Page 113 of Last of Her Name

“Go,” I murmur. “Now!”

Opening my eyes, I see my entire body is alight with residual Prismic glow. I look like I’ve tattooed myself with phosphorescent ink, and now it burns beneath my skin. Mara and Pol are both staring.

“That’s incredible,” Pol murmurs.

“Go!” I repeat, gesturing at the controls.

Mara raises her eyebrows but accelerates. Moments from impact, I send a mental command shooting through the Prismic network. The shield flickers and parts just enough for us to shoot through it and into space beyond, then it reseals behind us. The rear cameras show the vityaze ships either veering away or crashing into the barrier, where they pop like firecrackers. I try not to think about the pilots inside. I tell myself they’re probably equipped to their elbows with emergency foam.

That, or I just toasted half a dozen human beings.

“More trouble,” Mara announces, and then she curses. “They’ve got a missile lock on us! It’s a Prismic warhead—we can’t dodge that!”

It might be one of the very same missiles Volkov wanted me to fire at Afka. I’ve seen videos of those things detonating—they could take out an entire astronika. We’re helpless against something that size. Riyan and Natalya rush onto the deck.

“Can we warp?” Riyan asks, watching the blip on the defense screen, which shows an angry red bullet streaking toward us. We’re pushing through space at full thrust, all the boosters hot, but we’ll never outrun that missile—it’s charged by probably a dozen or more Prisms.

Mara shakes her head. “The engine’s not cool enough. It needs forty minutes.”

“We’ll be dead in fortyseconds!” says Pol.

I clutch the control board, cold horror rushing through me. There’s nothing we can do. TheValentinaisn’t built for battle. We have no defenses, no way of dodging or diverting the missile. Alarms scream all across the board, lights strobing in warning.IMPACT IMMINENTflashes on every screen. In desperation, I try to find the missile through the Prism network, but either I’m too blocked by panic or I’ve already pushed myself beyond my limits, because when I close my eyes, all I can make out are sharp bursts of gold light, like fireworks behind my eyelids. They send splinters of pain through my skull. With a hiss, I blink and turn to the tensors.

“Riyan! What do we do?”

We stare at each other, and for a terrible heartbeat, I know we will die. That these are the last breaths I will take. That the last thing I will see will be Riyan’s dark eyes filled with panic.

Then Natalya puts her hand on her brother’s arm. “I’m still too weak, Ri, especially after breaking open that prison. But you can do this.”

He looks at her. “Nat. No.”

She puts her hands on his shoulders; they’re of a height, but still, at that moment it’s clear she’s the older sibling, her eyes steady on his. The red emergency lights strobe across their faces. “Riyan. I know how much respect you have for tensor law, but right now, I need you to break free. I need you tolose control.”

Pol, Mara, and I stare at them helplessly as the missile closes in.

Thirty seconds to impact.

For a heartbeat, Riyan’s eyes are torn. Then he turns and spreads his arms.

“Step back,” he says through gritted teeth, and even before we’ve complied, he begins to tessellate. Natalya watches him with glinting eyes, her hands in fists at her sides, as if she’s willing him strength.

“Turn the ships around,” she says to Mara. “Fast. We need to face it.”

Mara looks skeptical but does as Natalya says. My stomach tumbles as she engages all the starboard thrusters, slowing and turning as the same time. It’s an impressive bit of flying.

“He can turn the missile away?” I ask Natalya.

“No. It’s moving too fast. But he can dothis.”

Bewildered, I turn and peer through the diamantglass screen that curves around the control deck. Alexandrine fills nearly the whole width of the view, with the palace like a bright silver toy suspended in orbit. I can’t see the missile yet, and know I likely won’t get the chance—by the time it’s close enough to be seen, it will be too late.

The ship sensors warn of impact in twelve seconds.

A pained cry slips from Riyan. Alarmed, I glance up and see his face is masked in black lines, and his irises glint like silver plates. His teeth are ground together, lips peeled back, his arms roped with veins and tendons straining.

The space in front of theValentinaripples.

I grab hold of a chair as a shock wave rocks the ship, my heart in my throat. I can’t take my eyes off the spreading dark knot in front of us, a writhing, snapping black storm cloud shot through with bursts of light.