‘And now our wyvernlings have paid the price!’
Aodahn casts an exhausted look in our direction. He dreamed of an end to the wyverns’ concealment, but not like this. I begin to cry. The sight of him is too much devastation to bear.
‘Courage, dear one,’ I hear myself murmur.
I don’t think he hears me.
Cindra and Abelio’s snarling can be heard even after we have retreated into the forest. Serena weeps quietly as we walk and I see Marquis reach for her hand.
‘How long were we underground for, do you reckon?’ he mutters.
‘No more than a week. We need to find Chumana,’ Atlas says again.
His eyes are red-rimmed and he’s holding my hand so tight it hurts.
Serena reaches for her radio and begins turning the dial. ‘We need an update on how the war has progressed.’
‘If Wyvernmire gassed the tunnels it’s because she knew we were in them,’ I say. ‘That means she’s still looking for me. And the loquisonus machine.’
‘Then she’s still wary of her own alliance with the Bolgoriths,’ Atlas says. ‘Which means she must be uncomfortable with the amount of power they’re wielding.’
A cheery voice crackles from the radio. ‘—and as the search for our rebel soldiers continues, Sandy and Drake would like to remind you that swallows always return to the nest. So, if our flighty Swallow can hear us now, then please, do us all a favour and give us a wave. We will repeat this message every hour.’
‘The rebels in London must think you’ve abandoned them, if Sandy and Drake are using their show to send you cryptic messages,’ Serena says. ‘What if Hollingsworth believes we’re dead?’
‘She couldn’t know the wyverns were living underground,’ I say. ‘So maybe she does.’
‘Chumana will spread the news that we’re okay, and she can tell us how many battles we’ve won and lost,’ Atlas says.
I cringe at the thought of seeing Chumana again. She saved me from Wyvernmire’s camp only for me to throw the ugliest of words in her face. And I have nothing but bad news to give her. Hollingsworth believed our victory depended on an alliance with the wyverns and now most of them will never want to see us again.
We walk back the way we came in silence. If I’d been able to translate Cindra’s writings, I might have won her favour before Wyvernmire gassed the tunnels. The wyverns would be flying into battle against the Bulgarian dragons, armed with whatever secret advantage Hollingsworth believes they have. My heart races as I watch the others climb over twisted tree roots. What kind of translator fails to translate a language she’s been studying for months? What is the point of me if I can’t use the one thing I’m good at to help us win the war?
We walk back through the valley in the pink sunrise. Birdsong keeps me from falling too deep into my thoughts, instilling a strange calm as my legs burn with a satisfying ache. We climb back up the hills and the physical effort and the birds and the fresh air soothe my senses. I had forgotten how bright the sunrise is.
A small gasp.
Serena has reached the top of the hill before me. I stride up after her and my stomach drops. Dead dragons litter the hilltop. Their huge bodies are still as we walk between them,each lying on a patch of blood-soaked earth. They are Western Drakes and Sand Dragons, Ddraig Gochs and Silver Drakes.
‘British dragons,’ Marquis croaks.
A piece of black cloth is tied round one of the dragons’ talons, the white swallow stained red. ‘Rebels,’ I say, blinking back tears.
We cross the rest of the hilltop in silence, occasionally glancing at each other in wordless horror as we walk past dragons missing a limb, or whose entrails are spilling out on to the ground. The smell of blood is metallic.
‘Krasimir’s gone rogue,’ Marquis says.
I shake my head. ‘He can’t have done this alone. If the rebels launched an attack on Canna, it means they have no other choice. The Bolgoriths aren’t biding their time any more.’
‘You mean you think they’ve overthrown Wyvernmire?’ Atlas says.
I nod, feeling sick. ‘Sending her Guardians to attack the wyvern tunnels must have been a last attempt at finding me and keeping a sense of control.’ I lay a hand on the cool scales of a Silver Drake. She’s young – too young to be dead. ‘But meanwhile, the Bulgarians were doing this.’
I jump as a loud groan sounds beside me. The Silver Drake moves her head and her huge eyes meet mine, pleading.
‘She’s alive!’ Marquis says, dropping to his knees beside the dragon. ‘We have to help her.’
My eyes flit to the huge gash in her stomach and I shake my head. It’s too late. I press my lips to her ear. ‘You fought bravely,’ I whisper in Harpentesa, the mother tongue of her species. ‘Rest now.’
