‘The Koinamens is sacred,’ Muirgen repeats. ‘Never ask about it again.’
I shrink back into the darkness and hurry across the field, my heart thumping in my chest. Did Rhydderch just heal Muirgen using echolocation?
I have a horrible feeling in my stomach.
I’ve learned nothing about echolocation except that dragons call it the Koinamens and consider it sacred. But neither of those two pieces of information will get me any closer to deciphering it. I reach the garden and glance up at Bletchley Manor. It’s still and silent and almost invisible in the dark.
I think of the things considered sacred to humans. Knowledge, religious texts, traditions. Those have all definitely been used as weapons by weak and power-hungry humans, but most dragons are neither of those things. Perhaps they view the Koinamens the same way humans see nature, or children, or love. Sacred not for what it candobut for what itis, with a deeper, more intrinsic meaning than anything we can hope to understand. The kind of sacredness that must never be corrupted or abused. Perhaps it’s something instinctive, something that’s a part of the dragons’ common identity.
A twig snaps behind me.
I freeze and turn my head towards the forest. Someone is walking through it, leaves and frost crunching underfoot. The figure of a man emerges from between the trees and crosses the lawn towards me.
My breath catches in my throat. What if it’s Ralph? The man hesitates when he sees me, then walks faster. It’s too lateto hide now. I cradle my broken arm against me and wait.
‘Featherswallow?’
‘Atlas?’
‘What are you doing out here?’
I breathe a sigh of relief. ‘What areyoudoing? I thought you were in isolation.’
Atlas catches my hand and pulls me into the shadow of the house. He pockets a string of prayer beads, a tiny cross dangling from the end.
‘They let me out a few hours ago,’ he says.
‘So … why were you in the forest?’
There’s nothing out there except for trees and the glasshouse.
He smirks in the moonlight. ‘Why were you in the fields?’
Shit.
He lowers his voice. ‘How about we agree not to discuss what the other was doing outside in the middle of the night?’
I nod, then shiver. The freezing air fills my open coat, which is still draped awkwardly across my shoulders and sling. Atlas has noticed it and for a second he eyes the thin material of my nightdress against my thigh. Then he pulls the coat round me and fastens the buttons.
I stare at his hands, which are covered in red cuts, and at the shadow of a bruise across his cheekbone.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For what you did.’
Atlas shakes his head. ‘Nothing to be proud of.’
‘You were just trying to stop him—’
‘I broke the man’s nose,’ Atlas says.
‘You did him a favour, then.’
Atlas grins and we both burst into laughter.
‘Shh!’ he says, pushing me into the bushes. ‘I think Ravensloe’s window is somewhere around here.’
I’m suddenly very aware of his hands on my waist.
‘What did they do to you in isolation?’ I whisper.
