‘A letter to the Coalition,’ she replies. ‘Warning us of the potential for a Bulgarian invasion. Thanks to him, we’ve had the opportunity to study Bolgorith battle tactics, which will serve us well in the coming months.’
The plane lands and I see someone dart out of a barn in the yard.
Karim.
I reach for the door handle.
‘Vivien,’ Hollingsworth says, ‘Iamsorry, about Atlas.’
I swallow. ‘He taught me that it’s our choices – who we choose to become once we can see our mistakes clearly – that make us who we are. So I’m sorry it took me so long to listen when he told me not to give Wyvernmire the code. I was figuring out who I am … but I know now.’
I step out of the car. Karim runs and flings his arms round me, but he doesn’t ask why I’m here or who is behind the tinted car window. There will be time for that later. We wade through the wheat-filled field and climb the embroidered plane steps, and suddenly Marquis is holding us both and Ursa is clinging to my leg. As the plane propellers whir again and we reach the sky, I tell them all how Atlas died. The words coming out of my mouth barely make sense and I struggle to keep myself upright as silence fills the plane.
Dr Seymour guides me to a seat with the same gentle touch that built the loquisonus machine, and Sophie, her eyes bright with tears, reaches for my hand. I feel myself go red, shocked at this simple gesture, when she has every right to hate me. I will myself to tell her one last thing before I succumb to the overwhelming pull of sleep.
‘Thank you,’ I say. ‘For trying to get me out of there.’
‘You thought I’d forgotten the signal we used to use in those bunkers, didn’t you?’ she says.
I nod, watching Dr Seymour fasten Ursa’s seatbelt.
‘You’ve been the most loyal friend to me,’ I say. ‘And in return I’ve given you nothing but hell.’
Sophie opens her mouth to reply, but I keep speaking, tripping over my words before I lose the courage to say them.
‘I’ll never ask you to forgive me, Soph. I would never expect that of you. But … I’m going to start trying to forgive myself. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to, but I’m going to try. And I promise you I’ll return the friendship you’ve given me. I’ll spend the rest of my life making yours happier, and the lives of all the other people who have suffered because of the Class System and the Peace Agreement—’
Sophie holds up her hand to silence me, our childhood friendship bracelet still dangling from her wrist.
‘I know you will, Viv,’ she says. ‘I know.’
*
In the seconds before I wake, I’m floating in a soft nothingness permeated by a deep, steady voice so familiar to me that it could be my own. And then I remember. I open my eyes to the harsh light of day streaming through the plane windows. Atlas’s voice disappears and I’m swallowed by a darkness worse than any I’ve ever felt. Sophie is asleep beside me and Karim and Gideon are dozing upright in their seats, the three dragonlings curled up between them. I hear the low voices of Marquis and Serena from the cockpit. Dr Seymour smiles at me, Ursa stretched out across her lap, and points out of the window.
‘Welcome to the Small Isles,’ she says.
I peer outside. Below, snaking through the stretch of grey-blue sea, is an archipelago of green, mountainous islands dotted with rocks and sheep. And flying beside us, bloody and battle-worn, are—
‘Dragons,’ Ursa whispers.
She appears beside me, suddenly wide awake, and I lift herso she can press her nose against the glass. The sky is full of them, Western Drakes and Sand Dragons and Ddraig Gochs, flying alongside Marquis’s plane on both sides. I scan the clouds for any sign of a pink Bolgorith, but I don’t see one.
Dr Seymour puts a hand on Gideon’s shoulder as he stares out across the islands.
‘Dr Seymour,’ I say, ‘Lord Rushby said Eigg was government-owned up until a few weeks ago. Where was headquarters before then?’
‘The Coalition was decentralised until now. We have factions all over the United Kingdom. That’s why there are offshoot groups – rebels who agree with parts of our cause, but not others.’
‘Like what?’ Gideon asks.
‘Some think the Peace Agreement should be abolished and not replaced. There’s a faction in Birmingham campaigning for the right to hunt dragons again, and another who think we should strip each human and dragon of their property and divide it up among everyone. I’m afraid they’ve succeeded in delegitimising us in the eyes of the public.’
I’ve been living in a bubble, both at Bletchley and in Fitzrovia.
The dragons begin their descent and the plane follows.
‘Fasten your seatbelts, ladies and gentlemen!’ Marquis shouts. ‘My co-pilot, Serena Serpentine, is about to land this plane!’
