‘You’re a prisoner, are you not? Isn’t that what people here say, when something goes wrong?’
Her Slavic accent is strong, her pronunciation tentative and slow.
‘Commiserations, maybe,’ I say. ‘Condolences are for when someone has died.’
I immediately regret it. What if I anger her? The yellow canines protruding from the sides of her mouth are a clear indicator of what could happen if I do.
‘I thought you were a prisoner because you rebelled against your government,’ the Bolgorith says. ‘Am I wrong?’
I wonder how she knows I’m a prisoner.
‘No,’ I reply.
‘Then I am sure many of your own have died.’
I open my mouth and close it, then nod as Atlas’s still face fills my mind.
‘My condolences,’ she says again.
I stare at the old man, knee-deep in the water, as he climbs on to the boat and pulls the cord on the motor. It bursts into life with a whine.
‘I don’t know why we didn’t just fly to Canna,’ I mutter.
‘And risk attack from Eigg or the dragons of Rùm?’ the Bolgorith says. ‘Britannia’s dragons will bring down any plane that goes near their nesting space. Eggs need quiet, you know.’
‘Idoknow, actually,’ I retort.
I feel a sudden rush of anger at this invader, who has decided to lecture me on the practices of British dragons while collaborating in my arrest and kidnapping.
‘But,’ I say, ‘you’d think the government and its Bulgarian friends would have more resources at their disposal than a dismal motorboat.’
A low rumble sounds from the dragon’s throat. ‘The government possesses plenty of superior boats in Mallaig, but it is rebel territory now. It is the closest part of the mainland to Eigg, where the rebel headquarters are, so of course it is armed with both human weapons and dragons.’
I have never even heard of Mallaig.
‘You seem to know a lot for a dragon who only got here a few months ago,’ I say dryly.
It’s meant to be sarcasm, but the dragon’s mouth immediately stretches into a grin so wide it looks menacing. I almost stumble backwards in surprise. The Bulgarian Bolgorith is smiling.
‘Thank you,’ she says. ‘I did my research.’
It feels unnatural, comical even. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Chumana smile.
‘You know you’re not here for a friendly visit, don’t you?’ I say.
The Bolgorith snaps at a fly. ‘I was conscripted here at the orders of the Regal Krasimir, but I have my own reasons for coming to Britannia.’
I frown. Why is this dragon being so talkative? Bolgoriths are meant to be hostile and aggressive, and yet this one is as cordial as a diplomat.
‘What’s a regal?’
‘Bulgaria is divided up between the great dragon regals,’ she replies, her voice deep and warm. ‘They are the strongest, most respected dragons, those who glitter in the jewels that make up their vast hoards.’ She looks at me from beneath impossibly long eyelashes. ‘What is your name?’
Does she not realise that we are enemies? That she is part of a foreign army threatening to turn my country into a new Bulgaria? My eyes run along the length of her body, which is solid and strong, her scales slick and shiny without a single one missing. I doubt she has ever seen battle. From the shore, Wyvernmire beckons me towards the boat.
I don’t move. ‘Vivien,’ I reply. ‘What’s yours?’
‘Daria.’
