Queen’s Cove. The cove was silent now, the water still and peaceful but for the occasional dark hump of a mini- orca back breaking the surface to breathe.
“Did you see that?” whispered Tero. “You know, we studied them in school but I’ve never seen them in person.”
Justen wondered if his companion would be less in awe of the creatures had he seen them eat the corpse of their last mistress. He wondered if Tero would be so calm about the almost-certain capture of both his sister and his friend if he knew what happened to regs who received the Reduction drug.
Justen had been thinking that if he wound up with genetemps sickness, he’d drop Tero down a lava tube. But if the gengineer’s sister was permanently damaged by the drug Justen created, what would Tero have the right to do to him? If Persis was damaged . . .
Justen shook his head. He just wouldn’t let it happen. That was all.
Thirty-two
IN A BEAUTIFUL ROOM in the royal palace in Galatea, Remy Helo sat alone, searching the news from Albion for any information about the Wild Poppy—about Persis Blake. The gossip was extremely light. There’d been a single item a few days ago about her hair, and nothing whatsoever about Justen—not since the night before Persis’s trip to the prison.
Not since before Remy had confirmed for the spy that Justen was responsible for creating the Reduction drug.
And she hadn’t heard from the Wild Poppy since then either. The mission had gone well—Vania had certainly gotten in a lot of trouble for it—but Remy was surprised that the Albians had never contacted her again. Things had been quiet in Halahou for two days, but she expected at least some recognition of the work she’d done for the Albians. Weren’t they concerned that her part in the operation remained secret? Weren’t they worried that she was staying safe and not ratting them out to her uncle?
Of course, she was a traitor now, so she had as much to lose by telling the Aldreds the truth. And maybe, given Justen’s behavior, the Wild Poppy and her League wanted nothing more to do with Remy Helo.
Ironic. She’d gotten herself into this mess by trying to keep Justen safe from the revolutionaries. Now she was worried he wouldn’t be safe from those trying to fight the revolution.
Maybe she should have told the Poppy why she’d gone to the Lacan estate in the first place. Maybe she should have explained how Justen had been sabotaging the pinks, and how she’d tried to step in before anyone noticed and traced the problems back to him.
Then again, that might just give the Poppy more nanothread to hang both the Helos with. She’d wanted to message Justen and warn him, but couldn’t figure out any way to do so without incriminating herself, should anyone else read it. And given her uncle’s suspicions—and worse, Vania’s suspicions ever since she’d gone to Albion the day the prison had been breached—Remy was certain messages to and from Justen Helo were being monitored.
Maybe that’s why she hadn’t heard from him. Remy refused to think of other reasons. Still, it was odd that the gossip waves, which had previously been so full of items about Persis and Justen, were suddenly silent on the subject. Tonight, Remy had grown frantic as rumors had leaked out about a giant party to be held at Princess Isla’s royal palace. Justen would have to be at that, right? But so far, nothing had come through. Stupid Uncle Damos and his stupid news delay. She’d even tried hacking the system, to no avail. How ironic that she could borrow her uncle’s oblet to give herself a secret soldier identity, but she couldn’t find some simple gossip. Uncle Damos should really get his priorities straight.
And Justen had better be safe and sound and at that Albian princess’s swanky luau, or the Wild Poppy was in serious trouble.
A false identity. No wonder she’d thought that she and the Wild Poppy were such similar souls. But what if she’d been wrong there, too? What if the Albian spy, the beautiful Persis Blake, had deceived her just as the revolution had?
For if the Poppy truly valued their alliance, wouldn’t she have promised Remy that, no matter what, Justen would be safe from her wrath? After all, Remy had done her a great favor in helping the Fords escape. She’d even hurt poor Vania’s military career in doing so. Not that Remy regretted helping the Fords. The Fords’ hatred of the revolution was not mired in aristo bigotry. They had many reg allies. They just hated the path the revolution had chosen to pursue, one in which people were suffering. Remy was too much of a Helo to do anything other than agree. If the choice was between Vania’s quick promotion up the ranks and people being tortured because they just wanted to be left in peace, Remy knew which side she came down on.
And the same held true for Justen. He was her only family. She would not let him be hurt, no matter what the Wild Poppy thought he deserved for his involvement in the drug. How was Justen supposed to have known how Uncle Damos might use it? But what if Persis was avoiding Remy now because her plans for Justen would destroy their alliance? After all, if Remy were the Poppy and she were about to hurt one of her spies’ brothers, she wouldn’t let the spy in question know.
On the desk, her oblet pinged, and she saw Justen’s face glow in the area above her desk. At last! Remy rushed over to view the message, only to find there wasn’t one at all. Instead, it was a notification that he’d accessed the keypad at the royal lab. Remy had activated the notification at the same time she’d arranged a military position for herself on the Lacan estate. At the time, she’d thought it vital to know exactly when Justen might sneak back into the lab to sabotage more pills. At the time, she thought she needed to save Justen from himself. Now, she figured she needed to save him from the Poppy.
Was he back in Galatea?
Remy sprang into action. She grabbed her military jacket and rushed from her room. The labs were only a few blocks from the palace. If she could catch him there, she could finally talk face-to-face, without fear of their messages being intercepted by the revolution. She could finally tell him what she’d discovered, what she’d been doing, and what kind of danger she believed him to be in. Together, they’d find a place to hide where they could be safe from both the revolution and the treacherous Wild Poppy.
No one stopped Remy at the gates of the palace. No one bothered her as she moved through the streets of the city. Was it her famous name? Her military jacket? There was a single guard minding the entrance to the royal lab, but she did little more than nod in Remy’s direction as she approached.
“I’m Remy Helo,” she said. “Did my brother come this way?”
“Thought your brother was whooping it up with some swanky aristo in Albion,” the guard replied, rolling her eyes. “Kinda disgraceful, huh?”
Remy narrowed her eyes. “Thanks for your help,” she said in a tone that was anything but grateful. The guard merely shrugged and buzzed her in.
Most of the corridors were dark, and a scary possibility came to Remy’s mind. If the guard hadn’t seen her brother, who was it in the lab? Maybe it wasn’t Justen here at all. The Poppy had a lot of resources at her disposal: gengineering, nanotechnology. Maybe she’d found a way to steal Justen’s lab access? Maybe . . .
But the deadly look on Persis Blake’s face when she’d asked Remy about the pinks . . . Remy started running. She rushed down corridor after corridor, searching for any trace of human presence. At last she found lights on, far in a back storage room filled with old oblets and records of immunizations from the time of the Helo Cure.
But that wasn’t all she found. In the middle of the floor, lying in a heap and twitching, lay a figure. She hurried over and knelt at the person’s side, turning him over to see what was wrong. Steely hair, a lined face, and a pained expression met her eyes, and Remy gasped. This was impossible.
“Papa?” she whispered.
“Tero . . .” the man who looked like her father wheezed, “promised.”
The voice was gravelly but familiar. Remy leaned in and her eyes widened as she took in all the details of the man’s face. “
