All at once, the Flutterbys ascend again, and I feel a thrill of fear and excitement as I realize there’s no floor beneath us—just air. I feel a cool whoosh of wind pressing past us as the tube soars toward the city center. The Flutterby itself is barely visible, so it feels like we’re flying on a zephyr.
Looking around, I realize everyone’s blond here, whether natural or not. Yellow blond, platinum blond, silver-gray blond streaked with gold. Their eyes glisten in shades of green, gray, and quartz, like Lord Neith’s, and a gold star adorns the lower corner of every right iris. They wear a variety of fashions, but they seem to prefer their primary colors—reds, yellows, and blues.
Caasy yanks Hysan’s sleeve to get his attention. “I’ve always wanted to witness Lord Neith read the stars. After all, the Cardinal Houses have outstanding Emphemerii—and as Libra represents Air, his is bound to be extraordinary. Will you ask him to demonstrate his great skill?”
Hysan frowns. “We won’t have time for that.”
Caasy looks genuinely annoyed.
Three people let go of their loops and fall through the sky. I shriek and reach out to grab the closest one, but Hysan calls out, “Don’t—they’re fine, Rho!”
I try asking him where they went, but the air whipping through the tube has grown too loud—we’re now shooting through Aeolus at tremendous speed. In a residential area, we pass towers of flat, circular apartments stacked up like porcelain platters. Abruptly, we bend around a corner, then drop down a thick ceramic deck into an industrial zone full of tanks and pipes and steamy white smoke. More layers rush by as we descend—factories, office districts, theaters, aqueducts. Through every zone, transparent tubes flap their insect wings, speeding gusts of commuters to their urgent destinations. The rapid alternating sights are making me a little seasick.
“Your Center steadies you,” whispers Mathias in my ear.
I close my eyes and think of Dad and Stanton on Kalymnos, putting our sand-and-seashell bungalow back together. The picture of them safe and side by side, surrounded by the blue of the Cancer Sea, does what Mathias said it would—only ever since the attack on our moons, my protective wall has been faulty, and bad thoughts are hitching rides with the good.
I see again how Crius’s face filled with fear as he interrupted the meeting with the Matriarchs to announce an emergency. Then I think of House Pisces’s urgent warning, and of the feeling I had when I faced the Ephemeris and sensed the approach of more storms . . . and war.
“Almost there!” calls Hysan, and I open my eyes. Beneath us, House Libra’s royal court stands next to their parliament at the city’s core—a collection of spiky towers that look like sharp-edged teeth.
“Let go now!” he shouts.
“What?” I blurt, watching in horror as Hysan releases the plexine loop. When Mathias does the same, I let go, too.
The fall starts fast, making my stomach shoot up my throat. Twenty feet from the ground, we slow down, and I open my eyes. The four of us are dropping gently, our bodies swaying like feathers. We land in a cordoned-off area labeled Arrivals.
“Our seat of government,” says Hysan, gesturing at the grand buildings around us.
I have to lean against the wall to catch my breath. The jam-packed tube left me feeling jostled, and one of my side pockets has ripped halfway off in the crowd. At least there are fewer people in this transportation hub.
Breezes rustle through ferny plexine trees, and water trickles down a curving plexine chute. At the far end, Zodai Guards stand at attention in their lemon-yellow uniforms, flanking a pair of tall fluted gates that lead into one of the government buildings.
They stir and squint when we pass, but they can’t quite see us tiptoeing inside. The arched entrance is three stories high, and the antechamber is full of blond-bearded courtiers dressed like Hysan, in rich, stylish clothing. “Veils off,” murmurs Hysan.
We materialize like magic, but the few courtiers who notice us don’t seem at all impressed. Compared to these platinum-blond urbanites in their fancy court suits, Mathias and I must look like peasants. Hysan, however, looks like a fish returning to its rightful school—even if he’s the youngest courtier by far. I watch as he steps up to a kiosk and speaks to a female official who’s working at a smart screen.
He returns a moment later, beaming. The official’s expression sours when she sees him squeeze my arm. “We’ve been granted an audience.”
19
CAASY STAMPS HIS FOOT. “Granted? Helios, please. When the Guardians of two Houses come calling on the same day, your man ought to damn well meet us at the front door.”
Ever the diplomat, Hysan pretends not to hear. “This way.” We follow him through clusters of murmuring courtiers. It seems they’ve just learned who we are, and they’re staring, so I cover my torn pocket.