Read Online Across a Star-Swept Sea by Diana Peterfreund - Free Book Online Page B

the people from the lower class had been indoctrinated since birth in their roles as master and underling. He thought he’d been taught to resist it, that the revolution had leeched it out of him, but the instinct obviously ran deep.
    “Tell me, sir, if you please, what excuse you plan to use to your countrymen and your sister as to why you remain in Albion at my court. Surely you cannot prefer our aristocratic ways to the revolutionary ideals of Galatea?”
    “I—hadn’t thought that through, yet.” He’d been too focused on getting out of Galatea, before his grandmother’s work could do any more damage. Before he could. Escape was the priority. Excuses—and apologies—could come later.
    Isla clucked her tongue and turned to her friend. “Persis, dear, wherever do you pick up these people?”
    Persis was studying Justen with an appraising eye, as if he were a bolt of silk or a particularly fine hat. “This one picked me up, actually. As in, off the ground. He rescued me from the docks in Galatea.”
    “ Rescued ?”
    “Yes.” Persis admitted sheepishly. “I was suffering from genetemps sickness.”
    Isla frowned. “I told you that would happen. What did I tell you?” She stamped her foot. Royally, Justen noted. The way these two talked—they were real friends. A clearly clever princess and the half-aristo idiot socialite whose idea of a good time was to troll the slums of Halahou for genetemps and cheap silks.
    Justen might be out of his depth here in Albion.
    The princess returned her attention to him. “Why are you fleeing your country if you’re in such good graces with Citizen Aldred? You’re in no danger there.”
    “But I am,” he said. As soon as reports came back from the Lacan estate, Uncle Damos’s suspicions would be verified. And, of course, Justen would be the prime suspect. “I no longer agree with the actions of my countrymen. I cannot support the revolution now that they’ve turned to”—he took a deep breath—“petty revenge and violence against innocents. Social justice is worth fighting for. A reign of terror is not.”
    “So,” Isla said, “if you don’t act like the good little revolutionary, Aldred will make an example out of you?”
    “Exactly.” Of course she knew how it worked. She was probably well versed in such methods of despotic rule. He’d been taught about its dangers by Uncle Damos himself, long before the revolution. How had it come to this—Justen Helo standing in the Albion throne room and casting his lot with a monarch?
    “But you’re a Helo,” said Isla. “Aldred is not so foolish to do anything publicly.”
    “Perhaps not,” he admitted, “but I’ve seen him in private.”
    Persis’s mouth made a little round O. “You mean you think he would give you or your sister that Reduction drug I keep hearing about?”
    Justen was hoping not, though it would be a fitting punishment for Justen’s disobedience, and Aldred knew it. There was nothing his uncle liked more. That’s why he’d pounced on the pinks.
    Justen couldn’t decide if he was angrier with Remy or himself. A few days before he left, he’d confessed everything to her—all his doubts about the revolution, even how he’d sabotaged an entire batch of pinks ready for shipment to a prisoner estate out east. He expected shock but also support. Instead, his fourteen-year-old sister started brainstorming ideas on how to backtrack from the mess he’d made, as if he could. He’d already been barred from the labs. Uncle Damos suspected … something.
    Remy didn’t get it. He wouldn’t take his actions back, even if it were possible. They’d exchanged some harsh words. She called him an idiot. He called her a child. And then she’d run off somewhere, likely to sulk, and wouldn’t answer his messages. He waited as long as he could, but figured Remy would be safe if he left. After all, she was still a model revolutionary citizen.
    Isla began another circuit. “I can’t retrieve your