«So how many times have you come here to pick?» Eason asked.

Mullen tore his attention away from Althaea. «This is my first time. It's wonderful. I've never seen a firedrake before.»

«Where were you living before Oliviera?»

«Nowhere. I've always lived there. This is the first time I've been anywhere except for other parish islands, and they're pretty much the same.»

«You mean you've never been on the mainland?» he asked, surprised.

«Not yet, no. I'm probably going to go next year, when I'm eighteen.»

«You've got a real treat in store,» Althaea said. «Kariwak's a riot; but just make sure you count your fingers after you shake hands.»

«Really?» Mullen switched his entire attention back to her.

Eason felt lonely, out of it. The truth was, their conversation had been incredibly boring all evening. They talked about nothing—the antics of the firedrakes, weather, which fish they liked best, how the picking was progressing. Every word was treated as though it had been spoken by some biblical prophet.

He was also very aware of the way Mullen's eyes roamed. Althaea was wearing just her turquoise shorts and a cotton halter top. It was distracting enough for him, so Heaven knew what it was doing to Mullen's hormones—the other boys from the parish, too, for that matter. He ought to have a word with her about it.

When he looked round the garden, Tiarella was still staring at him; her face sculpted, immobile. Maybe she was finally realizing her time was coming to an end. After eighteen years of stagnation and inertia it would be a jolt for any personality.

He allowed Mullen and Althaea to babble on for another ten minutes, then plucked at her halter strap. «Come on.»

She glanced at him, frowning as he rose to his feet, slapping sand and grass from his jeans. «Oh . . . not just yet.»

«Yes. We need to get some sleep afterwards.» He let an impish grin play over his lips, and picked up their blanket.

Althaea blushed as she glanced at Mullen, lips twitching into an embarrassed smile.

«Come on.» Eason clicked his fingers impatiently.

«I'll see you both tomorrow,» the lad mumbled.

«Sure. Good night.» He steered Althaea towards the black picket of trees. He liked Mullen, but the lad had to understand exactly who she belonged to.

«That was very rude,» Althaea whispered.

His free arm went round her shoulder. «Not as rude as what I'm about to show you in a minute.»

Althaea fought against a grin as he tickled her ribcage. Her finger poked him in retaliation. «Rude!»

«Was not.»

«Was too.»

He looked back as he reached the trees. The glowing charcoal was spilling a pool of tangerine radiance over the lawn. It showed him Mullen covering his face with his hands, shoulder muscles knotted. And Tiarella, who hadn't been staring at him after all, because her eyes had never moved when he and Althaea departed. She was watching Mullen.

When the lad's hands slipped back down to reveal a crestfallen expression, the corners of her mouth lifted into a serene smile.