‘You can’t keep us here. Your guards are gone, you’ve lost all your maps and all your weird cog-machines. You’ve got what you stand up in, and that’s even less than me.’

‘You thought you’d beaten me on the mountain, and then in the tower, and now, here. You’re wrong. You’re so very wrong.’

Mary shrugged and rather than using her fists again, she turned away. ‘It doesn’t matter what you think, I don’t have to do this any more. We’ve won the right to walk away from the crazy girl.’

‘Come back. Come back here. I order you.’

Mary raised her middle finger.

The air behind her puffed out, like something huge was suddenly present.

She knew what it was. She raised her hands and dragged the darkness out of the sky so that when she confronted the dragon, it had no idea of where she was. Its wounded wing dragged across the ground, the wing-tip claw scraping up the stones into a ridge. Mary should have been in plain sight; there was nothing sophisticated about her hiding, yet the dragon couldn’t see her. It turned its smooth scaled head this way and that, in darting movements, and it tasted the air with its forked tongue.

Mary stepped forward, reached up and took hold of the broken wing beyond the fracture. She gave it a tug, and found herself holding a pale, limp arm. Bell staggered and fell, barking her knees on the stones, putting her good hand down in amongst the shale. She retched and heaved. The pain had to be overwhelming.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Mary. She was, too. This brought her no pleasure, and though it was necessary, she felt ashamed for having to do it. ‘You have to stop.’

‘I will not.’ Bell hissed through clenched teeth. She tried to get up, shivering through the cold and pain. ‘I win. I win every time. I take what I want. I’m born to rule. This is my destiny. I decide what happens, not some grubby half-caste whore.’

Mary spun Bell around so she was facing the lake again and, letting go of the arm, she shoved her hands into the woman’s back. She stumbled forward and into the water, the splash closing over her head before she half-heartedly raised herself again.

Mary walked into the water after her, and kicked her backside hard enough to send her sprawling again.

‘Is that it? You can’t stand being beaten by some common street-kid? If I talked posh and was dripping with diamonds, it wouldn’t be so bad? You think I should be kissing your arse instead of kicking it? Or are you just fucking nuts because you know you should have stayed in London and told your parents to fuck off? When did it happen? Before or after the wedding?’