, much to J'day's fascination. If he was ever pressed, he might admit that he sometimes provoked the greenrider just to watch his eyes change color. Their lightest shade, a pale green, flecked with brown, were preserved for the times that F'rian was fully occupied in a task, like cleaning or drawing, or the few times when J'day could say with confidence that the man was at least content, if not actually happy. But, most of the time, his eyes were a nondescript, brownish-green color, and not very exciting at all.

There was one thing that J'day could not get past, and that was F'rian's irrational behavior about being touched. If the greenrider's looks could sever limbs, J'day figured he'd be several hands in the hole. There were no hearty claps on the back or 'accidental' rubbing of knees or jostling of feet under the table. J'day longed for physical contact, of any kind, and started dragging out the daily massages just for an excuse to touch the man he already considered his weyrmate. There wasn't a day that went by where he didn't wish that F'rian would take his hand or accept help without giving him that suspicious look he had, the one he gave everyone else when he didn't think he could trust them.

What with the passing of the sevendays, J'day's concerns only mounted. For the life of him, however, he couldn't figure out how to break through that seemingly insurmountable barrier.

Six sevendays since the injury, the healers gave F'rian permission to fly his dragon on small jaunts around the Weyr, to the feeding pens, and to the lake. At that point, J'day had been certain the younger man would retreat once more to his own weyr, but he'd remained. For several days, each time J'day returned to his weyr he'd tortured himself by thinking that this time there'd be no dark-haired, brooding dragonrider in his weyr, that their brief cohabitation was over, but each time he'd been overjoyed to find things just as neat and tidy as F'rian had made them and the greenrider's sketches still stacked neatly on the table. Those were the days when he'd been hard-pressed not to hug the man or kiss him as soon as he saw him, the days when J'day's smiles couldn't be marred by F'rian's suspicious glares.

He knew there was trust, however tenuous, starting to grow between them and that alone gave J'day hope. Each time that F'rian turned to him for comfort in the midst of a nightmare was one more battle won. The few times that F'rian walked around without a shirt, as if daring J'day to comment on the scars, felt like a major accomplishment, and the rare occasions he could make F'rian laugh were better than Benden's best white for making J'day warm all over.

The first time they'd flown down to the lake together to give the dragons a good scrubbing, Lioleth had splashed water all over the bank, soaking both men. F'rian had stumbled, J'day had reached out to steady him, and they'd both fallen over in a cold, wet, shivering heap. F'rian had laughed so hard and so long that he'd attracted attention from everyone else out that afternoon. There'd been buzz about it that night, but, looking across the hall at F'rian's relaxed posture and easy countenance, J'day had just smiled and shaken his head. The greenrider had actually been enjoying the attention of his peers and, shockingly enough, had not bristled when one of the other riders had mentioned F'rian, J'day, and weyrmate all in the same sentence. That was a far cry from the first night back, when F'rian had gotten into a fistfight with one of his wingmates, at the table, and been thoroughly reprimanded by D'cor after the two men had been dragged apart. J'day had been appalled, no less so when he heard Weyrleader T'rar snorting into his wine in an attempt to hide his laughter.

"Sir," he'd whispered, "surely you don't find that," he gestured to the cluster of riders, "amusing?"

"No," T'rar replied, face stern, but eyes laughing over the rim of his cup, "but entertaining, most assuredly. You don't agree?" He clucked his tongue mock-reproving. "Tsk. You should really speak to your weyrmate about his behavior, then, shouldn't you?"

"He's not --" J'day had started to hiss back, but then had stopped. His preferrence for male companionship had by that time become common knowledge, and he'd been teased by that so often from an early age that he'd ceased even to pay attention. Brown and blueriders were most often required to be flexible about their mating partners, considering that most green dragons were flown by those two colors and there were fewer and fewer female greenriders every passing turn. J'day had not come to his decision easily or lightly. His dragon's libido had given him a large amount of experience early on, but for a bronzerider to prefer men was unusual. J'day had often, in his late teens, wished he rode a brown dragon instead, as that would have made his life a great deal easier. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy women, or them him, but when dragonlust wasn't involved, J'day would just rather have a strong pair of arms wrapped around him, and a broad, muscled chest to snuggle against.

Watching D'cor and his other wingseconds break up the fight, J'day had swallowed down a lump in his throat. Although rumor aligned F'rian's preferences with J'day's, due to their accommodations, F'rian had never given J'day any indication that the rumors were true. In fact, all evidence pointed toward the opposite. F'rian very obviously admired the junior Weyrwoman, given the painting he'd only recently finished for her. It was ridiculous to be jealous of Malira, because, not only was she irritatingly nice, but she was old enough to at least be J'day's grandmother. Still, if F'rian could be provoked into a fight at the mere mention of rumor, well, that wasn't very reassuring.

J'day spent a great deal of time, every day, in F'rian's company. There was the morning practice, followed by the mid-day study sessions, and then the afternoon's wing drill. The two riders bathed and oiled their dragons daily. J'day wanted to pamper Gibbrenth a little, for the bronze was working very hard, and of course it would not do for Lioleth to feel neglected, so F'rian tended her at the same time. The work was good for the greenrider, if tiring and stressful, but it also gave J'day an excuse to massage his back at night after the evening meal and his wingsecond duties were complete.

F'rian usually kept his comments constrained to their work and to quizzing J'day on the patterns, but he occassionally let things slip. For one thing, J'day learned that F'rian came from Igen Hold and had applied to the runner station as a gangly teenager, without benefit of his parents or guardians buying an apprenticeship. Why F'rian had been so desperate to become a runner, he'd never said, but he'd been blessed with long legs as an asset (J'day whole-heartedly agreed with that assessment) and had trained hard to be acceptable.

J'day took these tidbits and filed them away in his mind. J'day learned the hard way to not ask questions. There were just certain things that were not to be spoken of. F'rian's scars were one, his nightmares another, and J'day had narrowed down a space of about six years in F'rian's childhood that were not to be spoken of either. He told himself that he wouldn't press -- yet. It was just not worth the arguments, silent treatment, and headaches.

But J'day refused to give up. The fact that F'rian hadn't yet moved back out was his first encouragement. He received his second a few days prior to the Spring Games. Returning to his weyr after an impromptu meeting with D'cor after the day's drill, J'day had walked into the sleeping area to change into fresh clothes and saw the painting of Lioleth hanging on the wall at the foot of the sleeping couch.

"I missed having it," F'rian explained when he'd been questioned. Then he'd shrugged and given J'day a look that warned the bronze rider against further comments.

To satisfy his own curiosity, J'day had Gibbrenth fly him up to F'rian's old weyr. J'day found the place almost completely deserted. Sometime in past few sevendays, F'rian had moved himself into J'day's weyr so completely that he'd never noticed the changes. He sank down into one of the chairs and had burst into tears, startling the empathetic bronze and necessitating a long, cold flight to ease them both.

Consequently, J'day spent of his carefully-hoarded marks to purchase a surprise for F'rian, just in time for the Games. One of the things he'd learned about the greenrider was that F'rian didn't have a stitch of new clothes. Everything he had was extraordinarily well-cared for, mended neatly and pressed, but he didn't take advantage of the Weyr's stores to stay supplied in anything other than his riding gear. This made the sheer number of shoes that F'rian owned even more mind-boggling. Still, J'day had decided that there was no way, after all their hard work, that F'rian would not be there to witness the performance and he wanted everyone to see what he saw.

The night before the Games, there was no drill. The whole weyr was in a flurry of preparations. J'day had spent the morning oiling and mending Gibbrenth's harness and packing a small bag for himself. In addition to his riding leathers, he wanted to bring along his own Gather clothes. He'd ultimately decided to enter himself and Gibbrenth into a couple of team events, but other than that, he had the whole day free and he wanted to be able to enjoy himself. Luckily, the exhibition portion was scheduled for late morning. He wouldn't have too long to fret.

His nerves were in overdrive that evening, however. Shifting from foot to foot, J'day awkwardly held out the carefully-wrapped package in his arms. F'rian had only been told by D'cor that he was expected at the Games, to show support, that morning, so he'd been busily working on his harness and leathers all day. He gave J'day a questioning stare and limped over to the sink to wash his hands. He was still supposed to be using a crutch, but J'day was too anxious to scold him.

"For you," he said, offering the bundle again.

Accepting the gift cautiously, mindful of the oil stains on his clothes, F'rian perched on the edge of the chaise and unfolded the leather. As the last flap fell free, J'day fidgeted. F'rian's trousers were the softest of runnerhide, dyed a green so dark as to almost be black. The shirt itself was cream-colored linen, with green-stitched embroidery on the wide, open sleeves, open neck, and, on the back, dragons in miniature bordering the shoulder panel. He fingered the material for several long moments.

"I ... I don't know what to say."

"Do you like it?"

F'rian didn't look at him. "I've never had anything like this before," he said softly. "I -- It's for me?"

"For tomorrow," said J'day, wringing his hands, "but if you d-don't like it, you don't have to wear it, I just thought that maybe --"

"J'day." F'rian looked up, and J'day was completely disconcerted to see moisture in the corners of the greenrider's eyes. "Thank you." His fingers brushed over the embroidery on a sleeve. "It's beautiful."

And F'rian looked every bit as marvelous as J'day had pictured when he pulled on the new clothes early the following morning. The trousers hugged the narrow hips, showing off every bit of definition to the legs and butt, the bottoms coming to rest just on the tops of his boots. The shirt clung to his shoulders, tapered to the waist rather than becoming baggy, and the deeply cut neckline showed a gloriously-tanned chest, a stark contrast to the white of the shirt. J'day grinned to see F'rian tugging self-consciously on the wide collar.

"Perfect!" he exclaimed, grinning even more broadly as he managed to make the greenrider blush.

J'day was still beaming when they both were ready to go and assembled with the rest of their wing. F'rian's crutch was fastened to Lioleth's harness and the green dragon kept looking over her shoulder to see the thing, for all intents and purposes acting as if she'd never seen it before. She alternated prodding the crutch with her nose to poking Gibbrenth, keeping up a litany of, We're going! We're going! We're going! in J'day's and, he assumed, F'rian's head. The bronze dragon waited quietly, giving J'day several long-suffering looks.

When the Weyr was all assembled and the support personnel accompanying them were ready, Weyrleader T'rar gave the signal and the riders mounted up, taking to the skies. They arrived shortly before dawn and the wings spiralled down one at a time to allow riders and passengers to dismount. Opening Ceremonies took place in a large open space, Benden Weyrleader S'vod using a speaking trumpet to address the hundreds of riders and spectators. Thankfully, there were only a few speeches and S'vod exhorted the dragonriders to play fair but try their best. Loud cheers and roars greeted the announcement of the grand prize. For the Weyr that performed best overall, Bendon would exchange their tithe of vintages.

Standing with the other wingleaders, J'day heard D'cor murmur, "S'vod is awfully confident in himself."

"They did win last turn," J'day replied.

One of the other Wingleaders leaned over, to say, "Aye, and he couldn't have offered much else without causing an equal fuss."

"Nevertheless," T'rar spoke up, smiling conspiratorily at the other bronzeriders, "let's see that those wines grace Igen's tables this summer, gentlemen, what do you say?"

Around the field, similar conversations were being held and the general start to the day was one of determined optimism and good cheer.

In all, Igen Weyr aquitted themselves well. They started with the formal drill, a familiar activity that helped D'cor's wing settle their nerves. This was an event where the wings flew thread patterns, graded by accuracy, their ability to stay together, and, of course, the order of each movement. J'day stood with F'rian on the ground and watched. Elsewhere, T'rar's wing stood in formation for inspection, with the judges reviewing each dragon, their rider, and their equipment. It was a long process. In another section, out over the freshly-tilled fields nearby, Flightleader H'jes waited with the three wings of his flight for their turn at the fire-drill event. For that one, rotating flights of dragons dropped dyed cloth bundles to approximate threadfall. That event was judged by the dye marks on each dragon when they finished and were inspected, and by any dropped or missed 'thread' as tallied by the waiting 'groundcrews.'

Various other events were also on-going. There were jousting matches and races and obstacle courses for the dragons, as well as individual and duo events, and the team sports. J'day would be taking part in a water game that afternoon, in which the dragonriders tried to toss a ball back and forth to score in opposite ends of the large field while their dragons did their best to protect their teammates and interfere with their opponents. These games were popular and enjoyable, but did not weigh towards the overall Weyr standings. J'day was also an alternate for an aerial game in which the dragons wore colored streamers and the opposing team would try and get close enough to snatch them. Once a dragon's streamers were collected, he was out of the match. At the end, points were awarded based on the stolen streamers.

All too soon, however, J'day had to excuse himself to assemble for the most highly-anticipated event of the Games: the Wing Exhibition Drill.

"Good luck!" F'rian shouted, waving.

J'day waved back, but his stomach was in knots. D'cor brought the wing together for a short pep-talk and then there was no more time. They entered the competition area and began their opening swoop. Gibbrenth really had the hard part, moving in and out of the other dragons. J'day only had to keep the patterns in his head and keep the timing.

Only! he thought, digging his hands into the harness. He was well strapped in, but he was sweating so much, even at altitude, that his hands were slippery in their gloves.

The first part of the routine was simple, and J'day found an instant to thank F'rian's thoughtfulness. Gibbrenth had only to follow the rest of the wing, in his inside-center position, through the opening moves. By the time they came out of the first loop, J'day was relaxing into the moves. They'd practiced this so much that he'd practically ate and slept the exhibition. J'day closed his eyes, picturing each of the movements in his head and trusting to Gibbrenth's timing to carry them out. There were mistakes; he recognized them by the slight shifts in Gibbrenth's wingbeats or shivers along his hide, but not, J'day hoped, too many, or particularly noticeable.

When they exited the competition zone, Howarath, D'cor's great bronze dragon, bugled, and the rest of the wing followed suit. J'day laughed and cheered along with the rest, weak-limbed with relief. He even got an almost natural-looking, wide smile from F'rian when they landed and an ecstatic Good! from Lioleth, which made the bronzerider laugh. Gibbrenth was insufferably smug for the remainder of the afternoon.

Finally finished with the day's events towards evening, J'day changed into his Gather clothes, patted both dragons on the nose with the promise of some serious pampering the following day, and guided F'rian into the throng. Food was on the top of J'day's agenda and he went directly towards the tables grouped around the edge of the main dance square. F'rian stayed so close to his side that he practically stepped on J'day's toes, but J'day was far more intent on filling his grumbling belly to do more than give F'rian more than an irritated --

"Where's your crutch?" he asked, halting and turning around.

The greenrider staggered, jostled on all sides by the crowd. His eyes darted here and there, rubbing his hands along his hips. He shrugged and J'day frowned.

"Never mind," he decided. "I'm starving, come on." Grabbing F'rian by the sleeve, he towed the other man further into the square. They found an empty table and J'day grabbed a server to inquire after food and drink. He was just turning around again when he spotted a familiar, ghastly shirt. Following the loud fabric up to its owner's face, he jumped to his feet and waved.

"D'toras! Over here, man!"

They embraced enthusiastically and J'day stood back to make the introductions: "D'toras, may I present F'rian, green Lioleth's rider from Igen. F'rian, this is my old friend D'toras, brown Sebath's rider, from Fort Weyr."

D'toras and F'rian were of the same height, though the brownrider was broader and heavier, and they eyed each other silently. J'day turned away from the uncomfortable scene to welcome his friend's companion. Roni was a tiny woman, with long, red-brown hair, freckles, a tiny button-nose, and the bluest eyes J'day had ever seen. She grinned up at him, showing off her dimples.

"J'day!" she cried, throwing her arms around his waist. Her head barely came up to his shoulders, and J'day was not tall. He leaned down so she could kiss his cheek.

"How is Arlith?" he asked, referring to Roni's little, green dragon.

"Oh, fantastic!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands together. "And you are looking good," she continued, ruffling J'day's hair. "All that Igen sun must agree with you."

"Tell that to my nose!" J'day laughed. Setting a hand on her shoulder, he turned back to the other two. "Roniel, meet my good friend F'rian, green Lioleth's rider. F'rian, this is another old friend, from Fort, Roni, green Arlith's rider."

"Oh, you're cute!" said Roni, beaming. She clasped F'rian's wrist, though he'd only partly lifted his arm before pausing in embarrassement. Roni didn't let him go, either. She pulled F'rian forward in her decptively strong grip, calling back, "You boys chat now. We're going to dance!"

F'rian had time to give J'day an almost frantic, wide-eyed appeal before they were gone, swallowed by the crowd. J'day laughed, collapsing onto a bench. "Shards!" he gasped, taking a quick gulp of the wine D'toras poured. "That was so worth it!"

"So that's F'rian, eh?" said the brownrider, sipping from his own goblet.

"Yep." He applied himself to the food for a few minutes. He hadn't eaten properly due to nerves since the day before.

"He's not what I expected," said D'toras companionably. He munched on a meatroll.

J'day washed down his roast with more wine. "What do you mean?"

"Well, he's ... he just doesn't seem your type, that's all." He leaned back at J'day's glare, chuckling, hands out in front of himself. "See? That's what I mean. You're usually not the strong one in the relationship. I mean, do you really need to borrow trouble?"

"I'm not," J'day protested. He looked down into his wine, frowning. "You really don't like him?"

"J'day," sighed D'toras, "I've barely even met the man. All I have to go on is heresay, right?" He gave his friend a smile and tugged on a lock of his hair. "These blonde bits are really attractive, you know. Are you really telling me that F'rian's the best you can do?"

J'day scowled. "That's unfair, Tor! You know I've been waiting turns for this!"

D'toras held up his hands as a shield again. "Peace, Jay, I was just teasing. So, tell me. How'd you finally get to meet him?"

"Mating flight," J'day muttered, blushing and making his friend chuckle. "So cliche," he sighed.

He launched into the full story, talking over the details freely. D'toras listened intently, one of his more stellar qualities, waiting until the end to ask his questions.

When J'day confessed his insecurities, the brownrider shook his head, sighing, "Why are you doing this to yourself?"

"I have to hear it from him," said J'day. "I have to hear him say he's not interested. I like him, Tor. You don't understand."

"I understand better than you think," D'toras replied. "Well, if it's what you want --"

"It is."

"Then you should pursue it."

"I can't do that!"

"J'day, you've got, what, another month before his dragon rises again?"

"Yeah."

"From what you tell me, F'rian's not going to make the first move." He sighed and scratched his head. "How you can be so cocksure and tenacious about everything and yet so ... so timid regarding your own love-life, that I'll never understand."

"I am not timid."

D'toras laughed. "J'day, you've shared a weyr with this man for almost three months and you've never once kissed him. Only you --"

"He's been hurt," said J'day, scowling. "I don't want to scare him."

"J'day, love, sometimes you've just got to take a risk."

"Whew!" cried Roni, emerging suddenly from the crowd and making the two men jump.

Suddenly realizing how intimate their positions might seem, they broke away. As Roni flopped to a bench on D'toras' other side, J'day looked up at F'rian, standing frozen on the edge of the crowd. Exertion had stained his cheeks red and plastered his shirt to his back with sweat. Moisture trickled down the sides of his face. Even as J'day watched, F'rian's eyes cycled from their lightest shade of greenish-gray to a brown so dark they seemed black. J'day's breath caught in his throat. F'rian suddenly seemed domineering, his cheerful expression fading with his eyes to hurt and anger.

He swooped down on J'day with all the possessiveness of his dragon, cupped J'day's face in both hands, and pressed their lips together. Shock held him still at first, his mind not wanting to move past the fact that F'rian had kissed him, but when the greenrider started to pull away, J'day threw his arms around his neck, holding him close. Desperately, he pressed harder, running a tongue along F'rian's lips, demanding more. The green rider flinched, twitched, and opened his mouth. J'day thrust his tongue inside, drawing back instantly when F'rian pulled back. They stared at each other wordlessly for a minute, and then F'rian fled, limping away to quickly disappear into the scores of people jamming the square.

Still panting, J'day stared into nothing, one hand rising to touch his face, his lips. "Shards," he murmured. "Shards."

"J'day?"

D'toras' voice seemed to come from far away.

"J'day."

He blinked, eyes tracking to his friend's amused black ones. D'toras pressed a goblet into his hand and J'day brought it to his mouth, to his lips, to swallow a mouthful. Lowering the wine, J'day giggled. "He kissed me!"

D'toras sighed, but he was grinning. "You are such a girl, J'day."

"He kissed me!"

"Yes."

"In public!"

"Yes, and I take it back."

"What?"

"Guess he did make the first move."

J'day giggled again. "Ha! Too bad we'd didn't wager on that!"

"You don't gamble, J'day," said Roni with a frown, leaning over the table on her elbows to look from one man to the other.

"I do now!" J'day replied.

"Oh-kay," said D'toras, rescuing the wine glass from J'day's shaky hands. "Enough wine for you. Eat some more."

His giddy haze starting to recede, J'day paused to look around, one hand holding a meatroll. "Wait. Where's F'rian?"

"Oh, he left," said Roni, pointing.

J'day jumped to his feet. "Oh! I've got to find him, I promised to keep an eye on him! D'cor is going to kill me!"

"J'day!" said D'toras, grabbing his arm. "Calm down. Think. What would he most likely do?"

"Er, Lioleth! Of course, he'd go to his dragon."

"There now, so he can't be in trouble, eh? Wait a moment." His large hands quickly folded some of the food into a napkin-wrapped package that D'toras pressed into J'day's hands with a wineskin. "There. Now go."

Roni giggled, but J'day didn't pause to hear his friend's reply. He needed to find F'rian.