Wandering Star: A Zodiac Novel (3 page)

I bite down on my lower lip as Mathias’s words whisper through me.
You’re an everlasting flame that can’t be put out.

“Your mother’s abandonment did not destroy you. Nor did your father’s passing. Even Ophiuchus could not kill you. You are strong and resilient, impermeable to fire or water: You will rise and re-form from the ashes of this defeat.”

Now I’m the one silenced by Sage Ferez’s words. But while his generosity moves and humbles me . . . I know I’m not worthy of his praise. So does the Plenum, and so does the rest of the Zodiac. I appreciate the few friends I have left, but I’m not kidding myself any longer—I should have refused the role of Holy Mother in the first place. I’m not—nor was I ever—Guardian material.

“I have requested your presence to ask a favor,” says the aged Guardian, looking from me to Hysan again. “I’m leaving immediately after this meeting
to visit Moira. She is a dear friend, one of the last I have left since Origene’s passing, and I fear for her future. Before I go, I would ask something of you. We represent three of the four Cardinal Houses, and as such, we are owners of Cardinal Stones.”

“I don’t have the black opal anymore,” I interrupt. “It was returned to Agatha when she became the interim Guardian.”

“The Talisman will only answer to a true Guardian—it remains in your service, whether it is physically with you or not. Once you are reunited with it, I must ask you and Hysan to seek out General Eurek on House Aries with your Talismans in hand. He will explain the rest.”

“What will uniting the stones do?” asks Hysan, his speedy processing reminding me of Nishi.

“I believe you may have guessed by now what strength the Thirteenth House once brought to the Zodiac.”

“Unity,” I supply, the word sour on my tongue.

“Precisely. I have hope that uniting the four stones will help us locate the Thirteenth Talisman, the one lost to time. Perhaps we can access its knowledge and discover the path to reuniting our galaxy.”

Hysan and I are so awed by the notion that neither of us speaks for a moment. I still haven’t moved past the fact that Sage Ferez believes me—believes
in
me—and doesn’t think the Thirteenth House is my own fabrication. Then Hysan asks, “What about yourself?”

The Guardian shakes his bald head, and the shadows on his face grow longer. “Only the stars know my fate, dear boy . . . but if I should have joined them by then, do not fret, for Eurek will know what to do.”

Then his wrinkled features break into a genial smile, as though we were discussing happier subjects. “One more thing.”

Sage Ferez leans into his desk, and Hysan and I instinctively come closer, too. “You will hear a lot about Risers in the coming war—and yes,” he adds, seeing my expression, “a war is coming. But there is something you must
know before it starts. Risers are not a plague . . . they are part of the future.”

He turns his glittering dark eyes to me. “You asked why I possess eleven technologies when one would suffice—can you now think of the reason?”

For a moment I’m stumped, and I feel my cheeks heating with embarrassment—but then the answer bubbles forth from my mouth, like it’s been trapped there all along. “
Choice
. Because you have the freedom to choose.”

He breaks into his childlike grin again. “Precisely. Each House operates a different way because it’s shaped according to the preferences of its people. Yet you both know better than most that we cannot control the circumstances of our birth. Not which family we are born into, nor which House. The truth is, our parents are but part of the equation that forms us—because the only thing more powerful than fate is free will.

“Our
choices
define us: The stars may set us on a given path, but it is we who must decide whether we take it.”

He gives us a moment to process what he’s said so far, but I’m still stuck on the bit about Risers being the future.

“This wave of Risers is only the beginning.”

His demeanor grows heavy again, and for a moment all one hundred years seem to be bearing down on him at once. “I know this is difficult to understand, but since you will lead us, you need to hear it. There may well be a time . . . in the not-too-distant future . . . when our House affiliation will no longer be determined by birth.”

His inky eyes lock on mine, and I can’t even blink.

“When our Zodiac sign will be a matter of choice.”

I’M STILL STARING AT SAGE
Ferez in unblinking disbelief when a couple of black-robed Chroniclers billow into the room from a back door. “Your transport is ready,” one of them says to Ferez, offering the elderly Guardian a supporting arm.

The Sage rises on his own, and Hysan and I stand, too. “Until we meet again,” he says, “good fortune to you both.”

Hysan and I ride the Vein in silence.

“
Cancrian sleeping quarters
,” says the cool female voice. Since we’re still building our bungalows, Cancrians have been given lodging at one of the Zodiax’s numerous hotels.

I look at Hysan. “Do you want to come—?”

“Yes,” he says quickly, and we both press the button on our handrails. We’re blown onto the bouncy train platform, and after I flash my thumbprint
over a wall sensor, a hidden door opens into the glossy golden lobby of the Fluffy Giraffe Resort.

Stanton, Aryll, and I share a suite on one of the lowest levels, a three-pronged circular room with offshoots to each bedroom. The round room is spacious and surrounded by books, wallscreens, a teaching crown, and all kinds of games and exercises for mental workouts. There’s also a small kitchen, and tucked behind the floor-to-ceiling temperator, which stores food at multiple temperatures, is a tiny table that barely fits two people.

I boil us a pot of brainberry tea. Brainberries, a fruit that grow abundantly on Tierre’s trees, are believed to possess nourishing mental properties and are a preferred treat among people and pocket pigs.

Hysan and I squeeze around the square table, and each time one of us takes a sip from our clay teacups, our elbows brush. Goose bumps continually race up my arms.

“Things are rough out there, Rho.” Concern shines through Hysan’s expression. “The Marad is growing stronger, attacking more often. They seem to be everywhere at once—explosions on a Leonine Pride that killed hundreds, sabotaging the air supply on a Scorp waterworld that drowned dozens, assassinations of high-ranking Clan Elders on Aquarius . . .”

Faint lines press into his skin, making him look older. “The worst part isn’t even the violence—it’s the
fear
. Anyone could be working for the Marad, so people have stopped trusting each other—especially if they’re from different Houses. It’s what always happens: The greater our need to unite, the deeper we divide.”

I can’t think of anything comforting to say. I’ve seen reports about this already, but it’s harder on Hysan, who still has to worry about protecting his people. The news is playing on a small kitchen wallscreen, and it grows louder in our silence. An Aquarian man with glassy eyes the color of a pink sunset (Aquarians’ irises reflect the sky at one’s time of birth) is addressing a crowd of Zodai University students. A holographic headline scrolls
beneath him:
Aquarius—struggling “superpower” already spending beyond its means.

I look at Hysan, and before I can ask, he answers: “That’s Morscerta’s replacement, Ambassador Crompton. I haven’t met him yet.”

Morscerta died in the armada. My hand trembles as I bring the empty teacup to my mouth.

“Since they have the largest store of freshwater in the Zodiac, Aquarius has taken up the charge to coordinate donations among the Houses. But as usual, their idealism exceeds their finances. One of the issues the Plenum is debating this session is whether to bail them out of their debt, which they incurred helping the Houses.”

I nod, and we both grow interested in the faint patterns of the wooden table, until Hysan says, “My lady, though I’d rather stay, I should go. I’m expected on House Taurus to discuss the Riser situation.”

Getting to our feet is a clumsy process in the small space. Once we’re upright, we’re concealed behind the tall temperator, our faces a foot apart.

“It’s really great to see you, Rho.” Hysan’s voice is lower and huskier.

“You too,” I whisper, my heartbeat speeding up. My back is against the kitchen counter, the space between us so tiny that it makes his mouth’s magnetic pull impossible to ignore.

“On Libra,” he murmurs, his cedary scent tickling my face, “we’re taught to think of every being as a galaxy. We can only see as much of a person as we’re equipped to see.”

He leans closer, and I’m suddenly aware our clothes are touching, which makes it hard to focus on anything else. “The better our telescope, the more light we can reveal. The more constellations we can uncover.”

The weight of his body presses into mine, and my muscles buzz in anticipation, my gaze growing too heavy to lift from his lips. “But I think even the most powerful telescope couldn’t come close to capturing all your light,” he whispers, “or unearthing all your wonders.”

The impulse to kiss him grows too strong, and I close my eyes and reach up—but a stab of pain cleaves my chest.

Guilt, heartache, regret.
A warning shot sent by the Mathias sector of my heart. I swallow back my emotions and look away from Hysan, breaking our moment. Neither of us says anything for a few breaths.

“Rho.”

When I meet his gaze again, Hysan seems more worried than hurt. “Be careful who you trust. Sage Ferez may be right about Risers in the long run, but if this wave is truly the start of a new evolution, the first generation will likely be unstable and unpredictable. Nature will need time to work out the kinks.”

I nod. “Take care of yourself, too.” I see again the vision of the battlefield from Sage Huxler’s recollections, the body parts that were once people. “I’m worried about what’s coming. For all of us.”

Hysan reaches out to touch me just as the door to the suite swings open. My brother and Aryll are back. Hysan reads the alarm on my face, and with a quick flick of his wrist, he vanishes. He’s wearing his Veil collar.

“Thank you,” I whisper into the air.

“Always, my lady.” His words blow into my ear, and then his muffled footsteps recede across the round room.

I make a lot of noise greeting Stanton and Aryll while Hysan slips out the door. “Did you deliver the Bobbler to the Lodestars?”

“Yeah,” says Stanton, dropping the bag with his wet suit and silverware on the floor. “What did Ferez want?”

“He told me . . . he said he believes I’m the true Holy Mother.”

My cheeks blaze bright red the moment I say it. I hadn’t meant to tell Stanton that part—in fact, I hadn’t worked out what I was going to say at all—but just like when we were younger, I can’t help seeking his validation.

Funny how of all the remarkable things Ferez revealed, this is the one I can’t shake.

“He shouldn’t be meddling with Cancrian affairs,” bursts out Stanton, surprising me with the force of his anger. “This isn’t your fight anymore.”

“But if there’s anything I can do to help—”

“You already tried to help,” he says, cutting me off. “Besides, it’s not up to Ferez to predict Cancer’s rightful Guardian. It’s the way of the stars.”

“But the stars are still saying ‘Rho,’” says a soft voice.

It’s hard to tell who’s most shocked by Aryll’s interjection: Stanton, me, or Aryll himself.

“The stars aren’t saying
anyone
yet,” corrects Stanton, now using a new tone to address Aryll—the same impatient one he’s been reserving for me.

“I just mean it’s people who kicked her out, not stars.” Aryll sounds like he wishes he could take back his support of me. “Anyway, Ferez should really stay out of this stuff. I think I left my . . . back at the settlement—”

Aryll darts out the door midway through his own sentence. Any time Stanton and I start to argue, he runs away. And then once he’s gone, Stanton and I lose our conviction. It’s hard to care about most things when we’re reminded how much worse off we could be. Aryll used to have a sister, too.

I duck into the kitchen to wash the teacups before Stanton notices there are two of them. Zodai across the galaxy are of two minds as to why the stars haven’t pointed to a new Holy Mother. Some, like Sage Ferez, think it’s because I’m still the rightful leader. Others think it means our planet will never heal, and House Cancer is gone for good.

Like Stanton, I think our fate is still being decided.

When I’m done cleaning, I find my brother on the couch watching the latest newsfeed, his back to me. My hand is already on the door to my room when his voice cuts through the thick air.

“How well do you know the Libran?”

“He saved my life several times last month,” I remind him.

“That’s not an answer,” he says, twisting to face me.

I want to tell him the truth—until now, I’ve never lied to my brother about anything—but Stanton’s Cancrian pride runs Rift-deep. “I just trust him, Stan. He’s been a friend to our House.”

Without a word, my brother turns back to the wallscreen, and like all our conversations since reuniting, this one’s over before it’s even begun.

Alone in my room, Hysan’s presence feels more pronounced than when he was actually here. It feels like the sun stopped by for a visit, and I kept to the shade.

Part of me was hoping I’d discover that our attraction had been a fleeting, adrenaline-fueled thing—but seeing him again drove that delusion from my mind.

Still, his presence made Mathias’s absence unavoidable. Hysan and I were like two stars orbiting a black hole, our life forces drawing attention to the place where Mathias’s light had once shone.

I lie back on my bed in the dark room, the pale face and midnight eyes projecting in my mind’s Membrex. Mathias died because of me—because I was too stubborn to listen—because I was a stupid girl who thought she was ready to lead. Stanton is right: I had my chance to make things better and only made them worse. Now it’s someone else’s turn.

I dry my eyes and sit up in bed, pushing the bad thoughts away. Crying and moping won’t help—I have work to do. I snap open my Wave—which Hysan repaired on Gemini—and call up the tutorial Ephemeris.

My black room comes alive with color. I don’t have to focus on the blue orb of Cancer to find its strength within me anymore. I feel home in my every molecule, having at last understood the lesson Sirna and Leyla tried to impart: We don’t merely make up Cancer—Cancer makes us.

Celestial objects expand around me, and I walk through the spectral
stars, the Ring’s core of Abyssthe making it easier to stay Centered. A whirl of light unexpectedly explodes in front of me, like two star systems colliding, and as the brightness dims, I make out a ghostly image forming in the fading light.

Stars are connecting in the shape of a girl’s face, like it’s a new constellation in the Zodiac galaxy.
My face.

Except my features are shifting. I seem to be transforming into someone else—my cheekbones are jutting out more, and my chin is lengthening. My blond curls lighten and elongate, becoming straighter, wispier—

The image vanishes so quickly, it might never have appeared at all. Except my pulse is still echoing in my ears. Was that
me
 . . . as a
Riser
?

It couldn’t be—I’m completely Cancrian—I was even
Guardian
—

I gasp as another horrible theory flits into my mind. The one that won’t stay away no matter how hard I refuse to see it.

Maybe it isn’t just me . . . maybe
every
Cancrian is changing House.

Maybe Cancer is gone.

I search the pinpricks of lights for the face, but there’s nothing left. I’ve never seen an omen this clear in the Ephemeris before. I just wish I knew if it was a real warning or a manifestation of my worries. Sage Ferez’s foretelling of a future of Risers definitely shook me—but was this omen a message from the stars or a cry of the soul?

Suddenly the lights surrounding me start shaking in their orbits, and half the Zodiac—Houses one through six—sinks lower, while the other half—seven through twelve—rises higher.

The galaxy is imbalanced, orbiting a tilted ellipse. Our Zodiac’s stars are out of alignment. I feel the energy that binds the Houses together trembling against my skin. Our bonds are being tested.

There’s another burst of light, farther out than the first. Once the brightness dims, an image projects past Pisces, where the Thirteenth House used to be. Only instead of a girl’s face, a man’s shape is forming.