Part 5 (1/2)
”And every moment we remain here, the gossip about our imaginary romance grows stronger.a” Isla crossed to the blinds, peering through at the crowd and shaking her head. ”Rumors are everything in this court. Sometimes I think they matter more than the truth.a” She gave a little hop, and the crystals on her gown tinkled. ”That's it!”
”What's it?” asked Persis.
”A rumor. A romance.” She pointed at Justen. ”He's here because he's in love.”
”With you?” Persis looked skeptical.
The princess turned to her friend. ”No. With you.”
At once, Persis and Justen shook their heads.
”I'm sure we can come up with a better plan than that,” Persis said quickly. Justen wasn't so sure Persis was capable, but he was willing to let her try.
”No,” said Isla. ”This is it. Don't you see it's perfect? It solves all our problems at once.” She began to tick them off on her bejeweled fingers. ”It's a valid reason for Justen to remain in Albion. And Persis is my best friend. If I approve of your relations.h.i.+p, it will reflect well on the monarchy and give me some leeway to condemn the revolutionary activities. The regs love the Helo family. They won't be inclined to revolt if they know the toast of the Albian aristocracy is close with one.”
”You want me to date him?” Persis asked with gritted teeth.
”Yes!” Isla beamed. ”It's a romantic tale. He saved you on the docks of Galatea. We'll be a vague about the reason. And brought you back, nursed you to health, blah, blah. Love at first sight. People will eat it up, Persis. You know better than anyone how much people adore a good aristo/reg love story.”
A pout crossed the aristo's face. Isla was no doubt talking about Persis's parents. But Justen was beginning to see the plan's merits, as long as none of his friends back home got wind of what a shallow flake Persis was. They'd never believe he'd fall for an aristo like her, reg mother or no.
”We'll parade you around a bit, make sure everyone thinks you're madly in love, stage a few cozy moments, and everyone's happy.”
”We don't have to a get married or anything?” Justen asked, suddenly concerned as to what the princess meant by ”cozy moments.”
Isla waved her hand dismissively. ”No, we shouldn't have to take it as far as that.”
”Shouldn't have to?” Justen pressed.
”I find this a inconvenient,” Persis said at last.
”Why?” Justen turned to her. ”Will my presence cramp your social schedule?”
Persis glared at him, her amber eyes as fiery as her gown. ”Why yes, if you must know. Look at the way you dress, for one.” She pleaded with Isla. ”Do you honestly think people are going to accept someone like me with someone like him?”
Justen rolled his eyes.
Isla was no more patient. ”He's a Helo, Persis. Believing you'd want one on your arm is not going to be much of a challenge. As a trophy, if nothing else.”
Persis's pout deepened as she seemed to realize the princess was right. ”I'm really busy right now,” she tried.
”I'm asking you.” Isla drew herself up to her full height and stared her friend down. ”I'm asking you. There's no one I trust more with our precious Galatean.”
Something pa.s.sed between the two women. Something Justen couldn't hope to understand. But whatever it was, Persis relented.
She shook her head in defeat, then transformed before his eyes into the sparkling socialite and threw him a coy, seductive smile. ”All right then, lover boy,” she cooed. ”I guess it's time to make our debut.”
Six.
BY THE TIME THEY emerged from Isla's private chambers, it seemed as if every eye in Albion was upon them. Persis had to give her new sweetheart credit, as he looped his arm in hers and marched bravely down the stairs of the terrace and into the fray. Slippy skittered beside them, chittering as he avoided people's heels and stopped to lap from the water organ and groom his whiskers with the edge of his foreflippers.
”Aren't you afraid he'll get trampled?”
”Oh, Slippy can take care of himself,” Persis replied. Much better than the average sea mink, too, thanks to Tero's gengineering efforts. She watched him slink up to one courtier's golden lion tamarrel. The tiny orange creature was attached to its mistress by a long, glittering chain, and there were jewels glinting in its full mane and bushy, squirrel-like tail. In its tiny paws it held a slice of star papaya, and it bared its monkey teeth at Slippy as the sea mink approached. Slippy lunged.
”Oh, no you don't,” Justen chided, smoothly scooping up Slipstream around his long midsection before the animals could tussle. He smiled and bowed his head as he presented Slipstream to Persis. ”Your beast, my lady.”
She cuddled the sea mink to her chest and eyed Justen carefully. He could be dangerous when he turned on the charm, this handsome young revolutionary, this medic with a famous name and a desire to escape Galatea so strong he'd leave his sister and cleave to an aristo he clearly despised. Maybe he, too, was a spy.
The next half hour was filled with the bustle of small talk, while Persis introduced her ”dear friend, Justen Helo” to the Albian courtiers, who were naturally delighted to make his acquaintance. By unspoken agreement, Persis and Justen kept their conversation easy and flirtatious, as befitted a couple that had met only the previous day. As news of the Galatean newcomer spread throughout the court, whispers reached Persis's ears.
”Look at him. Besotted!” Justen was apparently an excellent actor in his own right.
”And why shouldn't he be? She has her mother's face.” Well, yes, but that face seemed to have left him unimpressed.
”Leave it to Persis Blake to bring home a Helo.” In truth, he was just the latest in a long line of Galateans she'd brought over. Not as rich as some, not as grateful as others.
”Her father married the most beautiful reg of his generation. Why shouldn't Persis catch the most famous of hers?”
She pursed her lips as the chatter spread. Isla had guessed right that people would be quick to place her latest conquest inside the carefully cultivated ”Persis Flake” narrative. And why not? Persis had spent the last six months cementing her reputation in the princess's court. It was for this she'd sacrificed school, for this she'd reinvented her image, for this she'd scandalized half the residents of Scintillans, who'd gone from thinking that Torin Blake was right in naming as heir his only daughter to wondering what in the world had happened to the clever, hardworking girl they'd grown up with. But what choice did Persis have? She had to protect the Wild Poppy. She had to help Isla. She had to save New Pacifica.
If they didn't take you seriously, they would never see you coming. Persis was the most stylish, the most glittering, the most frivolous girl in Albion. There was no way she was secretly orchestrating a spy ring.
Eventually they came across an older couple, two aristos whose Galatean origins were clear by their natural hair and more sedate wardrobe. Justen greeted them stiffly, and Persis followed suit, though in truth she knew them intimately, even if they weren't aware of that fact. Lord and Lady Seri had been the spoils of one of the Wild Poppy's first raids. They looked much better now, compared to the miserable, Reduced wretches she'd plucked from their ancestral home.
”Justen Helo,” said Lord Seri, shaking Justen's hand, ”welcome to Albion. It is an honor to make your acquaintance. I knew your grandmother well.”
”Yes,” Justen replied in a tone like the depths of the sea. ”You argued with her mightily over the universal distribution of her cure.”
But the old aristo merely chuckled and nodded. ”Yes, I did. And lost. We will not argue now over who was right, despite the repercussions that have come of her work.”
”If you mean the revolution,” Justen said, his tone even and firm, ”it was not a foregone conclusion. It was caused by the mistreatment of the Galatean regs by their aristo masters. You'll note there's no revolution in Albion as a result of the cure.”
”No revolutiona”yet,” Lord Seri replied.
Persis groaned. Loudly. ”All this talk of politics makes my head hurt. Lady Seri, your dress is lovely. That silk is so rich I think I could drown in it. Does it come in any color but black?” She hadn't rescued these aristos so that they could export their sn.o.bbery to her homeland. And Isla hadn't granted Justen's request so he could act like some kind of revolutionary firebrand. His political leanings were obviousa”even understandable given the old system in Galatea. But their plan wouldn't work if he couldn't keep his mouth shut in front of the court's more conservative elements.
”Besides,” Lord Seri continued, ”I wasn't necessarily talking about the revolution. Darkening is a more than sufficient consequence to call the entire experiment into question, is it not? What's the percentage of Helo-cured regs who suffer and die from that little side effect? Five? Ten?”
Justen's grip on her arm tightened. Had he felt her tense? She searched the old lord's face, but he barely seemed to notice she was there. His comment was pointed, but not at Persis. No one at court knew about her mother. Yet.
”One percent,” Justen said, his voice clipped. ”But I think even those would rather suffer from DAR than live their lives Reduced.”
Lord Seri looked amused as he leaned in toward Justen. ”And how do you know that, young man? It's not like you can ask them once they're comatose.”
Persis saw Justen's jaw twitch. She rather felt like vomiting, herself.