Isla sighed. “I can’t believe he wants to hide away in a sanitarium. It’s not exactly the high-profile position I’d prefer for him.”
Persis bit her lip, but it did little to lessen the sting of Isla’s words. Justen’s arguments came back to her then. Maybe they weren’t as enlightened as they thought in Albion. Darkening shouldn’t be an embarrassment to any family, even an aristo family, so why were they keeping her mother’s condition a secret? Why wasn’t working in a sanitarium a more honorable, high-profile job? There was an argument to be made that Justen was behaving in the only honorable way a Helo could. Instead of sitting back and enjoying the celebrity Persistence had won for his family, he was devoting his life to fixing the single mistake she left behind. Why didn’t Isla get that? Would Persis, too, fail to see its importance if she hadn’t been touched by the ravages of DAR?
“Speaking of Noemi, how are her extremely low-profile patients doing?” Isla asked. “Have Lord Lacan’s grandchildren recovered?”
Persis shook her head. “Still compromised. Detox drugs don’t seem to work quite as rapidly on the younger ones.”
Noemi and the other medics had expected the opposite to be true. Young minds were more elastic and so they should bounce back more quickly from their ordeal. But after detoxing so many of the Poppy’s rescued refugees, Noemi was developing a new theory on how the drug worked. Now, Noemi guessed the gap was due to the way the Reduction drug the Galateans were using not only blocked neural pathways but also prevented new ones from forming. The older victims recovered more quickly as they regained access to pathways their unhindered brains had long used first, then more-recent neural pathways later. But in young minds, the pathways weren’t as familiar, and there were fewer. It took longer for children’s minds to remember what they’d once known and to start forming new pathways again.
Isla grimaced and fell into step beside Persis. “That can’t be easy for the Lacans to see. When I think of someone doing that to Albie—Persis, in that case, I would be out for blood. Neuroeels would be too swift a death for Citizen Aldred.”
Now there was a sentiment Persis could get behind. “Would you like to come to the clinic and see them? I know it would mean a lot to the Lacans, and you could drop in on your newest medic, too.”
The sanitarium was the perfect hiding spot for the recovering Galatean refugees. Since so many of the symptoms suffered by the Reduced were similar to those of the Darkened, the sanitarium already had resources to deal with them. And Persis knew well that Noemi could be trusted to remain discreet. She was one of the few who knew about Persis’s mother, one of the even fewer who knew Persis was the Wild Poppy.
Isla made a face. “I have no particular desire to see Justen at work. I’d much rather you spent some time dragging him out in the open. Canoodle a little, my friend. You could start by taking him out and getting him some nicer clothes. Everyone expects you to, anyway.”
They exited the throne room and emerged into the bright sunlight of the Albion court. “If I do, you won’t get public canoodling. It’ll be a public fight.”
She’d already tried once to get Justen some new outfits. He’d come to Albion with nothing other than the clothes on his back, and they were in such a severe, revolutionary style that even the Scintillans servants were snickering at the laundry. Justen didn’t care.
“I haven’t come here for a shopping trip, Persis,” he’d said, his tone as dour as his suit.
“Of course not,” she’d replied. “Everyone knows the best silks are Galatean.”
Justen had not been amused, and after being the recipient of yet another of his contemptuous glares, she hadn’t seen much to laugh at, either. In another time, another life, she could have talked to him for hours about what he had come to Galatea for—about politics, about medical research, about everything they truly did have in common. She could have admired him for what he was, and maybe he’d do the same. But what was the point in this world, where he seemed uninterested in the only parts of herself she could risk showing him? From what she’d seen, Justen hardly noticed her appearance and found her taste in Albian fashion faintly ridiculous. She could hardly get to know the attractive Galatean medic better if she couldn’t risk being anything other than a silly, spoiled aristo in his presence.
She shrugged. “I have other things on my plate, you know.” Sending Justen to work in the sanitarium had a twofold benefit as far as Persis was concerned. He’d be kept busy enough that he wouldn’t question when she disappeared for a day or two at a time on her secret trips south. With Remy in the League now, it was likely she’d see the sister more even than the brother.
“I know you have commitments,” Isla said, “but you really mustn’t neglect your social life.” She nodded meaningfully in the direction of Councilmen Blocking and Shift, who were standing in the courtyard below, deep in conversation. Shift caught sight of Isla and started up the stairs toward her.
“Uh-oh,” said Persis’s friend.
“Your Highness,” Shift blustered at her. “There you are. Your aides said you were sequestered all morning. Another fitting with Lady Blake, I see?”
“What do you wish to discuss, sir?” Isla said, ignoring his dig.
“Princess, it’s imperative that we deal with the situation in the east. The regs in Sunrise Village have been blatantly trading with the Galateans, despite the local aristo governor’s warnings.”
The eastern governor was Councilman Shift’s brother, Lord Shift. Persis knew the Council chief didn’t think much of Isla, but underestimating her wasn’t going to be useful to his cause, either.
“The Lord Shift’s embargo is not approved by the Council or the monarchy, Councilman, as well you know,” Isla replied smoothly. “And Sunrise Village is an independent township. They are not required to adhere to the advice of the governor.”
“But—”
“I can certainly craft a letter of disapproval if you think I ought to, Councilman, but as it happens, I was just discussing this issue with the Galatean lord Lacan—who as you might recall, was recently rescued by the Wild Poppy and brought to our country. He knows well the denizens of Sunrise Village, as they are the closest Albian outpost to his lands. Now that he’s here, he wishes to settle in Sunrise Village, as he has many friends in that area due to his family’s long association of trading taro for Sunrise Village’s milk and cheese across the strait.”
“But, Princess—”
“Your brother owns a taro farm, does he not, Councilman? How he would gain if the villagers were required to buy all their taro from him instead. Perhaps he should seek to compete in a more forthright manner.”
Persis wanted to cheer for her friend as Councilman Shift’s face turned red and he cast about for a response. Isla dismissed him with a nod of her head, then turned to go.
“You ignore regs at your own peril, Princess,” he said to her back. “The more they think they can make decisions independently from you, the more they will. And the more they collude with their revolutionary friends in the south, the more likely they are to decide they don’t need you at all.”
Persis saw Isla stiffen, but her friend did not stop walking.
“You think they like you because you’re soft on them. But all you’re teaching them is that you’re soft.”
Now Isla did turn, and fixed Councilman Shift with her most royal glare. “And if I let your insult pass unpunished, sir? What am I teaching you?”