Marquis jumps from our ledge to the one below, dropping lower and lower until he reaches the perch above where the wyvernling is stuck. The wyverns continue to soar above it as Marquis seizes the root of the wyvernling’s wing in one firmhand and uses the fingers of the other to pull at the stones that have lodged around it. Suddenly, the wyvern is free. It drops from Marquis’s grip and I cry out as it plummets into the dark.
‘He killed it,’ Gideon cries in panic. ‘He’s gone and—’
The wyvernling surges up from beneath us, a flash of midnight blue, and flies to join its peers as Marquis lets out a triumphant whoop. All six wyverns meet in the centre of the cave, flying through the shafts of silvery moonlight, then diving down beneath a waterfall before twisting in the air on themselves.
‘See how they move?’ I murmur to Atlas, unable to tear my eyes away as their bodies rise and fall in a victorious dance. ‘They’re completely in sync.’
‘Like birds,’ Gideon says.
‘Like swallows,’ I reply. ‘But how can they be this in tune with each other if they’re not related, not bonded?’
‘Put it away,’ Serena says sharply as the wyverns begin their flight up towards us. ‘They’re coming back.’
Atlas hides the machine behind his back as the wyverns land on our ledge.
Marquis takes longer to climb back up and as we wait, Cindra doesn’t take her eyes off him. The wyvernlings crowd the edge, their long tails intertwined, and they part as Marquis’s hand grabs the bottom of the ledge and Gideon pulls him up. He flexes his fingers, cut and bleeding from his climb, and kneels to catch his breath.
‘You have done us a great service, Marquis, healer of wyverns,’ Cindra says in Cannair.
She glances at Aodahn with impatient eyes and he quicklytranslates.
‘You will have the honour of attending our egg-choosing ceremony,’ Cindra continues.
Marquis bows his head. ‘Thank you,’ he manages to reply in Cannair.
A low warbling comes from Cindra’s chest and I realise it’s a sign of pleasure. I roll my eyes as Marquis pushes his hair off his sweaty forehead and joins Dòmhnall in inspecting the wyvernling’s wing. Of course he has earned Cindra’s acceptance with a few daredevil moves. If I didn’t admire his audacity I might be jealous.
‘What’s the egg-choosing ceremony?’ Gideon asks Aodahn as we return through the tunnels, leaving Marquis to the healing of the wyvernling.
‘The most sacred of our practices,’ Aodahn replies.
‘I’ve seen the eggs,’ I say. ‘In that giant nest?’
‘The nursery,’ he says with a nod.
‘Why do you keep them all together like that, instead of in individual nests with their parents?’
‘Hebridean Wyverns share everything, including our wyvernlings,’ Aodahn replies.
I think of the wyverns in the nursery, turning the eggs and breathing flames across their shells.
‘Eggs need specific conditions in order to thrive,’ I say. ‘Surely it would be easier to raise yours above ground, in your natural habitat?’
‘It is true that fewer of our eggs survive these days,’ he says quietly. ‘But to raise our eggs above ground we would need to leave our concealment, and Abelio . . .’
Cindra slinks past us, her long tail trailing behind, and he falls silent. She glances back at me and I see something in her eyes that reminds me, bizarrely, of Hollingsworth. It’s a mix of expectation and intimidation and – dare I say it – hope.
I begin to live and breathe Cannair, immersing myself in Cindra’s writings while the others grow restless.
‘The wyverns have been asking all sorts of questions about the war,’ Atlas says. ‘Abelio heard them yesterday and shut my class down.’
‘Mine too,’ Serena says. ‘He said I’ve taught enough human-made practices to last a lifetime.’
‘Look,’ Gideon says. ‘Why don’t we call it a day? We haven’t found the information Hollingsworth wanted, so let’s just admit defeat and stop wasting our time larking around down here when we could be winning the war up there.’
‘No,’ I say. ‘Cindra asked me to translate Cannair and that’s what I’m doing. I might still discover what Hollingsworth wants to know in Cindra’s writings. And if I don’t, then at least we’ll have the wyverns on our side.’
‘A fat lot of difference tweed-spinning wyverns will make,’ Gideon snaps.
