A shadow falls across us, blocking out the sun. Horror prickles at my scalp. The dragon’s belly is a bright yellow and dripping with water. Its wings span the entire clifftop, the soft undersides a deep brown. It shudders mid-air and flames fill the sky. Atlas’s hand grabs mine and I feel the heat scorch my skin as we run towards the entrance of Ruth’s tunnel system, our footsteps hammering the dirt as the mass of girls carries us along. I’m aware of Marquis and Serena beside me, but I don’t know where Gideon is. And what of the girls downon the beach? My head spins as we reach the cliff face and a scream fills my ears. I look over my shoulder. The dragon is flying low behind us, its head so close it blocks out my view of the sea. Long, fine tendrils sprout out of its nose – a Sand Dragon. And it’s found its prey. A lone girl, her face red and her sheepskin singed. She’s still running up the cliff from the beach, but as her eyes meet mine she slows and reaches for something around her neck. A pouch, the same as the ones worn by the kids at Jasper’s camp. Her fingers tease it open and she wrenches her head back, then pours the contents into her mouth.
I stop.
The dragons jaws open behind her and—
Its left eye explodes in a spray of blood and tissue. Agonised screeches echo across the clifftop as the dragon rolls mid-flight. I see a bolt drop to the ground.
‘Viv!’ Atlas screams.
Behind him is the entrance in the cliff face, the entrance to safety. Ruth is standing there, crossbow in hand. She shoots a second bolt. The dragon drops below the cliff edge, disappearing from view. At the same time, Atlas grabs me by my coat and pulls me into the dark.
We wait silently, the only sound the distant calling of seagulls.
‘Is it gone?’ I whisper.
I peer out from behind Ruth.
‘It’s gone,’ she says.
Slowly, she puts her crossbow down and walks towards the girl who was almost eaten. She has sunk to the ground,her shoulders heaving with sobs. I watch as Ruth lays a hand on her shoulder, a reassuring gesture. But then she jerks the girl backwards and sticks her fingers down her throat.
I recoil as Atlas swears.
‘What the—’
The girl retches, then vomits on to the grass. Ruth beckons for us to come out.
‘That wasn’t a Bulgarian dragon,’ Atlas says as girls crowd around, hugging and crooning over the dragon’s would-be prey.
‘No,’ Ruth replies. ‘We call him Sargo. He’s one of Ignacia’s and he likes the taste of us. ’Cept he’s out of practice.’
‘What was that you ate?’ I ask the girl, gesturing to the pouch around her neck.
‘Juniper berries,’ she says shakily.
‘Poison pouches,’ Ruth says. ‘A full one can kill a grown British dragon as swift as wind if ingested by its prey. Juniper ’ent toxic to humans but it’ll make us ill for several days. The pouches are meant as a deterrent. Lots of ’em have realised that killinguskillsthem, but Sargo isn’t the brightest spark.’
‘The pouches will only kill a British dragon?’
Ruth casts a nervous look at the sky. ‘They haven’t been working on the Bulgarians. They make ’em sick and confused, but they don’t kill ’em. I think they’re too big.’
A small pig, covered in coarse brown hair, digs at a root near my foot.
‘And those,’ I say. ‘Deterrents, too?’
Ruth nods. ‘It’s how we’ve survived so far. Most dragons will settle for pork if it means they don’t have to lie in wait for us.’
‘They’re the bait that keeps us safe,’ the other girl says. ‘Just like we keep the mainland safe.’
I feel a wave of revulsion for the secret clause in the Peace Agreement, for how Wyvernmire agreed to feed the children on Canna to Britannia’s dragons so that they wouldn’t be tempted to eat the rest of us.
‘Is that yours?’ Ruth asks.
She’s pointing to something glinting in the grass.
The loquisonus machine.
My hand reaches for the empty leather case. I must have dropped it when I was running. Marquis’s eyes darken when he sees it.
