‘Hush, Ursa,’ I soothe, trying to control the sob in my own throat.
‘Send that evidence straight to Prime Minister Wyvernmire’s office,’ the superior Guardian says. ‘She’ll examine it upon her return from the dragon territories in the morning.’
‘Be quick about it,’ says a cool voice. ‘This is a matter of utmost urgency.’ Rita Hollingsworth slips the paper she took from Dad’s desk inside her pocket. Through my tears, I can see a line of scribbles written in turquoise ink.
‘You were never interested in my mother’s research,’ I say. ‘It was all a ruse to get into our house. You betrayed them—’
‘No, Vivien,’ Hollingsworth replies. ‘Theybetrayed you. And your sister. And their country.’
‘That’s not true!’ I shout. ‘You’ve arrested the wrong people!’
One more car pulls up behind the one that holds Marquis.
‘Prime Minister Wyvernmire has had people watching your house for months,’ Hollingsworth says. ‘People watchingyou. I told you earlier, Vivien, that you will find your future in unexpected places. When you do, you must seize and keep it, no matter the cost.’ Her brilliant eyes shine as they stare into mine. ‘I’m sure I’ll be meeting you again very soon.’
She gets into the car and pulls the door closed. The motorcars both drive away and I watch Marquis’s silhouette in the back window until it disappears into the distance.
‘Come on,’ I whisper into Ursa’s hair. ‘Let’s go inside.’
I pick my way across the glittering glass that used to sit in the front door. The dining room has been searched, the contents of every drawer and cupboard upturned. The table lies on its side and the floor is scattered with food and broken china. One of the paintings is crooked, as if someone has looked behind it. And Mina is crouched beneath the chaise longue, hissing.
For an awful moment, I feel the urge to laugh.
I set Ursa down and she stares at the scene with slumpedshoulders. Her hair ribbon is gone, her eyelashes wet with tears.
‘Let’s just clean this up a bit,’ I say, forcing myself to sound cheerful.
Ursa looks at me with big, solemn eyes.
‘I’m sure Mama and Daddy will be back in a few days, and we don’t want it to be a mess for them, do we?’
I pick up the table and scrape the pierogi from the floor, trying to keep my hands steady. I straighten the painting and clear away the empty wine bottles. While I sweep the glass from the foyer, Ursa feeds the cat.
‘Eat nicely,’ I hear her tell Mina. ‘We don’t want it to be a mess for Mama and Daddy, do we?’
Afterwards, I help Ursa dress for bed.
‘I haven’t recited my lessons,’ she says, yawning.
‘You can miss them just this once,’ I reply.
I stroke her hair until she falls asleep, then close the nursery door. Downstairs, the dining room is silent except for the crackle of the fire. I sit on a chair and remember the curl of the Guardian’s lip as he pronounced the wordleech. Are we being targeted, framed somehow, because Mama is Bulgarian? Poor Marquis is locked inside a prison cell on some false charge while I’m here alone in this big, empty house. And my parents … I let out a gasp, then a sob.
The penalty for acoup d’étatis death.
Is that really the reason for all those nights spent talking in the dining room? Have my parents and uncle been planning to join some rebel group and overthrow the government? I can’t believe it. I won’t. The Featherswallows wear theirpasses, respect class boundaries and prepare their children for the Examination. Mama and Dad would never do something so stupid, so selfish.
People shouldn’t fear their prime ministers, Vivien. Prime ministers should fear their people.
Wyvernmire is serving her second term as our first female prime minister. She got Britannia through the Great War and has upheld peace between humans and dragons. I’ve never heard my parents say a word against her. So what did Dad mean?
I stand up so fast that my head spins. The Guardian said something about a secret cupboard. In the study, papers are scattered all over the floor and books have been tossed from the bookcases, their spines cracked open. The window is ajar, letting in the cold, creeping wind. The stub of Hollingsworth’s cigarette sits in the ashtray. I feel the tears well up again. This is where Mama and Dad spend most of their time, working to prove their latest theories about dragon behaviour and culture. It’s a room full of knowledge, of questions, of what-ifs.
Through my tears, I spot something. The side of Dad’s desk is … open? Heart hammering, I kneel beside it. The wooden panel opens like a door, with a tiny keyhole disguised in the decorative gold stringing. Behind it is a secret compartment, empty except for a penknife. I slip it into my pocket and shake my head in disbelief. Theyhavebeen hiding something. And whatever it was is now sitting in a box inside a Guardian motorcar.
I scan the rest of the room. The worn green sofa looksundisturbed, as does the piano and the cabinet that holds my school trophies. Only the drinks trolley has been moved. It’s a painted globe, the top half of which can be lifted to reveal the bottles of wine inside. I used to love tracing the outlines of each country with my finger and learning the names of the different seas. I peer closer at it. There is Rumania, Yugoslavia and Greece, and nestled between them all is Bulgaria – dragon country. Around the left side of the globe are the United States, the place where Marquis’s mother was born, where some states live in peace with dragons and others hunt them like prey.
I frown. Someone has scored a line across the painted surface of the globe with a sharp object, creating an incision that begins in Bulgaria and runs all the way to Britannia. And just next to the line is a tiny version of Wyvernmire’s crest, aWentangled in a wyvern’s tail. It’s been drawn in turquoise ink. The same colour Dad uses in his fountain pen.
