Isana had read Tavi’s letters describing the vord queen he had encountered beneath the now-lost city of Alera Imperia, and had spoken to Amara regarding her own experience with the creature. She had expected the pale skin, the dark, multifaceted eyes. She had expected the unsettling mixture of alien inconsistency with everyday familiarity. She had expected her to bear an unsettling resemblance to the Marat girl, Kitai.

What she had not expected, not at all, was for another achingly familiar face to appear, contained within the canted eyes and exotic beauty of Kitai’s visage. Though the Queen resembled Kitai, she was not identical. There was a subtle blending of the features of her face, as parents’ faces would combine in the face of their child. The other face within the Queen’s was one Tavi had never seen—that of his aunt, Isana’s sister, who had died the night he was born. Alia.

Isana saw her younger sister’s face in the vord Queen, muffled but not subsumed, like a stone lying quietly beneath a blanket of snow. Her heart ached. After all this time, she still felt Alia’s loss, still remembered the moment of awful realization as she stared at a limp bundle of muddy limbs and ragged clothing on the cold stone floor of a low-roofed cavern.

The vord Queen’s distant expression suddenly shifted, and she jerked her head back from Isana as though she had smelled something vile. Then, an instant later, seemingly without crossing the space in between, the vord Queen’s eyes were immediately in front of hers, her nose all but brushing Isana’s. She took a slow, seething breath, then hissed, “What is it? What is that?”

Isana leaned back, away from the Queen. “I... I don’t understand.”

The Queen let out a low hiss, a boiling, reptilian sound. “Your face. Your eyes. What did you see?”

Isana struggled for a moment to slow her racing heart, to control her breath. “You... you looked like someone familiar to me.”

The Queen stared at her, and Isana felt a terrible, invasive sensation, like a thousand worms writhing against her scalp.

“What,” the vord Queen hissed, “is Alia?”

Rage struck Isana without warning, cold and biting, and she flung the memory of that cold stone floor against the sensation upon her scalp as though she could crush the worming caress with the very image. “No,” she heard herself say, her voice flat and cold. “Stop that.”

The vord Queen twitched, a motion that moved her entire body, like a tree swaying in a sudden wind. She twitched her head to one side and stared at Isana, her mouth open. “Wh-what?”