‘The Queen is reluctant to give up the secret privileges she has always enjoyed,’ says a scarred Western Drake in a husky voice. ‘She wants to keep her freedoms, her collusions, her feasting quota of human younglings.’
‘Then her peace does not extend to all,’ the Silver Drake says.
The two Ddraig Gochs let out bone-chilling roars.
‘Treason!’ one of them spits. ‘It was the humans that betrayed her Majesty, and now—’
A high-pitched screech pierces the air. It must be on high frequency because I am certain I feel it in my body, in my bones. An immense dragon appears in the sky above the treetops, as black as dragonsmoke. Behind it, Bolgoriths in shades of black and red fly in formation.
‘Goranov?’ Serena whispers.
A sheer, boundless horror is building in my chest. This dragon is bigger than Goranov. I shake my head. ‘Krasimir.’
Goranov’s brother circles above, flying around the field as the other dragons stare up at it. Rabbits flee past us in the long grass. Only when one of the British dragons lets out a warning bellow does Krasimir begin his descent.
‘Run!’
Every instinct in my body recoils with Gideon’s scream. I grow hot with panic as I turn towards his petrified face. He’s going to get us seen.
‘Run, run!’ he screams again.
He sprints out from behind the tree and in my shock I almost follow. The Bulgarian regal is gliding closer. Gideon is going to die. My legs buckle.
But Krasimir approaches calmly, drifting through the air on wings like black sails. Gideon has disappeared into the undergrowth before Goranov’s brother even attempts to land. Krasimir must have seen him. His lack of interest is chilling.
‘What’s that on his body?’ Marquis croaks.
I stare, transfixed. ‘Jewels. Bulgarian dragons wear . . .’
I trail off. What I’m looking at doesn’t resemble a jewel. Krasimir is almost to the ground, and I can see it’s not a precious stone embedded in his chest. It’s something else. Ipress my hand to my mouth. The scales on Krasimir’s chest have been sliced away and replaced with iron rings that hold the severed talon of a dragon and a human foot. Swinging from another is a chain strung with pointed, yellow canines.
And several of his spikes are adorned with the empty poison pouches of Canna’s children.
Marquis sinks down next to me. ‘See those woods over there?’
I can’t tear my eyes from Krasimir, but I hear the anguish in my cousin’s voice.
‘Run towards them and don’t look back.’
But I can no longer control my limbs. I sway in front of the gruesome display as Krasimir extends his talons. Flames erupt from the dragons’ mouths as they turn to face their attacker, but he doesn’t land. Instead Krasimir swerves abruptly, re-angling so that he can strike from behind. His fangs bite through the head of the Silver Drake. It doesn’t even scream. The other dragons rise in retaliation, a terrible roaring filling the air. Krasimir’s army stays at a distance as he turns to face them. The two Sand Dragons attack, but the first is struck from the air with a crack by Krasimir’s tail. The second jerks as Krasimir’s jaws close around its foreleg and dislocate its shoulder and as the other dragons advance, he ploughs through them as if they were as light as birds.
I turn to face the others, my movements sluggish like I’ve been drugged. All the dragons are dead, but Krasimir doesn’t stop. He turns, blood dripping from his mouth like some awful caricature monster, and lunges for a Bolgorith. They fight for what feels like seconds until he snaps its neck,then advances on the others like a rabid dog.
‘He’s . . . he’s killing his own troops?’ Serena says.
‘Run,’ Atlas cries. ‘Now!’
I run, so terrified that my neck won’t turn so I can look over my shoulder. Krasimir could be just behind me, about to sink his talons into my back, but there’s no room in my mind to hold the thought. Everything in me is screaming at me to survive.
We find Gideon in a nearby graveyard, vomiting up the contents of his poison pouch. No one talks as we sit among the headstones beneath the trailing leaves of a weeping willow.
‘I heard rumours about him being insane,’ I say into the approaching dark.
‘It was like he couldn’t be stopped, once he’d tasted blood,’ Atlas says grimly.
‘I bet there are more like him,’ Marquis says. ‘There would have to be, to make the Bolgoriths capable of massacring their own humans. Perhaps they’re all insane.’
A knot of anxiety twists in my stomach. Even if we find the wyverns – even if I can communicate with them – how can they possibly defeat the Bolgoriths? And what will happen to Britannia if they don’t?
