Page 25 of Last of Her Name

Within a few minutes, I’ve got a few lamps lit. They’re shaped like crystal balls and glow softly blue. Dragging cushions from a box, I pile them by the window, and that’s where Pol finds me an hour later, lying back and watching the waves lap at the city’s barrier ring.

He’s sporting a new hat—a wide-brimmed, conical thing I’ve seen the eeda wearing. It looks ridiculous on him, but it hides his telltale horns that are basically antennae transmittingI’m not from here.He’s also got on a fisherman’s coat that hangs to his knees and makes him look vaguely piratical.

“Nice,” he says, looking around. “No transmitter, but I swiped these.”

His pockets are full of ration bars. I open one, sniff, and grimace. The bars are made of seaweed and taste awful, but I’m hungry enough to not care too much.

“Wait,” I say, pausing over a mouthful of seaweed. “Where did you getthat?”

He brushes his coat, trying to conceal the gun tucked in his belt. “Doesn’t matter.”

“Pol—”

“We can’t be defenseless here, Stace. Don’t worry. The guy never knew I took it. He’ll wake up in an hour and think he got mugged by some gang. There are enough of them running around this place.” He sits beside me and opens another pocket in his coat. “I thought we’d better wear disguises, since our faces are popping up all over the news.”

I take the bottle of hair dye he hands me and lift a brow.“Purple?”

He blinks. “It’s your favorite color.”

“Yeah … but I never thought to use it on myhair.”

He flushes and mutters, “Fine, I’ll go get another—”

“Oh, sit down. You’ll have to help me with it, though. My leg’s killing me.”

“Right, I got something for that too.”

He hands me a wad of pain patches, then finds a bucket amid the clutter behind us. The taps still work, probably pulling water straight from the sea below.

Pol sits behind me and carefully rinses my hair. His hands are surprisingly gentle, his fingers teasing out the knots. He squints at the instructions on the dye before carefully applying it. I’d half worried he’d scrub it into my scalp as if I were one of his mantibu, but he seems almost afraid to touch me, as if my hair were made of glass and he fears it will shatter if handled too roughly.

I can only imagine what Clio would have to say about this. My cheeks grow hot.

“We have to go to her, Pol. We have to get her back.”

“We can save all our people once we have the Loyalists’ help. You’ll see. We’ll take back the galaxy and free everyone.”

“I promised her we’d get strawberry ice,” I whisper. “I have to keep that promise.”

“You’ll keep it. Look, I swear to you, Clio is going to be fine.”

I lean back, letting him rinse out the excess dye. I never knew Pol could be so gentle. Tingles race over my scalp and down my spine, and I start to shiver.

“You all right?” he asks.

“Uh … the water’s cold.”

He takes off his coat and wraps it around my shoulders, then finds a ream of gauzy cloth that he uses to wrap up my wet hair.

“You look ready to tell my fortune,” he says, grinning.

I sigh and huddle in his coat. I wish someone could tell memine, could promise that soon my family will be together again, happy like we once were. But I know it’s impossible; even if I get home somehow, even if I get Clio back, Pol’s dad would still be dead. Spiros was a part of our family, like my big, hairy, laughing uncle. I can picture him in his scarf, sharing a joke with Dad—probably at my or Pol’s expense. Thinking of him brings tears to my eyes, but I don’t want Pol to see them, so I blink hard until they’re gone.

We sit side by side, watching the water. The sun is setting to the west, out of sight, but its riot of color splashes the horizon and shimmers on the water. A few boats move in the distance, and a space-bound ship angles upward, trailing blue lines across the sky.

After my hair dries, I let it down and shake it out, studying my reflection in the window. Now that I see it, the purpleisactually sort of cool.

“Stacia …” Pol turns slightly, not quite meeting my eyes. “Did you mean what you said back on the caravel? About … never trusting me again?”