Page 72 of Last of Her Name

“You have lost the right to call me that.”

Riyan’s eyes widen. “I’m your son.”

“I have no son.”

“Hey!” The word bursts from me before I can stop it. My face heats, but I can’t keep quiet. “He only went looking for his sister because you didn’t have the guts to do it yourself! I’d sayyou’rethe one abandoning people, not him.”

Riyan lets out a thin breath, his eyes closing. The Lord Tensor turns to me slowly.

“So. You’re the one who claims to be the lost Leonova princess.”

“I haven’t claimed to be anything.”

“The Leonovs were nothing but trouble for us.”

Riyan lifts his chin. “Stacia saved my life, and I call her sister.”

“Pah!” The Lord Tensor storms out of the room, and Riyan hurries after him. With a sigh, I trail behind, sucking down another draft of oxygen.

“Asylum was granted to you, Princess,” Riyan’s father says, his voice echoing through the smooth stone corridor, “and it will be honored. But I want you off this moon the moment your horned companion is cleared from medical.”

Well, I think sourly,if Damai has any say in that, looks like we’ll be here awhile.

A lacy snowflake, fine and glittering, lands on my open palm. It survives my body heat just long enough for me to study its intricate pattern, the minuscule rods and swirls of ice frozen in perfect symmetry. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, but in a moment, it is gone, turned into a drop of water in the cradle of my hand.

My head starts to feel light.

I raise my oxygen mask, taking a long inhale. The rush of air steadies me, and I hold it in place for a few more breaths.

The frozen forest glitters all around, trees encased in ice over deep banks of snow. Diamin’s pale sun plays in the glassy branches, splitting into fractals of blue and silver that shine on the snow’s clean surface. The air smells fresh and sharp, tinged with smoke from the diamantglass glazieries a short distance away. The dark domes huddle on patches of bare earth, where the heat from the kilns has melted away the snow. But here, the cold is absolute, and I stand knee-deep in the drifts.

Riyan picks up a handful of snow and rolls it into a ball. “When I was a boy, we used to hurl these at one another from dawn to dusk.”

“So, for two hours,” I point out. Diamin’s daylight is brief and weak; the sun seems to barely rise before it’s already setting again.

He gives me rueful grin and lets the snowball fall to the ground, where it breaks apart at his feet. “Speaking of which, we can’t stay out here much longer.”

The sun is already setting, burnishing the rounded hip of the great planet in the sky. The tensors call the planet Rumiha, which means elder brother. But to me, it seems more like a jailor, allowing only a small window of sunlight before rolling across the sky and blanketing the snowy moon in darkness.

I sigh, watching the shadows creep closer. I could spend a whole day out here—an Amethyne day, with sixteen hours of light—exploring the wintry landscape of Diamin. It took some political maneuvering on Riyan’s part to buy these two short hours for me. Mara elected to stay inside, unenthused by the prospect of tramping around in the cold. Pol wanted to come, but he’s still under Damai’s ruthless control, and she was convinced if he so much as set foot in the snow, he’d drop dead. We’ve been on Diamin four days now, but Pol carries on like it’s been a month.

“She’s driving meinsane,” he moaned this morning. It had been our first chance to talk since Riyan made his sister admit me into the infirmary. “She keeps taking pictures of my skeleton. It’s creepy!”

But even Riyan couldn’t convince the resolute medic to release Pol to us. He’s probably pacing the infirmary now, steaming.

I watch Riyan as he wanders on, his shoulders bent beneath the heavy fringe of a frost bison’s mantle. Our cloaks are lined with a synthetic material that makes the cold seem almost nonexistent, but the fur is so warm I’m starting to sweat a little.

“Hey!” I shout.

Riyan starts to turn—just in time to get hit smack in the face by the snowball I hurl.

I burst out laughing at his shocked expression. Then he bends to scoop up snow, and I yelp and sprint away. It’s slow going through the knee-deep drifts, and his shot hits me squarely on the back of my head. Melted snow trickles down my neck and makes me shiver, but it’s an exhilarating sensation. I duck behind a tree and form another ball, but before I can throw it, Riyan sneaks up behind me and steals it right out of my palm.

I put up my hands to shield my face, bracing for the impact—but it doesn’t come. Riyan just laughs softly and tosses the snowball aside.

“I couldn’t hit an unarmed warrior,” he says.

“Do you ever stop being so blazing noble?”