“A group of people?” I guess.
She shrugs helplessly. “So far, all I have is a name: Ophiuchus.”
9
“OPHIUCHUS,” I REPEAT, SOUNDING THE word on my tongue.
“It’s the name of the Thirteenth House. Do you think your Advisors would know anything about it?”
I gaze at the beauty products littering the room, thinking. My gut tells me my Advisors will dismiss our theory. Most of them already have no faith in my leadership; if I point an accusatory finger at a childhood monster, they could all give up on me. Even Mathias.
I recall a sunny day on the Strider with my family, seeing bubbles in the water twice, and both times not saying anything. My silence gave the Maw time to attack my brother. Then I flash to the flickering I’d been seeing before the Lunar Quadract. I didn’t trust myself enough to speak up, and Thebe exploded without warning.
What a strange moment to understand Leyla’s advice.
Rho?
Mathias’s voice calls out to me faintly, as if from a long way off. Instinctively, I touch my Ring, and the sound grows clearer. Everything okay? he asks. Is there a delay?
All good. I’ll meet you there, I say, moving my lips soundlessly.
“You have a Ring!” squeals Nishi, yanking my hand closer for inspection. “We haven’t gotten ours yet, but I’m dying to try it out, though I hear it’s super hard—”
“Nishi, you’re stellar. No one but you could have dug up so much that fast. You’re right about consulting my Advisors. I’ll see what I can find out, and I’ll Wave you after the ceremony.”
“Something else,” she says, whispering again. “The Dark Matter you’ve seen by the Thirteenth House and on Leo and Taurus—it’s not the stars showing you a pattern. I read that once Dark Matter consumes any part of a planet, it remains in that area of Space forever. So you’re seeing everywhere it’s been.”
I frown. “Then how come it doesn’t always show up?”
“Dark Matter is supremely hard to tell apart from normal Space. If there’s even the slightest interference, it can become obscured . . . but it’s still there. You’re just not seeing it.”
“Thank you.” I hug her tightly. I wish Nishi could come with me tonight, but Admiral Crius said only government officials are allowed. It seems wrong to go through the most significant ceremony in my life supported by a roomful of strangers. I should at least get to have a friend.
Nishi gives me the Sagittarian salute for good fortune, steepling her fingers together and touching her forehead. Then she opens the door to leave, and a sea of excitable voices floods the room. For a moment the halls of Oceon 6 sound like the ones of the Academy on the night of the Lunar Quadract . . . then the door shuts out the noise.
Alone, I face the mirror one last time. I still don’t recognize the girl’s face or the woman’s body or the fancy clothes. I’d much rather stay in here and research Ophiuchus the rest of the night. I wish I’d at least asked Mathias to wait—now I have to go to my own ceremony alone.
“Rho?”
This time, the musical voice is calling from outside the door. “C-come in,” I say, my mouth like sandpaper, one singular thought cycling through my head: He waited.
When the door swings open, the swarm of voices rushes in again—then it goes away when Mathias’s eyes meet mine.
It’s like I’ve drawn a deep breath and plunged my head underwater. The hallway clamor grows muffled, and the edges of the room blur, until all I’m aware of is him. The black hair, the pale face, the midnight-blue gaze.
Eons later, when my Wave starts humming with calls, I realize I don’t know how long we’ve been staring at each other. I only know that any second he’s going to tell me we need to go, we’re running late, my Advisors are waiting. Instead, he steps inside the room.
The little hairs on my arms tingle, reminding me of the cilia-like legs of the Strider. Then I wonder why I’m thinking of cilia now, when a five-year-long fantasy is coming to life: The beautiful boy I watched in the solarium is finally looking back.
When Mathias is in front of me, I grow leaden, like the centrifugal force anchoring my feet to the ground has doubled. I read his profile among the files Crius sent me: He’s twenty-two, and his family has served in the Royal Guard for seven generations. From the age of eight, he attended the Lykeion on House Aquarius, the Zodiac’s most famous prep school for future Zodai, and at the university on Elara, he graduated first in his class.
The humming of his Wave joins mine, and I wonder how many calls from the Psy he’s ignoring.
“You really make that crown shine,” he whispers, his throat so dry I can hear him swallow. He offers me his arm, and I think I might float away if I touch him.
I loop my hand through and realize I’ve been holding my breath. His face is so close that there’s nowhere to look but into his eyes, twin orbs ablaze with the blue light of Cancer. I try to remember why I dressed up, or why we’re going anywhere at all.
“We shouldn’t keep them waiting longer,” he murmurs, in a tone less assertive than his usual one. He gently guides me forward, and incredibly, my legs still work.
“Would”—I clear my voice of its roughness—“would you mind putting my Wave and the black opal in your pocket?” I hold out the two devices I don’t go anywhere without.
Mathias stuffs them in his suit, and we pick up speed down the hallway. I hold my coronet to keep it from slipping as we hurtle through passages, until we reach the double doors to the dining hall, which has been converted to host tonight’s ceremony. “You’re late!” says Admiral Crius, scowling.
Agatha hobbles up to me with her cane, her face alight with pleasure. “You look beautiful, Holy Mother.” Dr. Eusta just nods. It’s the first time he’s shown up in person instead of sending his hologram.
“Let’s get inside already,” barks Crius. “The Matriarchs are here, as are representatives from every House of the Zodiac.” Cancer is managed by the Matriarchy, the eldest Mothers of our twelve founding families. Crius points to Mathias. “Hang back with us. Let our Guardian walk ahead, alone.”
Before I can argue, the doors open to a collection of round tables, decked out in lavish fabrics and silverware, seating an array of vastly different people. Even though I’ve never met an Aquarian before, I recognize their representative by her glassy eyes, narrow face, and ivory skin. She’s sitting next to the representative from Scorpio—he’s thin and long-faced, and to his suit he’s added strange pieces of technology that are probably his own inventions. Some representatives couldn’t make it and are floating above the tables as visiting holo-ghosts.
Ghosts are holograms projected from too far away, and since their signals travel at lightspeed, there’s a time lag. They can’t hold normal conversations because they’re always a step or two behind, so they can be funny to watch. In this case, they’re just observing and not doing much.
Written across the air are the names of each House and the strength it brings to the Zodiac. Legend says that the first Guardians were actually Guardian Stars, each watching over its own constellation. When the Zodiac foresaw the first people arriving through Helios, each House gave up its Guardian, and the twelve stars fell to earth and became mortal.
Each brought with them the knowledge of a survival skill, so that our Houses would always have to work together, as equals, to ensure our galaxy’s eternal existence. They’re hovering over our heads:
Aries: Military
Taurus: Industry
Gemini: Imagination
Cancer: Nurture
Leo: Passion
Virgo: Sustenance
Libra: Justice
Scorpio: Innovation
Sagittarius: Curiosity
Capricorn: Wisdom
Aquarius: Philosophy
Pisces: Spirituality
I wonder what thir
teenth survival skill Ophiuchus represented.
As soon as the crowd sees me, they rise to their feet and stare. I try not to think of how many eyes are on me by focusing on the floor and setting one foot in front of the other. When I get to the end of the room, there’s a long table behind which my remaining eight Advisors are standing. Admiral Crius rests a hand on my shoulder, and I stop moving. We pause at a sand basin filled with clear salt water.
Crius fills a crystal glass and raises it in the air. “Rhoma Grace, you are here to swear your life to House Cancer. If you make this solemn oath, you swear to place the lives of Cancer and the Cancrian people ahead of your own. You swear to be a Guiding Star of the Zodiac, to work alongside the Guardians of the Eleven Houses, and to always be a champion of House Cancer. Above all, you swear to do whatever it takes to ensure our galaxy’s survival.”
From the moment I was made Guardian, I never considered that I could walk away from the role. I’d like to claim it’s because I felt a strong sense of duty from the outset, but it’s really because I was afraid I didn’t have a choice. Maybe that makes me a coward.
On some level, I was secretly hoping Crius and Agatha would recognize their mistake and strip me of the title so that someone better could take over. But the past few days—watching how my Advisors work, training with Mathias, writing my speech for tonight—I realized something. For me, the Guardianship isn’t about swapping my life as an individual for a lifetime of service to other people. For me, it’s personal.
What happened on Elara happened to House Cancer, but it also happened to my school, my friends, my teachers. The damage even reached my home planet and maybe my family. This is as personal as life gets. I’m not in this role because I’m different—I’m here because I’m like every Cancrian everywhere. I know what it feels like to lose everything.
And whether I’m Rho the person or Rho the Guardian, the same goal guides me: I want to save Cancer, and I want to make sure we never suffer like this again.
“I swear it,” I say, the room so silent that my voice carries and lingers.
“With a sip of the Cancer Sea,” says Admiral Crius, “your oath will be sealed.”
He hands me the glass, and I take a deep gulp, the saltiness burning my nose and throat. I try not to cough.
“May the stars of our Crab constellation welcome you with a smile, Holy Mother Rhoma Grace, Guardian of the Fourth House, Cancer,” says the admiral in a deep, carrying voice. Then he bows to me for the second—and probably last—time, whispering under his breath, “Holy Mother.”
The rest of the room follows suit, the whispered salute like a sacred chant, and for a few seconds all I see are the tops of forty people’s heads. And one face.
A guy my age with white streaks in his blond hair is still looking up, watching me. His expensive coat bears the Libran symbol, the Scales of Justice. When we lock eyes, he winks. Then he bows lower than all the others.
“Holy Mother will now swear in her Council,” says Crius. My Advisors march over and join him in a line. The admiral goes first.
I turn to him and say, “Admiral Axley Crius, you are here to swear your loyalty to your Guardian and House Cancer. If you make this solemn oath, you swear to honor, advise, and protect your Guardian, and to always act in the best interest of House Cancer.”
“I swear it.”
Agatha pledges her loyalty next, followed by Dr. Eusta and the others. Being the youngest, Mathias goes last. “I swear it,” he says, his blue gaze glued to mine, “on my Mother’s life.”
It’s the strongest oath a Cancrian can make.
I’m so moved I forget what comes next. “Holy Mother would like to address all of you present now,” says Crius, nudging me forward on his march to the table. I’m left alone with the whole room’s attention. I used to have nightmares that began like this—until I discovered what real nightmares are like.
“Thank you all for coming to House Cancer’s aid,” I say, reciting from memory the speech I wrote with Mathias and Agatha. “I’m pleased to share with you that the tsunamis have ended, and our rescue efforts continue to uncover more survivors.” I find my eyes straying to the Libran, who’s the only person in the room smiling. Every time I look, he’s already looking back.
“The issue now is that our ocean lies restless, pulled in too many directions by the orbiting moon rubble, which is stirring up savage storms. We won’t know what the consequences will be to marine life. For now, people are returning to their island homes to rebuild and save as many species as we can. Technicians have begun to repair our satellites and power grid, so communications should be up soon. Our people, our wild species, and our land will adapt. We will survive.”
Low clapping breaks out, a gesture meant to show solidarity from the room without overpowering my voice. The Libran whistles. A few people turn and glare at him, and I realize I’m smiling.
“As my first official order as Guardian, I am scattering our Zodai Guard to the far-flung posts around our House and galaxy so we won’t all be caught in one place again.” More clapping. My Advisors and I agreed this would be the wisest move for now, at least until we know more specifics about what caused the explosion. “I look forward to meeting with every one of you tonight. Thank you.”
I’m seated at the center of the table, flanked by Admiral Crius and Agatha. Mathias is near the end, so we can’t talk. Or so I thought.
You dazzled them.
My Ring grows warm as I receive Mathias’s message—and so does my face. Thank you, I send back. I’m going to work hard to be worthy of your oath.
You already are, Rho.
“You were spectacular,” says Agatha, pulling me out of my head. I’m pretty sure my cheeks are still burning.
“Thank you, for everything,” I say, taking her hand.
“I am truly sorry for the way we deceived you on your arrival,” she says, her gray-green eyes growing misty, as I’ve noticed they do when she’s feeling something deeply. “Heart, mind, and soul. Those are the areas we test.”
“What do you mean?”
“When you chose your mother over yourself, we knew you had the heart of a Guardian. When you unlocked the black opal, we knew you had the knowledge and desire to uncover more truths about our universe.” She smiles at the growing bewilderment on my face. “And when you saw the Dark Matter, we knew you were a pure soul.”
The last one sounds too much like something Mom used to say. That the best seers have the purest souls. “How . . . how did that tell you about my soul?”
“Because only someone very true to herself could see so clearly in the Ephemeris. Remember, when you are Centered, you are accessing your soul. People with tormented souls can barely see beyond their own torment. Your sight is clear because you are honest. Bad things have happened to you, but when it came time to act—when you were tested—you chose to forgive. Even the person who hurt you most.”
I blink a few times to fight the burning in my eyes. This is not where I want to be when I cry.
“You have no idea how rare that is, Rho,” she whispers. “The Zodiac is entering a dark time, and you will face more difficulties than the rest of us. My hope is that no matter what you experience on your Guardian’s journey, you never lose that innocence.” She closes her eyes and touches my forehead, a Cancrian blessing. On Cancer, it’s tradition for a mother to bless her daughter the day she grows out of her childhood.
“May your inner light always shine,” she whispers, “and may it guide us through our darkest nights.”
I use my napkin to dab the tears from my face. “Thank you.”
A flurry of waiters materializes, and our plates are filled with all kinds of exotic foods. Many dishes have been brought by our guests, so there are specialties from across the Zodiac. I’m only midway through my dinner and about to reach for the Libran fried larks when Admiral Crius makes me part with my
plate. He moves me to a small table in a semi-blocked-off corner of the dining hall. I’m now supposed to sit here and meet privately with representatives from each House of the Zodiac.
Up first is the representative from House Capricorn. Guardian Ferez sent his Wildlife Advisor to meet with me, a man dressed in a black robe, the traditional clothes of their House.
Capricorns are considered the wisest people in the universe—as well as the tallest and shortest: Half the population looks like Advisor Riggs—tall, soulful, dark-skinned—while the other half is short, talkative, and ruddy-complexioned.
After we exchange the hand touch, Advisor Riggs tells me House Capricorn is transporting an ark with a team of scientists to aid us in our marine-life rescue efforts. He doesn’t bother to sit down. The whole exchange probably lasts less than a minute.
I meet with the Virgo Advisor next, who does sit. She tells me Empress Moira—who’s also the Zodiac’s foremost Psy expert—has dispatched twelve ships of grain to our House. I’m still in shock at Virgo’s generosity when the Advisor hands me a note from Moira herself, who was close friends with Mother Origene.
Please bid my reverent farewell to your beloved Holy Mother. Origene’s compassion taught me the meaning of friendship.Knowing her has honored me, and her loss leaves a void in the soul of the Zodiac.
While I’m reading the note, a new representative takes the Virgo Advisor’s seat. I don’t look up until I’m finished, and then I see the Libran envoy. Close up, his smile is more of a crooked smirk. The kind that makes it hard not to smirk back . . . and also the kind that makes a guy seem too pleased with himself.
Nishi would call it a centaur smile. It’s a Sagittarian expression for a guy who uses his charm and good looks to distract a girl from his less appealing side.
Zodiac Page 9
