“And how do you define ‘anybody’ in this place?” Andromeda asked drily.
“Andromeda!” Elliot said. “Would you lay off for once?”
“Would you?” the sandy-haired captain snapped back. She looked at Persis. “And while we’re on the subject, how do you define ‘outfit’?”
Vania smiled. “I’ll stay, too, Andromeda, and that way we can be sure that Lady Blake here keeps her promise to let you all go when the luau is over.”
“Let them go?” said Persis. “I’m not keeping them prisoner.”
“The guards stationed at the lift would lead one to think otherwise.”
“Well, you would know from guards.”
Vania Aldred—a captain of the revolutionary army; a proponent of arresting aristos for imagined slights; a torturer of men, women, and children—calling her out for trying to keep a few nosy gossips from spying on the visitors before it was politically expedient? As it was, Persis nearly bit her tongue off keeping from saying anything more. After all, the guards were meant to keep Vania out, but voicing that fact wasn’t about to win Persis or Isla points with the visitors.
And if Vania thought she was going to spend the night in Scintillans, Persis had a bit of news for her.
“Fantastic,” she said when they had all agreed to stay. “I shall relay this wonderful news to Isla and then first thing tomorrow morning, we’ll start in on your outfits.” She turned to the Galatean. “Good night, dear Vania. I’m sure you know the way out.”
“Yes,” the revolutionary replied. “But I won’t be going far.”
AFTER PERSIS HAD TAKEN her leave of the visitors, fluttered Isla about the new developments, and made absolutely sure that Vania was off the estate, she found Justen slouched on a cushion in the sitting room. He wasn’t paying attention to any of the oblets glowing around him. There were piles of nanorectors on the desk before him. Half were engaged in forming a quite complex model of what Persis assumed was a human brain. The others he was absentmindedly shifting into random shapes—a frangipani flower, a cyclone, a parasol, and a sea mink.
Persis stationed herself before him. “Isla will not be pleased that you failed to report who it was that spirited Captain Phoenix and Tomorrow away from here.”
“The important thing is that they’re back,” he replied in a monotone.
“Yes. Their heads filled with all sorts of prejudice against the princess—not to mention me—and all kinds of fantasies about what it’s really like in Galatea. She’d almost convinced them to leave with her tonight. And here you are, hiding away doing—what exactly?” She gestured to the nanorectors.
“I’m not a political operative,” he said, grimacing. “I can’t do this. I can’t do all the court drama, like you do, Persis. Can’t smile and be charming and pretend that nothing bothers me. I’d sooner throw Vania off the pali tonight than engage in a battle of words with her.”
That would be acceptable, Persis thought. “Fine. Ignore Vania. But you of all people can speak freely about exactly what’s happening in your country.”
His shoulders lifted a centimeter or two in a barely there shrug, and his face and voice were every bit as glum. “Oh, yes. I’m quite a trustworthy source for the crew of the Argos. They’re the bravest people I’ve ever heard of. They left their homeland in search of what might have been nothing at all. They fought their entire society in order to build their ship and sail away. They’ve found strange islands filled with people and animals and things that seem like they came from dreams. They certainly have reason to trust and like a cowardly runaway who’s living as the kept man of an idle aristo.”
His self-loathing oozed off him in waves. Persis almost wanted to step back before it dripped on her shoes.
“I don’t know why I’m even trying to talk to you about this. I’m nothing but a performer for your princess. I can’t help in the sanitarium, I can’t help my sister—”
“What’s wrong with your sister?” she broke in before she could stop herself. If Remy had been compromised, Persis needed to know.
“She’s in Galatea. What else does she need to be in danger?” he snapped. He scrubbed his hands over his hair, his face cast down in deep contemplation. “I can’t even talk to her. I think they’re screening my messages or something. Imagine what she thinks of me now. All the stories that must be circulating about us—about me and some . . . aristo.”
Some idiot aristo, he’d obviously been planning to say. How sweet; he was concerned for her feelings. For once.
“And the truth’s not much better, from her perspective. I am a traitor to everything she believes in.”
If only he knew! “You think your sister is like Vania?”
“No, I think she’s a child.” He shrugged. “Citizen Aldred is the only father she’s ever known. Of course she supports him. Maybe if I’d been there for her more, instead of being in the lab all the time . . .”
“She’s fourteen,” Persis said. “I don’t think she’s as much of a child as you imagine.” But was she as grown-up as Persis had hoped? She knew Remy’s family members underestimated her. Persis, of anyone, understood how easily something like that could happen. But Justen did know the girl better than she did. If pressure were put to bear on Remy Helo . . . if Vania got desperate . . . would she crack?
“You haven’t met Remy,” Justen said, smiling ruefully. “She was so young when our parents died—it makes her a little intense sometimes about family, about protecting the people she loves . . .” He trailed off. “And maybe I have some of that, too. I can’t let anything happen to her. She’s the only family I have left.”
Curious. Remy had said precisely the same thing. And here stood Persis in the center of it. She couldn’t say if Citizen Aldred would hurt Remy because of Justen’s actions, but if Remy’s work for the League were discovered, she’d surely be Reduced—or worse. And Persis couldn’t vouch for Justen’s safety in Albion, either. No matter what Isla had accused her of yesterday, Persis would find a way to make Justen answer for his work on the Reduction drug. The biggest danger to both Helos was Persis herself.
What a strange family this was, who claimed to wish to protect each other but left each other in the company of people they suspected might hurt them. Then again, she’d allowed Justen to treat her mother, allowed it because she wanted to believe he wished to help the Darkened, rather than harm an aristo. Allowed it because, just as Isla had said, her hope that he might cure her mother—might cure her—trumped any hatred she had for what he’d done to the refugees. No matter what crimes he’d committed, if he held the secret to stopping DAR, he had to be allowed to work.
“I don’t want Remy in Galatea any longer,” Justen was saying now. “If my messages to her are being intercepted, I think it’s time the Wild Poppy gets involved.”
Persis’s laugh was high, trilling, and not entirely faked. The Wild Poppy was very much involved. “I’m sure he’ll be relieved that you’ve started making those decisions for him.”
Justen blinked. “I didn’t mean—”
“To sound like some bossy aristo?” Persis finished. “What if the Poppy’s busy with something big? Or maybe he’s decided to scrap the whole thing and take up cliff diving for fun and profit. Can’t be any more dangerous, right?”
“Well, Isla said he liked challenges. And the royal palace in Halahou . . . that’s a tricky prospect.”
“I think you should leave actually planning events to the Poppy, Justen,” she said, a trifle annoyed. She could get into the palace. If she wanted to. And she’d had quite enough of discussing the Wild Poppy with Justen. He could ask for Remy’s extraction until the islands cooled, but she would be the one to decide when her informant needed to get out of Galatea.