I shake my head. ‘If we don’t give Wyvernmire what she wants, we’ll never see them again. We have too much at stake to be helping anyone but ourselves.’
‘And then what?’ Marquis says. ‘We go back to the Class System, the Examination, to treating dragons like fourth-class citizens?’
‘We go back to peace—’
‘What peace, Viv?’ he shouts. ‘We’re at war!’
I glare at him. ‘Wyvernmire will end the war. But the rebels will prolong it for years, trying to get what they want. And if we help them we’ll lose everything we’re fighting for.’
‘The rebels are fighting for the people they love, too, Viv.’ The look he gives me makes me want to cry. ‘Why save Ursa just to send her back to a life where she could be demoted for failing her schoolwork, where we could lose her overnight—’ His voice breaks.
I remember the silver batons and what Sophie told me about how Nicolas died, about the lack of food and medicine.
‘I want to help the Third Class, Marquis. And I wish there were dragons on every street corner, just like when our parents were young. But I can’t offer Mama and Dad and Uncle Thomas up as a sacrifice to achieve that. I love them too much—’
‘And you think I don’t?’ Marquis says. Tears stream down his face. ‘But how can we choose a good life for ourselves and not for everyone else?’
I shake my head. It sounds so evil, what I’m suggestingwe do, but I don’t have another answer. When I think of Ursa and of my parents, fire fills my bones. I am incapable ofnotchoosing them. Slowly, Marquis rolls up his sleeves to reveal the scars on his arm.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Don’t you think it’s cruel that these scars were given to a child simply because he sometimes failed to follow a set of arbitrary rules?’ he says. ‘How many doyouhave, Viv? Seven? Eight?’
I clutch my own arm. ‘You’re being difficult—’
‘Our parents were so terrified of us ending up Third Class,’ he says. ‘I like to think they’re ashamed of it now.’
I lean back against a desk. Where is this conversation going?
‘What about Atlas?’ Marquis says, his voice harder now. ‘Did you think you’d both win your categories and run off into the sunset?’
‘Stop it,’ I say sharply. ‘Don’t try to use him against me.’
Marquis doesn’t roll down his sleeve. ‘Let’s pretend the rebels have won. There’s no Peace Agreement, Class System or Examination. People can live, work and buy where and what they want. Everyone’s equal, right?’
I stare at him. ‘I suppose, yes—’
‘Wrong. You still have your parents’ house in Fitzrovia, which you and Ursa will inherit when they die. But your boyfriend? He owns no property because his parents and grandparents were all Third Class until now.’ He runs a finger down his arm, caressing the white welts on the skin. ‘He’s not as educated as you because his Third Class schoolshad no allocated resources, so he’ll always be picked last for any job he applies for. He has no impressive professional experience because his parents couldn’t afford to buy him apprenticeships every summer.’
‘Stop,’ I say, heat rising in my cheeks. ‘I see what you’re getting at.’
‘He has no family to rely on because his mother couldn’t afford to feed himandthe baby in her belly.’
I suddenly feel sick. When did Atlas tell him this?
‘And then there’s the fact that he isn’t white.’
‘Serena isn’t white—’
‘Serena is First Class, with a dragon-descended name that gets the colour of her skin overlooked. It’s different for Atlas.’
I stare out of the window.
‘You’re right that what the rebels are trying to achieve will take years, because inequality is so deeply entrenched in the foundations of our society that it’s going to need to be dug out, rock by prejudiced rock.’
He pulls the sleeve down over his scars. ‘You and Atlas won’t be treated as equal, even after the Class System is abolished. That’s why we need to actnow, not when we’re cosied up back home. As for the dragons? Since the massacre in Bulgaria, everyone has been terrified of them. They’ve lost their positions in society, and are only tolerated because of their sheer power. Imagine a Fitzrovia where humans and dragons walk London together, where you and Sheba from the bank can actually have a conversation, where the library dragon isn’t a prisoner.’
I’m suddenly reminded of our childhood during the GreatWar, when humans and dragons fought together, when the dragon stationed outside our bunker would blow smoke rings to make us laugh.
