Page 85 of Last of Her Name

Volkov sighs. “No, I didn’t.”

“I’ve seen the footage. You executed them, point-blank.”

His eyes find mine, green as the emerald piece in my hand. “That is how we told the story, and we created the footage to back it up. But the truth is, Anya, when my people and I breached the Autumn Palace sixteen years ago, the emperor and his family were already dead.”

I sit back, blinking. “If it wasn’t you, then who—”

“It was Pyotr himself.” He pauses. The skin at the corners of his eyes pinches. “He used a poison, gentle but fast-working. By the time we got to them, it was too late. Empress Katarina, the three children, Pyotr himself … all had been lost. But of infant Anya, of course, there was no sign. She was small enough to have been smuggled out in a pack, right under our noses.”

I shake my head. “Why would he murder his own family?”

“He knew I wanted them alive.”

I’m clutching the emerald game piece so hard it leaves the imprint of a miniature priest in my palm. “So they could give you the Firebird.”

“Yes. But also because he had been my friend, and because I loved his children—you and your siblings.” His sorrowful eyes are almost convincing. “I never wanted them to die. I only wanted them to cooperate with the people’s wishes, to ensure our safety. And the Firebird was, and still is, the key to that safety. But Pyotr couldn’t set aside his pride and give it up.”

He infuriates me, the way he twists history, making himself out as the hero.

I realize he’sexactlythe person to lead a revolution—not with guns and bravado and glorious battle victories, but with words. And now he’s using those words on me, distracting me from who he is and what he’s done.

“So you faked the executions because … what? You couldn’t stand for people to know the truth, that the Leonovs outsmarted you in the end?” I shake my head in disgust. “Why not forget the Firebird? It’s not like you need it or the Prismata. You already control everything.”

He sighs like he’s a mathematics teacher and I’m not following the lesson. “This has never been about control. This is about the survival of humanity. Our civilization is in terrible danger, Anya Leonova. You have noideaof the threat hanging over us, or what the Prisms really are.”

“I know what the Prisms are, like I knowyou’rethe threat hanging over us.”

Anger flashes in his eyes. Just a bit, enough to see there’s another layer beneath his pleasant facade. “I assume you’ve figured out what the Firebird is.”

I swallow and look away but can’t hide the heat gathering in my cheeks.

“Ah.” He leans back, eyes glinting. “I see you have.”

I think of the tensor gene, the Legacy Stones, the streams of data dancing across the Chamber of Judgment. Dr. Luka’s last words to me:You’ve always had it.

I haven’t been able to admit it to myself yet, but during that last climb through Tyrrha, I had nothing but time to ponder it.

To connect the dots and find the truth that’s been staring me straight in the eyes.

Ironically, when I first sent Volkov my surrender message, I hadn’t known what the Firebird was. It had all been a bluff. I had no idea that only hours later, I’d have the real answer.

“I’m not telling you anything,” I say. “Not until my friends are safe. That was our deal.”

Volkov looks me in the eyes for a long moment, his lips slowly peeling back into a thin smile. He looks like a viper that’s already struck, who knows its poison is working its way through my body and now it’s only a matter of time.

And then it hits me—he knows, he’salwaysknown—and I can’t stop the little gasp of dismay that breaks from my lips. My body turns heavy, my skin tight, as I realize he’s already a dozen moves ahead of me. I’ve played right into his hands.

The truth about the Firebird had been my one bargaining chip—the only leverage I had to wield. But he knows it already. And because he knows, all the promises he made to me are worthless. My list of conditions are so many ashes falling through my fingers.

“Yes, Anya,” Volkov murmurs, “I know the Firebird isyou, or rather, it’s an artificial segment of your DNA, a cybernetic code passed down through generations of your family.”

I set down the emerald priest, but my hand is so sweaty it slips and clatters on the floor.

“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I’ll still meet your demands, provided you offer me your cooperation.”

I can only nod.

He considers me thoughtfully, the pad of his thumb rubbing his lower lip. Then he says, “What do you know about the Firebird code?”