reign, to the country, to the entirety of New Pacifica and the revolution going on down south. She needed more information, of course. Who were these people and what did they want? And yet, even without his being privy to the questions the princess and her captain were no doubt asking the visitors back on the beach, Persis suspected that Justen was already drawing quite a few conclusions of his own.
“What is it, Justen?” she pressed.
“Nothing. Just—the very thought of other people, out there in the world. This changes everything.”
His expression shone with excitement and Persis stared at him, wondering exactly how scared she should be.
WHILE THEY SAILED, DWYER Shift and Lady Blocking remained on deck, chatting about the newcomers. Persis rejoined them, the perfect hostess, while Justen chose to stay below with the still-unconscious Lord Blocking. That the councilman’s wife hadn’t chosen to do the same hadn’t escaped Persis’s notice. Perhaps their marriage was based on as much true affection as the arrangement she had with Justen. In fact, it probably was. Just because Persis’s own parents were madly in love didn’t mean any other couple on the island was. Aristos married for wealth and property, just as she’d explained to Justen in the star cove.
“It’s so odd,” Dwyer was saying. “I can’t wait to hear what my uncle thinks of these people. I tried to message him, but this crummy palmport’s been on the fritz since we left Remembrance Island.”
“Oh, what a shame,” Persis said. “Another kiwine cocktail?” The dampening agent she’d spiked the drinks with wouldn’t last long, but it would render the aristos’ palmports useless until Persis received further instructions from Isla. The last thing anyone needed was the Council discussing the visitors before Isla had even arrived with them.
“Perhaps your wallport—”
Persis’s lower lip jutted out. “Sadly, Citizen Helo drained all the power making medicine for Lord Blocking. I’ve asked and asked my papa for a better port, but he’s so stubborn about these things sometimes.”
Lady Blocking gave a sympathetic tsk. “I feel for you. Listen to me, Persis. Before you marry this Galatean of yours, you’d better work out exactly what kind of say he gets in your pocket money. I didn’t get that spelled out in my marriage contract with Blocking, and I’m still paying the price.” She took another swill from her drink while Persis tried to hide her amusement. She’d have knocked out Lord Blocking long before this had she known it would make his lady infinitely more interesting.
“I for one think it’s a good idea that a husband have a say in where his wife spends his money.” Dwyer’s tone was the type one uses when surrounded solely by those who already agree with your opinion. “Otherwise the entire estate may fall victim to her lack of proper decision-making skills. I think many of the political problems we’re facing now can be attributed to the fact that the princess remains single.”
“Your uncle thinks it best she marry soon, then?” Persis asked.
“Oh yes!” Dwyer nodded enthusiastically. “He talks of little else. The sooner she has a husband to take her in hand, the better.”
“And naturally,” she added innocently, “your uncle thinks it best that the husband she gets has firm opinions of his own?”
“Absolutely!”
Persis gave him a close-lipped smile as the sound of a chuckle carried across the deck on a breeze. She turned to see Justen standing at the cabin door, shaking his head. She excused herself from the party and joined him.
“Didn’t think you’d find a member of the Albian court more stupid than me?” she asked him.
“I don’t think you’re stupid, Persis.” Really? Well, that was an error she’d have to rectify. “Though to be completely honest, that man makes even Lady Blocking look clever. So it’s not a fair standard.”
“And yet a leader on the Royal Council thinks him an excellent match for Isla.”
“Well, he has a different object in mind than you and I would.”
Persis began to nod, then stopped. She didn’t want to think that Justen shared any of her opinions about— anything. And she didn’t want him laughing as she teased the idiots at court either. It was much easier to think of him solely as the person responsible for the Reduced refugees in Noemi’s sanitarium. Anything more—his sense of humor, his medical talents, his obvious intelligence, his stated interest in curing DAR—well it may be true, but it didn’t cancel out what he’d done in Galatea. They didn’t have to disagree about everything for him to be her enemy.
And she still needed to learn more about his plans. The boating party had been a delay, and the visitors would be another one. If the Wild Poppy wanted to get to the bottom of Justen’s story, she wasn’t going to be able to count on Isla—or her neuroeels—for help.
“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
“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
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.
