Page 71 of Last of Her Name
He laughs. “At least the stories keep away the tourists.” Sobering, he adds, “Most people also have no idea that our order was founded by Zorica Leonova.”
I raise my eyebrows. “As in …theLeonovs?” I still can’t say the wordsmy family.
He nods. “The Leonovs were originally scientists, you know, before they were rulers. They created the tensor gene, a cybernetic code grafted onto our DNA. But the Alexandrine government of their day had outlawed such biological tinkering, and my ancestors became outcasts, imprisoned or even killed for our abilities. Later, after the Leonovs discovered the Prisms and pioneered warp travel, we would leave that world behind and settle here, where we could be left in peace.” He gives me a sidelong look. “I have no love for your family, but there’s no doubt they left their mark on history, in more ways than one. And here you are, the very last of them.”
“I’m not so sure about that. I may have their blood, but the rest of it?” I shake my head. “I don’t feel like one of them. And I don’t think I want to. You said it yourself, before we ever even found Zhar and the Loyalists—the Leonovs were just as awful as Volkov and the Union are now. The galaxy needs to move forward, not backward.”
He tilts his head, studying me. “And I suppose you’ll be the one to lead us forward, from your mighty Alexandrine throne?”
“Stars, no!” A short, acidic laugh bursts from my lips. “What would I know about leading anyone? Back home, my dad barely let me fly a dory unsupervised.” I look at him. “Who says we need a throne? Who says we need a Committee? There has to be another option. One that lets the planets rule themselves and gives everyone an equal chance, no matter where they’re from or what they want to be. Peaceandfreedom.”
“Careful,” Riyan says. “You’re almost starting to sound wise.”
I throw a soft elbow into his side. “What do you care, anyway? I thought you wanted nothing to do with the outside worlds.”
He turns to gaze out the window, leaning on his staff. “Sixteen years ago, during the war, the Leonovs called on my people for aid, and we did nothing. They had wronged us. They killed my mother and countless others. Like the rest of the Belt, my people were appalled to see how far the Leonovs would go to rout an enemy.” Riyan pauses, taking in the view. “But now we’re prisoners on our own planet, and the galaxy hates us even more than they used to. They think we’re arrogant because we’re reclusive, and evil because we’re powerful. Maybe if we were allowed back into society, we could show them that we’re more alike than we are different.” Riyan sighs and taps his staff on the floor. “We should keep going. The Lord Tensor despises tardiness.”
We walk deeper into the pyramid, leaving behind the bright windows for dark, narrow corridors, until at last we come to the heart of Tyrrha. Or what feels like the heart of Tyrrha, anyway. The walls around us seem a mile thick, the air so thin I have to take every other breath through the mask. A triangular door is before us, smooth stone carved with geometric patterns like the ones tattooed onto Riyan’s skin. Two wide basins of fire burn on either side, the heat choking the air.
“Yousurehe wanted to see me?” I ask uneasily.
Riyan only nods before raising a hand, and the air begins to crack in response.
The great door depresses and sinks with a sound like thunder and screeching slate, rock crushing against rock, sending a chill down my back. I wince and shift from foot to foot, wishing I’d gone with Mara for that nap.
The door finally vanishes into the floor, and we step through the opening. Riyan is a pace ahead, his hands working around his staff.
The floor of the chamber within is round, enclosed by sloping walls that come to a very high point, so the space creates a sort of hollow cone. Around the perimeter of the floor, candles burn in waxy puddles. The Lord Tensor is at the center, three feet in the air, hovering in perfect silence and stillness on a shimmering stress field. He wears gray robes that hang nearly to the floor, while his legs are drawn up and crossed beneath him and his hands rest on his knees.
Riyan and I come a stop halfway to the levitating tensor.
“Father,” he says softly.
Oh.
Looking up at the man, I see it at once.
His eyes are closed, but there’s no mistaking the resemblance. The Lord Tensor has the same dark brown skin as Riyan, the same lean build and brooding brow. But his face is more lined and he has a short, graying beard that creeps up to his temples. He does not look like a man who smiles much.
I glance between father and son, wishing I were anywhere else. The air in the chamber is stretched tight. I raise my oxygen mask, sucking down a long breath. The sound of the gas releasing from the tank on my hip breaks the silence, and Riyan’s father finally opens his eyes.
“You’ve come back,” he says, in a deep, rumbling voice. His eyes settle on Riyan.
Riyan says, “I told you that I would.”
The Lord Tensor slowly descends, as if lowered on an invisible rope. His slippered feet touch the ground, and his robes slowly settle around him, in a motion so seamless it’s like he’s underwater. He makes me feel clumsy just standing here.
“So,” he says, his voice filling the smoky chamber, “what hedonistic pleasures did the universe hold for you, boy?”
Riyan stares hard at the ground. “You know I was searching for Natalya. Yourdaughter.”
“I have no such daughter.”
Riyan’s hands clench into fists. I try to make myself as small as possible, silently cursing the incessant hissing and wheezing of my oxygen tank.
“I expected rebellion from Natalya. Maybe even from some of the others—Damai or Elsid. But you?” The Lord Tensor’s lips twist. “You were born to lead our people, and instead, you forsook them.”
“Father—”