‘Have you noticed how they’re barely speaking?’ he says.
I glance around at the wyverns. They’re eating in quiet groups, but they have an energy, and mannerisms, like the twitch of a tail or the flare of nostrils, that suggest they’re communicating in silence.
‘Echolocation?’ Atlas says in a hushed voice.
I nod.
‘Aodahn,’ Serena says, adopting a soft, high-society voice. ‘Have you readWuthering Heights?’
Aodahn’s eyes light up. ‘Yes. I have my very own copy. Would it please you to borrow it?’
‘I’d love to,’ Serena says. She leans forward, her empty bowl still clutched in her hand. ‘But where did you get it?’
Aodahn’s own bowl of cooked meat is untouched. ‘From the old human smuggling caves,’ he breathes. ‘They were used back when people lived on the island. The wyverns came across them when tunnelling and Cindra allows us to visit it to retrieve books. The caves are still being used, you see.’
‘Used?’ I say. ‘By who?’
‘Perhaps by the humanlings on Canna, or by merchants from a neighbouring island. Every so often they fill with objects – food, clothing, literature.’ He suddenly looks apologetic. ‘I only take books, and never more than I can carry.’
I catch Atlas’s eyes and know we’re both asking ourselves the same question. Who is sending supplies to Canna?
‘What are those?’ Gideon asks.
He’s pointing to the tweed tapestries containing scrolls of paper.
‘Memory tapestries,’ Aodahn replies. ‘Made of the most durable textile known to wyverns. Our memories deserve to be preserved in our old age. The wyvern tradition is to record them on paper and keep them inside the tweed, so that we never forget.’
He stands to pull a scroll from the wall and begins to translate the writing aloud.
It is Edin who teaches Aodahn to weave his first piece of tweed. She sings to him about how the loom has a mind of its own, about how no two tweeds are the same, about how a wyvern must weave just as he must breathe. Aodahn watches his mother’s tweed appear on the loom, the wool bright white, and decides she must have mixed it with moonlight.
‘My favourite memory of her,’ he says, tucking the scroll back inside the tweed.
I point to another tapestry, this one embroidered with hundreds of wyverns flying like a flock of birds above the sea. On the water are several huge ships.
‘Is that a memory too?’ I ask.
‘The wyverns are a peaceful species, but there were times before we came underground that we had to be formidable fighters. And we were. We commanded the respect of all Canna’s dragons.’
Marquis raises an eyebrow.
‘But when the British government came for Patrick Clawtail and killed him despite our defences,’ Aodahn says in a hushed voice, ‘it shook Abelio to his core. We didn’t knowthat human battleships can shoot a wyvern out of the sky.’ His wings flutter gently on his back. ‘We lost many.’
‘They sent battleships for one man?’ Gideon asks. ‘What was so special about Clawtail?’
‘He was the first person to suggest that dragon tongues should be recorded and recognised as official languages,’ I say. ‘The government was on the verge of signing the Peace Agreement with Queen Ignacia, secretly hoping to use it to subdue dragons. But what Clawtail was proposing would have empowered them.’
I yawn, my eyelids growing heavy. The heat of the fire envelops us and throughout the cave, wyverns are basking lazily in the flickering shadows of the flames. Aodahn moves next to me, so close that the silky feathers of his wings press against my bare arm. I can feel the heat rising from his scales. They’re a pearly blue, the colour of a dragonfly.
‘You will not be asked to explain the golden machine tonight, dear one. You could retire to your chamber, if you so wish.’
Dear one.
Chumana is not as gentle, and yet the closeness of Aodahn and the way he calls me something other than my name makes me miss her. I suddenly long to hear the words ‘human girl’ growled at me. I wonder where she is now and what possessed me to be so unkind to her.
I nod, mumbling goodnight.
‘You’re going to bed?’ Marquis says incredulously. ‘This is the first time in our lives that we’ve socialised with dragons.’
