‘The Prime Minister will hurt the rebels any way she can,’ he says grimly.
I stare at Serena’s back. She failed her Examination and refused to marry the First Class man her parents found for her, so they sent her to Bletchley Park. She won’t even have had the chance to tell them goodbye.
A flock of tiny birds twist and twirl above our heads, basking in the last of the day’s light.
‘They come back every spring, but they’re late this year,’ I hear Gideon tell Marquis.
I see the birds’ forked tails and know what they are.
‘Only you could bring the swallows back,’ Atlas says softly.
My heart skips as he takes my hand, not to pull me out of the way of a dragon or a Guardian of Peace, but just because he wants to. We trail behind the others and my hand grows hot in his.
‘Can you believe we’re here?’ I say. ‘Chasing dragons together?’
He kisses me, his lips like warm silk. How many times did I dream of doing this again, back in the cold, dark sugar house? I remember how his voice used to haunt my dreams, how my body ached to be held by him one last time. I kiss him back,my arms encircling his neck as the swallows dive above us, and feel him tense.
‘What is it?’ I whisper.
He shakes his head, rubbing a hand across his face and giving me a weary smile. ‘Nothing.’
‘It’s the priesthood, isn’t it?’ I say. ‘It’s okay if you’re having doubts, Atlas. Back at Bletchley Park, when you said you weren’t sure about being a priest any more . . .’ My eyes drop to my boots. ‘People say all sorts of things when they’re on the brink of war.’
His hand cups my face and lifts my chin up. ‘I meant what I said.’ A flash of hesitation crosses his face. ‘But you’re right that it’s not a decision to take lightly. And I can’t be a priestandkiss you like I did back at Jasper’s camp.’
I blush at the memory. I’m sure he mentioned it to lighten the mood, but I don’t even try to force a smile. I just got Atlas back and now something is threatening to take him awayagain. Up ahead, the others have stopped walking. Beyond them is a field, surrounded by green hills. Gideon drops to the ground and I see what he’s hiding from.
Eight large dragons.
‘Oh,’ I breathe as Atlas goes still.
Marquis is frozen to the spot. He glances back at us, eyes wide with panic. There’s nothing but a tree between us and them.
‘Go back,’ I squeak. ‘Go—’
‘No,’ Atlas whispers. ‘They’ll see us.’
‘Then to that tree,’ I say, adrenaline tensing every muscle in my body.
I have to force myself not to run. The time it takes to cross the space left between us and the tree feels like an eternity. We reach the others and I press myself up against the trunk, breathing as quietly as I can.
‘What are they doing?’ Serena whispers.
There are three Western Drakes, two Sand Dragons, two Ddraig Gochs and a Silver Drake. We’re so close I can see the gleam of their scales in the bronze twilight.
‘Ignacia continues to hide away,’ the Silver Drake says in Wyrmerian. ‘Between ourselves, the rebels and the Bulgarians, we have burned London to the ground. And still she has not taken flight.’
He’s a young male, probably no more than fifty years old.
‘Her Majesty is biding her time,’ growls one of the Ddraig Gochs. ‘No alliance will be amenable to her.’
‘That is because she wants true peace,’ a Sand Dragon snarls. ‘And no one in this war can offer it to her.’
‘Not true,’ I say under my breath. ‘The rebels want peace.’
‘Not the kind she’s looking for,’ Gideon says.
I glance at him. I didn’t know he spoke Wyrmerian.
