Chapter 6 #3
‘Sophie was training for her own mission when we left Eigg,’ Atlas says. ‘I couldn’t tell you what it is; everything’s classified. And Karim’s permanently stationed on the island as a medic.’
I nod. ‘So what sort of training did you do?’
‘Combat, survival and tracking, courtesy of Cormac Mackenzie, a First Class rebel who used to work with British Intelligence and, more specifically, the Department for the Defence Against Dragons.’
I raise an eyebrow in surprise.
‘He’s in command on Eigg and likes to remind people of the fact.
Marquis says joining the rebellion only made him fancy himself more.
But his rural Hebrides childhood makes him an excellent survivalist, and he’s a good man.
Even if he did have us running laps on the beach at dawn.
’ He pauses. ‘But you still haven’t asked me. ’
‘Asked you what?’
‘Why I’m not dead.’
His eyes search my face again, like I’m a ticking timebomb and he’s waiting for me to explode.
‘I . . .’
Atlas is right. I haven’t asked the question because just thinking about it sets hot flames of anger dancing along my skin.
Hollingsworth knew Atlas is alive.
‘What’s the armband for?’ I ask.
‘It’s the Coalition’s new symbol, a reminder of the swallow who keeps us – humans and dragons – together. You smashing the loquisonus machine and your knowledge of dragon tongues has recruited more dragons to the cause than ever before.’
I reach out and touch the armband, remembering how Hollingsworth called me the face of the rebellion.
It feels ridiculous to have been given such a role just because I cracked the so-called dragon code and then refused to give it to Wyvernmire.
I know the Swallow is just a symbol, meant to keep the rebels fighting.
And Hollingsworth is a liar . . . but what if she’s right?
Could my being a translator, being a brasstongue, help us win this war?
‘The swallow was my idea,’ Atlas says. ‘Remember the legend?’
I nod. ‘Swallows were once dragons who could speak every language in the world,’ I say softly, ‘but it meant they carried the burden of being able to empathise. So they asked God to make them light and carefree. He turned them into birds, giving them tails forked like a dragon’s tongue, to remind them of what they once were. ’
Suddenly, my anger at Hollingsworth is doused by excitement at the prospect of unlimited time with Atlas, with no classes or categories to keep us apart.
Before I watched Ralph shoot him I had dared to imagine a future with him, fighting the rebels side by side, sharing strategies, a meal, a bed .
. . I stare out into the dark, trying not to blush, but I can feel his gaze on me and with it a wave of anticipation.
His brown eyes find mine. He takes a step towards me.
‘Viv . . .’
And somehow my feet carry me forward without my permission, crossing the short distance between us until I’m so close I can see the flecks of gold in his eyes.
His gaze flits from my face to my short hair, lingers on my mouth.
And then his lips are crushing mine. My skin is ablaze and as a dragon roars in the distance, it’s like its fire is filling me, hot and hungry.
My back meets the rough bark of a tree and my hands find Atlas’s hair as his own drop to my waist. I gasp and I feel his smile.
He pulls away, but keeps his arms around me. ‘I didn’t know Second Class girls kissed like that,’ he breathes.
‘They don’t,’ I reply. ‘Rebel girls, on the other hand . . .’
He laughs quietly and I rest my chin on his shoulder. We stand still for a long moment, listening to the sounds of the dark forest.
‘We should go back,’ he says eventually.
I would rather eat dragon dung.
‘Wait,’ I whisper into his jacket. ‘Why aren’t you dead?’
‘Fireblod,’ he says.
My head swims. The illegal medicine made from the blood of dragons?
‘Fireblod can’t bring back the dead.’
His hands grip my waist tighter. ‘I wasn’t dead, Viv. I was still alive, still hanging on. The fireblod healed the gunshot wound.’
‘Atlas?’ I say slowly. ‘Who gave it to you? The fireblod?’
He frowns. ‘Chumana. She flew me out of Bletchley. She—’
I let go of him. ‘Chumana?’
He gives me a confused smile. ‘Yes. She flew me to a scholar she knew, an old acquaintance from her early days in her library prison. He extracted her blood and fed it to me. Why are you looking at me like that?’
‘I lived with Chumana,’ I say. ‘In a safehouse in London.’
His face falls. ‘She didn’t tell you?’
I shake my head, blood pounding in my ears.
Hollingsworth knew Atlas was alive, and in her arrogance and twisted reasoning decided not to tell me.
I’m not even surprised. But Chumana? She let me grieve Atlas that first night in the sugar house, when mere days before she had saved his life.
Humiliation and betrayal fill me as I step backwards.
‘Viv?’ Atlas says. ‘I promise I didn’t know.’
‘You should have written to me!’ I say.
‘I wanted to, but sending post was against the rules on Eigg, in case of interception.’
‘Fuck the rules,’ I whisper through tears. ‘Everyone knew except me. Everyone.’
I thought Chumana and I were friends. I thought I could trust her. My vision blurs as I turn to walk back through the forest, but Atlas catches me by the sleeve and spins me back around.
‘I didn’t know,’ he says again.
I want to scream at him, to scream the humiliation and misplaced grief away.
Instead, I bury my face into his jacket.
How many times have I wished I’d spent the weeks at Bletchley Park laughing with him, kissing him, instead of arguing?
How many times in the last three months have I resolved to be less of a hot-headed idiot than I was last year?
I swallow my pride.
‘I’m sorry they lied,’ he pleads with me.
‘It’s not your fault,’ I reply hoarsely.
Marquis spots us coming back into the camp. ‘Where have you two been? Three of Wyvernmire’s dragons just flew over.’ He points at me. ‘They’re looking for you.’
‘Any Guardians?’ Atlas asks.
Marquis shakes his head. ‘Not yet. Too dark, I reckon. We should leave at dawn.’
I look from him to Atlas, my body faint with exhaustion. ‘Do you have any idea at all where the Hebridean Wyverns might be?’
‘No,’ Marquis says. ‘But I think Jasper might.’
I nod. That’s enough for me, for now. ‘I’m going to bed.’
Atlas kisses my cheek and I see Marquis trying to keep a straight face.
I pull myself up on to one of the lower branches of a tree, where a sleeping bag is waiting.
Others are settling in the branches above me, their lanterns glowing like golden stars in the dark.
Leaves rustle against my face as I listen to the hushed voices and the crackle of Serena’s radio.
There’s a distant roar and I wonder where Chumana is.
She must be keeping out of sight too. I feel my anger rise again at the thought of her and Hollingsworth’s lies, but the elation from the day’s events is stronger.
They may have betrayed me, but Atlas is alive. It’s more than I could have hoped for.
Tomorrow, we’ll start looking for the wyverns.
As a team, which is the opposite of what we were at Bletchley Park.
If the rebels dropped Atlas and the others off here it’s because the Coalition believes in their ability to complete their mission.
But what about me? I’m only here because I got myself arrested.
Was Hollingsworth ever going to send me to Canna at all?
I close my eyes. I have to make sure the Third Class and Britannia’s dragons know freedom. I have to succeed in using my languages to win the war.
I imagine my parents being liberated from Highfall, Ursa running towards me, Sophie forgiving me for the pain I caused her when I got her demoted.
This is my second chance.