I go to the little washbasin and stare at my face in the mirror. It’s black with soot, stained with grey tear tracks and blood from Ralph’s knife. There’s a burn on my chin and my hands are raw from the rope ladder. Sweat and smoke and the last trace of Atlas’s touch cling to my skin. I place his note, the only physical reminder of our last moments together, in a pot on the shelf and try not to think of his promise.
I’ll find you when the battle is over.
I wash the thought away in the hot, soapy water of the bathtub. My mind drifts to the last conversation I had with Chumana. All this time, my theory was wrong. The many versions of echolocation we heard through the loquisonus machine weren’t different branches of one universal language, weren’t dialects. They were simply the conversion of varying levels of emotion into sound. Dragons’ understanding of each other, the calls they use to communicate, depend entirely on their bond. Soresten communicating with Addax sounded different from him communicating with Muirgen, because their bonds are different. One is the bond of brother and sister, the other of two dragons who happened to work together at Bletchley Park.
I stare at the water droplets on my skin. Dragon tongues may well contain familial dialects, like Mama’s research suggests, but the Koinamens does not. That’s because it isn’t based on grammar or words. It’s a language of emotion, a telepathy our human brains cannot even begin to imagine. All this time, I was looking at it from a linguistic point of view, basing my theories on the languages I know, assuming that they were the benchmark from which to begin.
I’ve always done that, I realise now. Assumed that everyone thinks like me, that everyone experiences the world the same way I do, that I could never be wrong. Yet, despite my good grades and recommendation letters and university place, there are so many things Idon’tknow.
When I’m dressed in someone else’s clothes and pulling a brush through my wet hair, there’s a quiet knock on the door.
‘Come down for food,’ Marquis whispers, his eyes darting to Ursa’s sleeping form.
I set down the brush and follow him downstairs. People are crowded round the bar, most of them still in bloodied, burnt clothes. Someone I’ve never met hands me a beer with a smile. I sip the froth off the top, savouring the bitter freshness, and follow Marquis outside. There are several small fires burning across the grassy clifftop, and sitting round them are groups of dragons and people, talking in low voices. The sun is already setting and the sea and the sky beyond are a pale purple colour.
Someone hands us some food as we walk by one of the firepits – a sausage between two slices of bread – and we eat like we’ll never eat again. Karim and Sophie are standing onthe cliff edge that overlooks the beach, and when they move apart I see Serena, Gideon and Dr Seymour sitting behind them, staring out at the sea. I feel a sharp pain in my chest. Three of us are missing.
‘How is Ursa?’ Karim says gently when we reach them, resting his head on Marquis’s shoulder.
‘Asleep,’ I say.
‘Dreaming of dragons,’ Marquis adds.
I drain the last of my beer and sit on the grass beside Sophie. Her blonde hair is clean and damp, her cheeks flushed, a dark bruise beneath her eye.
‘What are you looking at?’ I ask as the sun flings pink rays across the water.
‘Gideon was showing us where Canna is,’ Sophie says.
I glance at Gideon. He’s staring past the island directly in front of us to the one behind it.
‘How do you know where Canna is?’ I ask.
As far as I know, Gideon didn’t grow up in Scotland.
‘Cos that’s where I was recruited from,’ he mumbles, his eyes still on the island.
I look between Sophie and Dr Seymour to check I heard right. Canna is where criminal youths are sent, the place Queen Ignacia uses as her personal hunting grounds. It’s where most of the recruits would have ended up if they weren’t sent to Bletchley first.
‘I was nothing but a pretty plaything to my father and his friends,’ Gideon says, eyes unblinking.
My heart sinks.
‘But I had my revenge. That’s what got me sent there.’
‘Is it true? What they say happens on that island?’ I ask. ‘Do the dragons come to feed?’
Gideon gives one short nod, then gazes back out to sea. I set my glass down as we all fall silent. No wonder Gideon was so desperate to crack the code. He didn’t want to go back to Canna.
I’ve been around a lot of dragons.
‘The Coalition will put a stop to that,’ I say. I turn to Dr Seymour. ‘Won’t they? Can they get those kids off Canna?’
Dr Seymour hesitates. ‘It’s certainly one of our aims. But with the Bulgarian dragons’ invasion the country is about to crumble. The war is now on a much bigger scale than before. Wyvernmire has allied with the most hated dragons in Europe, making Britannia a threat to neighbouring countries. The Bulgarians will occupy Britannia, with or without Wyvernmire’s consent, and we may have to make some alliances of our own. That is where the Coalition’s priorities will lie.’
‘So we could be looking at a full-blown world war?’ Marquis says.
‘It’s possible,’ Dr Seymour replies.
