Across a Star-Swept Sea fdsts-2

by Diana Peterfreund

  Vania pounced on this. “Who?”

  He waved her off with a distracted “the Seris.”

  She made a face. “They’re terrible. The Poppy will pay for kidnapping them!”

  “That’s not the point. I hate the Seris. I will always hate them. They hate me. They hated Persistence Helo. But when they disagreed with her, they debated her, they voted against her, they argued and fought like civilized people. They didn’t torture her or give her drugs to destroy her brain. And that’s what we’re doing, Vania. We’re worse than people like the Seris ever thought of being.”

  Vania stared at him, jaw clenched, eyes blazing with anger and what she absolutely refused to admit might be the seeds of tears. This could not be Justen. Her best friend. Practically her brother. If he’d been back in Galatea, would she have the strength to report his words to her father? Since he was in Albion, she could afford to be lenient. After all, he couldn’t damage the revolution from here. But it still broke her heart.

  If he couldn’t understand the difference, she didn’t know how to explain it to him. The Seris had the luxury of avoiding violence. Their power was centralized, firm, absolute. They were aristos from a long line of aristos. They were certain of their position. Until the revolutionary government had complete control of the island, had the respect and recognition of Albion, had consolidated its sovereignty—things were too fragile to allow dissidence.

  “The Ford heir was dangerous to our cause,” Vania said at last, “not necessarily because of anything she did herself but because of what she represented. She has power because of who she would be allowed to become, unchecked. An aristo, the head of an estate. Given power for no reason other than her birth. It’s a difficult decision but unfortunately she has to suffer the consequences. She has to bear the punishment for the crimes committed by her ancestors.”

  “And when our children are judged for our crimes?” Justen asked coldly.

  “Justen—”

  But he wouldn’t listen. “Before the cure,” he said, “when aristos treated our Reduced forefathers poorly, they said we deserved it. We deserved it because it was our ancestors who’d ruined the world. Our ancestors who performed the gengineering that caused the Reduction, who started the wars, who cracked open the Earth.”

  “Yes,” she said. “And now the aristos are being repaid for their cruelty.” How was this not obvious to him?

  “And then we will be repaid for ours, and then the cycle will start all over again. When does it end, Vania? Does the world have to be completely destroyed?”

  “I hope not,” came a silky voice from the far end of the terrace. “I rather think we’ve destroyed enough of it already.”

  Vania turned, and was confronted with a figure who could be no one but Lady Persis Blake. She was swathed from chin to toe in what looked like form-fitting chain mail, and despite herself, Vania’s first thought was of some ancient female knight.

  What seemed like acres of yellow and white hair was piled up on top of the girl’s head, making her tall, slim figure even more towering. Her features could not be seen clearly, as her face was obscured by a tight silver veil embroidered thickly across her cheeks with silver beading in a starburst design.

  Vania blinked. It was late afternoon. This was Persis Blake’s daytime wear? She was more ridiculous even than Vania’s research had led her to believe.

  “Justen.” Persis glided toward them. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting a guest.”

  “I wasn’t,” he grumbled. “This is Vania Aldred, an old friend from Galatea.”

  “Lady Blake,” said Vania, inclining her head a full millimeter, which was more than her father would want and more than this glittering statue deserved. “I’m Captain Aldred of the revolutionary army.”

  Persis laughed, a musical sound that instantly grated on Vania’s nerves. “How fascinating. A captain! Who knew that my Justen was friends with members of the military?” She smiled so broadly, Vania could make it out even through the mesh of her clinging veil. “And what brings you to my home? Merely here to visit Justen, or are you opening diplomatic relations with our princess regent?”

  “She’s looking for the Wild Poppy,” Justen muttered.

  Persis pressed a gloved hand against her chain mail–encased throat. “How extraordinary! And here I’d been under the impression that the revolutionaries thought our celebrated spy was an actual threat to them. He won’t be half so much fun to gossip about if the Galateans don’t even care.”

  “We do care,” Vania snapped. “That’s why I’m here to find him.”

  Persis cocked her head. “They can’t care too much, if all they sent was a little girl.”

  Justen groaned and stepped between them before Vania could do what she wanted. “You’re going to have to indulge Persis, Vania. She’s Albian, remember? She doesn’t really understand the concept of women having leadership positions.”

  “Oh? I thought she was friends with the princess,” Vania growled.

  “I am,” Persis trilled. “She wouldn’t dare leave her dressing room without getting my approval on her footwear.”

  Justen turned to Vania with a look on his face that said see?

  Except Vania didn’t see. She didn’t see at all what Justen could possibly find attractive about this empty-headed, shallow, crazily clothed aristo. She looked on in horror as Justen tried explaining to Persis that Vania actually had a very important job back home. He spoke to her as one might to a child.

  “Persis, you know that’s not how things work in Galatea. Vania is a very well-respected captain of the military police.”

  What sort of affection could possibly grow from this? Was this what men liked? Was this what Justen liked? No, she’d never believe that. Justen needed someone who could match him intellectually.

  “And because she’s Citizen Aldred’s daughter, she has much more experience than most her age.”

  Well, he needn’t have added that part.

  “I suppose,” Persis said at last, “that’s good news for the Poppy. And for any aristos he might wish to save.”

  “I assure you it is not,” Vania stated. “I will stop the Wild Poppy from undermining my homeland’s new government.”

  Beneath the veil, Vania saw Persis’s eyes slide in her direction. “Shall you? I’ll be curious to see that.” Then the aristo addressed Justen. “How fierce you all are in Galatea. Tell me, Justen, is this what most men of your nationality prefer in a woman?”

  Finally, a good question. Vania turned to her old friend, who looked like he wanted to sink through the polished stone floor.

  “Persis,” he said with a sigh, “not now.”

  Ah, so all was not perfect in his aristocratic paradise. And, really, how could it be? As they liked to say in Galatea, his aristo girlfriend didn’t need pinks to be an idiot.

  The girl shrugged. “Well,” she conceded, “I suppose it must be their fierceness. It certainly isn’t their sense of fashion. Will your friend be staying long, Justen?”

  “No,” said Justen with a definitive shake of his head. “She won’t be staying at all.”

  Persis nodded regally. “It was nice to meet you, Captain.” She sashayed off.

  Vania congratulated herself on her remarkable restraint. She hadn’t even rolled her eyes. “Justen,” she said, “you’ve gone mad. Aristos? Albion? This moronic, spoiled brat? I don’t even know you anymore.”

  “No, you don’t. And I don’t know you. When the revolution began, it was about making a better Galatea. Is this better? Torturing and imprisoning your own citizens? Threatening your best friends?”

  To be fair, she hadn’t threatened him, just the spoiled aristo brat he’d taken up with. And it hadn’t even been a threat so much as a statement of fact. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s impossible that you’ve changed so much so quickly. What’s happened to you, Justen? Don’t you remember the day the old queen was sentenced? Don’t you remember how happy we were? Finally, we’d been able to c
hange the world.”

  “We changed it,” he agreed. “But not for the better.”

  Vania sighed. This was going nowhere. Justen must have had his brains sucked out by his new girlfriend. She gathered her strength for another argument, but was interrupted by a message ping. She pulled out her oblet.

  Captain Aldred,

  Report: There’s been a break-in at the prison and the entire Ford family and their servants escaped. Their cells were left empty except for the sign of the Wild Poppy.

  Where are you?

  Long live the revolution,

  General Gawnt

  Nineteen

  PERSIS MANAGED TO KEEP it together until she’d reached her bedroom, until she’d engaged the privacy screens, until she’d sat down at her vanity, unwound her mesh veil, and stared in the mirror at the rashy burns all over her face.

  She met her angry, amber gaze in the glass, and her eyes began to sting.

  “I did it,” she grumbled to her reflection, “though I’d rather have tossed him off the pali.”

  The whole way back from Galatea, she’d been planning to do just that. Capture Justen as she’d captured his sister, drag him to the throne room for interrogation—maybe even utilize those neuroeels Isla claimed to have in the dungeon.

  Six months as the Wild Poppy, and she’d never felt such an urge to get violent. Six months playing dumb, and she’d never felt as stupid as she did right now. She’d invited Justen into her home. She’d introduced him to the princess. She’d told him all about her mother’s illness. She’d kissed him in the star cove. And, worst of all, she’d shown him the refugees in the sanitarium—the poor, broken people he was responsible for creating. And all the time, Justen had been lying to her. All the time, he was a worse enemy than Citizen Aldred himself.

  Here she was, the most celebrated and loathed spy in New Pacifica, and she’d been taken in by a freshly cooled medic with a kind face and a famous name.

  She’d planned to confront him with all that the very second she got home to Scintillans, but then she walked onto the terrace and saw him talking to Vania Aldred. Captain Vania Aldred, his “old friend.” Captain Vania Aldred who’d toppled the Ford estate, and who’d apparently come to Albion specifically to seek out the Wild Poppy. Possibly with Justen’s help.

  Persis needed a plan. A good spy would neutralize her enemy as soon as possible. A great spy would go a step further. If Justen was working for the revolution in Albion, it would be better to play his game and use his position against him. She just had to find out if he suspected her first.

  She looked at the girl in the mirror. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, bloodshot and baggy with exhaustion from the mission and the genetemps. Her face was swollen and red, her lips set in an angry line. Not the beautiful socialite any longer and not the skillfully disguised spy with the masculine features and corresponding beard. In this moment she was Persis, raw and unfiltered. The scared girl with the sick mother and the best friend trying single-handedly to yank her country back from the brink of revolution. The silly teenager with a crush on a famous boy who’d made her promises so convincing she’d almost risked it all in the star cove. And she could scrub and primp and style and none of that would change.

  But she’d learned her lesson. She smoothed her expression as well as she could. She could do this. She was the greatest spy in New Pacifica. Bit by bit, she vanished, leaving only the steely determination of the Wild Poppy.

  The screen pulsed. “Persis?” came Justen’s voice.

  She pasted on her most vacant smile, until even the Wild Poppy was hidden beneath the mask of Persis Flake, and disengaged the screen.

  Justen strode into her room, and it was all Persis could do to keep her eyes on her reflection and her mask in place. “Where have you been all day? You were gone when I got up this morning.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, darling. Andrine and I went to a spa and I turned off my palmport for relaxation purposes . . .” She gestured to the rash. “As you can see, it wasn’t quite as relaxing as I’d hoped.”

  In the mirror, she saw the annoyance on his face evaporate. “Oh, Persis. What did you do to yourself this time? Have you put any ointments on it yet?” He reached for her cheek, but she jerked away from his touch.

  “A slight allergic reaction.” To him. “I’m managing.” She always managed. She’d do it again, and he’d keep his war criminal medic’s hands off her.

  “Allergic reaction to what?”

  She rolled her eyes. Were they really talking about her pretend spa treatments? “My facial scrub, of course. I think . . . hibiscus? Can’t remember. Anyway, what do you want?”

  “Nothing. I”—he sounded almost sheepish—“I was wondering if maybe we could go swimming again.”

  Persis almost gasped. Was he serious? She really had melted in the star cove, then. And before that, too, when she’d led him right to the heart of the refugees. Even if he didn’t suspect her of being anything more than Persis Blake, he’d managed to get quite a few secrets out of her already. And maybe he wasn’t even after information, but just hoping to relax with a pretty, stupid aristo who would kiss him on command.

  Either way, he could forget it.

  “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take your Galatean friend?”

  “Excuse me?” Justen spluttered.

  Now Persis did face him, and let just a sliver of the rage she felt show on her face. “I know you think I’m stupid, Justen, and you’re probably right. But if there’s any hope for you at court, it might help if you weren’t openly consorting with Citizen Aldred’s daughter.” She turned back to the mirror. “Especially since you’re supposed to be madly in love with me.”

  In the reflection, she saw Justen blink in astonishment. “Persis, are you . . . jealous?”

  Not even the girl she pretended to be would fall that fast. She rolled her eyes. “What I am is very concerned about our image as a couple. The moment I leave you alone on the estate, you start inviting your Galatean lover by?”

  “I didn’t know Vania was coming,” Justen said. Or lied.

  Persis whirled around. “Wrong answer again, Justen. My goodness, you’re dreadful at public relations. You’d think, living with a propaganda machine like Citizen Aldred, you’d have picked up a few tips.”

  He shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “The correct response to my accusation is ‘She’s not my lover. We’re just old friends. I actually think of Vania more as a sister.’” Persis dropped her Justen impression. “That’s the sort of thing people expect you to say. You should practice, you know, in case we have one of these spats when gossips are listening. Honestly, Justen, if someone like me can manage this, I don’t understand why you’re having trouble.”

  Justen plopped onto Persis’s hammock. The golden silk fanned up around him, bringing with it a cloud of Persis’s signature flowery scent. “Because I’m not a courtier, Persis. I’m not good at being political and charming. I’m a medic. All I want to do is work in my lab and make sick people well.”

  Liar. Liar, liar, liar. How she wished she could scream it at him. He was reclining on her bed and he was staring at her with that infuriatingly earnest expression, as if every word from his mouth were pure as fire. She’d fallen for it once. She’d wanted to believe him so badly she’d almost endangered the refugees all over again. She’d almost endangered herself.

  She hadn’t realized how hard she’d been hoping the prison medic was lying until she heard Remy confirm it: Justen had invented the Reduction drug. He was responsible for this entire nightmare. On the boat, she’d almost managed to convince herself that Justen might have been telling Persis and Isla the truth, or at least part of it. That he did regret the direction the revolution had gone in. And maybe that meant he regretted the part he’d played in creating the pinks.

  Except that didn’t add up, either. If Justen Helo had honestly wanted to defect to Albion and atone for the sins of making the
Reduction drug, then he would have told them so at once. He certainly would have brought up his special knowledge of the drug when he’d been shown the damaged refugees. He seemed deeply disturbed by what he saw, to be sure, but Persis knew all too well how something like that could be faked.

  And then she’d seen him entertaining Vania Aldred.

  If he truly was working for the revolution, the best thing Persis could do was make him think everything was going according to plan. If he truly was their enemy, capturing him—branding a Helo a war criminal—would only ignite the aristo-reg conflicts Isla was trying to avoid. For a moment, Persis stood at the edge of a precipice every bit as high as the Scintillans pali. But here, there was no glass-walled lift, here there was no zip line and the safety of a silk hammock. Here she was about to embark on the most important mission the Wild Poppy had ever undertaken.

  “I spent all day in the lab,” he said now, “while you’ve been getting your skin flayed off for fun. And I plan to go back first thing tomorrow morning, too.”

  “If you really cared,” she said, her tone as smoothly superior as possible, “you’d still be there, helping them move the facility, instead of talking to your dear old friend.”

  “They’re moving the refugees?” Justen asked.

  No, but let him report to Vania that they were. That would buy Persis some time to find a new safe house with Noemi. And it would also give her the opportunity to find out what Justen might be leaking to the Galateans.

  “Darling, if you’d just get a palmport. They’re the only way to stay in the loop in Albion. Noemi fluttered me when she couldn’t get in contact with you.” That sounded believable. Justen knew how her countrymen depended on their palmports.

  “Where are they going?” he asked. Too quickly? Maybe even frantically? Was Justen understandably upset that he hadn’t been told, or concerned that he’d given bad information to his revolutionary buddy?