Page 103 of Last of Her Name

“My name is Anya Petrovna Leonova.” For the first time, the truth of those words sinks into my heart and takes root. “I am the heir to the Crescent Throne and the Guardian of the Jewels.”

Ninety-five percent.

“I am the Firebird Princess and the last of my name.”

Ninety-nine.

“And I willdestroyyou.”

Calibration complete.

I’m in.

I look up, face flushed with triumph, and raise the transmitter, hitting a button to transfer the data on the screen to a hologram. The words shine between us:

Self-destruct activated. Awaiting command to proceed.

Volkov’s face goes white. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Alexei, if there’s one thing you need to know about me, it’s that Ialwayspush the red button.”

He says nothing, just waits, while behind him, Pol and Riyan and Mara stare at me as if I’m a stranger. I have to ignore them for now and focus totally on the direktor. I can’t trust him for a minute.

“Let me tell you how this will go,” I say. “You let me and my friends walk out of here, or I’ll blow up every missile in your armory and take this whole palace—”

I cut off with a cry as pain bursts in my head.

I stagger, grabbing the throne for support, pressing the heel of my hand to my temple. I drop the transmitter with a clatter. My thoughts speed and blur, like my brain is shifting into warp. With a gasp, I double over. I hear Pol cry my name, and I raise a hand to stop him from running to my side. I can’t see for the blinding white light that seems to surround me.

I can just barely make out the vityazes with their guns pointed at me as they begin to close in. Then I have to shut my eyes and grind my teeth together, my knees weakening beneath the onslaught of pain and noise in my skull.

Did they shoot me?

Am I dying?

Will they kill Pol and Riyan and Mara next?

Squeezing my eyes open, I search for them—only to catch my reflection in the glass wall of the Solariat.

I freeze.

There in the glass I see a girl wearing the cosmos for a gown, and around her head burns a crown of crimson light, two fiery wings encircling her brow. The Firebird Crown, dropping sparking feathers of light that burst like embers on the floor, the floor stained with the blood of both my enemies and my ancestors.

I raise shaking fingers to my head but feel nothing. The crown is a hologram, fueled by raw energy that streams in glittering ribbons from the Prism above. I’m caught up in the glow, trapped in a terrible spotlight. The energy doesn’t just pour from the crystal above; it streams from every light in the room, from Volkov’s tabletka, from the guns clipped to the vityaze’s belts, from every scanner and wire and screen in the room, even from the devices in the pockets of the dead Committee members. Waves of Prismic energy rush to sweep around me and gather around my brow, burning so brightly that the vityazes and my friends alike are forced to turn away, raising their hands against the shine.

I curl over, lifting my hands to my face, overwhelmed by the pain in my skull. My thoughts are like a flash flood, too many and too quick to be understood. I stagger under the onslaught. The only rational words in my mind aren’t mine at all but a strange, cold, female voice deep in my subconscious, stating robotically:

Firebird code activated.

Identity confirmed: Anya Petrovna Leonova.

Time inactive: Sixteen years, eight months, six days.

Welcome back, Princess.

The direktor slips an arm around me, and I’m too distracted by the rushing chaos in my skull to fight him off. He pulls me up, away from the throne, one of his hands closing around mine, and his voice is a triumphant hiss in my ear.

“Finally.”His fingers snake around my jaw, locking my eyes against his. “The Firebird awakens.”