Across a Star-Swept Sea fdsts-2

by Diana Peterfreund

  “Nothing.” Her voice shook as she freed herself from his grasp. “But, Justen, you know that treason is a clear cause for arrest—not just of the traitor but of his entire family as well.”

  “You wouldn’t—you couldn’t do anything to Remy. She’s living in your house.” And yet wasn’t that exactly what he’d been afraid of all along? He’d just never thought Vania—Vania of all people—could betray him. Betray them both. They’d grown up together; they’d loved each other as brother and sister—or so he’d always thought. Was this what the revolution had done to her?

  Vania’s eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing my father of favoritism? That would make him no better than the queen he had a role in deposing.”

  “Remy has done nothing. To ensure her safety, I’ve been keeping my feelings about the revolution private. Don’t you think, if I’d wanted to, I could have argued long and loud against everything going on down there?”

  She snorted. “You want me to admire how ineffectual your treason has been?”

  “Vania, you love Remy. You can’t let anything happen to her.”

  “That’s precisely what I’m saying to you.”

  Justen ran his hands through his hair, paced away a few steps, then turned. “You won’t do anything,” he insisted, trying to convince himself. “You’d be foolish to. If word got out—Remy’s a Helo. The people of Galatea wouldn’t stand for it.” To say nothing of the people of Albion. If Isla needed an excuse to invade, Remy Helo might be it.

  “I hope you’re right. But if you aren’t, I doubt the Wild Poppy will find it so easy to break into Halahou prison again.”

  The Poppy had broken into the prison? The man was more adept even than Justen had thought. “Vania. Listen to yourself. Listen to what you’re saying. You’re coming to me and actually threatening to imprison Remy? Torture Remy? Reduce . . . Remy?”

  There was the faintest flicker in Vania’s eyes, but a second later it vanished, replaced by a serene expression. “It’s not going to come to that. You’re going to help me find the Poppy, Justen.”

  Justen shook his head in disbelief. Vania was perfectly calm, but it was the assuredness of a zealot. Justen remembered when things had seemed that simple to him. The revolution was a moral good, no matter its price. And then, even when he’d first come to Albion, he’d not given much thought to anything beyond putting up with Persis and the princess in order to get his research off the ground. But now he’d seen a natural Reduced, now he’d talked to the Galatean victims, now nothing was as it seemed. He looked at Vania. At his friend Vania; at his ally Vania; at his foster sister, Vania, and he didn’t even recognize her.

  “I won’t.”

  She stiffened and her expression turned stern. “Then I guess you’re the one who will be Reducing Remy.” She started to move away, and Justen tried to grab her.

  “Stop! No, you can’t.”

  But Justen, who spent his days in a lab and his nights with his nose buried in books, was no match for a top member of the Galatean military. Quick as anything, she swept his legs out from underneath him. He landed hard on his spine, the back of his head thunking against the inlaid stone floors. For a moment his vision blurred, and when it cleared, Vania was standing near the door.

  “Though I suppose,” she said, her tone thoughtful, “if you think about it, it was you all along.”

  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.