She wished Justen were here. She doubted Gawnt would be making these comments if Justen Helo were looking him in the eye.
“I heard a report that you were using unconventional methods to convince the Fords to surrender,” said another of the lieutenants. “How did that work out?”
Vania grimaced. “Unfortunately, it didn’t. We bribed the nanny to smuggle the children beyond the barricade, believing that the parents would surrender themselves for their offspring’s sake.”
“Good idea, Vania,” said her father, and she beamed.
General Gawnt cleared his throat, and Vania’s smile withered.
“Unfortunately, the nanny was a moron and lost the younger ones to the Wild Poppy.”
“The Poppy!” General Gawnt snorted. “Again?”
Vania took a deep breath. “However, there is good news. The nanny failed to retrieve the heir, so there’s no real harm done. Lord and Lady Ford will surrender eventually, and when they do, we’ll have them, the heir to the Ford estate, and their entire inner circle.”
“Why didn’t you tell me about this before, Vania?” her father asked.
“I handled it.” Vania clenched her hands beneath the table as all eyes turned in her direction. “The servant has been appropriately punished, only the youngest children escaped, and the siege remains on schedule.”
“Appropriately punished?” echoed Gawnt. “How?”
“Reduction, of course.”
“Did you interrogate her first?” he asked. Vania wondered whether or not the man was capable of speaking without spittle flying from his lips. “Did she give any information that might help us track down this Poppy?”
“She was an idiot!” Vania insisted. “She didn’t even need the Reduction pill, she was so stupid. She handed those children off to a random old woman who gave her counterfeit money. She knew nothing of consequence.”
“Well, we’ll never know now, will we, Captain Aldred?” Spittle, spittle.
Vania bristled, and bristled even more when her father, of all people, came to her rescue.
“The salient point here is that this Albian spy is stepping up his activities on our soil,” her father said, and all other conversation ceased. “It is time we respond with force and shut him down for good. We need to find out his identity and neutralize him.”
“Which is why an interrogation of witnesses might have been prudent,” Gawnt murmured. Louder, he said, “Is there any doubt about the kind of person we’re looking for? Clearly, this is the case of an Albian aristo who is frustrated by what he feels is the utter uselessness of the child princess currently ruling their country.” He sneered in Vania’s direction.
She imagined all the instruments on the dinner table that might make a suitable weapon. How dare he liken her to Princess Isla of Albion? Some inbred, spoiled-brat, empty-headed aristo who wouldn’t even be allowed the appearance of ruling if the infant king were old enough to take the throne? They were nothing alike at all.
“Do we keep any records of what aristos have been visiting the island?” Citizen Aldred asked.
“If they pass through the Halahou docks,” said the general. “But there are plenty of unregistered moorings all over the island. It’s unlikely that the spy is going through the city unless he has to.”
“I think it’s time to go to the source,” said Vania. “The Albians are sending spies to us. Perhaps it’s time we send our own spies to their shores, find out who’s responsible for the raids. There must be gossip in the Albian court—”
“Enough, Vania,” said her father. “Just because you’re sitting at this table does not mean you can forget your rank. General Gawnt knows what he’s doing here.”
“But, Papa—”
“I said enough!” Citizen Aldred brought his hand down on the table.
Vania stared at her father, her eyes wide and unblinking. She would not cry in front of these people. Under the table, she twisted her napkin until it tore.
Gawnt proceeded to drone on, outlining his plan to ensnare the Albian spy and getting in quite a few jabs at Vania’s expense. After a while, she tuned him out. She tuned them all out. Instead, she thought of her long-ago ancestor, the military leader who’d cracked apart the Earth and killed every person he hated in one fell swoop.
Eight
THE GALATEAN PERSIS HAD brought home to her parents strode forward and bowed to the Blakes. Persis trailed behind, concerned both about how Justen planned to behave and what her parents must be thinking.
“Lord and Lady Blake, thank you so much for your hospitality—”
“Not at all,” said her father. “Had my daughter truly been hospitable, you wouldn’t have spent last night in some back bedroom. I don’t know what Persis was thinking.”
Oh, that was easy. She hadn’t been. She’d been unconscious. Persis was half surprised—and fully relieved—that Justen said nothing. She was in enough trouble for bringing a boy home, Helo or otherwise.
“Papa!” she exclaimed. “Justen isn’t fancy—”
“Please,” her father continued, “we have a suite reserved for our most illustrious guests. You must take it. The king has stayed there.”
And the princess had camped out on the lanai with Persis when they were six. It was hardly hallowed ground.
“Thank you, but your ‘back bedroom,’ as you put it, is more than comfortable. It’s the finest place I’ve ever slept.”
That, Persis realized, was a lie. The Aldreds had been living in the royal palace since the queen had been deposed, which meant Justen must have been living there, too.
“Then you’re welcome to remain there,” said her mother, her voice soft as a sea breeze. She was as stunning as ever—the jewel of the Albian court, the joy of her husband’s eye. Theirs had been a romance of fairy-tale proportions: the beautiful reg who’d won the heart of the richest lord in Albion. But Persis knew the truth. Not only had the heroine of the story been beautiful, but she’d been clever and resourceful, too, and her brains had attracted the handsome hero every bit as much as her lovely face.
If you only looked, you’d think nothing had ever changed.
“Our home is yours, Citizen Helo.”
Beside her, Justen gave a tiny jolt. It wasn’t the first time Persis had noticed it. It happened whenever someone called him “Citizen.” Curious. No matter what arguments he made about the purity of his imaginary revolution, he clearly hated its reality. He hated his new title, and he’d abandoned the homeland that had given it to him. And yet there was no doubt he and his egalitarian ideals would have trouble adapting to the lifestyle of Albion. She recalled his treatment of the Seris and his disdain of her clothing and palmport. For Justen, opulence and snobbery went hand in hand.
“Mama, Papa,” Persis said, “Justen is overwhelmed by all this. You forget, he’s a proud reg.”
“Not too proud,” Justen clarified, “to accept the gracious hospitality of my new friend’s parents.” He bowed again, this time over her mother’s extended hand, and deposited a kiss on her skin. “Your home is stunning, Lady Heloise, and its beauty and good nature are eclipsed only by the people who live here. Persis and I apologize that you were not told earlier of my arrival. It was unexpected. Your daughter took ill on a trip to—on her yacht—and I was fortunate to be in the right place to offer her assistance. I decided it was my duty to watch over her until she recovered. Since then, we have become fast friends.”