Across a Star-Swept Sea

Forget dropping him off the side of the Daydream. She’d wait until they got back to Scintillans and push him off the pali itself.

“You’re supposed to throw the best parties on the island, Persis,” Isla reminded her, “so act like you’re having fun or people are going to start to suspect you have something else on your mind.”

Which she did. And it wasn’t like Isla wanted to be here, either. “Fine,” she said. “Shall I arrange a game of spin the shell with, say, you, me, Justen, and Tero?”

Isla gave her a queenly look. “Tero and I have made up.”

“Kissed and made up?”

“Don’t start with me right now.”

“Then don’t complain about me and Justen,” she replied in as low a voice as she dared out here in the wind. “Those pictures of us kissing in the star cove probably did more for your campaign of equality than any five royal balls.”

Isla turned on her heel and went to talk to the other aristos aboard. The princess had invited Lady Blocking and her stick-in-the-sandflats Council-member husband in what was supposed to look like a show of support for the Council. They’d at first acted thrilled to finally score a ride on the Daydream, then dialed down their enthusiasm as the festive atmosphere failed to materialize. Then there was Dwyer Shift, who seemed much happier about attending than Isla was about putting him on the guest list. Dwyer was every bit as exasperating as his powerful uncle, and his unctuous behavior was not a particularly welcome change. His tangerine hair had been arranged in an artful swoop, and he’d chosen to dress from head to toe in a material that made him look for all the world like a molting brass crab. He’d spent the party either offering Isla an endless parade of sweets or telling Justen that it must be exceedingly wonderful to be descended from Persistence Helo.

Persis was quite sure neither recipient enjoyed his attentions and, quite frankly, she thought they both deserved it—Isla for forcing her to host this event, and Justen because being bothered by Dwyer Shift was the least of the punishments she fantasized for him.

Andrine and Tero rounded out the party, but neither was in the mood to help. Andrine had been giving Persis the silent treatment ever since waking up in her own bed, totally feminine and completely clueless as to how she’d wound up there, rather than in the middle of a spy mission on Galatea. Persis was surprised she’d even accepted the invitation, given how angry she was.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Tero had informed Persis as they’d boarded. “She’s got plenty to say to you later. But my sister, unlike a few people I can mention, knows the proper time to impart her feelings on issues. Which is not, I’d like to add, in the middle of a mission.”

“The beginning of one is better?” Persis had said. “Like that temper tantrum you threw with the princess the other day?”

“I didn’t slip her drugs.” Tero crossed his arms, probably because he knew how large and intimidating it made him look. “You know there’s a big difference.”

“There are complications that are making it particularly dangerous for regs to be in the League of the Wild Poppy.”

“Oh, so I can drop out, then?”

“You’re not that lucky, Tero.”

Her friend sighed and handed her a pill. “No, not as lucky as you. Because while you were off drugging my sister and causing a ruckus in Galatea, I’ve made you a new palmport application. Allows for hand-to-hand exchange—no flutters necessary. I’ve got one for Slippy, too. It’ll record input to his optic nerves. You’ll be the only one in Albion with a surveillance sea mink.”

“Fantastic,” Persis said, and downed the app. “Perhaps it’ll start a new fashion.”

Tero watched her swallow, and then with a slow, dangerous smile said, “You’re awfully trusting, Perse. What if I’d decided to take revenge for what you did to Andrine yesterday? That could be a knockout drug.”

Persis started coughing, and he laughed.

“Joking. But if you mess with mixtures intended for my sister again, it’s the last genetemps you’ll ever get from me, Lady Blake.”

Lady Blake? “Well, at least you’re respecting rank today.”

Tero narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t start with me, Persis, or I’ll make you eat sand like I did when you were four.”

“Funny,” said Persis. “That’s exactly what Isla said.”

How in the world was she supposed to throw a party when she hated half the guests and the other half hated her? Persis fed Slipstream the surveillance app pill Tero had given her for the sea mink, then camped out near the wheel, running diagnostics on the program—which was, admittedly, amazing, though it was too bad neither Tero nor Andrine was willing to try it out with her—and hoping it would all be over soon, and she could go back to playing the part of the daring spy, rather than the foolish socialite.

Now, at Isla’s urging, she lifted her voice above the wind and called out, “My friends, it’ll be another half an hour before we reach our picnic on Remembrance Island. What shall we do to entertain ourselves until then? A poetry reading, perhaps? A game of questions?”

“Oh, please no poetry,” said Lady Blocking as everyone on the yacht gathered in the center of the lower deck. “Don’t we get enough of that at court?” Her husband elbowed her in the side and she went quiet.

“I love poetry,” said Dwyer. “I’ve attended every reading that the princess has held since taking the throne.”

“Tell me,” Isla drawled, “were you such a fan of the art before I became regent?”

The Blockings looked scandalized, but Tero snickered behind his cup of punch, earning a radiant smile from the princess. Persis shook her head. Isla could afford to be openly cynical about Councilman Shift’s obvious attempts to throw his nephew in her path, but not if she was going to openly flirt with a reg gengineer. Whatever was going on between her two friends, it wouldn’t end well.

“Citizen Helo!” Isla called. “Have you heard Persis’s poetry? She had quite a reputation for it at school, though I think she’s fallen out of practice since.”

Justen, still moping, lifted his head. “I have not had the pleasure, no.”

Isla clapped her hands. “Well, you shall today. Persis? Grace us with a ditty.”

Persis stared evenly at her friend. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for extemporaneous composition.”

“Of course you are,” the princess insisted. “I’ll take topics now.” She pointed at Tero.

“Love,” he said, and Isla rolled her eyes.

Persis sighed. As soon as this party was over, she and Isla were going to have to have a serious talk. There was a reason Persis had quit composing poetry after she’d left school. Cultivating a reputation as a wit was not conducive to her goals. But as long as she was being forced to perform like the princess’s pet parrosprey, she could get in a few digs of her own. Lady Blake, indeed! After a moment, she responded:

The fool says “Love,” but I confess,

I’d rather have a nice new dress.

He may be strong of build and fair of face

But I prefer a frock’s embrace.

The group chuckled appropriately, and Isla pointed next at Lady Blocking.

“Oh!” the woman said, stirring her beverage with a stick of sugarcane. “Um . . . oh, I know. The Wild Poppy!”

“Of course.” Persis nodded, and flashed a glance at Isla, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.

Very well. But they were playing with fire:

Across the sea and up the stair,

The Wild Poppy’s everywhere.

Though southmen search until they’re blind,

They know not what they seek to find.

“Wry, Persis,” Isla drawled with a warning glare. Well, she had started it. Persis cast a glance at Justen, but he barely seemed to be paying attention. How disappointed his dear Vania would be in him. Here she was, dropping clues like jewels, and he hardly noticed.