“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.
“You’re young,” I blurt, surprising myself by giving in to a combative impulse.
“I thought you’d be tired of hearing that by now, my lady.” The Libran’s voice is warm and playful, the type that sounds the same when it’s serious and when it’s not.
The stronger my urge to smile, the graver I make my expression—so I’m practically glaring when I ask, “Did Lord Neith send you because you’re my age?”
“He didn’t send me, my lady.” His piercing, leaf-green eyes are so lively, they seem to be holding their own conversation with mine. “I volunteered.”
He offers me his hand for the traditional touch, and balling my fingers into a fist, I reach across the table. Then he presses a soft kiss on my skin.