Here she was, the most celebrated and loathed spy in New Pacifica, and she’d been taken in by a freshly cooled medic with a kind face and a famous name.
She’d planned to confront him with all that the very second she got home to Scintillans, but then she walked onto the terrace and saw him talking to Vania Aldred. Captain Vania Aldred, his “old friend.” Captain Vania Aldred who’d toppled the Ford estate, and who’d apparently come to Albion specifically to seek out the Wild Poppy. Possibly with Justen’s help.
Persis needed a plan. A good spy would neutralize her enemy as soon as possible. A great spy would go a step further. If Justen was working for the revolution in Albion, it would be better to play his game and use his position against him. She just had to find out if he suspected her first.
She looked at the girl in the mirror. Her eyes were glassy with unshed tears, bloodshot and baggy with exhaustion from the mission and the genetemps. Her face was swollen and red, her lips set in an angry line. Not the beautiful socialite any longer and not the skillfully disguised spy with the masculine features and corresponding beard. In this moment she was Persis, raw and unfiltered. The scared girl with the sick mother and the best friend trying single-handedly to yank her country back from the brink of revolution. The silly teenager with a crush on a famous boy who’d made her promises so convincing she’d almost risked it all in the star cove. And she could scrub and primp and style and none of that would change.
But she’d learned her lesson. She smoothed her expression as well as she could. She could do this. She was the greatest spy in New Pacifica. Bit by bit, she vanished, leaving only the steely determination of the Wild Poppy.
The screen pulsed. “Persis?” came Justen’s voice.
She pasted on her most vacant smile, until even the Wild Poppy was hidden beneath the mask of Persis Flake, and disengaged the screen.
Justen strode into her room, and it was all Persis could do to keep her eyes on her reflection and her mask in place. “Where have you been all day? You were gone when I got up this morning.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, darling. Andrine and I went to a spa and I turned off my palmport for relaxation purposes . . .” She gestured to the rash. “As you can see, it wasn’t quite as relaxing as I’d hoped.”
In the mirror, she saw the annoyance on his face evaporate. “Oh, Persis. What did you do to yourself this time? Have you put any ointments on it yet?” He reached for her cheek, but she jerked away from his touch.
“A slight allergic reaction.” To him. “I’m managing.” She always managed. She’d do it again, and he’d keep his war criminal medic’s hands off her.
“Allergic reaction to what?”
She rolled her eyes. Were they really talking about her pretend spa treatments? “My facial scrub, of course. I think . . . hibiscus? Can’t remember. Anyway, what do you want?”
“Nothing. I”—he sounded almost sheepish—“I was wondering if maybe we could go swimming again.”
Persis almost gasped. Was he serious? She really had melted in the star cove, then. And before that, too, when she’d led him right to the heart of the refugees. Even if he didn’t suspect her of being anything more than Persis Blake, he’d managed to get quite a few secrets out of her already. And maybe he wasn’t even after information, but just hoping to relax with a pretty, stupid aristo who would kiss him on command.
Either way, he could forget it.
“Are you sure you wouldn’t rather take your Galatean friend?”
“Excuse me?” Justen spluttered.
Now Persis did face him, and let just a sliver of the rage she felt show on her face. “I know you think I’m stupid, Justen, and you’re probably right. But if there’s any hope for you at court, it might help if you weren’t openly consorting with Citizen Aldred’s daughter.” She turned back to the mirror. “Especially since you’re supposed to be madly in love with me.”
In the reflection, she saw Justen blink in astonishment. “Persis, are you . . . jealous?”
Not even the girl she pretended to be would fall that fast. She rolled her eyes. “What I am is very concerned about our image as a couple. The moment I leave you alone on the estate, you start inviting your Galatean lover by?”
“I didn’t know Vania was coming,” Justen said. Or lied.
Persis whirled around. “Wrong answer again, Justen. My goodness, you’re dreadful at public relations. You’d think, living with a propaganda machine like Citizen Aldred, you’d have picked up a few tips.”
He shook his head in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“The correct response to my accusation is ‘She’s not my lover. We’re just old friends. I actually think of Vania more as a sister.’” Persis dropped her Justen impression. “That’s the sort of thing people expect you to say. You should practice, you know, in case we have one of these spats when gossips are listening. Honestly, Justen, if someone like me can manage this, I don’t understand why you’re having trouble.”
Justen plopped onto Persis’s hammock. The golden silk fanned up around him, bringing with it a cloud of Persis’s signature flowery scent. “Because I’m not a courtier, Persis. I’m not good at being political and charming. I’m a medic. All I want to do is work in my lab and make sick people well.”
Liar. Liar, liar, liar. How she wished she could scream it at him. He was reclining on her bed and he was staring at her with that infuriatingly earnest expression, as if every word from his mouth were pure as fire. She’d fallen for it once. She’d wanted to believe him so badly she’d almost endangered the refugees all over again. She’d almost endangered herself.
She hadn’t realized how hard she’d been hoping the prison medic was lying until she heard Remy confirm it: Justen had invented the Reduction drug. He was responsible for this entire nightmare. On the boat, she’d almost managed to convince herself that Justen might have been telling Persis and Isla the truth, or at least part of it. That he did regret the direction the revolution had gone in. And maybe that meant he regretted the part he’d played in creating the pinks.
Except that didn’t add up, either. If Justen Helo had honestly wanted to defect to Albion and atone for the sins of making the Reduction drug, then he would have told them so at once. He certainly would have brought up his special knowledge of the drug when he’d been shown the damaged refugees. He seemed deeply disturbed by what he saw, to be sure, but Persis knew all too well how something like that could be faked.
And then she’d seen him entertaining Vania Aldred.
If he truly was working for the revolution, the best thing Persis could do was make him think everything was going according to plan. If he truly was their enemy, capturing him—branding a Helo a war criminal—would only ignite the aristo-reg conflicts Isla was trying to avoid. For a moment, Persis stood at the edge of a precipice every bit as high as the Scintillans pali. But here, there was no glass-walled lift, here there was no zip line and the safety of a silk hammock. Here she was about to embark on the most important mission the Wild Poppy had ever undertaken.
“I spent all day in the lab,” he said now, “while you’ve been getting your skin flayed off for fun. And I plan to go back first thing tomorrow morning, too.”
“If you really cared,” she said, her tone as smoothly superior as possible, “you’d still be there, helping them move the facility, instead of talking to your dear old friend.”
“They’re moving the refugees?” Justen asked.
No, but let him report to Vania that they were. That would buy Persis some time to find a new safe house with Noemi. And it would also give her the opportunity to find out what Justen might be leaking to the Galateans.