Page 24 of Last of Her Name

“They’ve gotClio, Pol.”

He takes my hand and says nothing, eyes fixed on the screen.

The camera pans slightly to Alexei Volkov. He’s dressed in combat gear, but he doesn’t look like he’s been doing much fighting. There’s too much polish on him, his yellow hair too perfect. The uniform is just for show. I can’t hear the broadcast over the noise of the market, but I can read the words on the holo plainly enough.

UNION FORCES QUELL UPRISING ON AMETHYNE

Below that reads,Committee refutes claims that Anya Leonova is alive.

“Where are they taking them?” I whisper. Pulling away from Pol, I approach the booth, until I’m close enough to hear the announcement. Behind me, people are pausing to look up curiously at the screen. A man carrying a load of fishing nets spits on the floor, muttering about rebels making everything worse.

A woman’s smooth voice is narrating the broadcast.

“A recent terrorist incident on the fringe planet of Amethyne has led to an increase of insurrectionist activity. Claims have been made that Anya Leonova, youngest of the imperial family, may in fact be alive and involved in the event.”

The screen now shows scenes of the destruction of Afka. Not just the town hall but most of the other buildings are on fire, belching clouds of black smoke.

The world seems to tilt around me. I lean against Pol, nauseated.

Then the direktor himself speaks. “These claims are false, of course. Princess Anya Leonova perished sixteen years ago, alongside the tyrannical Emperor Pyotr. This imposter, this Stacia Androva of Afka-on-Amethyne, will be found, I assure you, and brought to justice for this senseless attack. We hope Ms. Androva chooses the peaceful option and turns herself in, but rest assured, we will do whatever it takes to bring her into custody. In the meantime, we will be questioning her known associates at our secure facilities back at the Autumn Palace.”

And there we are: holos of me and Pol, rotating under the wordswantedanddangerous.

“A reward is being offered for information leading to the capture of two individuals believed to be behind the attack,” says the announcer.

“We have to get out of here,” Pol murmurs in my ear.“Now.”

“They took her. They tookClio.”

His face is pale, his grip hard on my arm. “It’s a trap, Stacia. He wanted you to see the prisoners, so you’d come running into his hands.”

“So? They’re going to torture her!”

“No,” he breathes. “She’ll be fine. I swear to you, no one will hurt Clio.”

“How can you know that? You can’t possibly know that!”

He pulls at me. My shouts are drawing attention.

All thoughts of returning to Amethyne evaporate from my head. Clio, my Clio, has been ripped from home and taken across the stars to some Alexandrine prison. She must be terrified. She must believe that I abandoned her.

But I haven’t. And I won’t.

“If I turn myself in, maybe they’ll let her go,” I say. “You heard him: They’re going to interrogate her. That meanstorture, Pol.” Tears burn in my eyes; I can’t even say the words without my voice sticking to my throat. The Sapphine air is hot and humid, but I’m chilled to my core.

“Let’s just focus on survivingthisplanet, okay? Then we’ll worry about what comes next.”

Pol starts pulling me away. I catch one more glimpse of her on the screen, as the Afkan prisoners settle in for transport to Alexandrine.

I’m coming, I promise.I’ll do whatever it takes to reach you. I’ll tear every star from the sky if I must.

“Stacia, let’sgo!”

We walk through the city’s less populated streets until we find an alley that dead-ends into the sea. The buildings on either side—apartments, ratty and rusted—lean overhead, reducing the sky to a sliver and casting the alley in shadow. A sign squeaks as it sways in the wind, advertising a psychic’s services, but the shop looks long closed. My leg is starting to hurt again, and we have no more pain patches. Pol leaves me to rest on the steps and goes off in search of a transmitter, hoping to contact the Loyalists.

While he’s gone, I unclip my multicuff and remove the hinges from the psychic’s door. After making sure no one is watching, I slip inside.

The shop is dusty and piled with junk, boxes of charms and gems and carved totems. I shuffle through the mess to the far wall, which is covered in heavy drapes. Pulling them down, I find a wide window looking out to the sea, with no buildings or quays to interrupt the scene. A rusted panel on the wall opens to reveal electrical wiring. I study it a moment, then pull out my tools again and set to work.