Moreta Read Online Free PDF Page A

Pendra was angling to get Alessan to marry one of her numerous daughters, nieces, or cousins. Alessan’s young wife, Suriana, had died the previous Turn in a fall. At the time, Lord Leef had not pressed his son to make another marriage, a fact that many had taken to mean that Alessan was not to succeed. As the Fort Hold girls were as plain as they were capable, Moreta didn’t think much of Fort’s chances, but Alessan would be obliged to marry soon if he wished his own bloodline to succeed.
    “Would it please the Fort Weyrwoman for Lord Alessan to take a Fort Holder as wife?” His voice was cold and stiff.
    “You can surely do better than that,” Moreta replied crisply and then laughed. “I’m sorry. It is not really a subject for levity, but you don’t know how you sound.”
    “And how do I sound?” Alessan’s eyes glinted.
    “Like a man sorely pressed in a direction he does not wish to travel. This is your first Gather. You should enjoy it, too.”
    “Wifi you help me?” Pure mischief played across his face now.
    “How?”
    “You’re my Weyrwoman.” His face assumed a proper respect. “Since Sh’gall has not accompanied you
,
I must be your partner.”
    “In conscience, I could not monopolize your time.” Even as she spoke, Moreta realized that that was what she would rather like to do. There was a rebellion in him that attracted her.
    “Most of it?” His voice was wistfully pleading, quite at variance with his sparkling eyes and grin. “I know what I have to do but . . .”
    “There’ll be girls here from
all
over—”
    “Yes, a Search has been conducted for my benefit.”
    “What else did you expect, Lord Alessan, when you’re now such a suitable match?”
    “Suriana liked
me,
not my prospects,” Alessan said in a flat bleak voice. “When that match was arranged, of course, I had none, so we could suit ourselves. And we did.”
    So that explained why he had been allowed to grieve and defer a second marriage. Moreta hadn’t thought Lord Leef had so much compassion in him. “You were more fortunate than most,” she said, oddly envious. Once she had Impressed a queen, personal choice had been denied her. Once she had Impressed Orlith, their love compensated for many things; love for another human paled in comparison.
    “I was acutely aware of my good luck.” In that quiet phrase, Alessan implied not only his loss but his realization that he must discharge the responsibilities of his new rank. Moreta wondered why Sh’gall had developed a curious antipathy to the man.
    They were moving through the Gatherers, past the stalls. Moreta sniffed deeply of the aromas of spicy stew and sweet fruit pies, the odor of well-tanned leathers, the acrid smell from the glass-blowers’ booth, the mingled smells of perfumes and garment herbs, the sweat of human and animal. And above all, the pleasant excitement that permeated the atmosphere.
    “Within the bounds of Gather propriety, I accept your partnering. Provided that you like racing and dancing.”
    “In that order?”
    “Since the one comes before the other, yes.”
    “I appreciate your courtesy, Weyrwoman!” His tone was mock-formal.
    “Have the harpers arrived yet?”
    “Yesterday . . .” Alessan grimaced.
    “They
do
eat, don’t they?”
    “They
talk.
There are enough of them, however, to keep the dancing square filled until dawn, now that your queen has graced it. And our ever jovial Masterharper has promised to dignify our Gather with his presence.”
    Moreta frowned at yet another undercurrent in Alessan’s speech. Didn’t he like Tirone? The Masterharper was a big hearty man with a robust bass voice that he allowed to dominate every group he sang in. He favored the rousing ballads and stirrings sagas that best displayed his own talents, but that was his one conceit, and Moreta had never considered it a flaw. But then, herself only lately the Weyrwoman, she had not seen as much of him in his capacity as Masterharper of Pern