CHAPTER THIRTY
PAIN FILLS MY CHEST AND I gasp, desperate for a breath that doesn’t come. When I open my eyes, I’m on my back, the plane circling above me. My chest spasms over and over and I choke, then wheeze as air finally fills my lungs. A dragon’s talon almost crushes my arm and I roll over, pulling myself across the court on my stomach until I’m free of the flailing tails. I jump to my feet and run, crashing back through the forest to the garden. In the light of the dawn, Ralph is kneeling over Atlas.
‘Get away!’ I scream.
My knees give way as I reach him.
‘Atlas?’ I gasp.
His eyes blink rapidly as he tries to focus on my face. Ralph backs off, a silver revolver in his hand. I press my fingers to the gush of red spilling from Atlas’s side.
‘Your shirt is stained,’ I say shakily. I press down on the wound. ‘We’ll wash it, don’t worry.’
He frowns, his face strained with pain. ‘You’re supposed to be on the plane.’
His blood, which coats my hands, is terrifyingly thick. I bring my face close to his as the trees around us spin.
‘Help will come,’ I whisper. ‘A doctor will come. Someone will—’
My eyes land on Ralph, who is staring at us with a stunned look on his face. ‘I was aiming for his leg, not his–’
‘Chumana!’ I fling my head back and scream for her. ‘Chumana!’
The sky is eerily empty. Atlas reaches for my hand.
‘Go back to the plane,’ he urges. ‘Ursa is waiting for you.’
I shake my head, feeling the tears fall. In the forest and the courtyard, the battle rages on, but here in the garden we’re alone.
Help isn’t coming.
I squeeze Atlas’s fingers as my mind clouds with panic. Footsteps sound from the forest and Wyvernmire emerges, flanked by several Guardians.
‘Atlas,’ I say. ‘You have to get up.’
He makes as if to sit but winces. ‘Can’t.’
I wrap my arms round his chest and try to pull him upwards, but so much blood pours from his wound that I stop. I lay him back down as I feel my breath coming in short, sharp surges.
‘She’ll have to give you the code now,’ I hear Ralph say behind me.
A shadow falls over us and Wyvernmire stares down at Atlas, then back at her nephew.
‘Otherwise, he’ll—’
‘If he does,’ Wyvernmire hisses, ‘she won’t give me anything at all.’
Atlas cracks a smile, dead leaves crowning his head.
Wyvernmire kneels down beside me. ‘You shouldn’t have destroyed that machine,’ she says quietly.
I take a shaky breath and turn to look at her, my hand still in Atlas’s. She’s so close I can see the droplets of dragon blood on her face.
‘Get him a medic, please ,’ I tell her. ‘And I’ll give you anything. I’ll build you another machine. I’ll—’
I can hear the despair in my own voice as it turns to uncontrolled sobs.
‘My Guardians will help him, if you do the right thing—’
‘Keeping echolocation a secret is the right thing, Viv,’ Atlas says.
I shush him and stroke his hair, terrified that speaking will cost him more energy than he can afford.
He looks up at me, his brown eyes shining. ‘She’s wrong about you. You’re brave and selfless and good. But you ?’ He laughs at Wyvernmire and brings his other hand down on top of my bloody one. ‘You’re dead without Viv. She could have protected you, and the nation you claim to love, if you’d have just agreed to extend that protection to everyone. Even Ralph knows it – that’s why he shot me. Because he thinks Viv will stay here with me, with you, instead of joining the rebels.’
‘I won’t join them,’ I say fiercely, hot tears streaming down my face. ‘I won’t leave you.’
‘You will.’ Atlas sighs, patting my thigh. ‘You’re one of them, aren’t you, my love?’
The rising sun shines on to his face, a spatter of gold on his dark skin.
‘Atlas,’ I whisper, hiding my face in his neck. He smells of peppermint and dragonsmoke. ‘Please get up.’
Wyvernmire is waiting patiently, like a mother might wait for a capricious child. Above the tennis court, the plane is flying away. Sophie can’t save us now. I look around helplessly, then down at Atlas. His eyes are closed. I lean over him again, shielding him from Wyvernmire’s view.
‘I love you,’ I sob into his ear.
He doesn’t move.
I kiss his mouth, his eyes, the stubble of his jaw. My tears drip on to his face and down his white collar. His chest rises, then falls. It doesn’t rise again. I shrug my jacket off and fold it gently beneath his head. His hand is still on my leg. I kiss that, too, then let it drop to his side. I stand up and, as I do, I notice a piece of paper poking out of his breast pocket. I unfold it and smooth it out. It’s the note I left for him last night after we kissed in the basement.
I am leaving you one more note because, well, I feel like I should make up for the last one. Tell me, Atlas … if God turned the dragons into swallows to make them light and carefree, do you think He’ll do something similar for us? This code,this language of dragons, has weighed so heavily on us all. I can barely bring myself to think of it, of the destruction it could cause. But there is one silver lining. The brightest silver lining I’ve ever known. The Koinamens – and all my dragon tongues – are what brought me to Bletchley Park. They are what brought me to you.
And beneath it he has scribbled his reply.
Thank God for dragon tongues, Featherswallow. Thank God for you.
I inhale a deep, shaky breath and put the note in my pocket. Then I turn round. Wyvernmire is staring at me, her jaw set in a hard line.
‘Come with me now,’ she says. ‘This is the last death you’ll have to—’
‘Not the last,’ I say calmly. I look at Ralph and the hatred consumes me. ‘I’ll make sure you don’t leave Bletchley Park alive, you son of a bitch. I’ll make sure you—’
Flames stream from the clouds, setting the vegetable garden and Ralph’s coat alight. He drops to the ground, a tortured scream bursting from his throat. Chumana swoops on to the grass, positioning herself between me and Wyvernmire. Guardians shoot aimlessly, swarming round their Prime Minister and herding her towards the courtyard, where a helicopter is landing. Ralph, who has managed to douse the fire, limps after her. I crouch behind Chumana to avoid the bullets.
Kill him , I urge her silently as I watch Ralph escape.
But as the Guardians fall back, Chumana’s head turns towards the fields. A car is hurtling past the lake. It drives through a bush, black smoke streaming from its exhaust pipe, and straight into the garden. I fall back on my elbows next to Atlas, wondering how Wyvernmire could have called for more reinforcements so quickly—
The back door of the car opens and a face stares out.
Rita Hollingsworth.
‘Get in,’ she tells me sharply. ‘Before I’m seen.’
I shake my head, casting a glance at the Bulgarian dragon that has appeared in the sky above. Chumana has seen it, too.
‘Go with her, human girl!’ she snarls.
I don’t dare refuse, scrambling across the back seat of the car as the engine roars. I cast a look out of the window as it reverses towards the lake. Chumana is battling the Bulgarian dragon from the ground, her scales glowing pink in the sunrise. And behind her lies Atlas’s body. I sink backwards, unable to breathe, and finally lose control. And suddenly Hollingsworth is holding me, engulfing me in perfume, her fur coat sticking to my tear-stained cheeks.
‘He’s all alone,’ I sob. ‘I left him all alone.’
As the car veers through Bletchley, past trucks full of injured rebels and dazed townspeople, the sun hits the windscreen. It shines on to my face, warm and taunting. Atlas won’t see the sun again. He died before it rose. I lean my head into the shoulder of the stranger beside me and think of all the ways I have known him.
Atlas King.
Rebel, priest-in-training, defender of dragons.
The only boy I have ever loved.
And as I close my eyes I see his soul, seeking God as it slips among the burning Bletchley trees.