All she’d wanted was to help her brother, but now she wanted more. To help the people the revolution had harmed.
The Poppy held out her hand, and Remy saw the flash of her palmport. No wonder she’d been hiding it under her glove when they’d met in Galatea. There was no way folks would fail to recognize her as an aristo with that hardware in her hand.
“Will you join us?”
“Yes,” Remy said, though it was more like a sob. “Yes, I’ll help you. Tell me what I have to do.”
Eleven
“THAT WENT WELL,” PERSIS said as Andrine led the sister of Justen Helo away.
“It went somewhat differently than expected,” said Isla, “but at least you got a well-connected spy.”
“I mean for your first interrogation,” said Persis, smiling at her friend. “You scared her cold.” Remy would never have given them her name if she weren’t certain they were going to kill her otherwise.
“Do you think?” said Isla. “I was afraid I sounded a bit comical with all my threats. As if I needed a mustache to twirl like some sort of ancient villain.”
“Oh no,” Persis said. “It was perfect.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Don’t change a thing—except maybe . . .”
“What?”
“The eels.”
“Too over-the-top?”
“Not at all. The only thing was, you threatened to kill her where she lay, and then you mentioned eels down in the dungeons—it was confusing. To a prisoner. They can’t be intimidated if they’re busy trying to parse your geography.”
Isla waved her hand. “Semantics.” She plopped back on a cushion. “My father used to make threats look so easy.”
“Kill many people, did he?”
“Oh no, he was a softie.” Isla shrugged. “Then again, he didn’t rule in the midst of a war where he had to send his best friend to rescue tortured prisoners, so . . . who knows what he might have done?”
Persis smiled. “Would you really avenge me with neuroeels, Isla?”
“For you, darling, I’d gengineer a neuroshark.”
“Aww.” Persis pressed a hand to her chest. “That’s very sweet.”
“Well, you’re very special to me, Persis. I hope you realize that.” Isla’s voice was serious—true serious, not the royal serious she’d used on Remy, and Persis’s smile slid off her face.
Rescuing the Galatean prisoners was a worthy mission, and Persis bore no illusions that, were she to be caught by the revolutionaries, her punishment would be Reduction or worse, but she’d always figured she was only risking herself and those who’d chosen to join her cause. This was something they were doing to help the people of Galatea. To help Isla, who couldn’t manage to convince the Royal Council that war could come no matter how much you tried to pretend it wouldn’t, and that helping the Galatean people didn’t necessarily mean bringing war to their shores as well.
But Isla’s words had cast doubt in her mind. If she was captured by the enemy, what would Isla do? Would the ruler of Albion fight to free her? Might Persis be reason enough for her to defy the Council and jeopardize the very makeup of the government?
“Neurosharks might be overkill,” she said at last. “What’s the point of their teeth, if their bite contains neurotoxins?”
“True,” Isla replied. “Well, I’ll leave the details to the gengineers.”
Persis wanted to say, “Isla, if they catch me, don’t you dare do anything rash.”
She wanted to say, “Isla, I know what I’m doing, so think of our country and not our friendship.”
She wanted to say, “If I thought this might cause a problem for Albion, I’d stop.”
But she didn’t. Especially that last one, because the truth was, Persis didn’t know if she could. People were being hurt. Innocents. Children. Aristos and regulars alike. Maybe Isla should force Albion to take a stand against the atrocities happening in the south.
But until she did, the Wild Poppy would do what she could.
Isla saved her by changing the topic. “Do you really think we can trust her?”
“Yes.” Remy Helo was a lot like her brother. Persis remembered what Justen had said last night. How passionate he’d been about his hopes for his country, for a cure for the Darkened. The propaganda from Galatea said the Helos were model revolutionary citizens, but Aldred had no idea how accurate that was. They were true revolutionaries. They believed in justice for all Galateans, regular and aristo.
“And are you sure we shouldn’t keep her here to appease your little boyfriend?”
“Does he even have to be my boyfriend now?” Persis asked. “There’s no need to keep Justen’s reasons for being here a secret if we have his sister safe.” Persis could already visualize the look of joy on Justen’s face once he was reunited with his sister. And it would make everything easier on her, too, if she was no longer forced to squire him around and keep her mask on at home.
“Oh, Persis. Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying his company just a little bit. Justen is handsome, politically motivated, and the grandson of the savior of New Pacifica.” Isla tapped her finger against her lips thoughtfully. “Isn’t that pretty much your dream boy?”
Persis found it highly aggravating how well the princess regent of Albion knew her. “Yes, but I’m Persis Flake, remember? He can barely tolerate me.”
“Give him time. He’ll fall prey to your charm, just like everyone else.”
Persis shook her head. No, not Justen. He needed something more than she was allowed to show him.
“Fine,” Isla said. “Beyond trusting her, do you think Remy can actually help us?”
“Living in the palace with Citizen Aldred?” Persis pointed out. “Definitely. She’ll have information about new prisoners before anyone else. And you heard Justen. He thinks his sister is a helpless little girl. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what she’s been up to.”
And maybe that was the most useful thing Remy Helo had to offer. She’d already shown herself to be resourceful beyond her years—hacking the military records to give herself a position in the army. She was a spy long before she ever met the Poppy. And no one in her household seemed to know what she was capable of: not her brother and not the Aldreds, either. The best spies were those everyone underestimated. Persis knew that better than anyone.
“And she’s so young,” Isla added. “Even if she got caught snooping, how could Aldred risk harming her? A child and a Helo? He’d lose too much support with the Galateans.”
Persis wasn’t sure about that. She’d seen Reduced children—aristos, yes, but still innocents—and the Galateans didn’t seem to have too much trouble with that. Still, a Helo was another matter.
“She’s not so very little,” said Persis. “A year younger than Andrine and every bit as brilliant as her brother, it seems.”
“Her brother is ‘brilliant’?” Isla said, raising her eyebrows. “From you, that’s high praise indeed. The very highest.” She nudged Persis. “Maybe you are enjoying playing the devoted girlfriend!”
She might be, if she wasn’t forced to pretend to be someone else. She might not even think of it as playing at all. Persis unclasped her gray robe and dropped it to the cushion behind her, shaking out the candle-flame-yellow skirt of her gown. “It’s not just me who thinks so. Noemi has been so pleased to have him at the sanitarium this past week. She’s as starry-eyed as everyone else when it comes to the Helos.”
Noemi Dorric was the de facto head of the DAR sanitarium nearest Scintillans. She was also the chief medic for the League of the Wild Poppy and the Blake family’s private—very private—nurse. And she’d practically done backflips when she heard Justen was coming and bringing along Persistence Helo’s own research.