Page 36 of Last of Her Name

“Get off her!” Pol shouts. “She’s—”

He goes quiet with a grunt. I can hear a boot kicking him in the stomach. Meanwhile, Riyan, standing with his feet spread, plants his staff and tessellates the air around him. The soldiers trying to grab him are lifted up, where they hover like they’re in zero g. One by one, their guns hit the ground, crumpled balls of useless metal.

“It’s a blazing gravity witch!” someone screams. “Shoot him!”

“No!” I yell. “Riyan, stand down! Please!”

He glances at me, then relaxes. The men around him drop hard to the floor.

“Enough!” A commanding voice rips through the room, and at once the soldiers go to attention. I push up onto my knees, freed as the soldier holding me snaps a fist-to-chest salute. Beside me, Pol is also kneeling, one hand clutching his rib cage.

“You all right?” I whisper.

He nods, but I can hear him struggling for breath.

The woman comes to a halt several paces away, regarding us.

She holds a very small gun, almost like a toy. Her uniform is dazzlingly white, with a half cape and severe shoulders. Her short, spiked hair is as pale as her clothes, though her face is only middle-aged. She’s beautiful, in a menacing sort of way, like a glinting shard of ice. Her black eyes study each of us in turn.

“Identify yourselves,” she says softly.

Pol rises stiffly to his feet. “I’m Appollo Androsthenes, son of Spiros Androsthenes, who was formerly of the Imperial Interstellar Navy. And this is Anya Petrovna Leonova, heir to the Crescent Throne, the Firebird Princess, the last of her name and Guardian of the Jewels.”

“Allegedly,”I add, with a sideways glance at Pol. Blazing stars, what a mouthful of absurdity.

“We’ve come from Afka on Amethyne,” Pol adds. “Nearly two weeks ago a traitor—”

“I know about the situation at Afka,” the woman interrupts. “We received word of it six days ago, and we expected you in half that time. And on a different ship. And … with different hair.”

I glance at the purple locks hanging over my shoulders.

The woman asks, “Why should I believe you are who you say you are?”

“I know the codes.” Pol reels off a string of numbers, which the woman listens to closely. Even before he finishes, the woman’s gaze shifts, tightening on me like a vise.

“So it’s true. You are Princess Anya.” She considers me for a long, torturous moment. I’ve never felt so exposed in my life as I am underneath those eyes of hers. They suck at me like the vacuum of space.

But then, finally, she releases me. I let out a breath, feeling like I’ve just passed a test where the consequence of failure was death. Her demeanor shifts; she snaps a salute, then bows at the waist. All around me, the other soldiers do the same.

“Highness,” says the woman, “I am Lilyan Zhar, commander of the Loyalist Remnant Force. We are very glad to see you safe, and it is my honor to meet you at last. But I must ask, what in the stars are you doing with one ofthem?” Zhar nods at Riyan, who stands with his staff still on guard.

“We ran into a bit of … engine trouble,” I say. “Our ship malfunctioned and we dropped out of warp near Sapphine. This tensor helped us. He should be allowed to leave in peace, if he wants.”

Zhar studies Riyan, who looks back steadily, not intimidated in the least.

Then she shakes her head. “The boy is one of the Unsworn, who broke faith with the Empire when we needed them most.” Her jaw twitches, then she adds, “He’s a traitorous freak, like the rest of his kind.”

She raises her gun at the same moment that Riyan lifts his staff, and I burst into motion before I have a chance to even consider what I’m doing. I slide between them, ignoring Pol as he shouts my name.

“No!” I shout. “Don’t shoot him!”

Zhar’s lips pinch together. “Out of the way, Princess!”

“I won’t let you hurt him.”

“Grab her, soldier!”

I realize with a start that it’s Pol she’s talking to, ordering him to pull me away. He’s the closest to me, within arm’s reach.