getting angry. I have to act.”
She gave him a look that cut right through the steam. Her lips parted and for a moment, he thought she was going to say something. He leaned in, and she seemed to shake herself free of the notion. Instead, she gave him her usual carefree smile. It must be a trick of the steam that it didn’t quite reach her eyes.
She rose and snapped her fingers once. Slipstream glided to her side. “I’m so sorry, but Slippy and I have to go now,” she said to the children. A wave of whines and pleas for “just five more minutes” rose up from the assembled crowd. “I promise we’ll come back soon and you can play some more. There’s nothing Slipstream likes better than doing tricks for treats.”
“Are you serious?” he asked. “You’re going to make room in your crowded social schedule to entertain a few refugee children?”
“Why, Justen Helo, I’m surprised at you. Do you really think I’d pass up the chance to share with these impressionable young newcomers to Albion the importance of proper hair color techniques?”
PERSIS TOOK THEM BACK to Scintillans via a land route, skimming inches over the lush green landscape of the western peninsula at speeds that would have kept Justen awake even if they hadn’t been sitting in an open-air cab.
“Do you always drive like this?” he asked, squinting at her through the afternoon sunlight.
She slowed down a fraction, and the fans lowered to a dull roar. “Are you always such a stick-in-the- mud?”
He chuckled. “By your measurement, I think the answer to that is definitely yes. For instance, did you know I own only three pairs of pants?”
She cast him a horrified glance. “Please don’t tell anyone else that. It’s embarrassing enough to be in your company.” She flicked on her palmport. “I’m making a note to get you an appointment with my tailor as soon as possible.”
At that, he sobered. “Don’t be too hasty. I’m likely to be spending a lot of time at the lab.”
“Darling,” Persis scoffed, “my tailor comes to
When they got back to Scintillans, Persis hopped out of the skimmer and skipped up the terrace. Fredan, the butler Justen had met his first morning, stopped them both in the front room. “Lady Blake, your parents have retired early today, but I can prepare you and Citizen Helo supper on the back terrace.”
“How about the lawn beyond my room?” Persis asked. “The sunset is so lovely from that side of the house.”
Fredan cleared his throat. “Lord Blake wished for me to remind you that Citizen Helo’s room is at the
Justen’s jaw dropped, but Persis laughed. “He’s teasing me,” she explained. “Papa’s not going to let me get away with hosting you here without a little needling.” She waved Fredan off and the older man shrugged and retreated.
“We should tell them,” Justen said, “about the princess’s plan.”
“Not a chance,” she said. “There’s a reason my father’s sticking to joking warnings rather than setting up a guard around the perimeter of my room. I think there’s nothing my parents would like more than if you really did fall head over heels in love with their daughter.” But her own tone was mocking, and Justen was relieved. They were on the same page, then. “So act devoted, if you please.”
“Whatever you say, Lady Blake.”
She paused on the path and gave him an appreciative smirk. “That was impressive, Justen. You almost sound . . . unrevolutionary.”
They ended up eating on Persis’s lanai anyway. It was a sumptuous meal of roasted taro and noodles and salads of star papaya and edible orchids, with vanilla foams for dessert. Despite the obvious care the Scintillans chef had taken, it tasted like sand to Justen. His thoughts were far away, in Galatea. He’d finally gotten a message from Remy, asking to meet him in person to talk, and he wasn’t quite sure how to tell her that would be impossible. Halfway through the meal, a second message flared up on his oblet: Vania, wondering where he was, disturbed by rumors she’d heard about him and an aristo in Albion.
Guess he wouldn’t have to tell Remy why they couldn’t meet, after all. Justen ran a hand through his hair. How could he muster a reasonable response to either of his sisters’ concerns right now, when he was exhausted and appalled and more certain than ever that he’d made the right choice in leaving Galatea? How could he even risk responding without breaking down and telling Vania everything he’d learned about what the Reduction drug was doing to its citizens, everything he’d realized about the way her father had been manipulating him? And if he’d thought Remy had reacted poorly last time, who knew what she’d say when he told her he’d defected and he wanted her to join him?
No, he wouldn’t message either of them back until he’d had some rest and could organize his thoughts.
The sun dipped low in the sky, and Justen noticed a dark streak darting toward them across the lawn. Moments later, Slipstream scurried up the steps and clawed at the hem of Persis’s gown. His fur was streaked with seawater, and droplets still glistened on his whiskers.
“Hello, sweet thing,” said Persis, and heedless of the silks she was wearing, she scooped the animal up in her arms. “Did you have a good dinner, too? Yes, you did!” Slipstream nuzzled his face into the crook of Persis’s neck and purred contentedly. Splotches and streaks of water smeared, ignored, down Persis’s gown.
Justen didn’t get it. In one breath, she acted like nothing mattered more than her precious clothes, and in the next, she let Slipstream or refugee children ruin them. He supposed it was because their obvious expense meant nothing to her. Everything was a game. Here she was, in her fine house, with her servants and her feasts and her fancy gengineered pet, and across the sea and up the road, people’s lives were scorched earth. How could he sit here with a pretty girl and eat foam and flowers while that was going on? He pushed away from the table and rose, mind whirling. Noemi wanted him to sleep, but how could he when he could barely even sit still?
Persis caught up to him, still clutching her expensive, slimy sea mink. Bits of seaweed clung to its fur. “What’s on your mind?” she asked him.
“This estate,” he said honestly. “I’m too much a reg to ever feel comfortable in a place like this.”
She blinked at him in confusion. “So then what are all the regs who call Scintillans their home?”
“Like your mother?”
She nodded. “And Fredan and his wife and children, and all the people I grew up with—”
“Your servants don’t eat like this, Persis.”
“You aren’t my servant. You’re my guest.”
“And what makes me different from them?” he asked, turning.
She shook her head, and the edge of her mouth quirked up. “Nothing. But you’re the one who’s my guest right now.”
“Because I’m a Helo.”
Persis sighed. “Honestly, Justen, it’s just a name. And it’s just a dinner. It doesn’t always have to be a political statement.”
That was easy for the socialite to say. He shrugged and took a deep breath. “That isn’t how things work in Galatea. And given that your princess is using me for her political ends right now, I wouldn’t be so sure that’s not how it works here in Albion, either.”
Persis said nothing for a few moments. She bowed her head over Slipstream, breathing in the scent of salt from his fur. Then she raised her head and smiled. “I want to show you something. It’s the perfect time.”
“What?”
She set the sea mink on the lanai and grabbed his hand in her damp one, tugging him down the steps toward the cliffs. “Come on.”
She went racing across the lawn, the sea mink cantering to keep up, its stubby legs a blur in the slanted light of the setting sun. Justen sighed and took off after them. The skirt of Persis’s dress was flying out behind her, and the meters between them only lengthened despite Justen’s attempts to keep up. For a socialite, she sure could sprint.
And as she approached the edge of the cliff, she didn’t slow down a bit.
“Persis!” he shouted, but his voice was caught by the wind and ripped away from him. Seconds later, he saw her disappear over the edge. “Persis!” He thundered up to the very edge of the cliff and stopped short. There,
