Page 89 of Last of Her Name

He leads me down a plant-lined path. The floor is made of synthetic pebbles that crunch underfoot. When I pass the plants, holos pop up telling me their genus and species and planet of origin. There are palms from Rubyat nestled against algae ferns from Emerault. Ponds display kelp from Sapphine, with little red fish darting through their depths.

I slow to a halt when the path splits into a circle around a small tree. My throat tightens as I reach out to run my fingers through the smooth slinke leaves dripping from the branches. A holo label pops up, offering to tell me more about this “unusual specimen native to the fringe planet of Amethyne.”

A thousand memories stir in those swaying leaves. They flutter and hide in the slinke’s depths like shy fireflies. Memories of Clio, of Pol, my parents. My home.

“Princess …” Volkov has noticed I stopped, and now returns for me. “You will have plenty of time to explore the gardens. Come along now.”

Sighing, I withdraw my hand. The leaves fall still, but the memories don’t.

We board yet another transport pod, and this one carries us to the square building on the edge of the palace, where the Committee’s political prisoners are housed. Volkov assures me that all the Loyalists arrested in Afka are inside.

After disembarking, I stand before the doors to the cells and draw a deep breath. My heart’s banging around with nervousness and excitement.

She’s here. I can feel it.

Somewhere behind that door, Clio is waiting.

I swallow hard, then take a step forward. “I’m ready.”

The cells aren’t much different from the one I was put in by Zhar, all blank walls and bright lights, doors made of diamantglass. The place is clean verging on sterile. I walk slowly, feeling like I’m in a trance.

I see so many familiar faces: Ravi from the diner, my mechanics instructor, a couple of guys from the vineyard. They all gasp when they see me, some calling out, but Volkov doesn’t give me time to talk to them. What would I say, anyway, besides make apologies that will never begin to make up for their suffering? They all look haggard and dispirited. They run to the doors, watching me go past, and it isn’t long before tears are trailing down my cheeks.

My parents aren’t here, at least. Thank the stars for that. I have to believe they’re still fighting back on Amethyne.

But neither is Clio.

I walk faster and faster, my chest tight, my breath short. My head swivels as I look in cell after cell, leaving behind the Amethynian prisoners and seeing unfamiliar faces—Sapphino and Rubyati and Emeraultine and Alexandrian. Humans and eeda, paryans and zherans and aeyla.

None of them my Clio.

Finally, we’re back at the prison’s front door, having walked every row in the building. Natalya stands silently by, while Volkov presses a button to summon a return pod.

“Well?” He raises his eyebrows. “Are you satisfied they’ve been treated well? Once you and I have finished our business, we’ll see about returning them to Amethyne.”

I shake my head, my mouth dry. “Is this all of them?”

Volkov nods. “Who did you expect to find? Your so-called parents, the kidnappers?”

“Clio.” Her name is sand on my tongue. “My friend Clio Markova.”

Might they have taken her away someplace, to use her as leverage against me? Or to torture her? My heart squeezes at the thought. I hadn’t given Volkov her name before now, worried they might do just that if they learned how important she was to me. Could they have figured it out, anyway?

He grunts and opens a tabletka, finger flicking across data streams. He shakes his head. “No Markovas here. Your friend must still be on Amethyne.”

“No, I saw her. On the broadcast, with the other prisoners. Isawher.”

Panic rises in my chest. I fight for breath, my hands knotting into fists. As I grip the wall for support, I dimly hear Volkov speaking. Natalya pulls me away, half dragging me into the pod because I’m too shaky to walk.

She’s not on Alexandrine, Stacia.

Stars, was Pol right after all? He tried to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen. But what could he possibly know about Clio that I don’t?

“I want her found,” I say. “I want to know what happened to her.”

“My people will look into it, Princess.”

The rest of the day passes like an endless nightmare. I’m fed, I’m bathed, I’m dressed in another red-and-white gown. They try to take away my multicuff, but I fight them until they give up. It’s my last piece of home.