‘It worked for a time,’ Rushby says, unbothered by my stunned silence. ‘But now the buggers are finding ways to survive.’ He snorts. ‘Just imagine: children as young as seven getting the best of dragons.’
‘Predators fooled by prey,’ Iris says with a sigh.
‘But … but how is that allowed?’ I say.
‘It’s in the Peace Agreement, darling!’ Penelope says. ‘A clause added to appease the dragons for having to share their skies with our planes.’
I set my glass down as the room swims in front of me. The protest in Fitzrovia flashes through my mind, the blood on my portfolio, the dead girl’s face. My stomach churns. I can almost hear the protestors’ voices screaming above the quiver of the violins.
The Peace Agreement is corrupt!
‘Now look, you’ve frightened her,’ Iris says.
Dr Seymour reaches a hand out to me, but I take a step backwards, bumping into someone. Lips press against my ear.
‘Let’s get some air, shall we?’ Atlas says.
He steers me across the room and out into the hallway, closing the door on the noise behind us. My voice explodes into the silence of the corridor.
‘An island full of children!’ I say. ‘Sent to be food for dragons. The Earl of Fife just told me about it. And he was laughing!’
Owen, guarding the door, turns away as if he can’t hear us.
‘The whole point of the Peace Agreement is that humans and dragons can’t kill each other,’ I say, pacing the floor.
My cheeks are on fire and I feel like I might be sick if I stand still.
‘But if there’s a clause, it means Wyvernmire knows about it. That she condones it! And Dr Seymour …’ I whip round to stare at the closed ballroom door. ‘Shemust know, too.’
Atlas is watching me, his hands in his pockets.
I choke on my words. ‘Didyouknow?’
‘Yes,’ he says quietly. ‘But only because I’ve heard the rumours. The clause isn’t included in the version of the Peace Agreement available to the public – it’s only written in the government’s copies.’
‘It’s there in black and white, is it?’ I say furiously. ‘Dragons are allowed to eat human children in exchange for sharing the sky?’
Atlas shakes his head. ‘I think it says something along the lines of:At the discretion of the government, extraordinary hunting rights will be granted to the dragons of Britannia on the Isle of Canna only.’
‘Extraordinary hunting rights,’ I scoff. ‘Now that’s a code if ever I heard one.’
He smothers a smile.
‘It’s not funny!’ I say. ‘Atlas, this means that the rebels are right on one thing …’ My head spins. ‘The Peace Agreementiscorrupt. I thought dragons were good—’
‘It’s not all dragons,’ Atlas says. ‘The Coalition wantstruepeace between the species, not this self-serving fake agreement invented by the elite.’
He’s been radicalised, I realise. His mind filled with the rebels’ lies.
‘It’s not peace the rebels want,’ I say. ‘It’s lawlessness.’
‘Come on,’ Atlas says, glancing at Owen. ‘Let’s go somewhere more private.’
I nod and follow him down the hall. My head aches and the champagne has left a dry tang in my mouth. What would have happened to me after I set Chumana free if Wyvernmire hadn’t offered me a job at Bletchley? Would I have been sent to Canna like a pig to slaughter? We wander through the unexplored wing whose walls are lined with old portraits and tapestries.
‘Look at the Class System,’ I say, determined to prove him wrong. ‘It mightseemstrict, but its opportunity for promotion allows for the self-improvement of the British people. Except the rebels aren’t interested in that. Instead, they’ve declared war and they’re killing innocent people.’
Atlas sighs. ‘The Coalition didn’t have a choice. Wyvernmire has been spreading propaganda about them for years, and just look who she has on her side. The German Minister for Defence – a right-wing nationalist – the last Prince of Bulgaria – proudly pro-dragon rings – and some old English lords who would rather kill criminalkids than rewrite the Peace Agreement.’
