They rounded the last thick copse of trees, the valley and the border stretching below. The full, Wild majesty of the coast curled like a ribbon against the blue haze of the horizon.
“Oh, Your Excellency,” Elsa whispered, leaning against the smooth, peeling bark, “—It’s terrible! But Konstantin’s ghost, if they have to live at the mercy of that indifferent rage, I’m glad, at least, that it’s beautiful.”
Jordan smiled.
“It’s easier to feel like the master of air and water, isn’t it,” she remarked, “Looking out into the Wild bay? There’s a power out there that laughs at plateen, chewing it layer by conductive monolayer back into sand.”
“I believe the degradation reaction is photochemical, Ms. Cole,” Elsa replied, “—Not mechanical. So long as there are human hands to reapply the outer layer, the wind and waves can howl with all the amusement they want.”
Jordan’s laugh carried backwards through the dappled leaves.
“Human hands and infrastructure bonds, Your Grace,” she called down, “How is Vienna’s credit these days?”
