Shocked, I inhale sharply and mumble something that sounds too much like “Ohrrgh” to have been anything else. My blood buzzes where his mouth touched me, as if his lips were bathed in Abyssthe.
“My name is Hysan Dax, and I’ve come to deliver a tanker of fuel, a gift from Lord Neith and House Libra.”
As he rises to go, I snap to my feet, too. “Why did you volunteer?”
Hysan stares at me, his expression growing serious—or as serious as it probably gets. When the flashy outfit, blond-white locks, and symmetrical dimples fade, I spy something else in his eyes . . . secrets. Lots of them.
“I saw a new star rising in the Zodiac, blazing so bright it burned blackness.” He moves close enough to drop his voice to a whisper. “I wanted to see if the blaze was real . . . or just a trick of the light.”
I feel my face getting hot, and I wonder if the golden glow of Hysan’s skin radiates warmth, like Helios, or if the heat is in his words. “And what’s your verdict?” I ask, even though Nishi would say I shouldn’t flirt with boys who smirk like that.
“I’ve never seen its rival.”
His lips twist into his centaur smile again, and this time I can’t resist returning it. “I’m at your service, my lady.” He bows deeply. “Always.”
When he leaves, a representative from Taurus takes his place. He has to introduce himself twice to get my attention. Their Guardian promises a line of credit to help us rebuild our floating pod cities.
When all the representatives have left, only the Matriarchs remain. Now that the Houses have donated what resources they can, the Council and I must distribute them among the Matriarchs. Even though our House is ruled by consensus, the Guardian has sovereignty regarding all matters involving the other Houses, which extends to emergency relief contributions.
The dining hall has cleared out, and Admiral Crius gathers us at one of the round tables. Only my top Advisors stay for this meeting—Crius, Agatha, Dr. Eusta, and Mathias.
All twelve Matriarchs are in attendance. Two passed away in the tragedy and have already been replaced with the next-eldest Mothers in their family lines. Mother Lea from the low-lying Meadow Islands is the most outspoken of the group. Her lands were submerged by waves, which overloaded their sea-oat fields with salt.
Cancer’s only pure water comes from rain cisterns and desalination vats. A lot of people depend on the grain from the Meadow fields, but they need fresh water to rinse away the excess salt—and their cisterns are full of brine, their desalination vats washed away in the flood. Mother Lea jabs her finger at the tablecloth. “There’s no time to rebuild the vats. If we don’t plant our oats this month, we’ll miss an entire harvest. Holy Mother, we need five tanker ships of fresh water.”
“Mathias,” I say, “what’s the plan for the freshwater supply House Aquarius sent?”
He pauses before he speaks, fusing with the Psy. These past few days, I’ve just begun to realize how much activity goes on behind his quiet face. “All freshwater stores are being diverted to our refugee camps.”
I look at Mother Lea, knowing she’s not going to like what I’m about to say. “I’m sorry about the sea oats, but for the time being, we have to adapt. What can we grow in salty ground?”
Her face is just about to explode when Crius bangs his hand on the table, and I jump a foot in the air.
“Honored Guardian,” he says, his gruff tone not fully masking his fear, “we have an emergency.”
Mathias and my Advisors rise, and as I stand to join them, I see the anger in Mother Lea’s eyes turn to despair. While the others march off, I stay back and say, “Save your seed, Mother Lea. Keep it dry for later. We’ll miss this season, but we’ll plant sea oats again. Don’t lose hope.” I know it’s not what she wants to hear, but good fortune is hard to come by these days.
I race down the hall after the others, the train of the white dress whipping behind me, and when I get to the door of the lecture hall where we hold our Advisor meetings, Mathias is waiting. “Before we go in,” he says, “I need to tell you something. I received a message tonight, while you were meeting with representatives from the Houses. I know the timing is terrible, and I should probably wait, but I also know you would want to hear this news immediately.”
Instead of speaking, he closes his eyes. At first I think he’s doing it to be dramatic, and I nearly throttle him, but then my Ring grows warm, and I close my eyes, too. A picture forms in my mind, an image of people not on Oceon 6.
Dad is standing in front of our wrecked bungalow on Kalymnos, his clothes tattered. And beside him, wearing a glorious grin that’s completely at odds with the destruction, is Stanton.
I love the image so much that I don’t want to open my eyes, not ever again. I look for so long that something starts to feel wrong: my knees are rubbery, the floor is wobbly, and everything’s spinning—