So he doesn’t agree with all this. He’s just trying to provoke me, to get me to admit that Wyvernmire isn’t who I thought she was.
‘You shouldn’t have shown me this,’ I say bitterly.
Atlas stands up straighter. ‘Why not? It’s made you angry, just like I thought it would.’
‘Oh, so I’m one of your experiments, too, am I?’ I say furiously. ‘Tell me, Atlas, was my reaction to your satisfaction? Does my anger meet your expectations?’
‘Featherswallow,’ he says, ‘you knew what we were doing down here, didn’t you? My category’s called Zoology, dammit!’
‘I didn’t expect Wyvernmire to have you doing things that go against the Peace Agreement,’ I hiss.
‘The bloody Peace Agreement again,’ he says, folding his arms across his chest. ‘Was finding out that Wyvernmire feeds children to dragons not enough for you? Here you are, blaming me because you can’t bear the thought that you were wrong abouther. That your whole life has been built on a false belief system.’
I let out a hollow laugh. ‘A false belief system? That’s hilarious coming from someone whose faith is as prehistoricas the dragons he studies. You stand there, acting all pious, but you go around breaking Guardians’ noses and . . . and—’
‘And what?’
I dare myself to say it. ‘I saw the way you looked at me when I wore that dress. You’re a hot-headed, impulsive hypocrite!’
The silence between us burns.
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. ‘If I was as impulsive as you say, Featherswallow, I’d have kissed you ten times already.’
I freeze, swallowing my next retort. I feel so furious I could breathe fire. But to my utter disgust, something inside me softens.
‘And now you mention it,’ he says, ‘I’ve always thought of my faith as dragonlike. Thanks for reminding me.’
‘You … I … you’re not making sense,’ I splutter.
He shakes his head and wipes his brow with the sleeve of his shirt. ‘You’re right,’ he says. ‘Iamhot-headed, angry – livid, actually. And I’m glad you are, too. Honestly, sometimes I feel like nothing gets to you. You’re always so … unreadable.’
I take a deep breath. ‘Unreadable?’
I all but begged you to kiss me yesterday.How more readable can a girl get?
‘Last night someone tried to kill you and you barely said a word.’
I let out a nervous laugh.
‘And when Ralph broke your arm I don’t think I even saw you cry.’
I shrug, remembering the sound of bone snapping.
‘I should have known it would take something like dragons to get you fired up.’
He’s right about that. Taking dragonlings from their parents goes against everything the Peace Agreement is supposed to stand for. Against the whole reason we’re fighting this war in the first place.
‘What do you mean,’ I say softly, ‘about your faith being dragonlike?’
Atlas clears his throat awkwardly. ‘It feels … prehistoric sometimes. It’s resilient, like dragons are, and people are often scared of it.’ His hand slides into his pocket, and I know he’s feeling for his prayer beads. ‘But somehow it’s always been there, even when I’ve tried to cast it aside. And then there’s my church back in Bristol. It’s got spires like horns, and stones like scales, and inside there’s this burning sacred heart …’
I run my finger along the scaly head of the sleeping dragonling as Atlas’s cheeks turn pink.
‘It’s all part of some older creation, one that most people have moved on from. Iknowthat – I’m not blind. And yet here I am, studying the Churchanddragons, both dinosaurs still very much alive.’
The dragonling splutters a tiny flame.
‘Ow!’ I wince.
