Page 132 of Last of Her Name

“I have what I promised,” I say, “and I offer it freely, under the terms of the Prismata Accords.”

I plug a data stick into the tabletka. When it clicks into place, the holo shifts into a revolving scarlet bird, the seal of the Leonovs.

“The Firebird code. It’s all there, from beginning to end.”

“According to the terms,” says the eeda queen, “we will now present our candidates for the office of Firebird.”

Each system puts forth two chosen ones, most of them young and brilliant, plucked from top universities across the Belt, of races both human and adapted. One thing’s for sure—each one is way more qualified than I am for this job. They bow to their leaders and approach me, solemn-faced. Forming a circle, they hold up data pods, and I transmit the code to each of them. It’s a symbolic gesture more than anything. Soon, they’ll undergo the months-long procedure that will graft the code to their DNA. By the end of the Alexandrine year, they’ll all be Firebirds. I won’t be alone anymore.

Ours is a symbiotic relationship—the races of humanity and the strange, living crystal from the edge of the galaxy. It powers our world, and in return, we give it our joys and sorrows, our anger and our love. I know now what we mean to the Prismata, how we saved it just as it saved us. We need it to survive, and it needs us so that it isn’t alone. Sometimes, in my dreams, I still feel the current of emotions rushing toward the Prismata, and glimpse the faces and moments and sensations the crystal had collected.

My part of the ceremony is almost done. The Firebird candidates return to their spots behind the circle. The heads of the Belt watch me expectantly.

Stars, it’s hot in here.

I remove my tabletka and hand it to an attendant, then stare a moment at the bare pedestal in front of me. This is the part I’ve actually been looking forward to—probably since that awful day back on Amethyne.

But still, I hesitate.

The Leonovs had many faults, but they also did what had been thought impossible: reuniting all the lost tribes of humanity, founding an empire that would forever change the course of our race. They discovered the Prismata, created the Firebird code, and ruled—by means both foul and fair—for centuries.

All that ends with me.

I raise my hands and lift the crown from my head. Slowly, I set it on the pedestal, where it glints, rubies dark as blood, emeralds glinting, sapphires blue as the Sapphine sea. One jewel for each system, bright and brilliant.

“I, Anya Leonova,” I say softly, “hereby renounce the throne of my ancestors and formally dissolve the Alexandrine Empire.” Raising my eyes, I add, “May the stars grant us peace.”

To my surprise, they murmur it back: “May the stars grant us peace.”

That done, I turn and barely keep myself from sprinting out of the Solariat. Pol’s waiting at the doors.

“Well?” he says, searching my face. “How’d it go? Was it hard?”

I shrug. “Stars, no. The thing was giving me a headache.”

We stand at the edge of the conservatory, looking through the glass at Alexandrine. Behind us, dignitaries and trade delegations walk and murmur in small groups, planning the future of the human race. More than happy to leave them to it, I spoon strawberry ice onto my tongue, letting it sit there a moment to melt. Ships come and go, bearing the newly minted colors and flags of the nine Free Worlds. My eyes fix on a courier, bearing the violet-and-white crest of the new spokesman of Amethyne.

“You did the right thing,” Pol says. “This is how it should have been from the beginning, people making their own choices.”

“I didn’t do anything. They did it themselves.”

“You brought back the seed, giving us the energy to run our entire civilization.”

“I was just the messenger. The Prismata gave me its own heart, even though we destroyed it, all because it knew that was the only way to peace. It wanted nothing in return, just to connect. To love and be loved.” I stare down into my now empty bowl. “It didn’t deserve what happened.”

He turns to face me squarely. “Neither do you.”

I swallow hard and nod, even though I know it’ll be a long time before I really believe it.

“Anyway,” I say, “even that credit goes to Clio. All I did was think about what she told me, about peace being born from trust. That was the problem all along. The Leonovs didn’ttrustanyone except themselves. They should have shared the truth about the Prismata with everyone. If Volkov had known what it’s like, that it’s not some evil, murdering monster, maybe he wouldn’t have tried to destroy it.”

“Now they’ll know, thanks to the new Firebirds.”

“I hope so.”

I hope I haven’t made a terrible miscalculation. I hope I can trust them, those nine in the Solariat with their newfound power and their eighteen Firebird candidates. Each system will have its own ambassadors to liaise with the Prismata. For some, like the Sapphinos and Amethynians, this means protecting themselves from stronger systems who might try to move against them. With their Firebirds connected to the Prism network, they’ll know ages in advance of any significant military actions. And for those systems more skeptical of the Prismata—like Rubyat and Alexandrine—having Firebirds will help assure them that the crystal is not a threat. I wonder if this really could have worked with Volkov, or if he was too far gone.

“You know …” I slip my spoon into Pol’s bowl, scooping out some of his ice. “I have a few months before I have to be back here, to train the new Firebirds.”