This time, Ian did get to his feet. “This isn’t a decision you get to make!” he said incredulously. “Sydney Sage’s fate isn’t in your hands. You have no right to—”
“Ivashkov,” interrupted Sydney. It was the first she’d spoken since we entered the room.
Ian turned his outraged expression from the throne to her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Ivashkov,” she repeated, her face the picture of serenity. Only I could tell from the sweating of her hand how high her anxiety was running. The Alchemists had dealt her a low blow sending these three. “My name is Sydney Ivashkov now, Ian.”




















