Page 122 of Last of Her Name

“Oh,” Mom breathes. “Oh. Sweetheart, is this true?”

I feel suddenly claustrophobic in my tight space suit. My fingers itch to yank off the helmet. “I’m not insane. None of the Leonovs were. If you’ll just listen, I can explain everything!”

“So we had the Firebird all along,” Dad whispers. “The key to the whole war was running around our vineyard, playing in the mud, and we had no idea.”

I look away, unable to stomach even the sight of him right now. My own parents never saw me as anything more than a means to an end.

I’m forced to stand in silence while Mara tells them everything. She hands over the secrets I’d entrusted to her without a second thought, a soldier reporting to her superior in a flat, mechanical tone. She doesn’t even feel guilty for it. All our conversations she repeats back to Zhar in a clipped voice, wrung dry of emotion. Watching her betray me is like feeling a knife slide into my gut; the final twist comes when she tells Zhar how she pretended to forgive me for her father’s death. Her eyes flicker to me then, her disciplined facade fracturing just enough for me to see the bitter anger in his eyes. Shealwaysblamed me. All this time, she’s been hiding her true feelings, playing at being my friend.

Pol has gone absolutely still, watching Mara with violence in his eyes. I find myself grateful they handcuffed him. I’m not sure he wouldn’t attack her and get himself shot—again—in the process.

“Stars,” Zhar murmurs. “No wonder they were so secretive about the Firebird. All along,theywere the greatest weapons in the galaxy.”

“It’s not what you think,” I whisper. “I’m not a weapon. That’s not thepointof the Firebird. That thing”—I point at the crystal—“it’salive. Don’t you see? The Leonovs protected the Prismata, and in return, it gave us Prisms to power our ships and cities. It’s a living creature, and it’s my job to keep it safe.”

“Alive?” My mom glances at the Prismata through window, her brow furrowing.

I clench my fists in frustration; how can I make them believe something they cannot see or hear or experience? How can I make them understand the Prismata isn’t something to be used for death, but for life? They’re making the same mistake the Leonovs made, and that led to the war that killed millions. This time, it’s going to be worse. Even my parents don’t understand.

I thought I’d come here to protect the Prismata from Volkov, not my ownfamily. How can the people I love most be so blind? How do I make them see that they’re fighting for all the wrong things, and that there can be a better way?

“Commander!” interrupts a Loyalist soldier, a hand pressed to his comm patch. “Word from our people in the palace. Volkov departed hours ago, destination unknown, but he’s taken the majority of the Union fleet with him.”

My head jerks up. “He wants to destroy the Prismata. That’s why he overthrew the Empire in the first place—to get to it! He has the coordinates, and he’s cominghere.”

Zhar stares at me, then slowly nods. “He once told me, back when he was only thinking of revolting, that the Leonovs were never the real threat. That the galaxy was controlled by something terrible and unknowable.”

“Volkov thinks it will wipe out humanity. But Iknowit, and it wouldn’t do that.”

“So,” she says, “if your job is to protect it, then protect it. The Leonovs used the Prismata to destroy all threats. So can you. We stick to our original plan.”

She wants me to blow up Volkov’s fleet the way Pyotr Leonov blew up everyone on Emerault’s moon. All I’d have to do is connect to the network of Prismic energy all around me and, well,ask. The same way I flew theValentinaand turned on the systems in this old station. The Union fleet will be bristling with Prisms. One word, onethoughtfrom me could obliterate them in a moment. The Prismata would be safe then, and the war would be over. We’d have control of the galaxy. I’d become an empress. My family would be reunited. I could save anyone I wanted, and all it would take is the sacrifice of a couple thousand Unionist soldiers. Soldiers who would shoot me on sight.

But can I do that? Can I just wipe out Volkov and all the people on his ships? They might be enemy soldiers, but most of them are still innocent people with families and homes and dreams. Killing them would make me just like Emperor Pyotr or Alexei Volkov, using people like game pieces, discarding the ones I don’t like with ruthless efficiency.

Yet again, I’m being asked to make a choice I cannot make.

But this time, I don’t think I can open my multicuff and tinker my way out of it.

Theremustbe another way. There must be an answer to all this, a path to peace. If I wipe out Volkov’s fleet, then I’m just another tyrant, exploiting power I don’t deserve. More will rise up in the direktor’s place, and the killing and fighting will go on and on. We won’t have to worry about the Prismata destroying us. We’ll destroy ourselves.

But what can Ido?

I’m tired of being told which path I should follow. Even my parents can’t help me, and I’m not sure I need them to anymore.

I’m not the helpless girl who was dragged from her home three months ago.

I am the Firebird, and I was born to guard an ancient being at the edge of the universe.

I’m a girl who loves her best friend, enough to risk everything.

I think of her now: the most peaceful person I know, the one who could always be counted on to see the best path. The person I trust more than anyone else in the galaxy, who always saw the best in everyone.

I have to talk to Clio.

Everyone around me is still arguing about what to do. Yelling at one another, at me. Pol and my parents and Zhar and Mara—it’s chaos. Riyan starts to rouse, and when he sees Zhar, his eyes open wide and he begins struggling. The air around him pops and crackles as he tries and fails to tessellate.

Sandwiched between Zhar and my parents, I can’t get to any control consoles. I have no way of reaching the Prism current.