“Fantastic,” Persis said, and downed the app. “Perhaps it’ll start a new fashion.”
Tero watched her swallow, and then with a slow, dangerous smile said, “You’re awfully trusting, Perse. What if I’d decided to take revenge for what you did to Andrine yesterday? That could be a knockout drug.”
Persis started coughing, and he laughed.
“Joking. But if you mess with mixtures intended for my sister again, it’s the last genetemps you’ll ever get from me, Lady Blake.”
Lady Blake? “Well, at least you’re respecting rank today.”
Tero narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t start with me, Persis, or I’ll make you eat sand like I did when you were four.”
“Funny,” said Persis. “That’s exactly what Isla said.”
How in the world was she supposed to throw a party when she hated half the guests and the other half hated her? Persis fed Slipstream the surveillance app pill Tero had given her for the sea mink, then camped out near the wheel, running diagnostics on the program—which was, admittedly, amazing, though it was too bad neither Tero nor Andrine was willing to try it out with her—and hoping it would all be over soon, and she could go back to playing the part of the daring spy, rather than the foolish socialite.
Now, at Isla’s urging, she lifted her voice above the wind and called out, “My friends, it’ll be another half an hour before we reach our picnic on Remembrance Island. What shall we do to entertain ourselves until then? A poetry reading, perhaps? A game of questions?”
“Oh, please no poetry,” said Lady Blocking as everyone on the yacht gathered in the center of the lower deck. “Don’t we get enough of that at court?” Her husband elbowed her in the side and she went quiet.
“I love poetry,” said Dwyer. “I’ve attended every reading that the princess has held since taking the throne.”
“Tell me,” Isla drawled, “were you such a fan of the art before I became regent?”
The Blockings looked scandalized, but Tero snickered behind his cup of punch, earning a radiant smile from the princess. Persis shook her head. Isla could afford to be openly cynical about Councilman Shift’s obvious attempts to throw his nephew in her path, but not if she was going to openly flirt with a reg gengineer. Whatever was going on between her two friends, it wouldn’t end well.
“Citizen Helo!” Isla called. “Have you heard Persis’s poetry? She had quite a reputation for it at school, though I think she’s fallen out of practice since.”
Justen, still moping, lifted his head. “I have not had the pleasure, no.”
Isla clapped her hands. “Well, you shall today. Persis? Grace us with a ditty.”
Persis stared evenly at her friend. “I don’t think I’m in the mood for extemporaneous composition.”
“Of course you are,” the princess insisted. “I’ll take topics now.” She pointed at Tero.
“Love,” he said, and Isla rolled her eyes.
Persis sighed. As soon as this party was over, she and Isla were going to have to have a serious talk. There was a reason Persis had quit composing poetry after she’d left school. Cultivating a reputation as a wit was not conducive to her goals. But as long as she was being forced to perform like the princess’s pet parrosprey, she could get in a few digs of her own. Lady Blake, indeed! After a moment, she responded:
The fool says “Love,” but I confess,
I’d rather have a nice new dress.
He may be strong of build and fair of face
But I prefer a frock’s embrace.
The group chuckled appropriately, and Isla pointed next at Lady Blocking.
“Oh!” the woman said, stirring her beverage with a stick of sugarcane. “Um . . . oh, I know. The Wild Poppy!”
“Of course.” Persis nodded, and flashed a glance at Isla, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.
Very well. But they were playing with fire:
Across the sea and up the stair,
The Wild Poppy’s everywhere.
Though southmen search until they’re blind,
They know not what they seek to find.
“Wry, Persis,” Isla drawled with a warning glare. Well, she had started it. Persis cast a glance at Justen, but he barely seemed to be paying attention. How disappointed his dear Vania would be in him. Here she was, dropping clues like jewels, and he hardly noticed.
“I don’t get it,” said Lady Blocking, her head cocked, her mouth slack. Perhaps Persis should spend more time studying the woman’s behavior to make sure her own act achieved proper authenticity. She was never quite successful at playing dumb.
“Unfortunately, they can’t all be works of art,” Persis said, lifting her shoulders in pretty defeat. “And I did warn you I was out of practice.”
“Better luck next time.” Isla pointed at Justen. “Your turn, Justen. Challenge our girl.”
His expression was as flat as his voice as he replied, “Reduction.”
The guests began to fidget with their cups and plates.
“I—ah—don’t know if that’s quite the topic we’re looking for, Citizen. A little serious, perhaps, for our purpose.” Isla gave an apologetic smile. “Perhaps a different topic springs to mind?”
“No,” he said. “I can’t think of anything else right now.”
Good, thought Persis. When it came to Justen Helo, neither could she. Persis lifted her hand. “Oh no, I’ve got this one.” She stared straight at Justen and began to recite.
Though long forgotten by the kind,
Lucky enough to keep their minds,
The threat sadly, remains most keen,
To those who are called Galatean.
Justen rose, not breaking eye contact, and recited back,
The world’s content to sit and wait,
While those in need suffer sad fates.
And while we laugh and ride the waves
Our negligence will dig their graves.
Persis blinked. Well, that was unexpected. Who knew Galatean medic students had time to fit in lyric lessons amid RNA transcription classes?
Whatever had remained of the party atmosphere, however, had vanished. Andrine chuckled nervously. “We seem to have gone far off course.”
Persis narrowed her eyes at Justen. “My dear Justen is, perhaps, not entirely used to the way we do things in Albion.”
“But he’s so well-suited for it,” said Dwyer. “A Helo and a poet. Almost as good as a real aristo!”
At least three of the people on the deck rolled their eyes.
Persis smiled broadly at the guests. “Please excuse me. I’m going to pass my turn along to Andrine, who I recall spent many a night at school keeping us in stitches with her limericks.”
She crossed the deck, took Justen by the arm, and led him to the upper deck, out of earshot of the rest of the party.
“Your agreement with Isla demands not only that you accompany me to social events but that you look happy about it,” she reminded him softly but firmly.
“You first.”
She drew back. Who would have thought he was paying so much attention?
Justen looked out over the water in the direction of Galatea. “Those refugees are suffering and every moment I spend here playing your devoted admirer, I’m not able to help them.”
And every moment she was forced to spend playing hostess was one she couldn’t use to get to the bottom of Justen’s lies.