At first, you might dismiss the symptoms as mere forgetfulness, a slightly s.p.a.ced-out look in the eyes. But that was just the first few months. Full-blown senility followed, along with loss of muscle control, as more and more areas of the brain were compromised. The year after that came loss of speech, loss of sight, loss of hearing. Most victims wound up motionless vegetables, trapped in a prison of their minds and bodies for the final months before their brains broke down completely and they pa.s.sed away at last.

The Darkened were usually sent away to sanitariumsa"that is, if they didn't take their own lives first. They'd escaped Reductiona"the worst fate in the world was to be dragged back into its depths before they died.

Which was why the word was forbidden in Scintillans. Her mother was a sick. That was all. It wasn't Darkening. It couldn't be. As Heloise's parents had both died young in an accident, there was no proof that either of them had it. No proof that this was, indeed, what ailed Lady Blake.

And since it wasn't Darkening, there was no reason for Persis to get tested. No reason at all for her to learn whether or not she'd lose her mind and die in less than twenty-five years. No reason at all to think about what might lie in her future every single time she looked deep into a Reduced prisoner's eyes and wondered what, if anything, they retained of their former selves while trapped in their mindless h.e.l.l.

"Persis?" Justen pa.s.sed a hand before her eyes. His voice was filled with a concern Persis resented at that moment. "You do know, right?"

"Shh!" She opened the door to Justen's guest room and yanked him inside. "What part of *watch your tone' makes you think it's acceptable to start tossing around accusations in my home?"

"Accusations?" Justen asked, incredulous. "It's DAR. She didn't do anything wrong. It's not her fault."

"No," Persis said without thinking. "It's Persistence Helo's."

Justen didn't look away, didn't flinch as she expected. He met her eyes, his face grave. "Yes, it is. It's horrible. Persis, I'm so sorry."

Now she turned from him, from the pity on his face. They'd hidden it so well for so many months, but it had taken him seconds in her mother's presence to see the truth. If this was the case, soon they wouldn't be able to hide from anyone. Heloise Blake, once the darling of the Albian court, would vanish, and in her place would be a story about some reg who thought she was good enough to marry an aristo and infect the family line. Her mother would die in ignominy, the victim of a disease most aristos liked to pretend didn't exist, because it would never touch them.

And then what? How could Persis go on, pretending to be the perfect aristo daughter, the perfect heir to her mother's place in court, once the truth was known? Would she even be able to keep her position? What would Isla think when she knew what kind of secret Persis had been keeping?

"How long?" he asked again.

"A year." What was the point of lying anymore?

He gave a single nod. "If so, she's doing well. Her symptoms are exceedingly subtle. I trained in a dementia sanitarium. I know exactly what to look for in patients. I doubt the average person would even notice yet."

"That's indeed a comfort," she replied drily.

His mouth quirked up in a rueful little smile.

"What!" She pounced. "What is so funny about our situation?"

Justen sobered instantly. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That was incredibly inappropriate of me. It's justa"all the times I've counseled families about a loved one with DARa"it's never been an aris...o...b..fore. You sound so haughty. *Indeed.'"

"You are not counseling me." He wanted haughty? She could reduce him to a cinder. How dare he come into her house and use forbidden words and ask forbidden questions and raise forbidden concerns? Helo or no, she wouldn't allow it.

"Has anyone been?" he pressed. "Is anyone treating her? What about you, Persis? Have you been tested?"

To what end? What good could possibly come of knowing she had twenty-five years left to live? That she could risk her life saving Reduced aristos and end up just like one herself? That every day she spent pretending she was stupid was just a prelude to the horrible, true mental incapacity she might, like her mother, be doomed to face? "None of your business."

"Actually," said Justen, straightening, "it is. It is, quite literally, my business. Or rather, my life's work. That's what I want to do, Persis. That's why I became a medic, that's why I trained in a sanitarium. My grandmothera"she did something wonderful, something that saved so many peoplea"but every time someone honors her for it, every time someone honors me, I remember DAR. I think about the people who are dying because of the cure. I want to stop it. Forever."

He went to his bedside table and pulled out several oblets. They were old and their surfaces were scratched and dull with age, like scuffed stones. He held them out.

"These were Persistence Helo's. They contain all her work. At the end of her life, she devoted every resource she could to trying to find a cure for the curse she'd unwittingly unleashed upon humanity."

Persis touched the oblets with a tentative hand. So the old medic Helo had been working on a solution, just as Persis had suspected. Just as she'd hoped. And here it was. In Scintillans! "How did you get these? I thought Persistence Helo left all her research to the Galatean Royal Laboratory."

"Which isa"thanks to the revolutiona"under lock and key by Citizen Aldred. He gave me access to them, back when we were on better terms. I never gave them back."

"You stole them?" Persis dragged her gaze up from the precious oblets to Justen's face, afraid to even contemplate what this might mean. Yesterday, Justen Helo had saved her life. Today, he was promising to save her mother's.

"I had to. Unca"Citizen Aldred isn't interested in DAR. I'm beginning to wonder if he's even interested in helping the regs in general. Right now, the whole revolution is focused on one thing and one thing onlya"punishing the aristos."

And anyone else who got into Aldred's way, Persis wanted to point out.

"I can't do the work I need to do there. That's why I've come here."

"With stolen oblets."

"No one will notice they're gone, trust me," said Justen. "No one thinks they're even of use, except me. I'm the only person on the lab staff who even cares about this stuff. And if I could have done the research back home, I would have stayed in Galatea."

So he hadn't told them the entire truth. He wasn't seeking asylum because of some vague philosophical objections to the shape of the revolution.

"Galatea," said Persis, heedless of her tone. This was not the time to play flake. She needed answers from him. All the answers. "Where you told my princess that you no longer believe in what they're doing? Tell me, Citizen Helo, is it the torture you disagree with, or the fact that they aren't giving your research sufficient attention?"

His eyes met hers, keen and so intense that Persis felt the instinct to toss her hair or bat her eyes or do something to deflect the impression she was getting that Justen Helo was seeing hera"really seeing hera"for the first time.

And worse, she almost wanted him to.

But he said nothing for a long moment. "It's both," he whispered at last. He tore his eyes away from hers, and faced the bed. His grip on the oblets was so strong his knuckles had gone pale. "It's all a mixed up together."

Persis frowned, an expression she rarely indulged in outside of missions. If what he was saying was true, he could be holding in his hands the key to helping her mother. To helping her. If what he was saying was true, then Justen Helo was no ordinary refugee. He wasn't even a simple celebrity refugee. He was a spy, with the potential to save even more people than the Wild Poppy.

Even if he didn't know it yet.

WHEN JUSTEN HAD FIRST set off for Albion, his grandmother's oblets concealed in his pockets, he knew he'd have to share the secrets to be found within. With Princess Isla perhaps, or more than likely, one of her science advisers. If he hoped to be put to work in the research labs of Albion, he'd certainly be forced to tell the scientists there what he was working on.

But he hadn't expected the first person he'd confide in would be an empty-headed aristo he was supposed to be having a relationship with. Then again, he was no longer entirely sure that Persis Blake was empty-headed. Shallow, sure, and woefully ignorant about every weighty topic affecting both her nation and his owna"but she wasn't an idiot. She knew her way around the court. She knew where her loyalties lay. And despite the ridiculous head-in-the-sand approach her family seemed to be taking to Lady Heloise's illness, she wasn't stupid about DAR, either.

There was an unmistakable hunger in the way Persis had asked him for information. It made sense, especially if her family was just trying to ignore the problem, as if that would make it go away. Persis might be flighty, but she was no fool. Her mother was sick, and Persis wanted to do anything possible to help her.

Which meant she might help him as well.

And he had a lot less to fear from Persis than he might from actual scientists. Actual scientists who might start reading more into the research than she would, who would start putting two and two together and figuring out the real reason he'd been forced to flee Galatea. Justen still hadn't quite worked out what would happen if the Albians figured that part out.

He was even afraid to face it himself.

"You really think the information in here will help?" she asked now, still examining the oblets.

He nodded. "I do. I think my grandmother was close to a breakthrough when she died. And we've collected so much more data in the last two generations about DAR."

But Persis looked skeptical. "If she was so close, then why wasn't anyone in Galatea able to solve the problem before now?" She shook her head, a furrow appearing on her brow. "I mean, I'm sure you're very smart, Justen, but there are other scientists in your country who have been treating DAR for decades."

"Until the revolution," said Justen, "no one had access to these oblets. They were kept under lock and key by the royal house of Galatea."

Persis looked up at him, her expression unreadable.

Silly aristo. "DAR is a sickness of regs," he explained, frustrated. "No one in power in Galatea cared what happened to them." He regarded her carefully. "Can you honestly say it's any different in Albion?"

"We have very nice sanitariumsa"" Persis began halfheartedly.

"Let me guess. Beautiful gardens, impeccable grounds, bars on every window?" he scoffed. "Don't tell me what they're like. I trained in one. And you know very well it's the same here. There's a reason your family wants your mother's condition kept secret."

Persis said nothing, just stared at him with a defiantly raised chin.

"Your Princess Isla talks about avoiding a revolution," he said. "Perhaps she should start by admitting things in her country aren't as different from those in Galatea as she wants everyone to believe."

She pursed her lips. "I wouldn't know much about that," was all she said. "And I don't really care, either."

"Then what do you care about?" he practically shouted.

Persis was silent again. "I care about my mother's future. I know someone who works at the west coast sanitarium. Noemi Dorric. She's a brilliant medic," she added, though Justen wasn't sure he should take Persis's word on the matter. Still a "If you're serious about this, I can arrange to have you installed in a laboratory there as soon as tomorrow."

He looked at Persis. "You can do that?"

She rolled her eyes. "Justen, I'm one of those aristos whose crushing power you're always deriding. We can work it for good, too."

"True," he allowed with a chagrined smirk.

She lifted her shoulders. "Besides, even if that weren't the case, you're a Helo and under the protection of Princess Isla. Your only challenge will be finding time to turn down all the invitations you're about to get for your medic services."

"True again. Shall I rely on you to be my social secretary, then?"

At that, the aristo graced him again with one of her dazzling smiles. "You couldn't have chosen better if you tried."

Ten.

FOR A LONG TIME, the soldier called Trina Delmar floateda"weightless, senseless, like she used to at the bottom of the tide pools in the cove where she and her brother played when she was younger. Back then, she used to dream she was a fish, and wished she had the money to get a gengineered sea pony like the aristo girl up the bay had. But then the revolution had come and the aristo girl and her parents had disappeared and one day, Trina had seen the pony washed up on the sh.o.r.e, its marvelous coral flippers ragged and torn, its big, faceted golden eyes lifeless and swarming with blackflies.

The revolution. It was supposed to save them all. But then her brother had told her of impossible treasons and she'd tried to help him, only to be confronted with bleeding old men and guards who didn't seem to care as much for equality as for making people pay and a cliff top where the last person she'd expected to voiced the same fears as her brother hada"fears she didn't even want to admit were possible.

Senses began to intrude on her solitude. The m.u.f.fled sound of people talking, far, far away. A light, white and creamy, soft and blurry. The smell of orchids in the air. A soft, melodic tinkle that sounded almost like water in a fountain, but was far too musical for that. And, most of all, the ropes binding her ankles and her arms.

Trina's eyes shot open to see a bright dome above her head, framed at the edges by palm fronds strung with orchid leis. She sat up, and a wave of dizziness overtook her, but she tensed her muscles and blinked her eyes until her vision cleared.

"h.e.l.lo, Citizen Delmar," said the womana"or rather, the girla"seated on the dais before her. She was all white from the tips of her high-piled hair to the sculpted white eyebrows against her golden-brown skin to her long cape and shimmering gown. As her feet knelt two handmaidens, both swathed in hooded robes of silvery gray. The princess regent of Albion, Isla. A royal, an aristo, and an enemy of the revolution. "Welcome to my kingdom."

In a rush, Trina's memory flooded back. The Wild Poppy. She'd been captured by the Wild Poppy. She looked desperately around the room for an escape route, for a weapon of some sort. The white cushions and rugs wouldn't help her. The enormous planters would be too heavy to lift, even if she could break free. She tested the bonds and they tightened further.

"Trina," the princess admonished, in a tone that meant she'd probably said the word a few times already. Right. Her name. So they didn't know. That could be useful. "Don't waste your time, dear. You can't escape from nanothread ropes."

"What do you want?" Trina asked. Her voice trembled on the words, which was not ideal behavior for a revolutionary soldier, but it's not as if she'd had much training in that area. She might have skills with a gun, but she was no Vania Aldred.

"To talk to you," said the princess serenely. "Though, to be honest, I personally don't see the value in it. You were captured by a sea mink. You're hardly a crack soldier."

Just a child, echoed her brother's voice in her head. You can't possibly help. She'd hoped to prove him wrong, and now a "But the Wild Poppy a.s.sures me you have potential, and his is an opinion I trust."

"Hers," Trina corrected before she could stop herself. "I saw her. She's a girl."

The princess regarded Trina, her eyes half-lowered, as if she was bored by the whole proceeding. "Nothing wrong with her memory, I see."

Trina felt the urge to cower. It must be that she was effectively at this woman's mercy, bound and imprisoned. After all, she'd not been raised to feel inferior to aristos, to bow her head before royalty.

"This is a waste of time," Princess Isla said now, her tone almost thoughtful. "Let's just kill her where she lies. I have some gengineered neuroeels in my dungeon I've been dying to put to use."

Trina's blood ran cold. She'd seen neuroeels once, while diving for abalone with her brother down at the cove. A whole flock of them had descended upon a manta ray nearby. Her brother had held tightly to her arm as they watched the fight in horror. Not that it had been much of a fight. The ray was big enough to ride on, yet a few seconds into the attack the eels' neurotoxin sent its muscles into spasms. The ray had bolted toward the surface, its ma.s.sive, seizing wings churning the sea into a froth. Shudders had run the length of the manta ray's body, making its smooth gray skin look like ripples on a pond. The neuroeels clung fast to its white underside, little more than deadly black strings on the wings of a dying angel.

They'd never known what triggered the attack. Her brother had explained that neuroeels generally didn't go for large prey, despite the strength of their poison. He'd wondered, later, if they hadn't been escaped guard beasts, trained to torture people. One never knew what the queen had kept in her dungeons. At least, not until the revolution.

"Please a" she whispered. "Please don't." If she died here, her brother would never even know what had happened to her. No one would. Even if there was a record of "Trina Delmar" being captured by the Poppy, she'd still disappear without a trace.

And then her brother would be truly alone in the world.

The princess blew out a breath of air through her nostrils. "And you think this girl would make a good spy? Please. What will happen the first time Citizen Aldred threatens her with a Reduction pill?"

At the sound of the name, Trina flinched again. Citizen Aldred would never Reduce her. Ground her for life, possibly. It was her brother who would kill her for getting into this messa"that is, if she did get out alive.

All she'd wanted to do was help him before his moment of temporary insanity branded him an enemy of the revolution. What did she care about some Reduced aristos? But then she'd gone east and seen what was happening to old men, little children. Somehow, seeing the Reduced made all the difference in the world. And she'd started to understand why her brother had risked it all.

A flash of gold hovered near the princess's hand, and she turned over her palm and closed her eyes for a moment. "A bandage on Lord Lacan's thumb," she murmured to no one in particular, "is hardly evidence of sympathy to our cause."

Trina could certainly agree with that. She was not the one trying to stop the revolution. That was all on her brother. The idiot.

Then she cringed, remembering the way the guards had laughed when Lacan had cut his thumb. Remembering the way his grandchildrena"real children, not practically grown teens like hera"had been stumbling about in the field, their voices silenced, their brains wiped. What could they have done to deserve Reduction?

But that didn't mean she was on the side of the Wild Poppy.

One of the handmaidens cleared her throat. Another golden flower buzzed at the princess out of nowhere. Flutternotes, Trina realized. She'd never seen them in person before.

"Perhaps she just wanted to keep him alive to suffer longer," said the first handmaiden, lifting her head. Trina recognized the blue-haired girl from the attack.

"Of course I wouldn't do that!" she snapped.

"Oh, so you wanted him dead?" the princess asked.

"No! Ia"" Why were they asking her these questions? What did it matter? "I wasn't even supposed to be there, all right?"

Now the second handmaiden raised her head, and Trina saw the face of the girl dressed as a boy who'd attacked her on the skimmer. The face of the Wild Poppy.