Page 40 of Last of Her Name
“I’ll get you out of here,” I whisper through the glass, hoping he can hear. “I promise. Just … just stay strong.”
Right before I turn away, his lips part and he whispers in a strained voice,“Hurry.”
They lead me through a maze of stone corridors, each one looking exactly the same as the last. We pass more soldiers in white, with that red bird incorporated into their uniforms. How long have they been here? Why are they so loyal to a dead regime? And if they think I’m their princess, why are they handling me like I’m some sort of dangerous criminal?
My parents trusted these people. If Pol hadn’t brought me here, my mom or dad would have. I wonder what they would have done in Pol’s place, in that horrible moment. Would they have let Lilyan Zhar shoot Riyan? I don’t know. I don’t know if I ever truly knew them, not therealElena and Teo. As difficult as it is to imagine them here, in white uniforms with imperial crests emblazoned over their hearts, thesearetheir people. Maybe there are faces here they would recognize from their old life, before they were my parents. Or maybe they never truly were my parents—just imperial babysitters, doing their duty, fulfilling some oath. The thought lodges in my gut like a splinter, cutting deeper with every breath.
Finally, we come to a wide, brightly lit chamber, stone walls and high ceiling over a floor of polished asteroid. A long conference table dominates the space, but the rest of the room is clear. The far wall sports a massive imperial crest. This bird seems to glare at me with one red eye, its wings raised and its tail morphing into a flame.
There is Zhar, surrounded by twenty or so children. She’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, a tiny boy in her lap as she reads a holobook to them. The image of a planet hangs above her, turning slowly, green and blue.
“Ah, look who’s come to join us,” she says, looking up with a smile.
The kids all turn to stare at me.
“This, my loves, is Anya Leonova. Our princess and the heir to the Autumn Throne.”
“Arealprincess?” squeals a girl in braids.
“A real one,” says Zhar coolly, her predatory eyes fixed on me. “And the last one. Bring her over, Taysie.”
The girl jumps up and runs to me, grabbing my hand. I want to pull away, but Zhar has me smoothly trapped. It’s not like I can knock over a child.
I follow Taysie into the circle, shaking with fury. This is all a pretense: The children. The playful tone. Zhar is using them as a shield.
“That’s better,” she says, once I’m sitting in the circle. Taysie plops into my lap uninvited, knitting her fingers through mine.
“You see, Highness,” Zhar says, “we have been waiting for you.Allof us.”
Not just soldiers, she means. She wants me to see that they have families and children who need me to cooperate. To be the obedient, loyal symbol Zhar wants. Because onherrock, she’s the one in charge. Challenge her, and you get shot.
She kisses the head of the boy on her lap. “This is Adi, my nephew. Adi, tell the princess about the story we’re reading.”
He smiles. “It’s the one about the Motherworld.”
“Ah, Zemlya,” she sighs. “Our lost paradise.”
I glare at her. “Whatever game this is—”
“Adi,” she cuts in, “why don’t you tell the princess the story? I think she has forgotten it.”
Adi nods, taking the book from her and opening it on his lap. The blue planet spins above us, and the children look up with wide eyes. Zemlya reminds me a little of Amethyne; it’s a bit larger, and its sun was yellow, not violet, but the green continents and blue seas are similar. And like my home planet, the Motherworld is said to have been lush and forested once.
“Zemlya was dying,” Adi says, reciting more than reading. “Humans had used up all her water and plants. So they built ten ships.”
“Ten arks to sail to ten distant stars,” murmurs Zhar.
Adi nods, turning a page, and the ships appear above us, each going a different direction. They were bulky, ugly things, built to house generation after generation. Millions of humans living and dying without ever standing on any planet at all, in the hopes their descendents would one day find solid ground again.
Adi says, “But they were so slow because they didn’t have … um, what’s the word, Aunt?”
“Prisms, dear. They lacked the energy to exceed the speed of light, and so they limped through the universe.”
Adi flips patiently through the book, the holo overhead changing with each turn of the page, recounting the ancient story. Of the ten ships that left Zemlya, nine reached their destinations. But by the time the arks reached their planets, for some, hundreds of years had gone by. And once they arrived, they were alone, isolated from the other arks, unable to communicate. They didn’t know if their sister tribes lived or died. And so they developed their own cultures, languages, even genetic code, adapting to their new worlds in strange and wonderful ways.
My genes are Alexandrian; I don’t look much different from those first humans who left the Motherworld, just built a little smaller, because of Alexandrine’s slightly higher gravity. I think miserably of the aeyla, of Pol and his ivory horns and his quick reflexes.
“In the end,” Adi continues, turning a page, “there were nine races in nine systems, seeds fallen far from their mother tree. And so it would have gone on forever, humanity split into nine new species, growing ever more separate.”