Part 20 (1/2)

”Good boy, Slippy.”

Justen rolled his eyes. This was a time to practice pet tricks? ”So are we turning around?”

”And ruining the party?” Persis asked. ”Just as it was livening up?”

”Persis. There are flying machines. Shouldn't we a I don't know, warn someone?”

She rolled her eyes. ”I'm sure Isla, the actual ruler of our nation, handled sending a warning quite neatly. How can we, a socialite and an unemployed medic, do any better?”

Above them, the flying machine faded from sight. It hadn't gone south, though. If anything, it seemed to have gone westa”same as they were headed.

”Persis?”

She threw open the door of the cabin. ”All clear! Next stop, Remembrance Island!”

The rest of the party emerged, some looking visibly shaken by the events, and a few, like Lady Blocking and Dwyer s.h.i.+ft, looking relieved that the commotion had ended and they could return to their useless, silly existences. Persis had adopted the att.i.tude of the latter group, much to Justen's dismay and a little to his surprise. He supposed he should be used to the idea now that, despite flashes that Persis could think of serious things, she'd shown a marked preference for not doing so. For a few brief momentsa”in his bedroom after he'd first met her parents, in the cove when she'd told him about her inheritance, with her mother the previous night, and even just now when she held him on the decka”he'd thought that maybe, just maybe, there was something in Persis, dormant, atrophied from disuse, that they had in common.

She had pa.s.sion for the plight of DAR victims, due, no doubt, to her mother's situation. But, like so many aristos, she seemed to want to keep it buried, as if not talking about would make it go away. Her reg heritage did nothing to change that, and the fact that she refused to have herself tested for the potential to develop DAR only underscored it. Persis preferred to live in ignorance. She preferred to devote herself to silly, useless pursuits like clothes and parties and playing courts.h.i.+p games.

And yet he couldn't dismiss her entirely, either. Justen had never felt so unmoored. When he was younger, it was easy to pick out the worthy people of his acquaintance. They weren't the ones who cared about fas.h.i.+on or social status or parties or romance. They were people like him and Vania, who were smart and well-read and ambitious and wanted to change the world.

But what had they changed it into? Vania was off imprisoning and torturing her own countrymen; and Justen had helped, then run away to hide. Compared to the damage they'd done, perhaps Persis's idle concerns were the better ones. In her shallowness, she was harmless, and when she did use the brain she liked to pretend she didn't have, it was to create beauty or to comfort her mother with silly stories, to compose entertaining poems or to playact a romance that would help the princess she so obviously loved avoid the same kind of war that he'd fled in Galatea.

Persisa”silly, superficial, genetemps-partying Persisa”was a far better person than he was. And if he ever hoped to correct the damage he'd caused, he needed to learn to emulate her.

There were no docks on Remembrance Island, but several mooring b.a.l.l.s had been sunk near the shallowest bay, and it was to one of these that the Daydream attached. While most of the guests chose to travel to sh.o.r.e in the dingy, Persis defied the odds again, leaping over the side, dress and all, to swim in with her sea mink at her side. By the time the boat reached them on the beach, Persis had repinned stray locks of her wet hair, and Slipstream was shaking himself dry. Justen watched Persis make a sign to the animal, who snapped to attention and scampered off.

”What was that command?” he asked her, as Andrine and Tero began unloading the picnic supplies.

Persis s.h.i.+mmied her hips, and the seaweed-green petals of her skirt unstuck from her thighs. ”Oh, you know, don't go too far, be back after lunch.”

”He knows all those commands?”

”Don't underestimate Slippy, Justen. You'd be surprised what he knows.” She clapped her hands and raised her voice to the rest of the party. ”All right, what's first? Food? Historical lecture and exploration? c.o.c.ktails?”

”I vote c.o.c.ktails before any lecturing,” said Lady Blocking. ”Otherwise I might not survive it.”

”Agreed,” said Persis. ”Besides, we all know the story.” She turned back to Justen. ”Though I'm curious as to the Galatean revolutionaries' take on Remembrance Island.”

”We're revolutionaries,” he replied smoothly, ”not revisionist historians.”

Remembrance Islanda”a tiny speck situated halfway between the westernmost points of New Pacifica's two main islandsa”was a sanctuary, a monument. It had been left completely barren and uncultivated but for a single ceramic obelisk, a remnant of the s.h.i.+p that all their ancestors had once lived on. Generations ago, when they marooned themselves on New Pacifica and destroyed their s.h.i.+p, they'd kept this one piece and inscribed it with a memorial to the Earth they had destroyed and the societies they had lost, promising to carry on, to live in the world that they'd made and to commit themselves to someday atoning for it all.

It was this promise that Justen's grandmother Persistence Helo had used when trying to convince the old Queen Gala, the old King Albie, and the all the aristos of her generation to distribute the cure she'd created. It was this promise, one of moving on and protecting the humanity they'd almost destroyed, which eventually led to the widespread adoption of the cure and the end of the Reduction that had triggered the almost total destruction of mankind in the first place. The Helo Cure had saved the world.

And in only two generations, they were trying to wreck it again.

Justen shook his head. He had to fix the refugees. He had to. He couldn't let his family legacy be destroyed because he'd been too naive to understand his uncle's true purpose.

Armed with kiwine c.o.c.ktails as if the Albians viewed them as some sort of vital hiking accessory, the party began the ascent to the island's summit, where the monument stood. The path was narrow and rocky, requiring the group to walk in a line of ones and twos, and explained the uncharacteristically simple outfits and shoes the Albians had chosen. He had never seen Isla without her towering high heels before, and it had been a surprise to realize how short she really was. She barely reached Tero's chest, and they made a comical pair as they hiked beside each other. Persis was the tallest woman in the group; even in flats, she was only a few centimeters shorter than Justen.

As they went, they shared stories about their first visit to Remembrance Island. Justen was surprised to learn that most Albian aristos made it a yearly pilgrimage. He'd been once or twice on field trips in school, but the Galateans had never thought it such a vital part of their culture. Only the Peccants visited regularly, but they were generally considered a tiny and bizarre fringe.

”Perhaps,” said Isla when he shared this information with the group, ”that is why your people were willing, once more, to go to war.” She didn't sound superior when she said it, however, only sad. At the moment, she was walking near him, at the very head of the group. ”Growing up, my father took my brother and me here many more times than yearly. We were constantly reminded of our duty. Whenever Albiea”my older brother Albiea”whenever he got particularly hotheaded on some matter of diplomacy or other, Father would pack us up and sail out here to reflect on what anger and strife can do to humanity. On how there should always be another solution.”

Lord Blocking, behind them with his lady, snorted. ”Is that why you are so reluctant to help put an end to the atrocities happening in the south, Princess? Because you have interpreted your father's teachings as a call to pa.s.sive inaction?”

”No,” replied the princess smoothly. ”It is because I govern by the will of the people and shall not go to war, risking who knows how many of my own citizens' lives in the process, until the people of Albion will it.”

”And if the people of Albion will a revolution? If the people of Albion will you stripped of your power?”

For a moment, Justen wondered how far the man planned to go with this.

”Oh, come now,” said Andrine, who seemed annoyed equally at the direction the conversation had gone and the fact that she was walking alongside Dwyer. Somehow, in the last few minutes, Persis and Tero had fallen way behind the rest. Andrine kept looking back at them and scowling. ”Surely the fact that our leaders bother to take into account their people's opinions is an argument for not revolting. What do you say, Citizen Helo?”

Justen started. Despite being the only Galatean present, he'd not expected to be put on the spot in this way. ”Queen Gala was a distant and indifferent ruler,” he said.

”Oh, and you knew the queen so well?” asked Lord Blocking.

”I met her a few times,” Justen admitted. ”The first was when my parents died ten years ago and there was a question of where my sister and I would go. It was suggested by some that the queen take us in herself, given the debt the Galateans felt they owed our family.”

”What happened?” asked Dwyer s.h.i.+ft.

Justen forced a smile. ”I was not raised by Queen Gala.”

”No,” said Persis, who'd at last caught up to the group. ”She p.a.w.ned you off on her trusted military general Damos Aldred.”

The group fell silent. Isla paused, causing everyone else to stop short as well, and turned to Persis. ”So what are you saying, Persis? That I'm safe from a military revolution as long as I don't stick any of my councilmen with a bunch of orphans to raise?”

Persis smiled sweetly. ”Couldn't hurt.”

A few of the guests chuckled, and, just like that, the tension diffused. How was it that Persis was so good at this? Maybe he should have left her to deal with her mother as she wished last night.

Slipstream appeared out of nowhere, hurrying to his mistress's side. When he got there, he lifted himself up on his hind legs and proceeded to do a strange little dance, hopping back and forth, then dropping, rolling over, and repeating the process again.

”What's he doing?” Dwyer asked, incredulous.

”He's glad to see me,” said Persis. She stripped off her wristlock and leaned over to pet the sea mink, running her fingers deeply through his fur. ”Aren't you, boy? What a good, good boy you are.” Something gold glinted near the animal's green collar, but Justen figured it must be sunlight reflecting off the buckle.

”Let's just get to the stupid monument,” grumbled Lord Blocking.

”Stupid?” Isla drew herself up, looking quite majestic and almost supernaturally grand all of a sudden. It appeared to be part of royal training. Justen would never understand. ”I'm sure you meant to say dumba”as in silenta”as in magnificent and lonely and ever so sacred.”

The man looked away.

Isla appeared satisfied. ”Perhaps in the next election cycle, it shall be the will of the people in your district to revisit the wisdom of placing you on the Council.” She strode off, and only Justen heard as she pa.s.sed close, ”And then I'll no longer be forced to place you on my guest lists.”