Page 29 of Last of Her Name

A hatch opens in the belly of the clipper, extending a stairway for us. Pol races up first, disappearing inside. The tensor waits, holding out a hand to assist me up. As if I need assistance climbing a blazing little stairway, but I take it, anyway.

“Why are you helping us?” I ask.

He pauses, my hand still in his. His dark eyes bore into me, more black than silver now.

“Please forgive my lack of manners,” he says, his tone almosttoopolite. “I assure you, once we’re safely in warp, I’ll properly introduce myself.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He glances at the knights, who are talking into their comm patches and approaching the ship.

Looking back at me, the tensor says, “You and I have a common enemy. Alexei Volkov. I think we can help each other.”

I raise my eyebrows. “Are you a Loyalist?”

A dark look flashes in his eyes. “Stars, no. I’m more of an … independent.”

That works for me.

We hurry into the clipper and up a ladder inside, into a wide, sleek bridge. This room alone is twice the size of Pol’s caravel. The door shuts behinds us, and over the comm system, Sapphino security is ordering us to identify ourselves. The tensor ignores them.

Furnished with sofas, tables, holoscreens, and even a bar, theValentinais the height of luxury after the clanking tin can that got us off Amethyne. Stairs lead up to a balcony where the ship’s controls glow and blink, beneath a curving dome of diamantglass.

“Welcome aboard,” says the tensor. “You can sit there—”

“Drop the act,” Pol says, raising his gun. “I want some answers.”

I groan. “Pol …”

“Who are you?” he demands, moving between me and the tensor. “What do you want with Stacia?”

I look at the boy over Pol’s shoulder. “My friend is a little overprotective. Please—”

The tensor raises a hand, and the air around Pol’s gun folds like paper. Behind the strange, broken geometic panes, Pol’s hand appears stretched in two dimensions. The sound is terrible—like scraping, jagged glass on stone—making my ears ring.

Pol’s gun bends and crumples, the metal folding inward on itself. He drops it with a startled cry, and when the weapon hits the ground, it’s nothing more than a ball of steel no bigger than my fist.

We both look up at the stranger. The black lines have appeared around his eyes again, and his irises gleam silver.

“I’m sorry I had to do that,” he says softly, in his same cold, controlled tone. “And I’m sorry I must do this. Truly, I am. But you see, I’m in a somewhat desperate circumstance.”

Before Pol or I can move, he flexes his fingers, and we both hit the deck. I gasp as my body is pressed into the floor, gravity dragging at my every atom. I feel like I’m back in the caravel, suffocating. The weight on my lungs makes it impossible to draw more than the thinnest of breaths. My head swims and my vision blurs. The tensor’s power is terrifying. Unnatural.

And like a fool, I walked right into his trap.

“Let…her…go!”Pol demands, his voice strained.

The tensor keeps his hand out, pinning us down as he lifts himself into the air. His robes swirl as he settles onto the balcony overhead, where the control board curves along the window. In moments, he has the clipper powered up, and we pull away from the docks and angle for the upper atmo. I can feel the ground dropping away, but I’m still pressed hard into the floor, Pol sprawled beside me.

Then the tensor finally releases us. I flip over, gasping down a breath. Beside me, Pol coughs and raises himself on trembling arms.

The tensor collapses into the captain’s chair, panting. His hands press to his face, but he can’t fully hide the black lines that have spread around his eyes.

Pol pushes himself onto his hands and knees.“Witch,”he breathes.

The tensor turns his back to us, calling weakly, “You’ll want to strap in before we accelerate.”

Pol takes a step toward the stairs to the balcony, but the tensor only raises a finger to bring him to his knees. But I can see the effort is draining the boy. The use of his ability seems to exhaust him.