Part 13 (1/2)

”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 fis.h.i.+ng 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 piecesa”a simple band knotted over her b.r.e.a.s.t.s 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 shacka”just in case.

As soon as she saw him, she popped up and onto the sand. Her hair was still mostly down, the ma.s.s 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 relations.h.i.+p. 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 sh.o.r.eline, 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 thisa”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 now 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 the golden water drip off her fingers. ”Of course, you'd drown. And wouldn't that be a tragedy? A celebrated young medic, a darling of Galatea, young, clever, handsomea”struck down before his time.a”

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 actually 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'd 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 giggling. ”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 therea”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 rus.h.i.+ng 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, brus.h.i.+ng it back against its natural direction. ”p.r.i.c.kly. 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 nowa”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 Albiona”the royals would never allow it. It's become such a signature.” Persis shrugged. ”This color is newa”or relatively. I've only had it about a year. Used to be a lovely deep magenta, but I found it was clas.h.i.+ng 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.”