“Yes,” she said. “And now the aristos are being repaid for their cruelty.” How was this not obvious to him?
“And then we will be repaid for ours, and then the cycle will start all over again. When does it end, Vania? Does the world have to be completely destroyed?”
“I hope not,” came a silky voice from the far end of the terrace. “I rather think we’ve destroyed enough of it already.”
Vania turned, and was confronted with a figure who could be no one but Lady Persis Blake. She was swathed from chin to toe in what looked like form-fitting chain mail, and despite herself, Vania’s first thought was of some ancient female knight.
What seemed like acres of yellow and white hair was piled up on top of the girl’s head, making her tall, slim figure even more towering. Her features could not be seen clearly, as her face was obscured by a tight silver veil embroidered thickly across her cheeks with silver beading in a starburst design.
Vania blinked. It was late afternoon. This was Persis Blake’s daytime wear? She was more ridiculous even than Vania’s research had led her to believe.
“Justen.” Persis glided toward them. “You didn’t tell me you were expecting a guest.”
“I wasn’t,” he grumbled. “This is Vania Aldred, an old friend from Galatea.”
“Lady Blake,” said Vania, inclining her head a full millimeter, which was more than her father would want and more than this glittering statue deserved. “I’m Captain Aldred of the revolutionary army.”
Persis laughed, a musical sound that instantly grated on Vania’s nerves. “How fascinating. A captain! Who knew that my Justen was friends with members of the military?” She smiled so broadly, Vania could make it out even through the mesh of her clinging veil. “And what brings you to my home? Merely here to visit Justen, or are you opening diplomatic relations with our princess regent?”
“She’s looking for the Wild Poppy,” Justen muttered.
Persis pressed a gloved hand against her chain mail–encased throat. “How extraordinary! And here I’d been under the impression that the revolutionaries thought our celebrated spy was an actual threat to them. He won’t be half so much fun to gossip about if the Galateans don’t even care.”
“We do care,” Vania snapped. “That’s why I’m here to find him.”
Persis cocked her head. “They can’t care too much, if all they sent was a little girl.”
Justen groaned and stepped between them before Vania could do what she wanted. “You’re going to have to indulge Persis, Vania. She’s Albian, remember? She doesn’t really understand the concept of women having leadership positions.”
“Oh? I thought she was friends with the princess,” Vania growled.
“I am,” Persis trilled. “She wouldn’t dare leave her dressing room without getting my approval on her footwear.”
Justen turned to Vania with a look on his face that said see?
Except Vania didn’t see. She didn’t see at all what Justen could possibly find attractive about this empty-headed, shallow, crazily clothed aristo. She looked on in horror as Justen tried explaining to Persis that Vania actually had a very important job back home. He spoke to her as one might to a child.
“Persis, you know that’s not how things work in Galatea. Vania is a very well-respected captain of the military police.”
What sort of affection could possibly grow from this? Was this what men liked? Was this what Justen liked? No, she’d never believe that. Justen needed someone who could match him intellectually.
“And because she’s Citizen Aldred’s daughter, she has much more experience than most her age.”
Well, he needn’t have added that part.
“I suppose,” Persis said at last, “that’s good news for the Poppy. And for any aristos he might wish to save.”
“I assure you it is not,” Vania stated. “I will stop the Wild Poppy from undermining my homeland’s new government.”
Beneath the veil, Vania saw Persis’s eyes slide in her direction. “Shall you? I’ll be curious to see that.” Then the aristo addressed Justen. “How fierce you all are in Galatea. Tell me, Justen, is this what most men of your nationality prefer in a woman?”
Finally, a good question. Vania turned to her old friend, who looked like he wanted to sink through the polished stone floor.
“Persis,” he said with a sigh, “not now.”
Ah, so all was not perfect in his aristocratic paradise. And, really, how could it be? As they liked to say in Galatea, his aristo girlfriend didn’t need pinks to be an idiot.
The girl shrugged. “Well,” she conceded, “I suppose it must be their fierceness. It certainly isn’t their sense of fashion. Will your friend be staying long, Justen?”
“No,” said Justen with a definitive shake of his head. “She won’t be staying at all.”
Persis nodded regally. “It was nice to meet you, Captain.” She sashayed off.
Vania congratulated herself on her remarkable restraint. She hadn’t even rolled her eyes. “Justen,” she said, “you’ve gone mad. Aristos? Albion? This moronic, spoiled brat? I don’t even know you anymore.”
“No, you don’t. And I don’t know you. When the revolution began, it was about making a better Galatea. Is this better? Torturing and imprisoning your own citizens? Threatening your best friends?”
To be fair, she hadn’t threatened him, just the spoiled aristo brat he’d taken up with. And it hadn’t even been a threat so much as a statement of fact. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s impossible that you’ve changed so much so quickly. What’s happened to you, Justen? Don’t you remember the day the old queen was sentenced? Don’t you remember how happy we were? Finally, we’d been able to change the world.”
“We changed it,” he agreed. “But not for the better.”
Vania sighed. This was going nowhere. Justen must have had his brains sucked out by his new girlfriend. She gathered her strength for another argument, but was interrupted by a message ping. She pulled out her oblet.
Captain Aldred,
Report: There’s been a break-in at the prison and the entire Ford family and their servants escaped. Their cells were left empty except for the sign of the Wild Poppy.
Where are you?
Long live the revolution,
General Gawnt
Nineteen
PERSIS MANAGED TO KEEP it together until she’d reached her bedroom, until she’d engaged the privacy screens, until she’d sat down at her vanity, unwound her mesh veil, and stared in the mirror at the rashy burns all over her face.
She met her angry, amber gaze in the glass, and her eyes began to sting.
“I did it,” she grumbled to her reflection, “though I’d rather have tossed him off the pali.”
The whole way back from Galatea, she’d been planning to do just that. Capture Justen as she’d captured his sister, drag him to the throne room for interrogation—maybe even utilize those neuroeels Isla claimed to have in the dungeon.
Six months as the Wild Poppy, and she’d never felt such an urge to get violent. Six months playing dumb, and she’d never felt as stupid as she did right now. She’d invited Justen into her home. She’d introduced him to the princess. She’d told him all about her mother’s illness. She’d kissed him in the star cove. And, worst of all, she’d shown him the refugees in the sanitarium—the poor, broken people he was responsible for creating. And all the time, Justen had been lying to her. All the time, he was a worse enemy than Citizen Aldred himself.