Chumana grunts. ‘Assimilation through language is an age-old tactic among humans. Perhaps this war will be fought with tongues rather than talons or teeth. It is why Rita Hollingsworth chose you as her Swallow.’
‘Her swallow?’ I say.
‘That is what she calls you. What the rebels call you.’ Chumana looks up again, her grin full of blood. ‘Don’t you like it?’
‘She wants me to be the face of the rebellion, but she doesn’t bother to tell me anything,’ I mutter. ‘She still hasn’t sent me to Canna. What’s the point of learning to speak the tongue of the Hebridean Wyverns if I’m never actually going to use it?’
‘So you assume you are ready to come face to face with a pack of wyverns?’ Chumana breathes.
‘I’ve read Clawtail’s descriptions of them, of their behaviour and culture and environment, and I can speak basic Cannair now, so—’
‘You forget that they are dragons, dragons with wings and teeth and a taste for flesh. And you are just a girl.’
‘Just a girl?’ I spit. ‘Why is it that everyone has forgotten what I did at Bletchley Park, what Atlas and I . . .’
I stop as the memories unfurl again, threatening to wrap their cold hands around my throat and choke me.
‘We could go to Canna together, couldn’t we?’ I continue. ‘We could fly there tonight. And if I can’t convince the wyverns to help us then maybeyoucan. They’ll recognise you as one of their own.’ I shrink beneath Chumana’s fiery gaze. She stares at me, no trace of her meal left except for some shining white bones and a red stain on the floor.
‘I will thank you,’ she snarls, ‘not to compare me to a wyvern. Obstinate, fickle, two-legged things.’
‘Ihave two legs,’ I say, swallowing the laugh in my throat. ‘Does that mean I’m obstinate and fickle?’
‘And yet,’ she says, ignoring me, ‘you would do well not to underestimate them. Wyverns are proud, prouder than any other species. They hoard knowledge like Bolgoriths hoard riches, as though they invented intelligence itself and should be rewarded for it. They hunt in packs, so swift and methodical that it is as if they are of one mind.’ Her eyes fall on my face and I feel my smile disappear. ‘You will not outsmart one, and you will not outrun one.’
‘What’s the difference between a wyvern and a dragon, apart from the number of legs?’
‘Wyverns lack the solitary nature of dragons,’ Chumana replies. ‘They live by no maxim. They are an excitable, unpredictable species and their bodies are smaller, more pliable than those of dragons. I have seen one pass through the narrowest of gaps in search of its prey. I suspectthat these particular wyverns—’
‘The Hebrideans,’ I say.
‘—will only be found if they want to be.’
‘Clawtail’s journal says the Hebridean Wyverns only speak one language. Did you know that?’
Chumana growls.
‘The only other species anywhere near as lazy about learning tongues are the Bulgarian Bolgoriths, and that’s only because they communicate largely in echolocation.’
‘Lazy. Such a compliment warms my heart,’ Chumana says.
‘You know I don’t mean you,’ I reply. ‘Hollingsworth says that Goranov’s army places troops in family groups because their strong emotional bond allows them to communicate effectively over long distances.’ I steal a glance at Chumana. ‘You were wise to tell us, you know. That the Koinamens is more than just language. You know I won’t try to translate it ever again.’
When she doesn’t reply, I push the pile of pamphlets Edward gave me towards her.
‘Will you deliver these for me? Tonight?’
She sniffs. ‘No one told me that living with you would involve becoming a giant dracovol.’
‘Well, you’re the most inconspicuous dragon-sized dracovol I know.’ I nod towards the silver piece of metal lying in the corner. Chumana begrudgingly sticks her snout under the crown and tosses it on to her head. With the silver peak between her eyes, she looks just like one of Wyvernmire’s dragons. I found it dented in the street in the aftermath of arebel attack and after dragging it back here, Chumana used her flame to weld it back into shape. I’m surprised Hollingsworth didn’t have one made for her, as it makes her night-time flights even less noticeable. Whether she likes it or not, Chumana is crucial to Hollingsworth, because only she can listen to the Bulgarians using her Koinamens. She can only understand their most simple calls, as she’s not bonded with any of them, but it’s enough to know where they’re stationing patrols or where they’ll attack next.
She takes the pamphlets in her mouth and lumbers over to the missing wall. I follow, the wind whipping my nightdress around my legs. I peer over the edge at the dark street below, then up into the starry sky. Chumana transfers the bundle to her talon.
‘Keep back,’ she growls. ‘Do you remember how to listen for a Bolgorith?’
‘Your wings beat slower,’ I say, nodding. ‘Two beats, not three.’
‘Good. Extinguish the lamp.’
