Page 3 of Last of Her Name

She grins.

“Oh, all right,” he mutters, his cheeks flushing. “IfClioinsists. Tinka needs to cool down, anyway.”

He falls into step with us, scratching Elki’s chin and feeding him the rest of the grapes. The mantibu grumbles with pleasure, slowing his pace.

From my position on Elki, I have a view of the top of Pol’s head. I’m surprised to see how much his horns have grown lately, poking through his hair where they’ve usually been half-hidden.

As Amethyne’s adapted race, the aeyla tend toward lavender-gray complexions and pale hair and lashes. But Pol is only half aeyla, lacking the species’ more distinct features. He inherited his human father’s bronze Rubyati skin and dark hair, but he has the ivory aeylic horns—or the beginnings of them, anyway. They won’t fully grow in for a few more years, and until they do, he’s still considered a child in the eyes of the aeyla, even though he’s already taller than half the men in town. Ever since his growth spurt last year, he’s been putting on muscle as well as height.

I’m still not quite sure what to make of thismanreplacing the boy I grew up with, running wild in the slinke forest and jumping into the turquoise lakes that pool in the hills. Though by aeyla tradition, he won’t be considered an adult until his horns grow all the way in—a painful ordeal they call the Trying. Pol’s got a few years to go before that happens—something I probably remind him of a bit too often … and a bit too smugly.

“So what’s in Afka?” Pol asks, startling me from my wandering thoughts. I realize I’ve been staring at him.

“An astronika.”

“There’s an astronikahere?” Pol stops walking abruptly, and Tinka nudges his shoulder blades in reproach.

“See it for yourself.” Reining in Elki, I pluck the scanner from around my neck and toss it to him. “It’s landed in the docks.”

“Stacia’s smitten,” Clio adds.

He peers through the lens at the town below, zooming in on the docks. “We should go back to the house.”

“Why? I want to see what’s up.”

“Me too,” Clio adds.

He shakes his head, handing the scanner back to me. “It’s an Alexandrian ship. Nothing good comes from those.”

“Except handsome Alexandrian bachelors,” I point out, eliciting a giggle from Clio.

Pol frowns. “This isn’t a joke.”

“What doyouthink it wants?”

“At best?” His jaw tightens. “Your father’s finest vintage. They’ll clean out your cellars, pay you nothing, and tell you they need it for the good of the Committee. They’ll even strip the vines just for the fun of it.” He reaches out, fingers briefly closing on a cluster of grapes. Rich, fat, and as purple as the sun, they’ll make for a good harvest this year. An excellent vintage. Unless Pol is right, and the ship is here to rob us blind and get away clean, the power of the law behind them. I’ve heard of it happening to other vintners on Amethyne, usually by roving bands of soldiers on leave. Not from ships as important as an astronika.

“What about at worst?” I ask quietly.

He only shakes his head.

I stare toward the docks, where the ship shines like obsidian, no larger than the tip of my thumb at this distance. I feel a quiver of nervousness in my stomach.

But Pol has always been a bit paranoid. He routinely rebuilds the vineyard comm network because, as he put it to me, “you never know who might be listening in.” Same with the security system. It drives me crazy, always having to relearn the codes for the doors.

The afternoon is waning; the violet sun slips lower in the east, while the Twins rise in the west, one moon full, one gibbous, each tinged pale blue. We won’t have much light left. It’ll be a dark ride home for me if we don’t hurry.

“Well, we’re going,” I say. “You go hide in the cellars if you like.”

Pol gives a growl of frustration. “Why don’t youeverlisten to me?”

“Because you’re allergic to fun.”

“I’m allergic to always saving your neck when you go poking things bigger and meaner than you. Just last month you jumped on a snaptooth, thinking it was a floating log! If I hadn’t been there—”

“I had everything under control. Clio, what do you think?”

Pol groans and looks away as Clio raises her hands. “Whoa! You know I stay neutral when you two are fighting.”