“Each of us is made up of millions of memories,” says Ferez slowly, his tone tender. “In any given moment, a person is only showing one fleeting side of themselves. No matter how much we think we might know or love or be able to predict someone’s actions, we will never see them clearly unless we appreciate their full potential, their many sides. Even the sides we’re afraid we won’t like.”
I can’t help thinking of Hysan. I’ve completely messed things up between us. Maybe he’s right, and I was too afraid to love him. It was Mom’s last lesson, after all. She taught me to believe in my fears.
“I’d like to record a Snow Globe of my experiences,” I hear myself announce.
Sage Ferez smiles. “It would be an honor to house your memories, Wandering Star.”
36
AFTER MY MEETING WITH FEREZ, I join Stanton on Verity’s shore, and we look out at the ocean. In the distance, we hear hammering as Capricorns fix the part of the Zodiax that was destroyed.
The Cancrians on our settlement pass me with nods, bows, and smiles. So far, they’ve given my brother and me our space, but I can tell that won’t last long. Ever since we’ve returned, there’s been a new energy here. Something’s happening . . . the onset of change.
But while the rest of the Zodiac seems ready to move forward, Stanton has reverted to his moody ways from a month ago. The only times he ever pulls out of it are when Jewel’s around. “Stan, talk to me,” I say after a long silence.
“I just can’t believe how blind I was,” he says with a sigh.
“We both were.”
“I miss him, Rho.” He won’t meet my eyes.
“I miss him, too. But it’s not really him we miss . . . it’s the mask he was wearing. We never knew him, Stan.” I think of the pale-faced, dark-eyed boy in his cave. Whoever Grey was, he doesn’t exist anymore. Neither does red-haired, sunburnt Aryll.
“I need to show you something,” I tell my brother, keeping my voice low so none of the Cancrians on the settlement behind us will overhear.
Stanton’s gaze finally breaks away from the water, and he looks at me, his eyebrows pulled together. “What is it?”
“I wasn’t sure if you’d noticed at the Geminin embassy, but Aryll threw something at me before running away.” I produce the black seashell from my pocket and hold it out on my palm.
Stanton stares from me to the shell and back to me with wide, glassy eyes. He doesn’t seem to know how to react. Finally he just whispers, “How, Rho?”
“Before you and Mathias arrived, Aryll told me that you and I grew up motherless for a reason. Made it sound like the master saw me coming even then.”
“But does that mean—is she—?”
“Alive?” I shrug. “I don’t know. But if we find the master—”
The sunny day suddenly darkens, the way it does when the House-wide lunch call blares, except that’s not for another hour.
We look up at the slivers of light in the sky. They turn into letters, which spell:
NEWS.
Stanton and I jump up and join the Cancrians who are now gathering around a holographic newscast in the middle of the settlement. Jewel runs up and joins us, her frizzy curls and chestnut skin shining in the sun. Stanton rests a comforting hand on her shoulder.
A somber Capricorn newscaster in black robes is reporting from deep within the Zodiax, the brown Seagoat symbol suspended behind him. “We have just received word of a massive explosion on the Piscene planetoid Alamar. All Piscene communications have been knocked out.”
Everything within me feels jittery and unsteady, as if I’ve inhaled a breath of Psynergy rather than air. This is the Marad’s payback for Squary.
Ochus was right: The master has found a loophole to escape our galaxy’s forecast. As long as only he knows what’s coming, the future can’t be predicted. He isn’t just killing our planets and our people; he’s also destroying the astral plane. No realm is safe from his reach. Every day he stays out there, the bonds holding the Zodiac together break further apart. Every moment we’re not searching for the master is a moment he’s using to plot more murders.
We have to act.
Now.
The reporter is talking about the army and recounting all the latest news stories: the discovery of the weapon on Squary, the captured Riser soldiers, and my return to the Plenum on Taurus. I pull out my Wave and start making a list of every person I’ve met on every House since leaving the Crab constellation, from those I spoke to for only a moment to those who have fought beside me since day one.
I’m following my own advice and opening my lines of communication with people from every House—because our universe is going to war. After I’ve run out of names, I compose a new message, just to Hysan and Mathias:
Whatever else you might mean to me, you are my best friends and allies. I know I’ve made mistakes, and I’ll face them when this is over. But if we want to have a future at all, our present needs to be about stopping the master. Our problems can wait—but the Zodiac’s won’t. Please meet me on Tierre so we can finish this together.
Once Stanton’s gone to sleep, late into the night I sit up in bed and turn on Vecily’s Ephemeris. I was going to get myself a new one in the Zodiax, but Ferez insisted I hold on to Vecily’s for now. As I stare into the star map’s pinpricks of light, I feel a frosty wind of warning seconds before Ochus’s full form blooms into being before me.
You survived.
I glare at his hulking body as it looms larger, until he’s three times my size. Barely.
You made me a promise, he reminds me. The coldness emanating from him is so strong that goose bumps sprout on my skin.
Yes. First I find the master, I say, keeping my frigid breaths shallow. Then I set you free.
He begins to shrink down, and I’m relieved to see time taking its toll on him—until I realize it isn’t. The move is deliberate.
When we’re face to face, his black-hole eyes latch onto mine with icy intensity. Now I want another promise from you.
What? I snap. You want another favor, after getting my friends killed—
Tell the Zodiac to show the Marad mercy.
I blink. My anger gets swallowed in my confusion, and I don’t know what to say.
They are only brainwashed children, after all, he adds, as if the explanation helps. But it only confuses me further.
Since when do you care about anyone but yourself?
Ophiuchus grows bigger again. I care about my House.
What does that have to do with the army?
You can’t really be this closed-minded, can you, crab? Where do you think Risers came from?
What are you—
They are descendants of the Thirteenth House.
The cold realization spikes my blood, freezing me from within, until everything about me is bitter and raw and stinging.
Most Ophiuchans went down with our world, but some assimilated into other Houses when ours was taken from us. His form begins to fracture and fade, like millions of ice particles breaking off in slow motion, getting sucked into a vortex. Look after my children, Cancrian. His voice echoes as he vanishes. And I will help you look after yours.
When he disappears, warmth returns to the air, but it doesn’t penetrate my skin. I pull away from my Center and start settling back into my own body, when another vision appears.
I steady myself in the jittery Psy once more, trying to hang on for another moment, long enough to read this new omen.
It’s my face in the stars again. I gasp, thinking of Grey or Aryll or whoever he is now. Am I destined to repeat his fate? Am I a descendant of House Ophiuchus?
But before my features shift from Cancrian to Aquarian, I notice something new in the lines of my brow, the curve of my nose. Something I hadn’t noticed in any of the other visions.
It isn’t my face.
Not exactly.
The cheekbones rise a little higher, and her hair is a lighter shade of blond. When the shift begins, I notice that the woman seems to be about twenty years older than me.
As she morphs into an alabaster-white Aquarian, her lips part as if she wants to speak, but no sound comes out.
I pull the black seashell from my pocket, the force of my pulse bruising my chest, and I stretch my hand toward the holographic vision.
Mom?
THE END OF BOOK TWO
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
WHEN THE STARS KNOCK US down, we rise up and defy them. And when we can’t lift ourselves, we lean on our friends and family. Thank you:
To Liz Tingue, that wondrously wonderful Sagittarian who is the Nishi to my Rho, and the Rho to my Nishi: Thank you is a gross understatement. I owe you too much gold for this friendship to be a fair trade.
To Ben Schrank, Casey McIntyre, Marissa Grossman, Kristin Smith, and the rest of the Razorbill team: The stars smiled upon this Virgo when you welcomed her into your magical universe. Thank you for two stellar adventures—I can’t wait for our third.
To her Excellency, the goddess Vanessa Han, for the best covers in thirteen universes. You, my lady, are an inspiration.
To Laura Rennert, my perfect literary partner and magnificent mentor: I am so happy to be working with you and so grateful for your warmth, wisdom, and brilliant guidance.
To Jay Asher, a friend to all: Thank you for existing. (Signed, everybody.)
To the many magic makers at Penguin Random House: Felicia Frazier, Jackie Engel, and the sales team; Emily Romero, Erin Berger, and the marketing team; Kim Ryan and Tony Lutkus; Melinda Quick; and everyone else I’ve had the honor of meeting—you are the best, and I am so, so grateful.
Para Tomás Lambré, Vanesa Florio, y Del Nuevo Extremo: Gracias por hacerme sentir como parte del equipo aunque estemos en países distintos. ¡Espero vernos pronto!
To Scribblers: Lizzie Andrews, who’s about to blow the literary world away; Will Frank, without whom I would’ve given up writing by now; Anne Van, whose wisdom we sorely miss in LA; and Nicole Maggi, my other brain and CP, a writer whose words I always devour, and a master at defying the stars.
To my friends and family across the globe, for your unending stores of love, advice, and encouragement. Cat, Ashley, Robin, Sungmi, Scribblers, Russ, Meli, and especially Mom—I’m so sorry for making you read through every draft of everything I’ve ever finished.
To Desirae, Erin, Tika, Melissa, Julia, Regina, Alyssa, Pavi, and, of course, first fandom founder Nat: You are out-of-this-world spectacular, and I adore our fangirling sessions.
To Andy Garber-Browne, my immeasurably creative and generous Geminin brother: I could fill every page of this book with the words Thank you, and it still wouldn’t be enough.
To Russell Chadwick of House Libra: You are my best friend, my greatest inspiration, and an unknowable universe whose worlds I could spend eternity exploring.
Para mis abuelas, la Baba y la Beba: Dos mujeres más maravillosas serían imposible encontrar. Gracias por cuidarnos, querernos, e inspirarnos. Baba, lo que más felicidad me traería es poder leerte estas palabras en persona.
To Meli, my sister and my heart: You’re the best person I know, the brightest light wherever you go, and I love you more than everything.
Para Papá: Te quiero tanto y te extraño todos los días. Gracias por siempre apoyarme en todo. Cuando Meli y yo éramos chicas, nos decías que todo lo material se puede perder—la plata, las posesiones, las propiedades—pero que nadie nos puede quitar lo que llevamos en la cabeza y en el corazón. Gracias por esa enseñanza tan sabia—nunca la olvidé.
To Mom, the strongest, smartest, and most beautiful woman in my galaxy: Your lifelong love, loyalty, faith, friendship, and support makes me brave enough to face my fears every day. I love you. Thank you for keeping our family together through everything and for being the universe’s most incredible super-parent. You are, and always have been, my muse.
And, of course, to you—Rho’s readers. I’ve loved getting to know so many of you at signings and on social media. You are absolutely the best part of being an author. We read books to know we’re not alone, but I found that out by writing one.
I’ve dedicated Wandering Star to my grandfather, Berek Ladowski, who passed away while I was working on the story. A true Capricorn, he chronicled his whole life in journals: eighty-seven years of memories that I’ve now inherited.
Like Rho, I was grieving through every page of this novel. Writing Wandering Star became an exploration into what my grandfather left behind—a collection of Snow Globes I hope I’m one day wise enough to unlock.
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