Page 44 of Last of Her Name

“The emperor wouldn’t have smuggled you off Alexandrine without some way for you to find it. Perhaps it is an object you’ve had since childhood? A necklace, or a trinket of some kind, that might contain it?”

“I have no idea how to give you what you want.” The only piece of jewelry I keep with me is my multicuff, and I’ve taken that apart enough times to know there are no secrets hidden inside it—and certainly no maps to some Prismic superweapon.

“Think, Anya! With the Firebird, we can prove who you are. We can show the galaxy that you are the rightful ruler—”

“If you want answers so badly, why don’t you ask my parents? Myrealparents, Teo and Elena?”

She sighs. “Believe me, I’d love to talk to your parents. We cut off all communication with them long ago, so our messages wouldn’t give away their—and your—location. But now that wewantto reach them, we can’t.”

She pulls a tabletka from a drawer and powers it on, cycling through clips of raw footage.

Afka, on fire.

Warships gathering in the sky above Estonrya.

Aeyla being herded onto prison barges.

The slinke forests burning, blackening the sky with smoke.

While I stare, horror-struck, Zhar circles the table and stands behind the holos, the images reflecting in her eyes.

“Thanks to the Committee’s blockade, we’ve had no communication with Afka, your parents, or the any of the Loyalist cells on Amethyne. War has engulfed the planet. But take hope in the fact that they are fighting back. And they’re fighting back because they believe in you, Anya. They believe you can give us the only thing that will win this war.”

Zhar clicks off the tabletka and holds it up. “Stored in here is a reconstruction of the Autumn Palace. Explore it. See if it jogs something in that head of yours. We need to know where the Firebird is hidden. And we need to knowfast.If we’re going to save your people on Amethyne and put an end to the Committee’s tyranny, then we have to act quickly. Find it, and I will let you give your tensor friend the antidote.”

I stare at the empty air where the images of my broken, burning home had been.

“When she is ready to rule, the Firebird will guide her.” Zhar places the tabletka in my open palm and closes my fingers around it. “Find the Firebird, Anya. It’s our last and only hope.”

Instead of sending me back to the cell, Zhar gives me a room on the barracks level. One wall is rough rock, the others smooth and white. In lieu of a pad, I have a bed, with a nightstand and a cabinet filled with clean clothes. Soft blue lights glow from round globes on the ceiling. It feels military, all clean lines and stark surfaces, but at least the lav isn’t five inches from my pillow.

I change into fresh clothes, a sleeveless black shirt and leggings. But I keep my boots. There’s still a bit of Amethynian dirt on the soles. My multicuff, I’m relieved to see, is sitting on the bed—but that’s not the only thing.

There’s a square of folded red cloth, and even before I touch it, I know it is Pol’s.

My hands shake as I press the fabric to my nose, still smelling him in the threads—grapeseed oil, my family’s last batch of wine, the faint, salty tang of the Sapphine sea.

There’s a note under the scarf.

My deepest sympathies on your loss, Princess. Though it is no comfort, I am sure, I ask you to remember that the amethyst gambit is the noblest play.

—Dr. Faran Luka

The amethyst gambit. It’s a Triangulum phrase, referring to a famous move in which the purple warrior piece is sacrificed in the opening play, in order to free the scarlet queen’s path of attack.

Fury boils in my chest. I rip up the note and fling the pieces to the floor.

“He is not a sacrifice!” I yell at the walls. “This is not a stupid game, and I amnotyour queen!”

Then I bury my face in the scarf and begin to sob.

It takes me an hour to pull myself together, but my anger doesn’t fade. I reluctantly take out the tabletka Zhar gave me, determining to move forward, to do whatever I must in order to save Riyan.

The only program on it is this holo she wants me to explore. I activate it, and a fan of blue light spreads upward and outward, raking the ceiling and walls before assembling into an image that hovers in front of me. I set the tabletka on the floor and stand up, circling the projection. Pol’s scarf is draped around my neck, his scent in my nose.

Alexandrine spins before me, green continents set into a swirling crimson sea. The heart of the galaxy, home of emperors and conquerors.

But the Autumn Palace isn’t on Alexandrine at all. The planet is carpeted in cities, all grand and vast and sparkling. They are the centers of trade and military and craftsmanship, but the palace is a whole city of its own—the City in the Sky, a satellite compound orbiting the planet like a moon.