Moira’s is a benevolent dictatorship. She is a passive monarch who allows her people to police themselves and only interferes when cases are brought before her.
Given their controlling natures, Virgos find it impossible to submit to someone else’s command. So Moira ensures that every household has access to food, water, housing, and education, but she allows her people to make their own decisions about all other aspects of their lives. She has only two commands: Everyone must contribute in some capacity to growing grain, and no Virgo will interfere with the pursuit of happiness of any other.
I’m standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the ripped pocket of my suit so that it’s not as noticeable, when there’s a knock on my compartment.
“Your gentleman-in-waiting, my lady.”
A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and as I reach for the door, I spy my expression in the mirror’s reflection. I’m so startled by the sudden flush in my cheeks and brightness in my eyes that I hesitate—it’s scary how someone I’ve just met can change so much about me, from my mood to my physical appearance.
When I open the door, Hysan scans me up and down, and a light flashes from the golden bloom in his eye.
“Did you just take a picture?”
“A remembrance of your loveliness,” he says as he walks inside the cabin.
Bubbles of conflicting emotions rise within me. The feelings bump into each other like Libran cities, bouncing through my body and confusing my thoughts, as I turn to face him. “Sometimes you make it very hard for me to picture you as a Guardian.”
He stands closer to me than usual, and I realize I like him best as he’s dressed now, in the plain gray coveralls. It sets him apart from the stuffy members of his court.
“But I’m the perfect Libran,” he says, counting off each word on his fingers. “Cordial, graceful, nonviolent, and, of course, endowed with a massive . . . intelligence.”
We both burst into embarrassed laughter and look away. I’ve never met anyone like him before. Maybe that’s a stupid thing to say because I’ve never met another Libran . . . but I have a feeling they’re not all like him. The fact he was made Guardian at age eleven proves that.
“What do your parents do?” I ask.
“I’m an orphan. I never knew my parents.”
It takes me a moment to react to the news. On Cancer, the Matriarchs make sure every child has a home. Growing up without parents would be awful, but to be made Guardian at eleven while forced to hide behind an android, all without a family’s support . . . I can’t even imagine what kind of childhood that must have been.
“I’m sorry,” I murmur, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. The moment our skin makes contact, electricity sparks through me, and I pull my hand back.
“You’re sweet, my lady.” Hysan leans a few microscopic degrees closer. “It really wasn’t as depressing as it sounds. I was raised by our household robot, Miss Trii.”
As usual, I’m not sure if Hysan is being serious. “Miss Trii?”
His eyes lose focus, like he’s staring into the distance of memory. “What a terror she was . . . until I discovered how to disassemble her. Once I reverse-engineered her central processor, life was good.”
I hold back laughter. “’Nox, Neith, Miss Trii . . . have you ever had any human friends?”
He lowers his voice and grows serious. “Just you.”
The urge to laugh disappears as a stronger impulse suffocates our conversation. His eyes travel down my face, and I clear my throat. “A-are we friends?”
“I hope so,” he says softly, gazing at my lips. “I would hate myself if I’ve done anything to put you off.”
He’s so close his leaf-green irises alternately swirl like air and harden into stone. I still don’t know what to make of him. “Tell me why you really came to my swearing-in ceremony.”
His eyes move up from my mouth to meet mine. “I guess I wanted a friend,” he says, a different expression coming over him, one I don’t recognize. “It’s hard, being pushed into a role that defines you before you’ve had a chance to define yourself. I thought you’d understand.”
It’s only now I realize I’ve been avoiding being alone with him. The last time we spoke privately like this was on the way to Gemini, when he wore a similarly unprotected look on his face. I like it now as much as I did then.
“Why do you run from me?” he whispers.
Librans like to be liked, and they’re good at reading faces—after all, every performer wants an engaged audience. But Hysan is so perceptive that at times it borders on clairvoyance. “I’m not running, it’s just . . .”
“The Taboo?” For the first time, Hysan’s face looks fully naked. There’s no centaur smile or cocky expression for him to hide behind. He’s . . . vulnerable. In a lower voice, he asks, “Or Mathias?”