CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
I CROUCH AMID THE SMOKE and listen to the fighting for what feels like an eternity. And then finally I see movement, illuminated by the light of the flaming trees. Atlas strides towards me, his hands balled by his sides, and behind him is Wyvernmire, looking triumphant. Where are her Guardians? The ground begins to shake and what I thought was a mass of black trees moves forward and out of the smoke. The only protection Wyvernmire needs. A Bulgarian Bolgorith.
Atlas comes to stand beside me as I stare at them, positioning myself in front of the hidden loquisonus machine.
‘She didn’t take much convincing,’ Atlas says quietly. ‘Half her Guardians have abandoned her and … just look at the size of that thing. Do you think she knows she’s bitten off more than she can chew?’
Wyvernmire and the dragon come to a stop a few feet in front of us. It’s the biggest dragon I’ve ever seen, with black scales encrusted with jewels. Mama has told me about this self-inflicted injury, traditionally found on Bulgarian dragons of high rank, those with the biggest hoards.
‘Vivien,’ Wyvernmire says, ‘permit me to introduce you to General Goranov. He is our new ally in this war that Bletchley Park has failed to win.’
The dragon surveys me through a black, glassy eye.
‘Good evening, General Goranov,’ I say in Slavidraneishá.
The eye blinks once.
‘I am yet to meet a human who speaks my mother tongue,’ the General growls. ‘Since my kind’s rise to power, it has become somewhat unpopular. Did a dragon teach you?’
‘English, please!’ Wyvernmire snaps.
She gives the General a strained smile as his head swings round in her direction.
‘You’ll find that most of my troops do not know English,’ he snarls.
‘Where did you learn?’ I ask the General. ‘Did a human teach you?’
Atlas gives my waist a warning squeeze. I turn to Wyvernmire.
‘What will happen now?’ I ask. ‘You’ve made enemies of both the Coalition and Queen Ignacia. Britannia is in a three-way war.’ I glance at Goranov. ‘And soon it could be four.’
‘My government and the Bulgarian dragons will bring this nation back to order,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘There are more Bulgarian troops on their way.’
Atlas snorts. ‘But, in your attempt to crush one rebellion, you’ve created two.’
‘The Coalition and Queen Ignacia will be offered terms,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘A new Peace Agreement. I am not a cruel Prime Minister—’
‘No one will want you as Prime Minister when they find out what you’ve done,’ I say.
‘Oh, please,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘I am simply doing what’s necessary to ensure that our great Britannia does not fall into ruin.’
‘You’ve brought ruin to its front door.’ I look at the General again. ‘You think they care for order, or peace, or prosperity?’
Goranov lets out a low growl.
‘You are still too young to understand,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘I gave you an opportunity, Vivien, but you failed to take it. What you have in ambition, you lack in courage.’
‘Viv doesn’t lack courage,’ Atlas says.
‘The thing I’ve been working on,’ I say. ‘In the glasshouse? I can still give it to you. It’s the only thing that will keep you – and the rest of Britannia – safe. It’s the only advantage you’ll have.’
Wyvernmire’s eyes narrow and I feel my heartbeat quicken. Does she see through my lie?
‘You made it very clear you have no intention of sharing it, and only cooperated because I had your sister, who has now conveniently disappeared.’
‘As you can see,’ I say slowly, gesturing towards the Bulgarian dragon, ‘circumstances have changed.’
Wyvernmire looks at the General. ‘Thank you for escorting me, General Goranov. I’ll handle these recruits from here.’
The General grins in my direction. ‘I will hear what your polyglot has to say.’
I try my best to ignore the stench of his breath, the way his mere breathing feels like a strong blast of wind.
‘I will remain at your side, as your personal translator,’ I tell Wyvernmire. ‘Think of it as insurance, in case things don’t go the way you planned.’
Her lips tremble the slightest bit, and I know she gets my meaning.
‘But the glasshouse is burned—’
‘I managed to salvage what is required,’ I say, stepping slightly to the side so that her eyes land on the half-hidden loquisonus. ‘But, in exchange, you must agree to the following conditions.’
Atlas’s arm tightens round me, making me feel bolder. A resounding crash and a dragon’s roar come from the manor. The rebels are still fighting.
‘You will order your Guardians and dragons – including the Bulgarian ones – to retreat.’
The General’s tail slices through the air like a whip and crushes a fallen tree trunk.
‘No one orders my troops except me.’
‘You will let everyone on the opposing side, human and dragon, leave Bletchley Park,’ I continue. ‘The remaining recruits will be pardoned and their families liberated if you are currently holding them.’
Wyvernmire’s eyes shine with amusement. ‘Go on.’
‘Dragons will be reintegrated into society, given more rights, more land and more prospects.’
The General lets out a low laugh. ‘I had forgotten how tedious negotiating dragon and human equality is.’
‘The terms you offer to the Coalition will be fair,’ I say. ‘In this new society you intend to create, Third Class citizens will have the same rights as the Second Class. And you will abolish the Examination. It will no longer determine a person’s position—’
‘No,’ Wyvernmire says.
‘No?’ I reply, hearing my voice falter. ‘So you don’t need me as your translator?’
‘Translator for what?’ the General snarls.
‘You will do well to remember that you have already lost this battle,’ Wyvernmire tells me quietly.
‘And you’ll do well to remember that, without me, your government will be nothing more than a puppet state.’
‘I will agree to your first two conditions,’ she replies. ‘But not to the others. You could be great, Vivien, but only if you stop trying to play the hero, the role of saviour to the Third Class. If only you remember that ambition requires sacrifice.’
‘Except it’s always the same people doing the sacrificing,’ Atlas spits.
I feel as if I’m slowly shrinking, the courage that has fuelled me all night dwindling. If I don’t listen to the Koinamens for Wyvernmire, the Bulgarian dragons could wipe our entire country out. If she has nothing to use against them, then she, Queen Ignacia, the rebels … all of us will suffer.
‘I will employ you as my translator,’ Wyvernmire says. ‘You’ll work at the Academy, under the supervision of Dr Hollingsworth herself, with a competitive salary and an honorary degree in Dragon Tongues.’
As Wyvernmire speaks, two things happen. I feel Atlas move his foot backwards, then forwards, pushing a large stone towards me with the side of his shoe. And, in the treetops, high above the General’s head, I see a flash of pink.
I let Wyvernmire’s words tug on the edges of my imagination. My family, safe and free in Fitzrovia. Sophie and all the other recruits pardoned. Me working at the Academy for Draconic Linguistics to keep the Bulgarian dragons in check. And Atlas … If we were to marry, he would become Second Class.
‘Together we’ll make Britannia greater and ensure its security. But only if you let go of your rebellious notions.’
The vision vanishes, evaporating suddenly as I remember the way the Bulgarian dragons pulled Rhydderch’s head from his body. The dead Third Class girl’s bloody face. My father’s eyes as he was led out of our house and pushed into a Guardian car. The images Wyvernmire’s words have created are just an illusion, one that hides the ugly truth that my parents saw from the beginning.
‘People shouldn’t fear their prime ministers, Wyvernmire,’ I say slowly. ‘Prime ministers should fear their people.’
Atlas snaps round to look at me, bewildered at the utterance of this rebel slogan. They are words I didn’t understand until now. Wyvernmire’s smile fades. I drop to the ground, seizing the stone at my feet, as the sky fills with fire. Chumana lands on the General’s back with a terrible screech and Wyvernmire dives out of the way, slipping on the mess of dead leaves as flaming tree branches fall around her. I lift the stone and smash it through the top of the loquisonus machine.
Wyvernmire lets out a strangled gasp as the glass of the machine splinters, its insides split open. A dial flies off, landing in the undergrowth.
‘Viv!’ Atlas shouts.
He drags me out of the way just as Chumana and the General hurtle into the remnants of the glasshouse. Chumana’s jaw is locked round the General’s leg and he roars in agony as her teeth tear through his scales. From somewhere above comes the whir of a plane. The dragons suddenly lurch off the ground, hovering in mid-air, and, as the General’s talons rip into Chumana’s side, Wyvernmire’s hair is splattered with blood. She gets to her feet, shielding her face, and calls to me.
‘Give me the code and I’ll call my troops off.’
She still doesn’t see. That was the last loquisonus known to exist. She’s just a pawn in a game played by Bulgarian dragons now. Atlas pulls me behind a tree.
‘Look,’ he says, gesturing upwards. ‘It’s Marquis.’
My heart jolts. Of course it is. Marquis’s plane circles above us, gradually getting lower. Atlas kisses me.
‘You were glorious, Viv.’
I shake my head. ‘What are we going to do now? Without the loquisonus, the Bulgarians are just more powerful. They could take over Wyvernmire’s government if they want to—’
‘But you won’t be part of it,’ Atlas says fiercely. ‘Whatever happens, you’ll know that you refused to sacrifice people. We’ll find another way to protect Britannia, one that doesn’t involve becoming Bulgarian dragon f—’
Marquis’s plane shoots a stream of fire down on to a tree, just missing the General’s head.
‘Your cousin’s aim isn’t the best,’ Atlas mutters as he peers through the smoky forest.
I slip my hands beneath his jacket and round his back, holding him close as the plane searches for a place to land. For a moment, I pretend we’re not in the middle of a battlefield. I even close my eyes. I see the next few years together, conjured not by Wyvernmire’s lies, but the smell of Atlas’s shirt pressed against my face. Planning Britannia’s resistance from the safety of rebel Scotland. Holding hands as we watch Ursa play in a dragon-filled countryside. Spending spring mornings asking the questions not yet scribbled in secret notes, discovering the parts of each other we don’t yet know. Atlas twirls a lock of my hair round his finger as another dragon crash-lands a few feet away.
‘Viv,’ he says carefully, ‘I have to stay here, to help the injured rebels.’
I nod, my eyes still closed, because it’s pointless to argue. Helping people is part of who Atlas is. I know he needs to prove to himself he can still do so, even without the priesthood.
‘I have to look for Sophie, then go to Ursa,’ I say. ‘I won’t leave either of them again.’
He presses his lips to my forehead. ‘I’ll find you when the battle is over.’
We stumble backwards as the fire spreads closer. It’s all around us now, roaring so loudly it almost drowns out the sound of the plane.
‘It’s going to land on the tennis court,’ Atlas says, pointing to the clearing through the trees.
I flinch as gunshots sound and he pushes me towards the clearing. ‘You’ve got to go now .’
‘Wait, I—’
Guardians surge into the space between us and the tennis court, charging past Chumana and General Goranov and towards me. We turn to run, but there are more coming from the other direction, their white uniforms blackened from the heat of the naked flames. My stomach lurches and Atlas’s eyes grow wide with panic. We waited too long and now they’ve found us—
I hear a long, low whistle.
The signal.
My head snaps up. Marquis? He’s supposed to be flying the plane. How can he be signalling to me from—
There’s movement in the tree above. A face appears among the leaves.
Sophie.
Duck! she mouths.
I don’t think twice. I pull Atlas to the ground as a blue dragon swoops low over us and on to the Guardians, its huge wings stretched out like a giant net. Their screams are silenced by a roar as they are knocked backwards and Muirgen’s talons scrape across the General’s back, forcing him to release Chumana from his jaws. Sophie drops from the tree. I feel Atlas’s lips on my cheek as his grip on me releases and before I can turn around, he disappears into the smoke. Sophie’s hand finds mine. We run, her cold fingers interlaced with my burning ones, until we burst on to the tennis court.
Yndrir snaps at a Bulgarian’s head and they both barrel through the tennis nets, flattening the poles that hold them up. There’s the plane, flying as low and as slow as it can above the court, a rope ladder dangling down. The screeches are deafening as Sophie grabs hold of the ladder and pulls herself up.
‘Get on!’ she shouts.
I scramble up after her and the plane begins to rise, pulling us higher. The freezing wind whips my hair round my face as I climb, burning branches falling past me. Gideon’s face appears above, and then Sophie is pulled upwards and inwards. As I reach for the last few rungs, I cast one more look down at the smoke rising from the manor house. I see them then, in the garden. Ralph and Atlas. They’re caught in an argument I can’t hear. Dragons fly above them, as swift and sharp as the words I imagine being exchanged. Ralph lifts his gun.
Atlas jerks forwards, then backwards, as if his body has been pulled by an invisible string.
My foot falters on the rung. The shot is rendered silent by the sound of battle and yet it resonates through my body, the loudest moment I have ever lived.
Time slows.
Atlas collapses to the ground.
Voices above scream my name but my eyes are fixed on Ralph, advancing towards Atlas as my whole world goes up in flames.
‘Viv!’ Sophie screams. ‘Climb!’
I let go of the ladder.