“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 . . .”