Masterharper of Pern by Anne McCaffrey

Bloodlines, he’d be quite acceptable to the most particular of fathers as a possible spouse.
    “Ruathan, you say?” Landon echoed, quite able to recognize Donkin’s suitability. “Is she showing any preference?”
    “Not that we’ve observed.”
    “Still keeping your eye on her?”
    “No more than we keep our eyes on any of the young women in our care,” Merelan replied pointedly.
    “She has learned her lesson, then?”
    Merelan thought his attitude was a shade arch, but he was himself young and had spoken to and treated his sister kindly since his arrival. “She has learned a good deal more about the mechanics of both producing her voice and music in general. She has proved a good student.”
    “My father said she may stay on, if you think she should.” Now he sounded less self-confident and there was a hint of plea in his tone.
    “She has scarcely begun to learn the repertoire suitable for her range,” Merelan told him willingly. “And she has learned to play flute and gitar well enough to do ensemble work. We would certainly like to train her as far as she is willing to go.”
    “She’ll be willing, I fancy,” Landon said, his eyes watching Halanna going through the steps of the dance with the agile Donkin. The two were obviously enjoying themselves.
    Halanna was smiling more tonight than she had done since her father’s disciplining. And about time, too, Merelan thought.
    “Come, Landon, you can’t spend all your time as observer. I’d be happy to introduce you to any number of girls here.”
    “I’d like to dance with
you
, if you’d permit it, Mastersinger.” He managed not only a charming smile but a graceful bow.
    Merelan glanced about to check on Robie, playing with some other children his own age at the edge of the dance floor, and Petiron, who was explaining something, with considerable gesturing, to one of the harpers home for Turnover. Eventually he would remember that she loved to dance and oblige her, but she was quite willing to start with Landon.
    “I’d love to dance, Holder Landon,” she said and took his offered hand.
     
    One of the features of the Turnover celebrations was that everyone got a chance to play or sing—even those as young as Robinton and the other nursery children. They performed a song on the second day, each of them using a percussion instrument: tambourine, chimes, triangles, tom-toms, cymbals, and the hand bells. Robie had been chosen to beat the tempo on the small drum with the knucklebone, and Merelan glowed with pride at the fine and complex rhythm he managed.
    She was disappointed that Petiron was too deep in discussion with Bristol, the Telgar Harper, to notice Robinton’s performance. Bristol, like Petiron, was a composer, though his interests lay more in balladic works for the gitar than in full chorus and orchestra. His work was easy to remember and enjoyable to sing—though Merelan grimaced to even think so disloyally.
    She was rather surprised, and certainly gratified, to see Bristol speaking to Robie later that afternoon. Robinton, his little face serious, was explaining something to the harper, who paid him the courtesy of attentive listening. If only Petiron would do the same . . .
    She reminded herself that this was Turnover and the new Turn was nearly on them. Just one more day of freedom from the usual routine. She was pleased with her hour’s recital of the old, traditional airs that had been part of these festivities since Fort Hold was founded. She’d had no trouble holding her audience and the applause had been generously prolonged though she had kept her encores to three. As Mastersinger she knew when enough was enough. There were plenty of other performers to take the Turnover stage.
    Halanna had given young Donkin quite a few dances each evening, but she also partnered other lads, and Merelan was glad to see the girl relaxing and enjoying herself. Maybe that would restore the vibrancy that had initially characterized her rich