Across a Star-Swept Sea Read Online Free PDF Page A

promontory, wearing nothing but a lei of poppies and a smile? But she wouldn’t risk it. She had real work to do.
    Which reminded her. The situation with the young soldier earlier today had been far too close for comfort. Her hand drifted up to touch the towering pile of yellow and white braids, curls, and twists that was the envy of every girl at court. Persis loved her hair. She loved the way it framed her face when she studied her reflection, the way it set off the deep golden tone of her skin. She loved how each twist and knot reminded her of the hours her mother had spent with her on the stone lanai of Scintillans, teaching her how to braid.
    Her mother had once been the reigning beauty of Albion, and her thick, full hair was one genetic legacy in which Persis could take pride. But if she had to sacrifice it for the Wild Poppy, for the mission, she would. After all, the days of braiding her hair with her mother on the lanai were long gone.
    A flutternote buzzed about her face, shaped like a flying fish. Andrine. Persis stripped off the wristlock protecting her palmport. The flower sank seamlessly into the disk in her hand, and the message whispered across her consciousness.
    Cargo safely transported to clinic. All still unconscious.
    She closed her eyes briefly, focusing to compose her reply. She coded its shape as a poppy, rather than her default, the Blake family’s frangipani.
    Keep the soldier asleep until further notice.
    “Persis?” Isla asked, eyeing the spun-sugar flutternote assembling itself on Persis’s palmport. “Is everything all right?”
    And indeed, it was rare for Persis to conduct the Wild Poppy’s business in public.
    As the flutternote was whisked away on a breeze from the sea, Persis forced a smile. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
    The soldier Persis had captured during the Lacan raid had been an unexpected complication. Until now, Persis hadn’t taken anyone from Galatea except revolutionary prisoners, and she wasn’t quite prepared to deal with a prisoner of her own.
    “I’ve been considering some improvements to my … workout clothing,” she said meaningfully. “Conventional methods aren’t quite sufficient for our needs lately. I’m thinking of trying something a bit more … radical for my mission tomorrow.”
    Isla regarded her for a long moment. “Genetemps are dangerous.”
    “So is getting caught by the Galateans.”
    The princess shook her head. “I don’t like it, Persis.”
    “You don’t have to. Genetemps can be found fairly easily on the street in Galatea these days.”
    “As the horror stories that make their way across the strait prove daily,” Isla replied. “How many deaths has back-alley gengineering caused since the revolutionaries stopped policing it?”
    “Not as many as the revolutionaries’ own drugs.” Persis refastened the wristlock over her palm. Besides, the risk posed by a genetemp was less dangerous than wrestling a gun off a Galatean soldier, as she’d had to do earlier today. And if Tero had enough free time to be making palmport apps for the amusement of Isla and Albie, he could whip up a few genetemps for her.
    “What if you get sick?” Isla asked. “How ever will I explain it to your parents?”
    Persis bit her lip. How would Isla react if Persis revealed that a genetemps accident might be the least of the Blake family health concerns? “You’ll tell them it was in the line of duty. That should be sufficient for Torin Blake.” And her mother, if it happened to be a day she remembered she had a daughter.
    “And to the court? To the Council?”
    “Easy.” She shrugged, pushing thoughts of her mother from her mind. “Everyone knows Persis Blake is foolish enough to try anything.”

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    Three
    A S THE SUN PEEKED its head over the lip of the sea, lighting the shore with a rosy golden glow, the Ford