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.

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