I’m relieved she’s fighting back. Because now I can tell her everything I think.
“You ruin everyone you touch,” I say, the blackness within me rising to my surface, like it’s eager to come up and breathe fresh air. “You think I had the worst of it? I lived—I moved to the moon, I made best friends, I became Holy Mother of a House I’ve always loved and belonged to. But what about Dad and Stan?”
Her face looks like it did the first time I brought up Gamba. Like I’ve found another of her weaknesses.
“You ruined their lives. Neither one of them ever got over your abandonment. You forced Stan to grow up too soon by making him head of the house, and you left Dad in a stunted state he never shook off. And now they’re both dead, and they never even got to live for themselves, and that’s on you.”
I missed this anger. It swirls in my chest like a tonic to numb my pain, and it hardens every part of me until I don’t have to feel anything else. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep it in place. I’ll stay angry forever if that’s what it takes.
“You’re right,” she says, her face pale and blue eyes overly bright. “I have a lot to answer for, but those are my sins to carry—not yours.”
She reminds me of Hysan. No one can ever get to know either of them because they’re ensconced in secrets, and they refuse to see how the things they keep hidden affect those around them.
“I know our relationship is beyond repair,” she says, standing up. “Even if you forgive me—and whatever your feelings on the matter at this moment, I know your heart, and I know you won’t hold on to this anger forever—I still doubt you would like me. We’re very different people, you and I. That indestructible heart of yours will beat again, and it will lead you to true happiness, something I myself will probably never experience.”
If this were a holo-show, she and I would probably be crying and forgiving each other by now, like we started to do on Pisces. But real life isn’t scripted by writers—it’s written by us. And our own conclusions are far less satisfying.
Stan died before he got to live for himself.
Deke and Nishi died before they got to live for each other.
And in seven days, when the first ship goes through the portal, the whole Zodiac is going to die—unless we can find the exact spot where Ophiuchus crashed to mortality more than three millennia ago, on a planet no one has ever seen and that might be completely uninhabitable.
“I’m so grateful you’re nothing like me,” she says, coming closer, “because even if you don’t believe me, I will always care for you and want what’s best for you.”
She stops when she’s standing over me. “This blessing is overdue, as you outgrew your childhood long ago. But despite all my failings, I am still your mother, and you are still Cancrian, so I owe you at least this much.”
She closes her eyes and touches my forehead, just as Agatha did the day of my swearing-in ceremony as Holy Mother.
“May you remember the worlds of yesterday, may you transform the worlds of tomorrow, and may you unite our worlds today.”
? ? ?
When we enter the atmosphere of Libra’s lemon-yellow planet, Kythera, we land on the smallest of the floating silver bubbles, the one that houses the International Village.
We dock on the rooftop landing pad of the Libran embassy. I don’t see Hysan again until we disembark, and then I do a double take.
He’s shaved his face and brushed his hair back, and there’s a bitter determination on his face that reminds me of when he stood up to Aquarius in the Cathedral.
We follow him down an elevator to the hotel’s black-and-white lobby. The place is startlingly empty, and the few Librans who are here all glare at Hysan, their expressions ranging from distrusting to disdainful. Yet Hysan holds his head high and meets their eyes. I wonder how soon before they strip him of his Guardianship.
The next person the Librans’ eyes jump to is Ophiuchus, whose height eclipses every human in sight. He might be less powerful now, but he’ll always be undoubtedly supernatural.
Hysan guides us to the exit, and as soon as we step outside, I stop moving.
There must be at least ten thousand Zodai gathered here, donning their House uniforms. There’s no weather inside Libra’s flying cities, so the Plenum meets outside, on an elevated stage, in the center of the round village—and atop the elevated platform are all the House Guardians and Plenum Ambassadors.
I finally force myself forward on the cushiony, plexifoam ground, and this time Hysan falls back, along with the rest of my friends, leaving me in the lead.
The clouds above look woolly green through the city’s transparent skin. A path parts for us in the crowd, and hands reach out to touch me as I go; I think we could all use the tactile reassurance that this moment is really happening.
The scene around me isn’t color coded: Zodai aren’t standing in front of their own embassies, among their own people—they’re intermixed, like a tapestry woven with rainbow threads.
Once we’re closer to the stage, I spot Ezra and Gyzer standing by the steps, awaiting us. I’m relieved to see they look unharmed and resolute. Gyzer steadies me as I climb up the stairs, and it’s only when I feel his firm grip on my elbow that I realize I’m trembling.
He lets go when I get to the stage because Brynda and Rubi engulf me in their arms, and I’m grateful for their armor. When they pull back to look at me, Brynda’s amber eyes and cinnamon skin remind me so much of Nishi that I can’t catch my breath.
“I’m sorry,” she says, and tears skate down her face. “I’m so sorry.”
“Me, too,” says Rubi, and when I turn to look at her, I’m stunned to see how much more she’s aged since I last saw her. She still has a prepubescent figure, but her features have grown lined and heavy, reflecting the truth: She’s an elderly woman in a child’s body.
Time seems to be speeding up for her, probably because she’s no longer undergoing the cell regeneration procedures. And I recognize the look in her deep, tunnel-like eyes: After over three centuries here, she’s ready to join her brother in Empyrean.
“I know it feels like you’ve lost him,” she says, squeezing my hand, “but he’s part of you. And when it gets so loud here that you can’t hear his voice, just do what I do . . . visit the stars. He’s up there, you know.”
Even her voice and demeanor seem to have matured, and I nod in acknowledgment because it’s the most I’m capable of doing right now.
Next to greet me is Sage Ferez. His hundred years of life make him look as frail as he is wise, and I can’t help hoping that he isn’t planning on coming with us.