Across a Star-Swept Sea

Fifteen

“EVER TRAVEL BY ZIP before?” Persis asked, fooling with some sort of contraption up near where the hammock attached to a wire.

“Can’t say I have,” he replied. “I grew up on the southwest coast of Galatea. More sandbanks, fewer cliffs.” He often wondered how much control the creators had when terraforming these islands. The explosion that had split the skin of the Earth hadn’t been designed with habitat creation in mind. The fact that there were two islands, one for the first King Albie and one for the first Queen Gala, had been a lucky accident. And so much about that time was lost to history. Maybe there were other creators who didn’t get a country of their own. Maybe they’d never meant for the nations they’d founded to develop as they had, never meant for the regime of aristo and Reduced to become the dominant society for hundreds of years.

All thoughts instantly fled, however, as Persis pulled a release cord, and they dropped toward the sea. Justen felt his stomach leap into his throat. He clutched at the silk hugging him from all sides, its thin weave seeming too insubstantial to hold him. Near his feet, the sea mink lay calmly, and Persis squealed with delight as they zipped down, down, down, gliding through the air, silk billowing out behind them like the sail on a ship. The water rushed toward them, deep blue and closer than he would have liked, until he was almost sure he could reach down and touch it, then the line leveled and they flew across the water like a sea bird skimming for fish.

“Hang on,” said Persis a tad breathless. “There’s a bit of a jolt at the end.”

“What?” Justen asked, then was thrown violently forward as the hammock caught on a block at the end of the wire. The bottom swung up, throwing him back again, right into Persis’s lap. Slipstream squeaked in protest.

“Well, hello there,” she said coyly, brushing her bare fingers through the bristly strands of his hair. Her smile was broad and inviting, and his left arm had somehow gotten entangled all the way under her skirt. He scrambled up and tumbled out of the hammock, apologizing while inwardly berating himself for not hanging on a little tighter while Persis dropped him off a cliff face.

“You didn’t hurt me, darling.” She shot him a grin and slid out of the folds of silk herself, as Justen looked around, trying desperately to silence the parts of his brain engaged in deducing which particular swath of her leg he’d been pressed up against. They were standing on a tiny patch of moss and sand that looked to be the only real land on the length of the narrow, rocky tide breaker leading out from the cliffs. Nearby was a stone shack. The cliffs rose over them, huge and nearly vertical. He followed the line of rocks back to where it met the mainland and spotted a minuscule, steep set of stairs carved into the rock.

“Is that how we’re supposed to get back?” He nodded to the path.

She chuckled. “Don’t be silly. I’ll call for a boat.” She peeled off her wristlock and, moments later, a flutternote flitted off her palm and was caught by the wind. “I told them to come in an hour. That’ll give us plenty of time.”

“For what?”

Persis grabbed his hand. “For me to show you why they call it Scintillans.”

She pulled him along the narrow path to the shack, then disappeared inside. A moment later, she tossed a pair of dark blue swim trunks at him. “If you go around the shack to the east side, you’re less likely to be seen from the fishing village. But,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows, “I can’t make any promises.”

He looked at the dark blue trunks in his hands. “We’re going swimming?”

Persis poked her head out of the shack. From what he could see, she was no longer dressed. “Please tell me they haven’t outlawed that in Galatea, too.”

“I can swim.”

“Good.” Back in she went.

Perhaps a swim would help clear his mind. He’d been envying Slipstream in the sanitarium bath. By the time Justen had changed his clothes, Persis was lounging on a rock, basking in the coral glow of the setting sun. Her suit, also dark blue, was two pieces—a simple band knotted over her breasts and a brief bottom covered with a translucent blue scarf. It was the plainest thing he’d ever seen her wear. Justen wondered idly whose bathing trunks he was wearing, or if the Blake family kept a stash of blue suits in their shack—just in case.

As soon as she saw him, she popped up and onto the sand. Her hair was still mostly down, the mass of yellow and white curls and braids and locks twisted in a loose knot at the nape of her neck. For a moment, he could pretend she was like any other girl he’d known growing up. Her skin practically glowed in the slanted sunlight. She must know what a tempting sight she made, there on the rock. She must know it, because she had never concerned herself with anything more important in all her silly, shallow life. It was vital to keep such things in mind, before he totally forgot the real nature of their relationship. It was fake. All fake.

She held out her bare hand, and he saw the flash of gold from her palmport.

That should help some.

“Hurry!” she called. “We’ve got to get there before the sun sets.” And again she took off, down the rocks to a tiny, shockingly clear-bottomed cove nestled at the base of the cliff. She plunged into the water and Justen followed her to the shoreline, bracing himself for the cold sea.

But he was surprised, for the water was as warm as a bath. The cove must be a natural geothermal pool. He sunk into the water up to his chest, sighing in pleasure. Though both islands were largely powered by the geothermal energy derived from the volcano, and Justen knew of several thermal pools inland in Galatea, it was rare to find a natural sea cove such as this—protected enough from the tides for the water to seem warmer where it emerged from the heated earth.

Persis paddled across the cove, and he followed her, noting how the sun must be very close to the horizon now, as the surface of the sea had turned to molten gold. Persis had reached the edge of the cliff and had situated herself on a ledge that seemed to have been carved out of the rock wall. A moment later he joined her, settling into the seat and letting his arms float before him in the warm water.

“I could sleep right here,” he said, surprised to find it was the truth. Perhaps his all-nighter was finally catching up to him.

“It is tempting,” Persis agreed, waving her hands through the water and watching gold drip from her fingers. “Of course, you’d drown. And wouldn’t that be a tragedy? A celebrated young medic, a darling of Galatea, young, clever, handsome—struck down before his time. . . .”

More like struck down before he could ruin any more lives. He grimaced. What right did he have to relax in a geothermal pool while the refugees suffered in the sanitarium, while prisoners were tortured in Galatea? There was a rule that medics had abided by since time immemorial: first, do no harm.

He needed to fix his mistake. There was nothing more important than that right now. He’d sleep for a few hours, then head back to the lab.

Ahead of them, to the west, the sun melted into the sea, and already, the dusk had gathered here in the shadows on either side of the cove cliffs. “So why do they call it Scintillans?” he asked, more to change the subject than anything else.

“Wait.”

He waited. It wasn’t difficult to do, snug on the rocks with the warm seawater all around him. Persis didn’t speak for once, and when he looked, she wasn’t consulting her palmport, either, just sitting and watching the sun set, her expression devoid of its usual false cheer. Her hair was wet and plastered to her head, making her look like an actual mortal for once, as well as the two years younger than Justen that she really was. He wondered what she might have been like had she not been born an aristo in Albion. Like his sister Remy, perhaps. She wasn’t stupid, just unconcerned with any weighty matters.

Then he thought of what she’d be like had she been born an aristo in Galatea. How she’d probably even now be Reduced, imprisoned, working herself to death in a field, her silly giggle extinguished like the mischievous spark in her cinnamon eyes.

And it would be his fault.

He was staring. He stopped, and returned his attention to the sun. Persis Blake was beautiful, but she wasn’t a sunset.

A moment later, the sun sank below the surface. Justen made a hissing sound before he could catch himself.

But Persis was already grinning. “What was that?”

He shrugged, sending the water into eddies around his shoulders. “Something my sister and I always do, ever since we were kids. When the ocean puts out the sun, it hisses, like water on a hot pan.”

“I like it.” Persis nodded, as if giving him permission to hiss in her cove. “You must miss her.”

“Remy’s the only family I have left. Of course I miss her.” Missed her and wanted to take back everything he’d said the last time he’d seen her. Remy was just a kid. Of course she wouldn’t take kindly to his doubts about the revolution. Of course she would be shocked to learn that he was trying to undo the damage he’d caused.

What had he been thinking, leaving her alone in Galatea? He wanted to believe nothing would happen to her there—that no matter what, Uncle Damos would be kind to her. But he realized more each day how little he truly knew about the man who’d raised them since their parents died.

Now the midnight blue of the night sky was rushing after the coral line of the setting sun. The trail of sparkling gold across the surface of the water narrowed, and the waves turned dark. He felt her hand, warm from the water, in his hair again.

“It feels so weird,” she said, brushing it back against its natural direction. “Prickly. Fuzzy. Like Slipstream.”

Justen jerked his head away. “I feel like your rodent?”

She pursed her lips, considering it. “Your hair does. A little. Slipstream is softer.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“He’s gengineered that way. To be soft, to be fast, to be playful and clever and cute. To be perfect for me.”

“Sorry I can’t oblige.” Unlike so many of his friends, Justen had never indulged in the gengineering that had become so popular since the revolution. There wasn’t enough regulation right now—as he’d argued to Persis when she’d been messing with her genetemps. Human gengineering was a dicey prospect. He knew that better than anyone.

“I’ll live.” She looked at him, eyes narrowed, then shook her head in confusion. “Why do men wear it so short in Galatea? And everyone so dark. Don’t you get bored, having everyone’s hair just be black like that?”

“I like black.”

“As your wardrobe proves,” she scoffed.

“Don’t you get tired of bleaching yours all the time?”

“I’ll endure a little boredom for the sake of beauty.” She pulled her hair over her shoulder. “If only we were all lucky enough to have juvenile canities like Isla’s royal line.”

Justen rolled his eyes. “Give them a few years, and the gengineers will make an argument for it.”

“Not in Albion—the royals would never allow it. It’s become such a signature.” Persis shrugged. “This color is new—or relatively. I’ve only had it about a year. Used to be a lovely deep magenta, but I found it was clashing with Slippy’s coat.”

“Can’t have that,” Justen murmured. “Where is your sea mink anyway?”

“On the cold side. It’s too hot over here for him.” Persis slipped off the ledge and treaded water in front of him. “Why? Do you find conversations about hairstyles that dull?”

“Deadly dull.”

“Then I fear you won’t have much fun pretending to be in love with me.” She shifted closer. “Since, to sell our ruse, you’re going to have to pretend every word out of my mouth is utterly fascinating.”

He leaned in, too. “I think there are enough people who think that around here, Lady Blake. Maybe what you find so fascinating about me is that I don’t fall all over myself the second you speak.”

She murmured something incoherent.

“What?”

“I do find that fascinating,” she said more loudly. “If annoying.”

He shrugged.

She glided back and forth through the water inches from his legs, every bit as graceful and sinuous as Slipstream. “But we should figure it out. What could someone like you, with all your revolutionary ways, find so wonderful about me?”

He shrugged again. There were some, he supposed, who would fall for this silken, silly goddess.

“That’ll never do. We have to find something.”

“You’re rich and beautiful and the heir to this entire estate,” Justen pointed out. “That should be enough.”

She looked skeptical. “Not a very revolutionary sentiment.”

“Well, I’m a traitor to the revolution, so—”

Suddenly, Persis lunged forward, hooked her arm around his neck, and pressed her lips to his.

“Guh—” he said against her mouth.

“Kiss me,” she whispered, her tone urgent.

He did. Her lips were as full and lush as he’d expected. She tasted of sea salt and flowers. His hands skimmed her sides, bare and slippery, and the wet hem of her suit as he steadied her in the current. Her skin was firm and smooth, just as he’d imagined. She moaned a little as his fingers pressed into her thighs, holding her just the tiniest bit away from his body for his own sake. Her lips parted and she slid her tongue along his bottom lip.

Justen jerked away. Enough was enough. “Per—”

She laughed again and splashed him. “What’s wrong, Galatean?” she asked loudly. Very loudly. “Am I moving too fast for you?”

Even over the sound of the surf, he heard snickers. He looked back to see a group of figures huddled on the steps near the entrance to the cove. As soon as they realized he’d spotted them, they turned and, laughing, scampered back up the steps.

“Who—” he asked under his breath as he watched them go, neck craned to peer over the lip of rock.

“Some children from the village,” Persis whispered, still on his lap. She sounded oddly breathless, as if the kiss had taken her as much by surprise as it had him. “Naturally they’re spying. But don’t worry, you put on a good show. This will help our case significantly.” He felt her slide off his lap and turned to face her, then gasped.

For Persis was floating in a sea full of stars. He watched in wonder as she twirled in place, then submerged herself entirely for a moment, only to burst out of the water, scattering sparkles off her skin and hair. She caught him staring openmouthed, and smiled broadly.

“Welcome,” she said, “to Scintillans Cove.”

“What is it?” he asked in wonder.

“What are they,” she corrected, lifting another palmful of starry water and letting it trickle back down her hands. “They are phosphorescent coral spawn, and they love the warmth here in the cove.”

Before he knew what he was doing, Justen had pushed off his perch and joined Persis in the water. The stars sparkled in the wake of his movements and he waved his arms and kicked his legs, just for the pure pleasure of watching galaxies wing out in the eddies. He dove and opened his eyes beneath the surface, ignoring the sting of salt to see the marine universe unfold all around. In the silence, he thought he might be in space. When he was young, he and Vania had discovered a book in her father’s library that described outer space missions in ancient times, missions like the one that had kept all their ancestors safe during the wars. He’d wondered then what it had been like for those people to float alone among the stars while the world burned.

This was exactly what he’d imagined.

When his lungs could take no more, he surfaced, blinded by the seawater for a moment. He rubbed his eyes and found Persis floating calmly beside him.

“Have you any place like this in Galatea?” She was on her back, staring up at the real stars appearing in the sky. They were surrounded. Stars above, stars below, and Persis, floating a few inches away, her arms and legs brushing against his in the water, sparkling everywhere they touched. Her hair flowed, pale and ghostly, in the water, the curves of her body like little shimmering islands peeking above the surface. Even after his swim, he could taste her in his mouth.

Somehow, he found his voice. “No, we don’t, and I grew up on the shore. I’ve heard of sea phosphorescence before but . . .”

“This cove is pretty special,” Persis said. “All Scintillans is.”

“Yes.” Seawater dripped onto his face. Was he swallowing stars? Or—coral spawn. He shouldn’t think this a miracle. He shouldn’t find it so impressive. A simple chemical reaction in the juvenile body of the . . . they sparkled and swirled in the water before him.

All right. Stars.

“And you’re right, I’m the heir.”

He blinked. Had he missed some part of the conversation while underwater? Then he remembered. They were talking about what it was he’d say he loved about Persis.

But that was before the stars. Before the kiss. He doubted he’d have to say anything now. Those kids on the steps would be convinced. Everyone would.

“Which is why,” she went on, still looking up, while the real stars flickered to life in the slice of sky they could see beyond the cliffs, “it’s important who I’m with. It’s important that he be someone I can trust, because if I marry—he’ll get it all.”