“It’ll be high summer back home,” Elliot said wistfully, looking out over the fishing village and the fields that lay beyond. “My lands lie along the sea as well, but our islands are not quite so . . . lush.”
“Do you miss your estate?” Persis asked politely. It was the most she’d heard Elliot speak in one go since they’d started out that morning, and she didn’t want to scare the other girl.
“Yes,” Elliot said. “I miss it desperately, but”—the older girl took a breath—“I spent four years missing Kai, and wishing I’d gone with him the last time he left us. So this time I made the other decision.” She looked at Persis and her eyes shone. “And it was the right one. For four years, I’d hoped I could do something for the people who live on my estate. And now I can do so much more than I ever would have even with the changes I’d made on my farm. Now we know there is a cure. It’s all Kai could have hoped.”
“Captain Wentforth,” Persis said. So far, their nonverbal communication and instant alliance on every issue had been the dominant personality traits she’d noticed in Kai and Elliot. Even the other captain, Andromeda, seemed powerless to argue against their combined force. “He chose that name himself, I hear?”
Elliot chuckled. “Yes. That’s what Posts do, where I’m from.”
Persis nodded. “It was a bit of a trend here among the regs before the cure as well. I’m named for one who did that. Persistence Helo, who invented the cure.”
“Justen’s grandmother, right?” Elliot looked impressed. “And he’s a medic, too, just like her.”
“Not entirely,” was all Persis could trust herself to say.
They rode in silence for a few moments. “So . . .” Elliot began, “you don’t do much farming on this estate?”
“Not this one, no,” said Persis, “but I can arrange for you to tour others if agriculture is what interests you.”
Elliot nodded. “And what do you do? Are you in school?”
“Not anymore.” She didn’t need to get into details with this foreigner.
“So you help your father with the fisheries?”
Persis laughed. “Not really. My father does serve an advisory position in the village, of course, but fishing isn’t his interest, either.” Her father had an excellent staff of biologists, gengineers, and aquaculturists working in the village and had always argued that the best landowners surrounded themselves with experts who were passionate about their pursuits. Torin himself was a scholar and had worked tirelessly in educational reform for as long as Persis could remember. More regs than ever were getting the chance to pursue the education and careers they desired, thanks to his and Heloise’s efforts, though their duties were curtailed somewhat by her mother’s illness at the moment.
“Oh.” Elliot was quiet again. What an odd girl. She seemed so attached to her strange way of life, the customs and habits of her homeland. She was almost painfully shy, clearly homesick, and utterly without pretense. A less likely candidate for sailing off into nothingness on the whim of a teenage boy Persis could hardly imagine. Then again, Persis wasn’t exactly what she appeared to be, either. Maybe this Elliot North had hidden depths. After all, there had to be something the dashing Captain Wentforth saw in her.
Unlike Persis and Justen, there seemed little reason for them to fake an affection for each other.
“I’m sorry if this all seems strange to you,” Persis said at last.
“No,” the visitor said. “It actually doesn’t seem that strange at all, in the end.”
THE LITTLE SKIFF THAT pulled up to the base of the Scintillans cliffs did not go unnoticed by the denizens of the fishing village. There was a guard posted at the main lift to the estate, and when Vania applied for admittance as “a friend of Justen Helo’s” she was swiftly turned away. She eyed the switchback road with curiosity, but there didn’t seem to be any entrance that wasn’t being watched.
Fine. She’d approach the estate from the land side. There were plenty of ways into Scintillans, she was sure. Strange that they’d have increased the security so much since her last visit. Had they been plagued with spies and nanocams since the lovebirds’ infamous little cove kiss? Figured. These Albians didn’t have anything serious to employ their minds, like she did.
Returning to her skiff, she piloted it away from the docks and toward the west coast of the island, looking for an alternate entrance. The cliffs fell away on the convex coast of Albion, so perhaps she’d find an easier approach. She was rewarded about twenty minutes later when she reached the very farthest point of the peninsula and saw a tiny semicircular cove that looked dug from the cliff wall. A dark line zigzagged up the cliff face, and as she drew closer, she could see it was a staircase leading to the village beyond. Endlessly long ropes of vines fell down all around the staircase, tiny yellow flower heads looking ready to bloom any moment. When they did, the whole place would turn into some sort of enchanted bower. For a moment, Vania was struck dumb by its beauty. How long had it been since she’d stopped to consider how pretty anything was? Day after day, she’d traveled all over her own splendid island and seen nothing but whether or not the places she went were under her father’s control or still resisting the revolution. Night after night, she went to sleep in a palace once infamous for its opulent beauty, but considered nothing but her own ambition.
She shook her head. Perhaps it took leisure to appreciate beauty. This Persis Blake had all the time in the world to look at flowers and wear pretty dresses. She had nothing else going on. And now Justen was following in his little girlfriend’s useless footsteps. He’d probably forgotten all about his research in favor of . . . well, whatever it was he found to do with Persis Blake.
Vania was quite pleased she’d blocked Remy from sending or receiving messages from him on her oblet. The last thing she needed right now was to watch her little foster sister follow Justen’s dangerous, worthless path. He could have his communication privileges back when he stopped being so infuriating.
As she pulled into the cove, she saw two figures splashing around in the shallows. Like all Albians, they had brilliantly colored hair, but even that seemed somehow off as she drew closer. One of the young women, a few years older than her, had hair like sand, and the other, younger one’s was a dull, burnished red. Their skin was impossibly pale, and the red-haired one had a face full of freckles. They looked up at the sound of her engine, and kept staring as she ran her boat aground and tied a line to a rock.
“Hello,” she said. “I’m trying to get to Scintillans.”
“This is Scintillans,” the sandy-haired one said, though her pronunciation was truly bizarre. “But I don’t think you’re supposed to bring boats into the bathing area.”
The clear water lapping her toes was warmer than it ought to be, and Vania bit her lip. “My mistake.” She studied the two women. Neither had palmports in their pale, pinkish hands, and their clothes were certainly not the high fashions she’d seen Persis wearing. Their hair, too, was not the eye-melting shades so popular among the northern elite. They must be reg peasants, possibly with some sort of speech impediment. And the one had said “don’t think you’re supposed to” as if she didn’t know for sure.
“Does that staircase go up to the estate?”