Page 100 of Last of Her Name

I suddenly remember her name: Esfir, the Rubyati word forstar.

“Such is the burden of the visionary,” Volkov murmurs. “The masses never understand. They never see the long game, and inevitably turn on the hand that would save them.”

“Save them?” I echo in a rasp. “Save them fromwhat?”

He’sthe one killing people. He’s the one who would let millions die. He says he fears another tyrant will use the Prisms to target their own people, but can’t he see heisthat tyrant? Nothing could justify all the blood he spills. It doesn’t make sense. How does killing the Committee and destroying the Prismata make him a hero?

“You don’t understand yet,” he replies. “But you will soon, when the Firebird awakens and you learn what the Prismata really is.”

“Why are you like this?” I whisper. “What iswrongwith you?”

He turns to me slowly. I flinch when his eyes settle on me, for in them I see the depths of his depravity.

“All I want,” he says softly as he begins walking toward me, “all I have ever wanted, was to protect humanity. And to do that, Anya, dearest Anya, I needyou.”

“Stop!” I plead. “You’re mad! Don’t you see it? Don’t you see this is insane?”

He stops by Pol, putting a hand on the aeyla’s shoulder. My stomach clenches.

“Every moment that you hesitate, someone dies. These are the choices a ruler faces. These are the decisions your father had to make. And until you are strong enough to make that choice, you will never be granted the Firebird.”

“The emperor knew what you intended to do, didn’t he?” I whisper. “The Leonovs all knew. And they chose to die, rather than let you destroy the Prismata. They really did poison themselves.”

That must why he created the fake footage of him shooting the imperial family. The real recording would have exposed his true plan to the galaxy. Likely Emperor Pyotr died with the truth on his lips, cursing Volkov for his mad ideas. And the direktor knew he had to cover it up, or he’d be destroyed by his own followers. Nobody, Unionist or Loyalist, would stand for this plan.

Volkov’s eye tics; I’ve angered him, bringing up that day. “You are weak, Anya. You arebroken. And so I must fix you. Now, for the last time, will you accept your legacy?”

All I wanted was to run away from this war, to save Clio and disappear. I was terrified of what I would become if I accepted the truth: an orphan. A girl cursed by madness. A girl who can’t walk away from this fight. Now, no matter what I do, I become as monstrous as he is. No matter which way I go, the cost is too high.

I drop to my knees, my strength seeping away. I press my palms against the floor, the floor where sixteen years ago, the Leonov family sacrificed themselves to keep this man from destroying the galaxy.

No, not the Leonov family.

Myfamily.

Pyotr and Katarina, my parents. I force myself to think their names, to picture their faces. My sisters, Lena and Kira, and my brother, Yuri. They made this choice all those years ago, and they chose to die here, rather than to betray their people to this monstrous man.

It strikes me that the moment history names as Alexei Volkov’s greatest triumph, he must see as his greatest failure. After all his cleverness in overthrowing the Empire, the Leonovs still defeated him in the end, depriving him of the prize he truly sought. Volkov, who was always three steps ahead of everyone else, was outplayed at his own game.

He was the only person who ever beat me, Volkov said, the first time he challenged me at Triangulum.

A memory comes to me of my dad—my real dad, Teo Androva—so vivid it’s like he’s standing right beside me, his hands animated as he coaches me through the game.

What’s the first rule of Triangulum, Stacia?

“Time’s up,” Volkov says. He grips Pol by one of his horns and forces him to his knees, then draws his gun. Pol never once looks away from me, his gaze steady, but I can see his chest rising and falling as his breath quickens.

“Wait!” I cry, still on my knees, one hand raised. “Please, I just need one moment …”

If you can’t beat them, make them play byyourrules.

I frantically consider the pieces in play. What can I sacrifice? What can I use? What is my strength?

I look at my multicuff.

The transmitter in my hand.

There are twenty Prismic missiles aimed at Afka right now.