Page 60 of Last of Her Name

“They must have. They all served together under the old empire. They were like friends or something—her and Volkov, your parents and mine.”

“And this Prismata is the key to winning the war?”

“She sure seemed to think so. She was willing to torture Riyan to get me to find it. I think she’d have tortured me too if she thought it would help.”

He shakes his head. “I just can’t believe our parents would rally behind someone like that.”

“Maybe that’s not how it started. Maybe Zhar sort of took over, and they had no way of knowing. She did say they hadn’t communicated with our families for years.”

He nods. “So. Forget her. We can find this Firebird thing on our own and end this war.”

“What?”

“If the Prismata is what Zhar says it is, and if we find the Firebird to lead us to it, we could use it to overthrow the Committee. You’re sure you have no idea what it might be? Your parents never mentioned it before?” He blinks hard, as if suppressing a wave of pain.

“Pol …” I stand up and walk a few paces away, looking up at the Prism spinning on the control deck.

“The Firebird is the imperial crest, the sign of House Leonov. I don’t remember anything at home with the crest on it, but maybe you do? What if it’s still on Amethyne? We could go back.”

I turn to him. “Back? You mean,awayfrom Clio? You think we should abandon her to the Committee?”

He grimaces, teeth bared, and I don’t know how much of his expression is due to pain and how much is frustration with me. “Once you control the Prismata, you can save Clio. You can saveanyone.”

I clench my fists. “You’re starting to sound like Lilyan Zhar.”

“Stacia, you have to accept who you are. You can’t push it away forever.”

“And when do I get a choice?”

“When do any of us? We are who we are, Stace. You can’t hide from that, no matter what disguises you put on. I could cut the horns off my head but I’d still be aeyla. You can run to the ends of the galaxy, but you’ll still be a Leonov. You’ll still be the rightful heir. You have the power to change things—doesn’t that mean you have a responsibility to see it through?”

Turning back to him, I spread my hands. “Let’s not talk about it, please. Let’s just get to Diamin.”

Riyan returns, and helps me move Pol into the medical bay, where we transfer him to a proper bed. The med patches are making him sleepy, and soon he passes out with one arm hanging to the floor. I pack cool damp cloths around his head, trying to bring down his fever, hoping we make it to Diamin soon.

Pol gets worse.

He complains of pain in his head, and we run out of med patches. By day four, he’s writhing, curled up, hands gripping his horns.

“I don’t know what to do!” I shout, kneeling over him. Riyan and Mara are no help. Whatever’s wrong with Pol seems to go beyond his gun wound. He was shot in the chest, not his head. I have no idea what’s wrong with him.

“If you’d stopped my father from going back out there,” Mara intones, “he’d be here now. He’d know what to do.”

“Riyan, can we go any faster? The Committee ships jumped to Granitas System in minutes! Why can’t we?”

He scowls. We’re all tense from listening to Pol howl for hours on end. “Even if we burned through all the Prism’s energy, we’d only shorten the trip by a few days, and we’d have no power left to actually land once we got there.”

“Could we change course? Go somewhere closer, where there are doctors?”

“We’ve already passed the last planet before Diamin. Going back now would just take longer. If the wound is infected, there’s nothing we can—”

“It’s not the wound,” Pol groans.

We both turn to stare at him. He looks exhausted, eyes clouded with pain. Slowly, his gaze shifts to me.

“It’s my Trying.”

My eyes open wide. “You’re only eighteen, Pol. It’s too early.”