Page 79 of Last of Her Name

His eyes widen. I sit back in my seat, feeling like I’m sinking into the floor.

“Stace, what does that mean?”

What does it mean? It could mean nothing. It could be a coincidence. The Firebird was the seal of the Leonovs, the great red bird on the imperial crest. Maybe it’s just a stamp they left behind when they created the code. Or maybe …

Maybe it meanseverything.

“I—”

“No!” shouts Damai, half rising from her seat, her eyes wide with horror as she stares at Riyan.

I look from her to the trial below, where the Legacy Stones have all been opened.

Six red, six white. The judges are at an impasse. Damai pulls one of her sisters close, and they—and everyone else in the chamber—now stare at the Lord Tensor.

“Given the divided verdict,” he says, “I will cast the final Stone.”

He holds his metal flower up but doesn’t immediately open it. His eyes slip to Riyan. His expression is inscrutable, a face carved from rock.

Riyan seems to sway on his feet.

“Father,please.” The words burst from him in a rush. At once he lowers his eyes, his hands clenching. Around his shaking fists, the air begins to crackle.

I hold my breath, sitting on the edge of my seat and squeezing Pol’s hand. I don’t even remember grabbing it.

The Lord Tensor merely gazes at his son, expressionless. “Control yourself, boy.”

Riyan nods once, his eyes boring into the glass floor. Gradually, the trembling air around him falls still. He lets out a breath, forcing his hands to relax. Everyone in the chamber is silent and transfixed.

The Lord Tensor waits a moment more before finally opening his Legacy Stone.

A gasp ripples across the room.

Damai lets out a wail.

I grip Pol’s hand so hard he sucks in a breath.

Somehow Riyan remains standing, though he visibly sways when he sees that his father has voted against him. His chest begins to heave.

“Of the charges brought against you, Riyan Ayedi,” the Lord Tensor says, “you have been found guilty. According to our laws, your tensor gene will be locked and you will serve the remainder of your life in the Rumihan sand mines.”

The only sign the man gives that he has any emotion in his body is the small shake of his head as he turns away. The Legacy Stone closes in his palm, and the other judges follow him out of the room.

Beside me, Damai and the other sisters break down, the littlest ones sobbing as the older ones pull them into their laps. I watch, stunned, as Jorian and the other escorts close in on Riyan. They rip away his cloak and staff; they force him to his knees. Before our eyes, they begin to tattoo a new symbol onto his forehead: a red stripe that runs from his brow, over his scalp, to the nape of his neck. It must be painful, but Riyan only shuts his eyes and clenches his fists.

“What does that mean?” I ask. “What are they doing to him?”

“He’ll undergo a painful genetic rewiring,” says Damai, looking at me as if this were my fault. My skin heats with guilt. “They’ll lock the tensor gene, and he’ll never be able to tessellate again. Then they’ll ship him to Rumiha to shovel sand for the glazieries until he drops dead of exhaustion.”

I think of Riyan’s face yesterday, when I asked him about the sand, and how his whole demeanor had changed. He’d either suspected or known what his fate would be. My heart sinks.

“This is insane!” Pol shouts, rising to his feet. “How could his own father do that?”

Damai shakes her head at him, her eyes shadowed. “Because he has always been Lord Tensor first and our father second.”

“You can’t agree with this!” I say.

“Of course I don’t! But there’s nothing we can do. Riyan will be sent to the mines tomorrow.” Her face pinches, eyes fierce but flooded with tears. She turns to her sisters.