Page 49 of Last of Her Name

I fire a rapid succession of shots. Concentrated beams of Prismic energy flash and sizzle in the air, scorching the back wall.

I’ve fired a gun before; my dad was adamant I learn how to, and now I know why. He knew, all along, that one day I’d get caught up in this war. So much makes sense now—Pol’s obsession with the security system, Dad’s insistence on my learning self-defense, even Mom’s tendency to drill medical info into my head. All along they were training me for a role I had no idea I’d one day be forced to play. How did they keep all this from me? How could they look at me every day and lie?

Before I know it, I’ve finished the simulation. I pick another, increasing the difficulty, so the ghostly figures appear and vanish in seconds, giving me barely any time to aim before I shoot. The concentrated Prismic energy interrupts their forms when I land a hit, and they burst into a shower of sparkles before dissipating. It’s disturbingly satisfying, and I worry a little at how cathartic the exercise is. Even knowing they’re just phantoms of light, I don’t want to feel good about killing. I don’t want to be like Volkov and Zhar and all the others. But with every shot, I feel like I’m slipping further from myself.

Clio would hate this. She never would practice shooting with me, and always said the galaxy would be better off if there were no guns at all.

Maybe she was right.

When the gun’s charge is depleted, I put it down and pick up another, setting the sim to the hardest mode. Phantoms pop up and vanish like bursts of light, and my hands move quicker than my mind. My thoughts suspend as instinct takes over, and the gun becomes an extension of myself. Every bolt of Prismic energy finds its mark. Every holo drops with a single hit. Minutes later, it feels as if no time has passed, but the simulation has ended.

I have a perfect score.

I stare at the results as I lower the gun. The weapon is warm from so much firing. My fingers are locked around it, my heart hammering.

All right, I could understand if I had a natural flair for shooting or something.

But this feels … different.

Unnatural.

“You shoot like a Leonov.”

With a start, I drop the gun. It clatters at my feet, and Lilyan Zhar stoops to pick it up. She slides the depleted battery out and pops in a fresh one, smoothly, expertly. All the while, she keeps her eyes on me.

“I … I got lucky,” I stammer.

“Not lucky,” she replies, keying in a code to the simulator, then widening her stance in preparation to shoot. “I saw the emperor shoot. He had that same precise eye.”

The simulation begins. Instead of the faceless holos I was firing at, the one that appears before us has its facial features. It’s a man, dressed in a white Loyalist uniform.

“Stars,” I breathe. “Is that—”

“Alexei Volkov,” says Zhar, keeping her gun trained on the figure. He stands at ease, looking off to the side, nodding as if listening to someone speak. The holo must have been ripped from a recording, but an old one. The direktor Eminent looks young here, without his trademark silvered temples.

“He worked for the emperor,” I whisper, noting his uniform.

She nods once. “He was the head of imperial security, before he defected to start his rebellion.”

“I never heard that.”

“Because he didn’t want anyone to know. He wanted to be seen as the people’s savior, one of the common folk. He changed his name, even. Alexeicravesto be a hero. In truth, he was one of Alexandrine’s most elite, with an inherited command post and a healthy fortune in his pocket. He had the trust of the emperor, but he was a traitor.”

Zhar speaks with venom, her knuckles blanching as she grips the gun.

“You know him,” I realize.

Her lips press together. “Of course I know him. He is my husband.”

She fires. The gun’s ray strikes the holo-Volkov in the temple, and he bursts apart. A thousand shimmering motes of light dance before us, then fade.

Zhar sets down the gun and turns to me. “I am not your enemy, Stacia.Heis. He must pay for his crimes against your family. He must answer for his treachery.”

I stare at her, as all becomes clear.

Lilyan Zhar, the loyal soldier, her name tarnished by a treasonous husband.

Her legacy stained, her liege-lord slain.