Page 9 of Last of Her Name
No other girls step forward, either. Parents hold them tight, like mine do me, like I do Clio.
She looks up at me. “Stace …”
“Shh,” I say, squeezing Clio’s arm, trying to keep my voice from shaking. “We’re going to be fine. You and me against the universe, remember?”
I’ll do whatever it takes to keep her safe.
Because that’s my job. It’s what I’ve done for as long as I’ve known her.Protect Clio. When I see Antonin and his gang roaming town, looking for girls to bother, I steer Clio away from them. When we go hiking in the hills, I lead the way so she doesn’t get bitten by snakes. Even though we’re the same age, sometimes I feel like she’s my younger sister. The urge to shield her is instinctual.
Alexei Volkov winces, shaking his head wearily, as if this is what he’d expected us to do all along.
“Very well,” he sighs, and he waves to the vityazes.
The Red Knights jump forward and begin prowling through the crowd, grabbing girls from their parents’ arms. One seizes me by my collar. It’s the same man who threatened us aboard the dory. But my dad clutches my shoulder, the veins in his forearm bulging and his face red. The expression on his face terrifies me, not because of the anger there but because of howscaredhe looks. It makes my chest cave in, to see him like that, to realize how powerless even he feels right now. He’s my dad. My rock. He’s supposed to have all the answers, even when I don’t want to hear them. He isn’t supposed to look like this—defeated, trapped, as helpless as I am.
“Sir,”says the vityaze in a low, cool voice, locking eyes with my dad. He begins to reach for his gun.
“Dad, let go,” I say.“Please.”
Without breaking gazes with the vityaze, he finally releases me, and my mother takes his hand, as if to restrain him if he changes his mind.
“We’ll be right here, love,” she says to me. She’s still watching Volkov, as if he’s a diseased animal that might bite at any moment.
The man pushes me into a line with all the other girls. Clio follows, sticking close, her hand clammy in mine.
My free hand curls into a fist, my heart hammering. I imagine grabbing a gun from one of the vityazes, but my own frightened muscles betray me and hold still. What would I do with it, anyway? Get myself killed, and Clio and my parents too. But still something in me itches to fight back, to not be pushed around at this man’s whim. Being powerless makes me angry. Being powerless to protect Clio makes me ashamed.
At last, the room settles again, with us girls lined up in a sniffling, trembling line and our parents silent and pale behind us. Clio is on my right. Mischina, a girl from my mechanics course, is on my left. She’s anxiously chewing the end of one of her black braids, and we exchange glances. She looks as angry as I feel, and I reach out and briefly clasp her hand too. Whatever’s happening, we’re all in this together.
The direktor’s eyes creep along the row; he looks frustrated, as if our frightened faces and tears perplex him, as if he cannot understand why we’re afraid. He walks to the sobbing Ilya Kepht and pulls out his own handkerchief, handing it to her.
“What’s your name, child?” he asks.
Ilya answers in a voice too soft for me to hear. Her father, the mayor, stands behind her, separated by a broad vityaze. He swallows repeatedly, his skinny throat bobbing. The sweat on him is visible even across the room. But he’s attempting to smile, as if to assure himself and all of us that everything is fine. I hate him a little for that tepid smile; he’s our leader. Why isn’t he fighting back? Why is he letting Alexei Volkov lay a single finger on his own daughter?
“Ilya,” echoes Volkov. He leans down a little, to look into her eyes. “Do you know what my first duty is, Ilya, as the direktor Eminent of the Belt?”
She just stares at him, eyes round.
He smiles, and this time, it’s almost a believable one. “My first duty is to protect my people. It is not a task I take lightly. You, dear Ilya, and all your friends and family here, they are my people, whom I love. As far as I’m concerned, you are all my daughters, for whom I would lay down my life. Ilya, you’re a virtuous daughter of the Amethyne, are you not? Do you love our great Union?”
She sniffs. “Y-yes, sir. I sing the Unity Hymn every morning in school, like everyone else.”
“Good girl.” He pats her shoulder. “And as an upstanding young citizen, what do you think should be done with the traitors among us? Should I let them go about their business, planting the seeds of war, plotting against the safety of the whole Belt?”
Her eyes widen. She glances at the rest of us, but Volkov’s fingers lightly turn her chin back to him.
“I—I suppose they should be caught,” she says. “And perhaps … put in jail.”
“You see?” He straightens and looks across the crowd. “Even this child knows what must be done. I can see you are good people. Once I weed the warmongers from your midst, I’ll leave you to the peace you deserve.”
How gentle his voice is, and how noble. It’s at odds with those flat and expressionless eyes. I would almost believe him, if not for the eyes. But some of the girls relax a little. Ilya even manages a smile for the direktor. She clutches his handkerchief tight as he walks on, his eyes softening as he studies each of us in turn. I meet his gaze when he reaches me, trying to remain unswayed by that synthetic smile and soft voice. But still a shiver runs through my bones until his stare moves on. He has the same empty gaze as a snaptooth.
Finally, he returns to the stage, where he begins to remove his crisp gloves, finger by finger. He tucks them in the inner pocket of his coat, then removes a slender white gun. It’s almost like a magic trick—transforming leather into metal, stitches into bolts. I flinch; Clio sucks in a breath.
The direktor looks up, his smile gone.
“The warmongers have been very clever indeed, hiding themselves here at the galaxy’s edge. But their cleverness forces my hand, much to my sorrow. For we now know that not all the Leonov tyrants died on Alexandrine sixteen years ago. One escaped. One has hidden from us, here among you good, honest folk. So I speak directly toyou, Anya Petrovna Leonova, princess of the fallen Alexandrian Empire: Save these people. Because unless you step forward in thirty seconds, no one leaves this room alive.”