Across a Star-Swept Sea

A tiny golden poppy flitted by his nose and sunk into the wallport. Justen turned back to read the screen.

Hello, Justen Helo. What do you want from me 

Twenty-nine

PERSIS MOVED THROUGH THE crowd as quickly as she could in her gown, the voluminous fabric undulating about her legs like real waves as she hurried, her eyes searching everywhere for a glimpse of Justen. The flutter Noemi had forwarded to her sounded desperate, but what could Justen possibly have to contact the Wild Poppy about so urgently at the party?

Another generic flutter buzzed her palm. Now that he had a flutter from the Wild Poppy, Justen could contact her directly. It was a risky move, but the chance that someone could follow a flutter back to her, especially in this crowd, was slim. She slipped her wristlock aside to allow his message entrance.

I need to meet you.

She laughed.

I think not. I have a policy of not revealing myself to Galatean revolutionaries. Tell me what you want. Your sister, I suppose?

At last she saw him, leaning against a column by one of the public wallports. She stationed herself several yards away, on the outskirts of a group of people watching the fire dance. From the corner of her eye, Persis saw Justen read her flutter, then bang his right hand against the wallport in frustration. Persis narrowed her eyes. A moment later, she received:

I’m not a revolutionary! Not that kind, anyway. Typing takes too long. Please, you have to believe me.

Well, she had been telling him since he’d arrived to get a palmport. Now, perhaps, he’d learned his lesson. She sent back:

Why would I ever trust the person who invented pinks? Why would I trust someone who takes secret meetings with Vania Aldred? You’ve lied to everyone who has tried to help you in Albion: Princess Isla, Noemi Dorric, even your little girlfriend Persis Blake. But I know who you are, I know what you’ve done, and you’re lucky to be hearing from me at all.

At last, the words she’d wanted to cast at him so long. At the wallport, she watched him read her flutter, and even from a distance, she could see his chest rise as he took a deep breath. He was gripping his arm, flexing the muscles of his left hand as if they bothered him. Clenching his jaw, he leaned over and began typing, while Persis waited impatiently.

Seriously, Justen. Palmport.

There is no apology I can make that would be sufficient. Yet I swear to you that I never meant to hurt anyone. The Reduction drug was an accident. I was trying to make a new treatment for DAR, based on the architecture of the aristo brain, and I stumbled upon a compound that would, if administered to aristos, cause the effects you’ve seen. I made the mistake of telling my uncle.

By the time the flutter reached her, Justen had started typing again, and another flutter soon zipped after the first.

I promise I didn’t know what he intended. The day Queen Gala died, and I saw her body desecrated and her whole court Reduced, I lost all faith in the revolution. I went to Aldred. I tried to get him to stop. When that didn’t work, I even tried to sabotage the pills. He started to suspect what I was doing and restricted my access to the lab. That’s when I ran away to Albion.

She shot back:

My heart breaks for the poor little mad scientist cut off from his lab.

But then she remembered what the medic at the prison had said, about how the pills weren’t working as well as they used to. Had that been due to Justen’s sabotage? After a moment, he replied:

You want to know why Lacan recovered as quickly as he did? It was because the pills he was getting weren’t full strength. If you were to get my sister, she could tell you herself.

Was that what Remy had been doing at the Lacan estate in the first place? Persis would ask the girl. Justen’s flutter continued, its tone as frantic as his typing.

Believe me or don’t. It doesn’t matter. But you need this information: Vania Aldred has taken two of the visitors back to Galatea, including the Reduced one, and she plans to keep them there. She believes that Galateans can use the Reduced girl to create a drug that will cause permanent Reduction . . . and I’m afraid she may be right.

This is the absolute truth. I have nothing to gain from telling you this—and nothing to lose, either.

Persis frowned. Justen was a medic, and no one knew better than he how to create a Reduction drug. If he believed that scientists could use Tomorrow to make the effects permanent, then it was worth paying attention to. And yet, what if the whole story was a lie, engineered by Vania Aldred for the purpose of a trap?

She watched Justen wait by the wallport, growing increasingly agitated. She watched him pacing, foot tapping, then slamming his right hand against the wall in frustration. He turned around and their eyes met.

She smiled sweetly and waved at him.

He gave her a halfhearted wave in return. Did he honestly think the Wild Poppy owed him a response?

Persis beckoned to him, but he gave a little shake of his head and turned back to the port, typing furiously again. She waited as patiently as possible, but he seemed to be writing some kind of book over there.

Enough was enough. She marched over, the material of her skirt churning like the waves of a stormy sea. “What are you writing, dearest?” she cooed. “Love notes to a strange woman?”

He whirled around, blocking her view of the screen. “None of your business, Persis.”

He had that wrong. “You’ve been avoiding me for the entire party and now you’re melded to the wallport. People are going to think we’re fighting. We can’t have that.”

He groaned. “Not now, Persis. I’m in the middle of— I can’t. Not now.”

She arced her neck to look behind him. “You always say that.”

He slammed his hand over the display buttons and the port closed. “And I always mean it. Now leave me alone.”

Persis looked at him, her gaze steady and dangerous. “Show me,” she said slowly, “what you were typing.”

Justen stared at her for a moment, then raised his voice. “Excuse me, sir?” he called over her shoulder. She whirled to find a young courtier who looked vaguely familiar turning in their direction. “My sweet lady Persis is wild to try the fire dance, but I’m afraid I have not yet had the chance to learn the Albian style. Would you do me the honor of dancing with her for a bit so that I might observe you and learn?”

Persis snapped her jaw shut. The little sea sponge. So he hadn’t been ignoring all her lectures on courtly behavior.

The young aristo nodded. “Of course, Citizen Helo! It would be my pleasure.”

Justen gave her a grim smile and handed her off to the courtier. Carvel? Carrell? His name hovered just beyond the reach of her memory. As the man led her toward the dancers, she cast a glance over her shoulder at Justen, but he’d returned to the port.

Oh well. She’d find out eventually.

She stepped into the dance with her partner and immediately began messaging the rest of the League. The courtier probably thought she was acting a little too familiar with the way she draped her wrists over his shoulders and closed her eyes. That Persis Blake—what a flirt.

She told Andrine to find the other visitors and confirm that Andromeda and Tomorrow had departed. She told Tero to load up a boat with as many supplements as he could think of, as well as at least three different types of genetemp doses, just in case. She told Isla that the party had taken a rather desperate turn.

She felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see Justen standing there, his eyes glowing with the flames of the fire. “I think I’ve figured out the steps now.”