Across a Star-Swept Sea

Twenty-six

PERSIS EXITED THE LIFT and approached the visitors clustered around the gliders on the lawn and chattering away, despite the late hour. As she drew closer, she saw there was an extra member of the party present. She peered through the darkness at the young woman in the dark clothes.

Vania Aldred. Again. She was about to have a very stern conversation with the guard staff.

An orchid flutter buzzed against her hand. She nudged aside her wristlock to let Isla’s message in.

I am glad to hear from Justen that no harm has come to our guests. I suppose you can’t pen in explorers, now can you?

I have wonderful news. One of the Albian royal vessels has made contact with the Argos, and with messages from the captains and Chancellor Boatwright, has persuaded them to make landing at the royal court as early as tomorrow. In honor of their arrival, I plan to introduce the crew of the Argos to Albian society at a massive gala luau tomorrow night.

Do you think they have anything decent to wear?

All my love.

Persis barely paid attention to the message, as all her focus was on the Galatean revolutionary who’d somehow managed to sneak past the guards she’d posted at both the lift and the landside entrances to the estate. The revolutionary who’d somehow, in the past hour, become close personal friends with the visitors from elsewhere.

Where was Justen while all this was going on? Had he been the one to let Vania in? Had he been the one to introduce her to the visitors?

“You’re saying it snows where you live?” Vania was asking as Persis approached. “Real snow? Astonishing. Tell me what it’s like in this . . . winter thing, when the days are only a few hours long.”

“Dreadful,” said Kai, as if that finished the matter.

“Well, what a surprise to see you again, Citizen Aldred,” said Persis.

“Lady Blake.” The dark-haired woman turned and affected a deep and oddly reverent bow, which instantly made the rest of the group uncomfortable.

Oh, so this was how she intended to play. Act the downtrodden reg, as if that would make a case for the revolution. Persis smiled. She could checkmate that.

“We must call each other ‘Persis’ and ‘Vania’ now,” Persis said. “After all, we’ll practically be sisters when Justen and I get married.” The girl flinched ever so slightly. Interesting. “Besides, I never can remember whether it’s more polite to call you by your military title or the one that you and your father share.”

“‘Citizen’ is meant to denote our equality, Lady Blake.”

“Is it now?” Persis giggled. “And yet, the truest equality lies not in names but in actions.” She took the woman’s hand and drew her away from the visitors. “What brings you to my estate at such a late hour?”

“That would be my fault, Lady Blake,” called Andromeda. Curse the visitor’s insanely good hearing. And Lady Blake? Andromeda had been calling her Persis since they met. And there was a sneer on the woman’s pale face that Persis had never noticed before either. “Vania took Tomorrow and me on her boat all day. We toured the coast of Albion and she told us all about her country.”

“Such a shame,” Persis murmured. She continued, more loudly, “What’s going on in Galatea, I mean. Luckily, we’re safe from all that nastiness here.”

“And what we’re safe from in Galatea,” Vania replied just as sweetly, “is the tyranny of stupid aristos who lord over us for no particular reason but their birth.”

“I’d like to see a country where there are no lords,” said Andromeda. “I used to read about them in books and wonder what such a place was like.”

“I’m sure such a place could be most lovely,” Persis said quickly. “But tyranny can come from those who aren’t called lords as well.”

“True,” said Kai. “And it wouldn’t have hurt for you and Ro to tell us where you were going, Andromeda. Elliot and I were worried sick.”

“Fine,” said Andromeda. “We’ll decide as a group. I vote we leave here and head to Galatea. I’m tired of being told by a bunch of lords and princesses where I can and cannot be.”

“Excellent decision!” Vania cried as Persis looked on, appalled. “We can leave right now if you wish. It’s just a short trip from here to the northern tip of Galatea. . . .”

Persis refused to panic, though from Vania’s smug grin, the Galatean was clearly waiting for such a response. Instead she said, “Oh, dear. Perhaps it would be best to delay the trip for a day or two. I’ve just received word from Isla that her ship met up with the Argos and is leading it back to Albion.”

“Have your monarch message her ship again,” suggested Vania, “and tell the Argos to divert to Galatea instead. We wouldn’t want to keep the visitors here against their will, would we?”

Persis pouted. “Oh, but her highness the princess will be so disappointed. She was planning a luau for tomorrow night, to welcome the visitors to Albian society. It would mean so much to all the people of my country. You can leave for Galatea right after.” Or never, as the case may be. “It’s going to be ever so much fun. Feasting and music and dancing.”

“Dance?” asked Tomorrow hopefully, looking at Elliot and Kai for confirmation.

“Now you’ve done it,” said Andromeda with a snort. “Ro would kill for a dance.”

Elliot was glancing back and forth between Persis and Vania. The chancellor, Persis had decided, said very little unless she absolutely had to, and yet Kai deferred to her whenever she did. In fact, the only thing she’d ever seen them disagree about, even temporarily, had been Elliot’s insistence on flying her own glider to search for their friends. What must it be like to have a friend you always agreed with, to be in love with him besides? Persis was hardly ever in agreement with even her best friends, and the only person she’d ever come close to falling for turned out to be a liar and a war criminal. Maybe her problem was her taste in men.

Or the fact that she was a rather extreme liar herself.

“I think,” Elliot said now, “that we should wait to visit the other island until we’ve rejoined the rest of the crew. And perhaps we do owe the princess attendance at her luau, if we’re to be guests of honor.”

“Leave it to the Luddite to stand on ceremony,” grumbled Andromeda. At least, that’s what Persis thought she’d said. “We can always count on you to side with the aristos.”

“There’s no side,” said Elliot.

“Yes, there’s no side,” Persis agreed. “Naturally, I highly advise against visiting Galatea. My father won’t even let me go anymore. He thinks it’s dangerous. I suppose, however, with an escort like Vania here, you’d be relatively safe.” Here she simpered in Vania’s direction, who returned only a steely glare. “All we’re requesting is that you stay an extra day to attend a party. Surely one day in Albion is no burden—especially since your friends are just arriving. The party will be spectacular—all Isla’s luaus are. And she’s instructed me to procure you each a suitable outfit for the event. Everybody who’s anybody in Albion will be there.”

“And how do you define ‘anybody’ in this place?” Andromeda asked drily.

“Andromeda!” Elliot said. “Would you lay off for once?”

“Would you?” the sandy-haired captain snapped back. She looked at Persis. “And while we’re on the subject, how do you define ‘outfit’?”

Vania smiled. “I’ll stay, too, Andromeda, and that way we can be sure that Lady Blake here keeps her promise to let you all go when the luau is over.”

“Let them go?” said Persis. “I’m not keeping them prisoner.”

“The guards stationed at the lift would lead one to think otherwise.”

“Well, you would know from guards.”

Vania Aldred—a captain of the revolutionary army; a proponent of arresting aristos for imagined slights; a torturer of men, women, and children—calling her out for trying to keep a few nosy gossips from spying on the visitors before it was politically expedient? As it was, Persis nearly bit her tongue off keeping from saying anything more. After all, the guards were meant to keep Vania out, but voicing that fact wasn’t about to win Persis or Isla points with the visitors.

And if Vania thought she was going to spend the night in Scintillans, Persis had a bit of news for her.

“Fantastic,” she said when they had all agreed to stay. “I shall relay this wonderful news to Isla and then first thing tomorrow morning, we’ll start in on your outfits.” She turned to the Galatean. “Good night, dear Vania. I’m sure you know the way out.”

“Yes,” the revolutionary replied. “But I won’t be going far.”

AFTER PERSIS HAD TAKEN her leave of the visitors, fluttered Isla about the new developments, and made absolutely sure that Vania was off the estate, she found Justen slouched on a cushion in the sitting room. He wasn’t paying attention to any of the oblets glowing around him. There were piles of nanorectors on the desk before him. Half were engaged in forming a quite complex model of what Persis assumed was a human brain. The others he was absentmindedly shifting into random shapes—a frangipani flower, a cyclone, a parasol, and a sea mink.

Persis stationed herself before him. “Isla will not be pleased that you failed to report who it was that spirited Captain Phoenix and Tomorrow away from here.”

“The important thing is that they’re back,” he replied in a monotone.

“Yes. Their heads filled with all sorts of prejudice against the princess—not to mention me—and all kinds of fantasies about what it’s really like in Galatea. She’d almost convinced them to leave with her tonight. And here you are, hiding away doing—what exactly?” She gestured to the nanorectors.

“I’m not a political operative,” he said, grimacing. “I can’t do this. I can’t do all the court drama, like you do, Persis. Can’t smile and be charming and pretend that nothing bothers me. I’d sooner throw Vania off the pali tonight than engage in a battle of words with her.”

That would be acceptable, Persis thought. “Fine. Ignore Vania. But you of all people can speak freely about exactly what’s happening in your country.”

His shoulders lifted a centimeter or two in a barely there shrug, and his face and voice were every bit as glum. “Oh, yes. I’m quite a trustworthy source for the crew of the Argos. They’re the bravest people I’ve ever heard of. They left their homeland in search of what might have been nothing at all. They fought their entire society in order to build their ship and sail away. They’ve found strange islands filled with people and animals and things that seem like they came from dreams. They certainly have reason to trust and like a cowardly runaway who’s living as the kept man of an idle aristo.”

His self-loathing oozed off him in waves. Persis almost wanted to step back before it dripped on her shoes.

“I don’t know why I’m even trying to talk to you about this. I’m nothing but a performer for your princess. I can’t help in the sanitarium, I can’t help my sister—”

“What’s wrong with your sister?” she broke in before she could stop herself. If Remy had been compromised, Persis needed to know.

“She’s in Galatea. What else does she need to be in danger?” he snapped. He scrubbed his hands over his hair, his face cast down in deep contemplation. “I can’t even talk to her. I think they’re screening my messages or something. Imagine what she thinks of me now. All the stories that must be circulating about us—about me and some . . . aristo.”

Some idiot aristo, he’d obviously been planning to say. How sweet; he was concerned for her feelings. For once.

“And the truth’s not much better, from her perspective. I am a traitor to everything she believes in.”

If only he knew! “You think your sister is like Vania?”

“No, I think she’s a child.” He shrugged. “Citizen Aldred is the only father she’s ever known. Of course she supports him. Maybe if I’d been there for her more, instead of being in the lab all the time . . .”

“She’s fourteen,” Persis said. “I don’t think she’s as much of a child as you imagine.” But was she as grown-up as Persis had hoped? She knew Remy’s family members underestimated her. Persis, of anyone, understood how easily something like that could happen. But Justen did know the girl better than she did. If pressure were put to bear on Remy Helo . . . if Vania got desperate . . . would she crack?

“You haven’t met Remy,” Justen said, smiling ruefully. “She was so young when our parents died—it makes her a little intense sometimes about family, about protecting the people she loves . . .” He trailed off. “And maybe I have some of that, too. I can’t let anything happen to her. She’s the only family I have left.”

Curious. Remy had said precisely the same thing. And here stood Persis in the center of it. She couldn’t say if Citizen Aldred would hurt Remy because of Justen’s actions, but if Remy’s work for the League were discovered, she’d surely be Reduced—or worse. And Persis couldn’t vouch for Justen’s safety in Albion, either. No matter what Isla had accused her of yesterday, Persis would find a way to make Justen answer for his work on the Reduction drug. The biggest danger to both Helos was Persis herself.

What a strange family this was, who claimed to wish to protect each other but left each other in the company of people they suspected might hurt them. Then again, she’d allowed Justen to treat her mother, allowed it because she wanted to believe he wished to help the Darkened, rather than harm an aristo. Allowed it because, just as Isla had said, her hope that he might cure her mother—might cure her—trumped any hatred she had for what he’d done to the refugees. No matter what crimes he’d committed, if he held the secret to stopping DAR, he had to be allowed to work.

“I don’t want Remy in Galatea any longer,” Justen was saying now. “If my messages to her are being intercepted, I think it’s time the Wild Poppy gets involved.”

Persis’s laugh was high, trilling, and not entirely faked. The Wild Poppy was very much involved. “I’m sure he’ll be relieved that you’ve started making those decisions for him.”

Justen blinked. “I didn’t mean—”

“To sound like some bossy aristo?” Persis finished. “What if the Poppy’s busy with something big? Or maybe he’s decided to scrap the whole thing and take up cliff diving for fun and profit. Can’t be any more dangerous, right?”

“Well, Isla said he liked challenges. And the royal palace in Halahou . . . that’s a tricky prospect.”

“I think you should leave actually planning events to the Poppy, Justen,” she said, a trifle annoyed. She could get into the palace. If she wanted to. And she’d had quite enough of discussing the Wild Poppy with Justen. He could ask for Remy’s extraction until the islands cooled, but she would be the one to decide when her informant needed to get out of Galatea.

Justen shook his head. “If Noemi ever responds to me, I’ll ask her to put me in touch with him. Or maybe the princess will do it.”

Persis remained silent, fearing any response would connect the dots in Justen’s head. The only person those two had in common was her.

“I wonder,” Justen said, “do you think Tero is the Wild Poppy? I know all along we’ve been saying that the Poppy must be an aristo, but maybe he’s not.”

All right, her and her other friends from Scintillans village. But even that guess was too close for comfort.

“Tero?” She tossed her hair over her shoulder. “He has far too many gengineering duties at court. Besides, I’ve known him for ages. He’s not the sneaky type. He can’t even keep his feelings for the princess a secret.”

“Yes, but remember how he knocked that lord out on Remembrance Island the other day?”

Right. She had let Justen think Tero was responsible for that.

“And if Isla was helping him, he’d have the money and the resources to make all the trips to Galatea that he needed. And the disguises! He’s a gengineer, so he’d have access to the lab to code whatever genetemp he wanted. It makes a lot more sense than some bored Albian aristo who knows nothing of spy craft.”

“It makes more sense that some freshly cooled gengineer knows something of spy craft?” Persis acted as if she was holding back her laughter. “That’s preposterous, Justen. Trust me, I’ve known that boy all my life.” Which was why she trusted Tero in the League, and why she didn’t want Justen sniffing around him. Why, after all this time, did he suddenly want the spy to fetch his sister? And why was he so curious who it was? “Besides, who cares who the Poppy is? Isn’t the important thing that he is effective?”

Was Vania still trying to find the Wild Poppy? Had she enlisted Justen’s help?

“Everyone cares, Persis,” Justen said. “It’s the only thing anyone talks about, on both sides of the sea.”

That she knew. “Oh, Justen, I thought you weren’t interested in gossip.”

He paid her no mind. “It must be Tero. Look at the way he keeps his hair. No one here cuts their hair so short. It’s for his disguises, maybe.”

Now Persis really wanted to laugh. Yes, she supposed short hair would have been a boon to her in her disguises. Perhaps she should let that rumor about her new taste in hairstyles stand and go for it. “I look forward to seeing Tero’s response when you ask him at the luau tomorrow.” At Justen’s confused expression, she explained Isla’s plan as well as the fact that Vania had invited herself.

His face fell, which ignited an uncomfortable twinge in Persis’s chest, one she firmly ignored. She didn’t care if he was despondent. Or care about anything he did as long as it didn’t hurt the refugees anymore.

“Another party,” he said. “Another day away from the lab. I don’t know how any of you can celebrate with all this suffering. You most of all, Persis. How can you worry about clothes and hair and not think about the fact that this is going to be the first luau your mother’s too sick to attend?”

She stiffened.

Justen paled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

“You did,” she replied bluntly. “You look at me and you hate the fact that I can put my mother’s sickness from my mind while I tell Isla what shoes will best match her dress.”

“She wears white, Persis. It can’t be that hard.”

“It’s not? You do it.” She was safely back in her role now, but her mind erupted with ideas. He truly couldn’t stomach having fun while people suffered. And yet he was asking questions about the Poppy like he’d been sent on a mission from her enemies. Which was it? Who was he? How could she find out the truth?

A flutter zipped into the room; halted above Persis’s head; and switched to its lazy, lilting trajectory toward her palm. Orchid. Isla.

We must discuss the visitors’ clothing requirements. Call me immediately.

She took a deep breath and fluttered back:

Yes, Your Highness.

JUSTEN HAD NO MEMORY of dropping off to sleep at his desk, nanorectors still hard at work, oblets burning bright, but when he woke, it was to find a kimono-wrapped Persis standing above him and shaking him by the shoulders.

“There’s only four hours until we have to leave for court. Do you even know what you’re wearing?”

“Pick something,” he groaned, blinking. “I’m sure Isla would prefer our outfits matched anyway.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, you, too? Must I single-handedly dress every person on this island?”

“I thought’s that what you liked doing.” There was something on the edge of his mind he couldn’t quite grasp. Something about last night. After Persis had left, he’d fumed a bit, and then, unable to sleep and unable to do anything for his sister, he’d gone back to work. He scrubbed his hands across his face and toggled up his notes. “Fashion. Fun. Nothing that could remotely be construed as serious.”

Persis fixed him with a glare. “You wouldn’t like me serious, Justen. I promise you that.”

The nanorectors on his desk were blinking blue and green, indicating they’d completed the task Justen had set. As Justen looked at the model they’d built from his program, rotating silently on the desktop, everything clicked into place.

Staring in fascination at the model, he waved her away. “I don’t care what I wear, Persis. Put me in whatever you want. I have more important things on my mind.”

Far more important. He may have found a way to stop it all.