He made no response, unless eyes rolling back in his head counted. He was wearing an unfamiliar set of clothes, but at least they looked Galatean. In his hands, Justen held a tin of lavender pills.
“Justen,” she said, “what happened to you?”
“Persis . . .” he struggled to say, and then his whole body went slack.
Terrified, Remy pressed her ear to his chest. His heart was still beating, and now at least, it looked like he was breathing steadily.
Nothing happened. Maybe they weren’t meant to work immediately. Remy bit her lip. She refused to cry. She was to blame for this. She never should have run off that night he’d confessed his sabotage to her. If she’d stayed and they’d figured this out together, maybe they wouldn’t be in this trouble. Maybe they would have found a way to apologize to Uncle Damos. To reconcile, to stay safe.
She never should have trusted an Albian aristo. She never should have let the Wild Poppy have free access to her brother. She’d made the wrong choice.
She had to find Vania.
BEHIND HER EYELIDS, THE light was cool and gray, but Persis’s body was on fire. Pain coursed through every nerve and fiber of her being, hot and achy and electric. She dared not move, not that she
“Awake?” came Vania’s voice from above. “I know how you feel. I’m too excited to sleep myself.”
Persis opened her eyes—painfully—to see the captain standing above her. She was lying on the lawn near what appeared to be military barracks. A few lights shone in the windows, but most were black. Palm trees waved softly around the perimeter and she could hear the sound of distant waves. The sky was still dark, but far away in the east, there was a hint of violet tingeing the horizon.
“I’ve been trying to figure out what to do,” Vania said now, crouching beside Persis’s head. Her tone was conversational. She gestured off to Persis’s left, and as Persis craned her head—painfully—she could see a fuzzy outlined lump of cloth. Was it Andrine?
Vania’s words confirmed it. “I think I’m going to Reduce your friend first, so you can see what happens to her before it’s your turn, but there’s no point in that until she wakes up, right?”
“Certainly,” Persis muttered.
“Of course, she’s been asleep so long . . .” Vania sucked air through her teeth. “Maybe if her head wound’s bad enough, we won’t have to use the drug to Reduce her at all, right?”
“One can hope,” Persis ground out. Whatever she could do to delay Vania and her gleeful revenge would be best for Andrine’s brain—and her own.
“The problem,” Vania went on, standing up and brushing her hands free of imaginary dust, “is that I’m getting really impatient. I’m torn. On the one hand, how great would it be to Reduce you in Halahou prison for all the people of Galatea to see? On the other hand, the longer I delay, the more chance there is that your little princess is going to swoop in here and rescue you.” She nudged Persis with her foot, but it felt more like a barrage of razors against her skin. “Am I right again?”
“You’re very smart,” Persis said through gritted teeth.
“Coming from a mastermind like the Wild Poppy, that’s quite a compliment.” She leaned over and looked at Persis. “I just . . . I’m having a really difficult time believing this is all real, you know? I thought I had you pegged. Such a great cover, Lady Blake. I have to give you that. I’m so impressed.”
Persis remained silent.
“What, no thank you? Don’t aristos learn any manners where you’re from?” Vania nudged her again. Persis bit back a scream.
“Where I’m from,” Persis managed to get out in a relatively calm voice, “we’re taught it’s bad manners to kick people when they’re down.”
“Ah.” Vania resumed pacing for a moment, then hopped back to Persis’s side. “I really am impressed by all you accomplished. Honestly. And even younger than me. I’d love to pick your brain—I mean, while you still have one.”
The sound of lifter fans shifting gravel interrupted Vania’s victory speech. “Reinforcements, perhaps?” she asked no one in particular. Persis could see nothing from her position, but it sounded like some sort of skimmer had pulled up to the barracks. With any luck, it would be someone telling Vania that Albian nationals were off limits for Reduction, even if they were in the League of the Wild Poppy. With a huge amount of luck, it would be the Albian military itself, granted the full weight of Isla’s blessing.
Vania went off to investigate and Persis tried to ignore the pain in her body and take in her surroundings. The outpost appeared to be located on the shore, and from the sound of the waves, they were near some sort of bluff, which probably meant they were still on Galatea’s northern shore, possibly still close to Fisherman’s Rest, where she and Andrine had been captured. Good. Should Isla wish to attack, she had easy access from the sea.
Persis sincerely hoped Isla wished to attack.
Though every movement was utter agony, she pushed herself into a kneeling position and inched over to Andrine. The cut on her friend’s head was bloody but not deep. And there was little bruising or swelling to indicate that she suffered a serious concussion. Perhaps their bloated disguises, faded now from what Persis could see of Andrine’s face and figure, had actually helped protect them when the skimmer had crashed. Perhaps Vania had been lying, and Andrine wasn’t actually injured that badly. Maybe she had been drugged unconscious, just as Persis had.
What was she thinking? Of course Vania was lying. Persis wondered if Vania even had the visitors at all. Maybe this had all been a trap for the Wild Poppy. Maybe Justen was in on the plan with Vania, and she’d stupidly,
Why did she so badly want to believe everything he said? Because he was a Helo? Because he was handsome? Because he took care of her mother and laughed at her sea mink and stole her breath whenever he kissed her—even though they were supposedly faking it all?
She might be the cleverest girl in Albion, but it turned out she had a huge blind spot when it came to good- looking revolutionary medics with famous names. And if he’d been lying to get the Poppy to trust his information back at the luau, maybe he was lying about his discovery regarding the Helo Cure as well. Even now, tied up and maybe only minutes away from being Reduced, Persis had been berating herself for not forcing Tero to track down a few doses of the cure before she and Andrine left. She’d been so concerned about getting the visitors back before anything happened to them. But maybe it was a waste of her energy, to regret rushing off before she protect herself with the cure.
Maybe his confession was a lie, too, like everything else Justen had ever done.
“You certainly look like you’re feeling better, Lady Blake,” came Vania’s voice from behind her. She turned to see Vania returning with three others: two guards who carried a bundle between them and a third, shorter one. Persis blinked through the darkness, and her heart lit up.
But the younger girl wasn’t looking at her at all. Her entire focus was on the bundle the guards were carrying, her face awash with fear.
“Look, I brought you something,” Vania said as the guards placed the bundle nearby. “Your boyfriend.”
Persis stared down at the unconscious body a meter away. Was it Justen? From this angle, she could hardly make out his features, and his sideburns seemed flaked with a lighter color. She looked down at his hands—the large, caring medic’s hands that had held her so carefully in the star cove, that had held her when they danced near the fire at court, that had mopped her brow when she’d had genetemps sickness and helped her mother during her spell tonight. Yes, it was Justen.
What was he doing here? Unconscious?
“Careful!” she heard Remy cry to the guards, sounding more like a little girl than she ever had on the floor of Isla’s throne room. “He’s sick. Ask her what she did to him.”
