She hasn’t had this much fun since she was an adolescent, though of course none of them had any real overlap in that department — speeding across land and sea alike at breathless speeds, staggering tipsily from railing to gilded railing, her hair tumbles loose and Balem has lost some kind of gem-encrusted wrap torn loose from its chain on his wrist. Titus doesn’t look the least bit windswept, genteelly lounging at the controls, but his cheeks are pink with — something, decorous embarrassment or joy. The planet beneath them is dead, wonderfully dead, and every star above them is a jewel.