Across a Star-Swept Sea fdsts-2

by Diana Peterfreund

  “You know, Justen,” she said, “I’ve been thinking about your visitor from last night. What’s her name?”

  “Vania.” Justen sighed. “Persis, not this again. I—”

  She raised her hand and he stopped. “I don’t want to fight,” she said, smiling sweetly. “I just wanted to say that if it’s so easy for Vania to flit back and forth across the sea, maybe she can bring your sister on her next visit. Once you have Remy, you won’t need to continue any sort of charade with me.” Not that it would convince Isla, but Persis wasn’t worried about that now. Her words were a test.

  If Justen truly was concerned about the shape of the revolution and his sister’s well-being back home, he’d surely leap at any chance to bring her to Albion. But if his presence here was a ruse, he wouldn’t care.

  He chuckled. “Thanks, but I’m pretty sure Vania would see right through that plan. She’s suspicious enough about me being here.” He gave her a patronizing shrug. “I think Vania’s too smart to fall for something like that.”

  She simpered at him, which was probably preferable to giving him a good, hard smack. “If Vania is suspicious about your reasons for being here,” and Persis didn’t doubt it, “then your sister is no longer safe.”

  Justen considered this for a moment, while Persis read his face for any clues. “Remy is like a little sister to Vania. I’m sure . . .” he trailed off. “Actually, I’m not sure of anything anymore when it comes to Vania. She’s so changed by the revolution.”

  “What if the Aldreds were to make an example of her!” Persis let out a little gasp, then covered her mouth with her hands and made her eyes as wide as they would go. “What if—oh, Justen! What if they were”—she lowered her voice to a breathless whisper—“to Reduce her, while you’re here in Albion. Oh no.”

  What if they were to Reduce her with your own drug?

  Persis watched as Justen’s face changed, as real fear overtook his features. “You’re right,” he said, and couldn’t quite hide the note of surprise in his voice that he thought she was right. “I need to talk to my sister.”

  “Don’t let our guests know your oblet is in working order.”

  “Why does it matter?” he replied. “It’s not compatible with your flutter system anyway. It’s why I’m always forced to use wallports.”

  “I’m keeping them from contacting the shore until Isla has decided how she’d like to release the news about the visitors.”

  “You’re doing what?”

  She shrugged. “Royal orders.” She didn’t need to justify her activities to a war criminal like him.

  Justen looked disgusted. “Do you and your princess believe you can do whatever you want?”

  “Everyone believes that,” she said flatly. “Or at least that they can do whatever they’re able to get away with. Don’t you agree, Justen?”

  Twenty-three

  WHEN JUSTEN AND PERSIS arrived back in Scintillans, after dropping Dwyer, Lady Blocking, and her still-groggy husband off at the court, it was to find a royal guard ship docked at the base of the cliff. The visitors’ golden gliders, their fragile arms tucked in like the wings of giant dragonflies, were lashed to the sides of the ship.

  Persis fluttered Isla, but didn’t have time to wait for a response. She cast Justen a look, which he mirrored back with equal concern as they hurried into the lift that would take them home.

  Her father must have been alerted to her arrival, for he met her on the terrace.

  “Persis. A word.” A finger flick in her direction and she was at his side. Justen, thankfully, continued inside without her.

  “Papa, I had no choice—”

  “Half the royal guard is here, do you know that?”

  “I didn’t. Isla never—”

  “And something about strangers—visitors from elsewhere? In my house?”

  “I am as baffled as you are, Papa. Isla said—”

  “‘Isla said, Isla said,’” Torin repeated. “Isla may rule this island, but she does not own this estate. I’ve been allowing Justen Helo, because he’s a refugee and a Helo and, frankly, because he’s a medic. But I thought we’d agreed on this, Persis. No visitors. Not in your mother’s condition. And certainly not the princess regent herself!”

  Persis sighed. They had agreed, and he’d been so lenient with Justen. “Honestly, Papa, I had no idea she was coming here. But you shouldn’t worry. There is so much else going on here, it’s highly unlikely they’ll notice—”

  “They’ve noticed,” Torin stated. “Your mother is having a very bad day.”

  Persis’s stomach twisted like a typhoon. “Oh, Papa.”

  He brushed her off, his rage quiet and bubbling. “The damage is done. Go deal with your guests.”

  Isla was waiting in the long, low-ceilinged sitting room where, years ago, they’d held countless games of high adventure. She lounged on a cushion, her right hand gripping a tall, slim supplement bottle, her eyes closed as she fired off flutter after flutter of royal orchids from her palmport.

  At the sound of Persis’s footfall on the stone, she opened her eyes. Her expression was unreadable.

  “What are you doing here?” Persis asked.

  “How long have you been lying to me?” was her friend’s response. No, not her friend. For Isla’s voice contained nothing of the girl who’d once known every one of Persis’s secrets, the girl with whom Persis had once shared all her dreams. Instead, it was the voice solely of the princess, the royal, the monarch to her subject.

  Never had Persis felt more like a revolutionary herself than when she said, “It isn’t any of your business.”

  “This is it, isn’t it?” Isla asked. “The reason for all of it. The Poppy—everything. You dress up and you run away to Galatea and you risk your life because you can’t bear to stand the idea that you may Darken.”

  Persis looked away from the princess. That wasn’t it. Or not all of it. Someone needed to do something, so it might as well be her. And at least, if she died as the Wild Poppy, at least she’d done something with the brain she’d been given before it was stolen away. One day, when DAR had her in its grip, would she forget everything? Would the Wild Poppy be just another legend to her, as it was to everyone else?

  There was salt dried on her skin. She felt itchy from head to toe. She needed a bath; she needed a rest. She needed anything but to stand here and be judged by the person she always thought was her best friend.

  “Tell me!” Isla demanded. “I deserve that. I’ve done everything you wanted.”

  “No, I’ve done everything you wanted,” Persis snapped back. “I’ve helped you secretly assist the Galateans hurt in the revolution. I’ve carried on the charade with Justen so you can appeal to public interest. I’ve refrained from asking you questions about whatever is going on between you and Tero. I’ve drugged my fellow citizens . . .”

  “Yes, you did!” Isla said. “And not just Blocking, either. Don’t you dare try to pin Andrine on me.”

  “I stopped Andrine from going to Galatea to protect her.”

  “How noble and condescending of you. You’d think you were her aristo master, just like the old days. Well, guess what, Persis—Scintillans doesn’t have subjects anymore, but I still do, and I actually do need to protect them from the shock of visitors from elsewhere. So don’t you dare try to take the moral high ground with me.”

  “Oh no, Your Highness. I wouldn’t dare to ever try to be higher than you,” Persis snapped. “It’s a good thing we all know our place around here. It’s a good thing you’re keeping Tero firmly in his.”

  Isla gave a delicate humph. “Maybe you’ve been spending too much time with your revolutionary. Even if you’re lying to him, too.”

  The words came rushing out before she could stop herself. “Justen knows about my mother.”

  Isla was silent for a long moment, and even beneath her regal bearing, Persis could see she was deeply hurt. “Let me get this straight. You think he’s responsible for the pinks,
yet you’re letting him care for your mother? Persis, have you gone mad?”

  She rolled her eyes. “He’s not going to Reduce my mother on the sly. She’s already suffering enough.” She was halfway to Reduction under her own steam. “Whatever else he is, Justen is a good medic. And if it distracts him from wanting to go back to the sanitarium, all the better. Until I get to the bottom of his story, I’m not letting him within fifty meters of one of my refugees.”

  “They aren’t yours.”

  “They aren’t yours either, but I’m sure that won’t stop you from doing whatever you want with them, same as you’ve been with these visitors. They didn’t even want to come to Albion, and you forced them here on this ship, and now you’re forcing me to keep them?”

  “What are my options, Persis? I can’t take the visitors to court. Things are so delicate right now. I need to keep this quiet until I can figure out exactly how to introduce them. And I wouldn’t have brought them here if I had known the kind of difficulties you were facing.” She took a deep breath. “You should have told me.”

  “There’s no way on Earth I’d tell the princess of Albion that my mother is Darkening.”

  “I’m your best friend.”

  Persis swallowed. “You’re my ruler.”

  They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Persis continued. “We didn’t tell anyone. The stigma . . . my parents didn’t want to mar the image everyone had of them. The perfect couple. Blindingly in love, living happily ever after.”

  “Persis, that’s so silly—”

  “Is it?” she asked coldly, pulling away from the princess. “You, who are ordering me into this ridiculous charade with a Galatean revolutionary, just so you can promote the dream of an aristo/reg romance. You think that somehow the story of a gorgeous love affair is going to stop your people from rioting. So what happens to the people of this nation when a famous romance falls to pieces?”

  Isla stared at her, shaking her head. “Is that what you’re afraid of?”

  Persis turned away, running her hands over the grit on her arms.

  Her friend’s voice sounded incredulous. “It hasn’t fallen to pieces. Torin loves Heloise—worships the ground she walks on. Still. Always. She’s not to blame for what is happening to her, and he’s not shunning her because of it, either. This is a tragic accident, nothing more. If word got out, it would only strengthen the story of their—”

  “Don’t you dare.”

  Isla held up her hands. “I totally respect your family’s privacy.”

  Persis laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, you do? When you fill my house with strangers, you do?”

  “I’m not your enemy!” Isla roared. She stopped and took a deep breath, but her white eyebrows were still drawn into a frown. “I’m not your enemy, Persis. We’ve always told each other everything. I thought I was one of the only people to know all your secrets.”

  No. No one knew them all anymore. And Persis wasn’t about to let Isla off the hook for treating her like a subject instead of a friend. “I told you I didn’t have time to take on Justen and your fake romance.”

  “I thought you meant because of your . . . other activities. But, Persis, don’t you see? Justen is why I knew you’d be perfect for this assignment with the visitors. You’ve been keeping watch over him just fine. Without further information, why should I think this would be any different? I know they’ll be safe here. No one is going to get in or out of Scintillans without your say-so.”

  And yet Vania Aldred had waltzed in just yesterday. Clearly, the Blakes were going to have to improve their security, for more reasons than one.

  Isla crossed the room and laid a hand on Persis’s arm. For a long moment, they stood like that, until Persis finally lifted her head to look her friend in the face.

  “I’m sorry,” they both said at once, then laughed. It was short-lived, though, like a seconds-long sun-shower from invisible clouds.

  “I will take them away if you wish,” Isla said. “Andrine and Tero, perhaps—though their home is not quite so secure—”

  “No,” Persis said, defeated. “You’re already asking too much of him.”

  “I’m not asking anything of him,” Isla said with a sigh. “Something happened, yes. Once. And we’ve talked about why nothing can happen anymore. He’s a good friend, but—”

  But it was impossible. Isla could champion an aristo/reg romance, but only if it was the right kind. Progressive aristo Torin marrying beautiful, brilliant Heloise. Persis, already half reg, snagging famous Justen Helo. But the princess regent of Albion could not be with a common servant’s son like Tero. It might thrill all the regs, but she’d lose even more ground with the aristos who were already dismissing her.

  Persis could already hear what Justen might make of that.

  Isla’s expression had grown concerned. “Have you been tested?”

  She shook her head.

  “Persis . . .”

  “I don’t want to know.” Her tone was wild, but she didn’t care. This was Isla. She’d been keeping this secret far too long. “We’re all going to die one day, Isla. I could die next week on a mission. Maybe . . . later, after—” but she couldn’t say anymore.

  Isla understood anyway. She already knew what it was like to live in the after of a parent’s death. The girls joined hands there, in the quiet, dim room where they’d once played as children, long ago in a world where their genetics meant no more than Isla’s white hair and Persis’s beauty and cleverness, where their heritage hadn’t trapped the former into ruling a country that didn’t want her and the latter into running away from a sickness that had no cure.

  “I’ll tell you one thing,” Isla said at last. “Justen is going back into a sanitarium. He’s here to work on finding a cure for DAR, and I’m not about to let his past keep you or your mother from a cure. I don’t care what he might have done in Galatea. Remember learning about the ancients and how they first built nuclear weapons?”

  “I don’t think that’s a good example for us to use.”

  “They didn’t balk at hiring enemies if they could help. If I can take what I can get out of him in terms of public relations, which you have to admit he’s pretty awful at, then I’ll take what I can get out of him when it comes to his medical talents.”

  “Which he’s pretty good at.” Persis could begrudge him that.

  “And we’ll find out the truth about his past, too,” said Isla. “Have you even spoken to Remy about it?”

  “She knows he invented the drug. She believes he’s a proper revolutionary, though, which doesn’t help his case.”

  “Whatever Justen did, it’s clear he’s changed his ways. He wouldn’t be here otherwise, desperate to help the refugees.”

  “If helping the refugees is really what he’s after,” Persis replied. “Of which we can’t be sure. What if he’s here, trying to ingratiate himself with us, so he can cause the escapees further harm?”

  Isla considered this. “If he is, he’s pretty bad at that, too. Persis, you have to stop thinking the worst of people. And that goes for me as well as Justen Helo.”

  “You haven’t seen the Reduced, Isla. You haven’t seen what the Galateans have done to them. If Justen is responsible for that—I don’t care if he regrets it now. He deserves the worst punishment he can get.”

  “And what would that be, Persis? What sort of torture are you imagining for your fake lover? Dungeons? Neuroeels? Reduction?”

  Persis looked away.

  “Nothing?”

  And she found that for once, she didn’t have words to reply.

  Twenty-four

  THE VISITORS HAD BEEN in Scintillans for an entire day with very little fanfare about their arrival. Though the Scintillans’ servants were known for their discretion, it seemed impossible that no one would leak such a juicy story. After all, unlike word of Heloise Blake’s condition, there was no one to hurt. Therefore, the fact that the presence of people from elsewhere remained a secret was a tes
tament to Isla’s ability to shut down conversation before it started. However, her quest might have been helped along just a tad by the rather shocking stories sweeping through court that Lady Blocking planned to divorce her husband, that Dwyer Shift had had a row with his councilman uncle over some unmentionable situation with a pair of fishermen from Sunrise Village, and that Persis Blake was considering cutting her hair.

  It was rumored that she said long locks were so last winter.

  And yet, no matter how long the visitors might stay, or how many conversations Justen Helo might have with them, he thought he’d never grow used to their very existence. Every time he saw them he was struck with a sense of wonder that left him unsettled—he should not feel the same about seeing a human being as he did upon seeing a sea pony or a mini-orca or a hogfish. They were not otherworldly creatures; they were fellow human beings. No matter what the strange genetics of these people—and almost without exception, they were very strange indeed—there was more to them than their scientific potential.

  But without real patients to observe, it was hard to resist. He’d yet to hear back from Noemi, and Persis claimed not to know exactly where the refugees had been moved. Isla, of course, said she was too busy to concern herself with his scientific whims.

  Justen had started out frustrated, but now he was just scared. Noemi wouldn’t go to the trouble of moving an entire ward of patients without a good reason. What if Vania’s visit the other day hadn’t had anything to do with tracking down the Wild Poppy? What if it had been about finding the refugees? She’d left in such a hurry, and right after that was when Persis had told him about Noemi’s plan to move the Galatean refugees.

  If the revolutionaries tried anything on Albian soil—what would that mean for both nations?

  And he hadn’t heard anything from Remy since he’d left. In the first few days, he’d figured she was just angry with him, but her continued silence boded ill, especially since his fight with Vania. Then again, if she had turned against him completely, then maybe she’d be safe in Galatea.