“Mathias,” I whisper, an aching in my chest, “thank you, but it’s too much.”
He puts the device in my hand and closes my fingers around it, like flower petals protecting pollen. “This Astralator has been in my family for generations. It’s become a good luck charm. My older sister gave it to me when I became a Zodai.”
A slight crease forms between his eyebrows, and he takes his hands away, leaving the Astralator with me. “We each have our cares, Rho . . . but you and I, we can’t succumb to individual grief.”
Understanding what he’s saying, I take the Astralator. “Spoken like a true Zodai,” I whisper.
When I slip it into my pocket, I promise myself I’m just holding on to it. If Mathias feels better knowing I have it, I’ll keep it for now. But I’m giving it back to him when we’re home.
He combs his long fingers through his hair, looking more troubled than I’ve seen him. “An enemy from the Thirteenth House,” he says, like he’s considering my words for the first time. “It still sounds irrational, but the Psy attack on our ship was real. Something’s happening that I can’t explain.”
“You’re not alone.”
“I’ve been trying to put it together, but nothing fits.”
For a minute, we drift into our separate trains of thought. I wonder if I’m wrong to worry so much about my family and friends. My job is to protect all Cancrian people, but my brain doesn’t work well with big numbers. It works well with faces. Names. Memories.
Whenever I worry about my world, I don’t picture millions of unfamiliar people. I see a House of mothers, fathers, brothers, sisters, friends. Dad, Stanton, Deke, Kai, Leyla, Lola . . . those are the faces I see.
“Tome, tell us about the Guardian of Libra,” says Mathias. The teaching crown’s light marbles with rainbows, and images of a white-haired, cold-eyed man begin to materialize. I hear a noise behind me and turn to see Hysan.
“Busted,” I whisper to Mathias.
“I see you’ve met Tome.”
Mathias turns to Hysan. “Is that a problem?”
“If it were, you wouldn’t have gained access, I assure you.”
Here we go.
“Hysan, it was my idea,” I say, hoping to avoid another spat. “I just wanted to prepare a little before meeting your Guardian.”
“My lady, Lord Neith will be pleased. I came to tell you Libra’s in sight. We’ll be landing soon.”
I rush forward, into the nose, to see the constellation of the Scales of Justice. Since we’re travelling at hyperspeed, the nearest stars streak by like threads of light, and only the distant ones seem to hang still. For the next few minutes, I cling to the rail, watching House Libra bloom ever larger and closer.
Soon we’re deep inside the constellation, and Libra’s one inhabited planet, Kythera, glows like a smooth velvet ball, as lemon yellow as the Libran tunic I’m wearing. Smoky swirls and vortexes dimple the ball’s surface.
Kythera is blanketed in clouds as thick as fiberglass, made of black carbon and yellow sulfuric acid. Dirty, smothering clouds. They press down on the planet below with bone-crushing weight and lock in every joule of heat. The surface weather is brutal. The acidic storms can grind away entire mountains in a single night.
That’s why Librans live in flying cities. We’re near enough now to see the communities floating in the cloud tops like silver bubbles. There must be hundreds. Some appear gigantic, while others are very small, and they drift on leisurely currents in the upper atmosphere. Occasionally, two of them bump together, then bounce slowly apart. Their movements are fluid, dancelike, mesmerizing. Like the orbits of the balls of light in the Ephemeris.
Libra is one of the wealthiest Houses in the galaxy. Kythera’s never-ending flow of volcanic magma yields the purest industrial gemstones in the Zodiac. What’s more, Librans harvest their atmospheric gases and refine them into precious high-grade fuel and plexines.
I keep watching until we enter the atmosphere, and then once again, my feet sink further into the deck, and my bones bear more of my flesh. It’s nice to feel my full weight again.
Mathias says Lord Neith’s court is “high church,” very formal and ritualistic, and it would be a serious misstep for Cancer’s Guardian to show up in a Libran uniform. I know why he’s really saying it, so I go back to my quarters to change into my blue Zodai suit. The refresher has finished with it, and the fabric is crisp and fresh. I slip it on, and my fingers trace the embroidered moons on the sleeve. I miss the sisters.