A screech like a motorcar braking slices through the air and a wave of heat shoots by me. Chumana’s huge frame skims the top of my head as she lands with a snarl, her wings outstretched in front of me like a shield. Goranov is forced to double back and circle above us and as she reaches up her neck to snap at him, she lets out a deafening cry.
‘Touch her and you’ll burn,’ she spits.
I catch a glimpse of Ralph’s face, wincing as he struggles to keep his grasp on the Speerspitze. Goranov aims another blast of fire at me and Chumana deflects it with her tail.
‘Son of a bitch,’ I hear her mutter in Slavidraneishá.
She breathes her own cloud of fire, engulfing Goranov’s wing. The edges singe, the flames dangerously close to Ralph, and Goranov is forced to plummet towards the sea to douse them.
‘I cannot protect you here,’ Chumana says, turning to me. ‘You will have to fly.’
I nod, looking for Hollingsworth, but she’s gone. I climbChumana’s tail, using the spikes to pull myself upwards and on to her back. My feet find the familiar holds between her scales and as I lie flat against her body, my face flush on her hot skin, I’m reminded of the very first time.
‘You should have killed Krasimir!’ I shout.
‘And let Goranov killyou?’ she snarls.
We lift into the air. Chumana flies across the sea, scouting Goranov and Ralph from above. The wind steals the breath from me and makes my eyes water. Goranov is still flying erratically, lopsided, and he only picks up speed when he realises we are above him.
‘What’s wrong with him?’ I scream.
We swerve sideways, Chumana on Goranov’s tail. ‘He has not drunk his fill,’ she says.
I look down at the beach and my heart sinks. Krasimir is fighting on land, his teeth sunk into the back of another dragon’s neck. I see Soresten and Addax attacking him from above, but his tail swipes Addax from the air, crushing her against the high cliffs.
‘No!’
Then I see Hollingsworth, running down the hillside towards the beach. What happened back there? Who was she shouting at to take me? Chumana . . . or Goranov? Further along the shore, Marquis, Freddie and Serena are still fighting alongside Wyvernmire’s Guardians and a shot brings another dragon down into the sea with a crash. Marquis is grinning, wielding the Speerspitze like he was born to it. This is what he wanted, where he’s felt he should be ever since those protests broke out in Fitzroy Square in what feels like alifetime ago. Marquis always knew which side he should be on and suddenly here he is, a trained rebel, making a difference in this war. And hereIam, sitting between Chumana’s wings as she fights, unable to help her. I came to this island thinking I,the face of the rebellion, was going to save everyone. But now, without my languages, without any sort of training, all I can do is hope to be saved.
‘Where is Atlas—’ I begin, but the breath is snatched from my lungs.
The cliffs fly by beneath us, each grey rock dotted with fire. Battle writhes across Canna’s green arms and spills on to its beaches. Chumana’s body seems to lengthen as she tucks in her wings and flies back along the coast, following Goranov’s volatile path through the sky. She shoots towards the hillside, riding the wind like an arrow about to hit its mark. There is Atlas on the top of Compass Hill. Panic fills me. What is he doing up there? He must be looking for me. I grip Chumana with my thighs as she snaps at Goranov’s tail, my hands frozen cold around her spikes. Goranov swings around, hurtling back towards the battle again.
‘He knows he can’t fight you,’ I shout at Chumana. ‘He wants you to tire, to land.’
Chumana laughs. ‘I will land when I’m dead. But not while Bulgaria subjugates our skies.’
Goranov is dropping lower, shuddering mid-air.
‘Up!’ I hear Ralph scream as Goranov barrels through several warring dragons, then swoops upwards again, this time sluggishly slow. Chumana lets out a roar as she follows him and I lose sight of Atlas, but see more movement acrossneighbouring hills – people on horseback. Ruth sends her horse cantering down towards the beach, narrowly missing the snapping of jaws as she stoops to pick up an injured rebel. Gideon rides a second horse, Sophie behind him. I take a deep breath.
For now, everyone I love is still alive.
My eyes settle on the scars between Chumana’s wings from where I cut two detonators out of her skin. Who was the girl who set a criminal dragon free from that library? I’m not her any more. And I’m not the girl who ventured into the wyvern tunnels, either.
As the sound of battle rings around me, the glacial wind strips me of everything else. My education, my reputation, every qualification and expectation and birch-rod scar. I’m not a Draconic translator or a codebreaker or the face of the rebellion.
Right now, flying free with Chumana, I’m a clean slate. As new as the day I took my first breath.
There’s a jolt as Chumana’s jaw closes on Goranov’s haunch. His body curves round to retaliate as he snaps at her front legs, his yellow eyes suddenly on me.
‘You have lost, brasstongue,’ he snarls.
‘She is no brasstongue, Goranov,’ Chumana hisses. ‘She is Vivien Featherswallow.’
Chumana pronounces the words with such finality, as if there is nothing more to me than my name. It feels terrifyingly ordinary. Mediocre.
Liberating.
