‘We can finish this later,’ Atlas says.
Fifty or so children are dining around the campfires, devouring squabs and slurping hot white clams from an assortment of chipped plates and teacups. Jasper dips a slice of bread into a cracked china bowl, watching the camp with wary eyes. He’s scared, I realise. And who can blame him, with dragons above and Wyvernmire’s most wanted rebel in his camp? What crime did he commit to get himself sent to Canna? What supposedly terrible things have these children done to deserve being left on a dragon-infested island to die?
After the meal, I watch as they climb up into the trees. ‘What are they doing?’
‘What does it look like?’ Serena says, sucking the juices from a pigeon bone. ‘They sleep up there.’
‘In the trees?’
‘Apparently, a wingless dragon called a Lyndwyrm hunts these parts. It seems you either learn to sleep out of its reach, or you don’t survive the night.’
‘How are you still alive, then?’ I retort.
She glares at me and I shrug. ‘Does it surprise you that I can’t imagine Serena Serpentine sleeping in a tree?’
Philippa appears again and I’m suddenly glad of her presence. If it wasn’t for her, we’d be out on the hill in the cold dark instead of by the fire. Soon, she and several other children are teaching me to tie myself to one of the lower branches while inside a sleeping bag, their giggling echoing through the forest. When I finally climb down, my arms and legs aching, Atlas is waiting.
‘I thought we could go for a walk,’ he whispers.
I nod, but he lays a hand on my arm. ‘I don’t want Jasper to see us. Follow me in a few minutes, all right?’
‘All right,’ I agree.
My heart races as he turns and skulks back into the shadows. I wait, my eyes on Jasper as he sits around the fire with Gideon and some others. Then I follow.
‘Featherswallow!’ a voice whispers.
I jump as Atlas emerges from behind an oak, his eyes searching my face. I feel my body temperature rise.
Atlas King.
For the first time, I have the presence of mind to really look at him. He’s washed since the beach: his hair is wet and curling behind his ears and he no longer smells of sweat and horse, but of something flowery. He holds out a hand and I take it, avoiding his gaze because meeting it might just cause me to implode. We walk through the moonlit forest until the noise of the camp begins to fade.
‘Aren’t they afraid their laughter will attract dragons?’ I whisper. ‘Bolgoriths hunt by night.’
Atlas shrugs. ‘Where the trees grow close together like this, it’s difficult for dragons to land. And the kids have designatedhideout spots across the island in case of daytime attacks.’
I force myself to look at him. His eyes are on the swallow around my neck.
‘You still wear it.’
‘Of course I do.’ My stomach is doing double-flips. ‘Never took it off.’
A silence falls over us and I know we’re both remembering our last moments together: smashing the loquisonus machine, losing each other in the smoke, me holding him in my arms.
How can he be here, alive?
‘Ursa,’ I say, thinking of my sister back on Eigg. ‘How is she?’
Atlas smiles. ‘She’s well, living in a cottage with Dr Seymour and her new baby. A true little mother.’
My heart warms at the thought of Ursa safe with people who care for her. I suddenly ache to kiss her, to inhale the scent of her golden hair.
‘And Sophie? Karim?’
‘Sophie was training for her own mission when we left Eigg,’ Atlas says. ‘I couldn’t tell you what it is; everything’s classified. And Karim’s permanently stationed on the island as a medic.’
I nod. ‘So what sort of training didyoudo?’
