Justen grimaced. He didn’t need Vania putting a voice to all the thoughts in his head. “It’s a temporary situation.” He’d never once made the argument that Isla’s actions were faultless. But temporary discretion was not the same as imprisonment. She’d requested that the visitors wait, which they were happy to do for a day or two, until their friends arrived on their ship. And they were free to go—as Andromeda had just proved.
Vania was still talking. “Captain Andromeda Phoenix—next to her most fascinating name—has the most remarkable impression of our homeland, Justen. She’s been told it’s a vile place, full of danger and destruction. Wherever would she have gotten that idea?”
Justen shrugged in response. “Honestly, Vania, I don’t have much to do with what the visitors are and are not told. I’m merely a guest here, like them.”
“They’re not like you, Justen. Not like anyone in all New Pacifica, and you know it. That one with the orange hair is Reduced. Really Reduced.”
Her eyes practically glowed with promise. How much had she seen of his notes? Justen watched Vania the way one might a snake. She hadn’t come here to chat this time. Vania was smart and ambitious, and because she’d once been like a sister to him, he knew she classified people into one of two camps: friend and foe.
Justen was pretty sure he’d slipped into the latter category at their last meeting.
“Well, you didn’t come here looking for them, Vania, so what did you come for?”
“I came to enlist your help.”
“In what?”
“Tracking down the Wild Poppy.”
A sharp, staccato burst of laughter escaped his lips. Again with this? “What in the world would I know about the Wild Poppy?” He didn’t even know where the spy hid the refugees. Not anymore.
“I’m not sure yet. That’s why I’m here. After all, the Wild Poppy is undoubtedly an aristo, and you seem to be thriving among that community. Here you are, in the very heart of elite life in Albion, doing favors for the princess, going to parties with her— What exactly is your girlfriend’s official position again, Justen? The royal stylist?”
“If you like,” he replied. Hadn’t he once thought the same of Persis? Now, of course, his opinion of her was—well, he wasn’t exactly sure. Persis was confusing. She was silly, and then she made the most sense of anyone he knew. She was sexy, but she wasn’t anything like the type of girl he could feel something for. She was shallow, but she was also one of the most thoughtful, kindhearted, and generous people he’d ever met.
“And now”—Vania gestured to the work littering the desk—“it seems you’re back to your favorite topic of research. Only this time, you’re doing it for the Albians.”
“I’ve always been doing it for the Albians and Galateans both. Just like my grandmother.”
“Hmm.” Vania shrugged, then moved away from the table. “And yet here you do it in your girlfriend’s living room, whereas back home Papa gave you an entire lab and a staff of your own.”
“That lab came with trappings I found . . . a bit constricting.”
Her gaze dropped from his face to his feet and back up, studying one of the new outfits Persis had picked for him. “Actually, I find your new trappings much more constricting. But no matter how much you wish to talk about fashion, Justen, I have more important things in mind.”
“Right, the Wild Poppy.” Justen sighed and waved his hand. “Well, off you go.”
She chuckled, but there was no amusement in it. “No, off you go. I am going to find the Poppy this time, and you’re going to help me.”
“I beg your pardon? We already went over this. I absolutely will not.”
Vania was silent for a moment. “You haven’t even asked after your sister, Justen. Don’t you care to know how she’s doing, all alone, in Galatea? Don’t you wonder how knowledge of your treason is affecting her?”
Justen’s blood chilled again, but he did his best not to let it show. “I think of my sister every day. I miss her tremendously.” And he didn’t think she’d received a single message he’d sent her since coming to Albion. His fears for her were starting to come to pass. At first he’d thought she was still angry from their argument, but now he feared worse, especially since Vania’s last visit. After all, why would they let him contact Remy if they thought he’d betrayed the revolution? He needed Remy here.
“In fact, I’d appreciate it if you could give her a message for me.”
“I think that will be difficult,” Vania said, her expression utterly guileless, “unless of course you help me. After all, it’s so hard to communicate anything to the Reduced—”
Justen didn’t know how he did it, but it was as if he could move as fast as those visiting captains, for suddenly he was right on top of Vania, her narrow shoulders in his grip. “What have you done to Remy?” he shouted.
“Nothing.” Her voice shook as she freed herself from his grasp. “But, Justen, you know that treason is a clear cause for arrest—not just of the traitor but of his entire family as well.”
“You wouldn’t—you couldn’t do anything to Remy. She’s living in your house.” And yet wasn’t that exactly what he’d been afraid of all along? He’d just never thought Vania—Vania of all people—could betray him. Betray them both. They’d grown up together; they’d loved each other as brother and sister—or so he’d always thought. Was this what the revolution had done to her?
Vania’s eyes narrowed. “Are you accusing my father of favoritism? That would make him no better than the queen he had a role in deposing.”
“Remy has done nothing. To ensure her safety, I’ve been keeping my feelings about the revolution private. Don’t you think, if I’d wanted to, I could have argued long and loud against everything going on down there?”
She snorted. “You want me to admire how ineffectual your treason has been?”
“Vania, you love Remy. You can’t let anything happen to her.”
“That’s precisely what I’m saying to you.”
Justen ran his hands through his hair, paced away a few steps, then turned. “You won’t do anything,” he insisted, trying to convince himself. “You’d be foolish to. If word got out—Remy’s a Helo. The people of Galatea wouldn’t stand for it.” To say nothing of the people of Albion. If Isla needed an excuse to invade, Remy Helo might be it.
“I hope you’re right. But if you aren’t, I doubt the Wild Poppy will find it so easy to break into Halahou prison again.”
The Poppy had broken into the prison? The man was more adept even than Justen had thought. “Vania. Listen to yourself. Listen to what you’re saying. You’re coming to me and actually threatening to imprison Remy? Torture Remy? Reduce . . . Remy?”
There was the faintest flicker in Vania’s eyes, but a second later it vanished, replaced by a serene expression. “It’s not going to come to that. You’re going to help me find the Poppy, Justen.”
Justen shook his head in disbelief. Vania was perfectly calm, but it was the assuredness of a zealot. Justen remembered when things had seemed that simple to him. The revolution was a moral good, no matter its price. And then, even when he’d first come to Albion, he’d not given much thought to anything beyond putting up with Persis and the princess in order to get his research off the ground. But now he’d seen a natural Reduced, now he’d talked to the Galatean victims, now nothing was as it seemed. He looked at Vania. At his friend Vania; at his ally Vania; at his foster sister, Vania, and he didn’t even recognize her.
“I won’t.”
She stiffened and her expression turned stern. “Then I guess you’re the one who will be Reducing Remy.” She started to move away, and Justen tried to grab her.