Across a Star-Swept Sea by Diana Peterfreund Page B

Reduction pill, she was so stupid. She handed those children off to a random old woman who gave her counterfeit money. She knew nothing of consequence.”
    “Well, we’ll never know now, will we, Captain Aldred?” Spittle, spittle.
    Vania bristled, and bristled even more when her father, of all people, came to her rescue.
    “The salient point here is that this Albian spy is stepping up his activities on our soil,” her father said, and all other conversation ceased. “It is time we respond with force and shut him down for good. We need to find out his identity and neutralize him.”
    “Which is why an interrogation of witnesses might have been prudent,” Gawnt murmured. Louder, he said, “Is there any doubt the kind of person we’re looking for? Clearly, this is the case of an Albian aristo who is frustrated by what he feels is the utter uselessness of the child princess currently ruling their country.” He sneered in Vania’s direction.
    She imagined all the instruments on the dinner table that might make a suitable weapon. How dare he liken her to Princess Isla of Albion? Some inbred, spoiled-brat, empty-headed aristo who wouldn’t even be allowed the appearance of ruling if the infant king were old enough to take the throne? They were nothing alike at all.
    “Do we keep any records of what aristos have been visiting the island?” Citizen Aldred asked.
    “If they pass through the Halahou docks,” said the general. “But there are plenty of unregistered moorings all over the island. It’s unlikely that the spy is going through the city unless he has to.”
    “I think it’s time to go to the source,” said Vania. “The Albians are sending spies to us. Perhaps it’s time we send our own spies to their shores, find out who’s responsible for the raids. There must be gossip in the Albian court—”
    “Enough, Vania,” said her father. “Just because you’re sitting at this table does not mean you can forget your rank. General Gawnt knows what he’s doing here.”
    “But, Papa—”
    “I said enough!” Citizen Aldred brought his hand down on the table.
    Vania stared at her father, her eyes wide and unblinking. She would not cry in front of these people. Under the table, she twisted her napkin until it tore.
    Gawnt proceeded to drone on, outlining his plan to ensnare the Albian spy and getting in quite a few jabs at Vania’s expense. After a while, she tuned him out. She tuned them all out. Instead, she thought of her long-ago ancestor, the military leader who’d cracked apart the Earth and killed every person he hated in one fell swoop.

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    Eight
    T HE G ALATEAN P ERSIS HAD brought home to her parents strode forward and bowed to the Blakes. Persis trailed behind, concerned both about how the revolutionary Justen planned to behave and what her parents must be thinking.
    “Lord and Lady Blake, thank you so much for your hospitality—”
    “Not at all,” said her father. “Had my daughter truly been hospitable, you wouldn’t have spent last night in some back bedroom. I don’t know what Persis was thinking.”
    Oh, that was easy. She hadn’t been. She’d been unconscious. Persis was half surprised—and fully relieved—that Justen said nothing. She was in enough trouble for bringing a boy home, Helo or otherwise.
    “Papa!” she exclaimed. “Justen isn’t fancy—”
    “Please,” her father continued, “we have a suite reserved for our most illustrious guests. You must take it. The king has stayed there.”
    And the princess had camped out on the lanai with Persis when they were six. It was hardly hallowed ground.
    “Thank you, but your ‘back bedroom,’ as you put it, is more than comfortable. It’s the finest place I’ve ever slept.”
    That, Persis realized, was a lie. The Aldreds had been living in the royal palace since the queen had been