‘I’m so sorry to have to ask this of you, Vivien,’ she says softly. ‘To leave your family and live among Bolgoriths is no easy fate.’
‘No easy fate?’ Marquis snarls. ‘You call having your blood sucked by a twenty-foot reptileno easy fate?’
‘The Swallow will not be harmed,’ Hollingsworth says sharply. ‘I made sure of it. She will remain fed and healthy, dignified and courageous. She is of great value to the Regal Vasil, and not merely for her blood. She is what the Bolgoriths call a brasstongue. A speaker of many tongues. For the Bulgarians, who have been shunned by the rest of the world, she is an invaluable political pawn.’
I feel my eyes narrow. Is this still all I am? Hollingsworth’s Swallow, a bird to be caught in a snare? Goranov’s brasstongue, a translator in a gilded cage? Am I destined to live by other people’s definitions of me for the rest of my life?
‘And the same goes for any of the men or women who volunteer to go to Bulgaria with her, this year and every year after.’
Someone swears at Hollingsworth, a barrage of insults that land on deaf ears.
‘This is the price Britannia must pay to keep her loved ones safe! Ten humans per year, in exchange for financial compensation for their families.’
‘Only the Third Class need that,’ someone mutters. ‘So I guess they’re the ones who’ll be doing the paying.’
‘No one will be forced to go. And no children,’ Hollingsworth glances at Ruth, ‘will be permitted to volunteer.’
‘You’ll have Viv when hell freezes over,’ Atlas snarls. He looks to Cormac, the man who trained him to survive on Canna. ‘Are you going to let her get away with this?’
‘I don’t like it one bit, boy,’ Cormac replies. ‘But I’ve never seen an invasion like this. The Chancellor is acting for the greater good.’
‘You go, then!’ Serena shouts.
‘Dr Hollingsworth can go,’ Sophie snarls.
‘Oh, I intend to,’ Hollingsworth replies. ‘You didn’t think I was going to send Vivien alone? I will be one of this year’s sacrifices, too.’
The cave falls silent again.
‘I’ll volunteer,’ George Beecham says, stepping forward.‘I’m nineteen. Not a child.’
I shake my head, my eyes filling with tears. Surely this isn’t the only way?
A figure appears in the cave entrance.
It’s Wyvernmire, her face covered in soot and her eyes wide with panic. Immediately, the girls from Sanday surround her, their charred furs engulfing her like a black cloud.
‘How did you escape the Bolgoriths?’ I demand.
The Prime Minister looks at me, then at the rebels, and sways. ‘There was no guard.’
‘You’re of no value to them,’ Marquis says darkly. ‘I’m surprised you’re still alive.’
‘Not for long she won’t be,’ says Ruth. She steps towards Wyvernmire, her face so close that their noses almost touch. ‘Her name was Clemmie. She was thirteen years old and she’s dead because of you.’
I remember the dead child on the beach and catch Ruth’s eye. There’s a flash of a challenge, as if she’s daring me to interfere. But I have no intention of it. Footsteps sound as Jasper and Freddie join her, followed by what is left of their own groups.
‘Look at her!’ Ruth shouts. ‘This doe-eyed, trembling old lady is the woman who sent us here. She’s the reason we’ve all watched kids die. Why we had to make poison pouches. She let the Bulgarians in and fed Clemmie to them!’ Her voice cracks as more people gather round. ‘And now, this Hollingsworth woman wants to do the same thing. I say we kill ’em both.’
Atlas is no longer by my side. My gaze flits around thecave. He is standing just outside the cave entrance, the shape of him illuminated by the orange flames. He’s pointing to the sky, whispering to Cormac who is nodding as they follow the trajectory of a Bolgorith. I touch my necklace as I see him say something to two rebels. He points at their guns, then at the dragons outside, and the rebels are nodding, obeying his order to bring him their weapons. When he lifts his hand again I see the curve of each finger in the moonlight, hands that have held a gun, held a prayer, held me.
And something unfurls inside me. Everything he has done on this island was to save me, to save his country. Atlas never went to university, never won any awards or cracked any codes. He’smorethan what people wanted to make of him, more than a priest or a rebel; just like I’m more than a brasstongue or a symbolic bird. Chumana was right about that. I love him, but not for what he has achieved. It’swhohe is – a dragon-hearted boy whose lies were an act of devotion – that makes me want him.
So perhaps there’s still hope for me.
‘We, Canna’s children, are walking proof of Wyvernmire’s corruption,’ Ruth shouts, drawing my attention again. ‘Weare the secret clause in her Peace Agreement. And we will be her downfall.’ Her eyes flash. ‘This ’ent her island. It’s ours. And she’ll watch us take it back, you’ll see.’ She casts a look outside. ‘We don’t know how many dragons we have left, so it’s up to us to bring Krasimir down. He can’t fly high – we have that British Bolgorith to thank for that.’
I smile, knowing that Chumana would like this description of her.
