I push myself on to my knees and hold the hilt of the sword in both hands. Then I angle the length of the blade against the skin and press hard. Red blood spills from the cut. Chumana doesn’t move. I slice deeper. Once I feel the edge of the box against the blade, I slice down beneath it, cutting through the flesh like a knife through butter. Chumana lets out a loud hiss as I catch the bloody box in my left hand.
Donotdrop it.
I fling the blade to the floor and slide down Chumana’s back slowly, my eyes never leaving the detonator. On the desk chair is a soft, moth-bitten cushion and I set the detonator on top of it carefully. I breathe and turn towards Chumana with a smug smile. Her eyes open and settle on me. I wait. I have just freed a criminal dragon who protested the Peace Agreement held between my species and her own. What’s to say she’ll keep her end of the deal?
‘Why do you wish to burn Wyvernmire’s office?’
‘It contains evidence that my parents are rebels,’ I reply. ‘I need it gone.’
The whiskers on Chumana’s snout twitch. She bows her head.
‘Then consider it gone, human girl.’
Her wings unfold suddenly, knocking bookcases over like dominoes. The edges are tipped with spikes and as strong as bone, but the membrane looks paper-thin and feather-light.
‘Chumana,’ I say suddenly. ‘What’s your maxim?’
If she hears me, she doesn’t show it. I run behind her as she crashes out on to the terrace and, without warning, jolts forward and up into the air. Her talons hit the parapet walls, sending them crumbling to the ground below with a boom that echoes across campus. She nosedives, her body fighting for balance.
Chumana hovers mid-air, then flies.
I laugh, adrenaline pumping through my body as I watch the dragon shrink into the distance, the shape of her outlined by stars. How long has it been since she last flew? The thought sobers me.
I wipe my bloody hands on my trousers and ride the lift downstairs. I need to be back in Fitzrovia by dawn, but that leaves me enough time to see Chumana keep her side of the deal with my own eyes. Wyvernmire isn’t in her office, so she won’t be harmed. Then, with the evidence of my family’s crimes destroyed, I’ll pick up Ursa from Sophie’s and wait for them all at home.
I hop back over the wall and walk through the darkness towards Westminster with a soaring heart.
*
By the time I turn on to Downing Street, rain is plummeting from the sky. I crouch in the shadows, keeping to the opposite side of the road as I watch the Guardians patrolling outside Number 10. Rain drips through my hair and down the back of my neck and I shiver. The sky is full of dark clouds. There is still no sign of Chumana.
She’s not coming.
I stare at the Guardians as rain pools in the grass beneathmy shoes. I play with the frayed red string round my wrist, the friendship bracelet Sophie gave me, the one I’ve never been able to bring myself to cut off.
She lied.
I try to distract myself by guessing Chumana’s maxim. All dragons have one, a motto they choose for themselves, usually in Latin. A maxim is the one constant they live by. Ten minutes later, my clothes are soaked through and she still isn’t here. I sink back on my heels and let out a shaky breath. The sun will rise soon and the evidence of my family’s rebellion will be moved again, no doubt to somewhere more secure. I swallow a lump in my throat. I’ve spent the whole night out here for nothing. I can’t save them.
Movement catches my eye. A shadow is gliding through the night. Chumana flies silently over 10 Downing Street and back again, her huge body like a dark paper cutout against the sky. The Guardians continue their patrol, oblivious. Then flames bloom from the clouds. The left side of the building catches alight first and the Guardians jump back in alarm. As they shout for backup and reach for their weapons, Chumana sends more fire licking up the right side. I crouch lower behind the bushes as Guardians come running from several directions, firing shots into the air. Black smoke billows into the sky and the orange flames climb higher and higher, as if reaching for the rain. An alarm sounds and Chumana disappears.
There’s a crash as windowpanes burst and people begin rushing from the building. Somewhere far away, a fire engine wails. I once heard that Wyvernmire’s ancestors were hunters of wyverns. It’s said she has the wyvern heads mounted onher office walls, as a reminder of that dark time when dragons and humans preyed on each other mercilessly. I wonder if they’re burning, too. I cough as the smoke fills the bushes I’m hiding in.
Time to go.
Guardians and staff fill the street, fleeing the flames that are spreading at an alarming speed. I saw my fair share of dragonfire during the war, but I forgot how vicious it is.
Please don’t let anyone be hurt.
In any case, the incriminating papers have surely burned to ash. I stand up and back away—
A cold hand slides round my neck.
I try to shout as I’m dragged backwards, but my breath is crushed in my throat. Pain shoots down my arm as my fist connects with a hard Guardian helmet and the buildings around me seem to spin. The Guardian throws me into the back of a van.
‘You’re under arrest,’ he says as he cuffs my hands. ‘Anything you say from this moment forward could be used against you in court.’
No, no, no.
