“Kill the butcher! Kill the butcher!”
The chant echoes through the Geminin group. Then, to my amazement, it spreads like fire through the entire crowd.
I can’t believe how fast terror can turn the tide of public opinion. Suddenly everyone believes in the boogeyman.
“He can strike anywhere, anytime!” Rubidum shouts above the noise. “He’ll destroy us all unless we act. We cannot sit still.”
When the frenzy reaches a crescendo, Rubidum drops the staff with a clatter and raises both hands to the sky. “Friends, we were wrong to ban Rho Grace from this Plenum. She was the only one who foresaw this foe. We need her on our side.”
The students begin to chant my name, and to my shock, over half the audience joins in. Overhead, the holograms echo the chant like crashing cymbals.
“Rho! Rho! Rho!”
I was willing to sacrifice my life just to convince the Zodiac of Ophiuchus’s existence. Now that they believe, I should be thrilled . . . only I’m not. Something about this feels wrong.
Reason hasn’t converted them—the fervor of the room has.
Albor Echus begs for order, swinging his robes of fur, and Neith pounds the lectern with his fist. “Shall we call back Mother Rho?”
“Yes!” the people thunder. “Call her back! Bring back Mother Rho!”
“Now,” whispers Hysan. “Unveil.”
All three of us switch off our collars, and when we pop into view, the audience’s reaction makes me lightheaded.
Our magic trick has them on their feet, giving us a rousing standing ovation, and from all over the arenasphere micro-cameras zoom toward me. The colors and lights and flashes and shouts and sounds—it’s all overwhelming.
Small arms embrace me. I look down and see Rubidum. “We’re placing our faith in you, Rho. Bring this monster to justice.”
Now I realize what a grave mistake I’ve made.
I let these people believe I’m more than a whistleblower—that I actually have a plan for defeating someone who can turn our own particles of air against us.
I’m not in the military. I’m not a qualified Zodai. I can’t lead an army. As the cheers rise louder, Neith hands me the speaker’s staff. But for the first time, I have no idea what to say.
My speeches never went beyond pleas to unify the Houses . . . and now it’s done. I’ve accomplished what I set out to do—I’ve sounded the alarm, the very thing Ochus threatened to kill me for attempting. The whole point of joining forces with the other Houses was so I could share the quest for justice—not lead it.
At my silence, Rubidum raises her voice. “House Gemini will outfit forty war ships to crush the butcher. Who’ll join me?”
Ear-splitting cheers erupt from the audience.
“We will!” shouts the amber-eyed Guardian of Sagittarius. I remember her face from the newsfeeds two years ago, when she was named Guardian at just twenty-one years old. “We’ll send tankers.”
“Capricorn will send arks,” their ambassador announces.
The Taurian Guardian shouts, “We’ll supply weapons!”
War ships? Ammunition? Is that what we need?
There’s no stopping the spread of battle frenzy now. Leo’s Leader—who was once the most famous leading man in Zodiac cinema until the stars chose him to lead—pumps his fist in the air. “Our House will send a cruiser!”
When Lord Neith takes up the staff again, he says, “House Libra will provide Psy shields for every ship. The enemy will never see us coming.”
With a broad sweep of his hand, he tosses hundreds of cristobalite beads into the air. People in the audience fight each other to catch them. He tosses more and more, making sure to shower the Guardians and ambassadors. “Personal shields. Contact the Libran embassy for more,” he booms, tossing another handful.
So this is how Hysan kept his promise. A bead bounces off my shoulder, and I scoop it up. “Brilliant,” I tell him. Hysan’s lips hitch up in a subdued smile.
Neith empties his pouch and flings the last handful of beads into the air. “We’re manufacturing more, enough for every House.”
Now all the Guardians, ambassadors, and aides-de-camp are moving their lips furiously, speaking through the Psy. If Ochus hasn’t noticed us yet, he must surely hear this buzz now. He’ll know we’re coming. We’ll have to be stealthy in our planning.
Before I know what I’m doing, I’m addressing the crowd. “Fellow Guardians, every House is a target.” The whole arenasphere goes silent.
“Please take these shields and hurry home to defend your planets. Charge your Zodai to watch the stars. Go over emergency procedures with your people. And above all, open the lines of communication with the other Houses.”
Everyone looks around, like they’re just noticing their neighbors. The audience looks like a color-coded population map: Most wear their House colors and sit only with their own.
“We are each other’s best chance against Ophiuchus. He’s worked hard to keep hidden and has gone to great lengths to keep you from believing my words. He wants us divided. It’s worked for him before. I want to read you something, a Cancrian children’s classic. It’s called ‘Beware Ochus’.”
The Cancrians in the crowd cheer as from memory, I recite:
Once upon a Guardian Star,
When the Zodiac was new,
A Serpent stole in from afar,
And trouble began to brew.
Twelve Houses fell in disarray,
Until the Snake drew their focus.
Their discord he promised to allay,
He told them his true name was Ochus.
Trust in him the Houses did,
But cross them he would in the end.
Their greatest magic Ochus hid,
A wound even time could not mend.
Now we guard against his return,
For before setting off he did warn us,
To one day see our Zodiac burn,
So now we must all Beware Ochus
By the second verse, holographic versions of the poem fill the arenasphere, and everyone is reading out loud with me. When we’ve reached the end, I say, “Making us turn against each other worked for him in the past, but it won’t anymore.”
Voices shout in approval. “Each of us excels at a different skill that ensures our universe’s survival. We were meant to use our abilities together, as a unit, not to distrust each other and keep secrets. Ophiuchus knows how strong we are when we work together. That’s why he’d do anything to keep us apart. Let’s show him he’s right to fear a united Zodiac.”
A slow storm of applause begins to build. “Let’s show him that together, we’re undefeatable.”
The crowd is on their feet, and there’s no calming them now. I don’t know where the strength came from. It was like my nurturing instinct, my impulse to protect my home and loved ones, just extended to the entire Zodiac.
Watching us, I realized how vulnerable we are, how disconnected, and I saw something I could do to help. So I just . . . acted.
Even though I’m Guardian, I’ve never considered myself a leader. I thought that in order to lead, you first had to have a plan. But sometimes leading is about keeping people together when there is no plan. When there’s only the will to survive in the face of invincible evil.
Hysan reels me in for a tight hug. “Rho Grace, Guardian of the Zodiac,” he says, surreptitiously kissing my cheek. “You’re a star.”
Mathias reaches for me next, but just then Rubidum grabs my hand and whirls me around to face the audience again. “Trust in Guardian Rho!” they chant.
She raises a fistful of beads and shouts above the noise. “I nominate Rho Grace to lead our armada!”
The audience roars its approval. Alarmed, I pull away and shake my head in refusal, even wave my arms.
But no
body wants to see it. They’ve already decided.
“Let us elect Mother Rho by acclamation!” joins in Neith.
I turn and see Mathias behind me. “Mathias, make this stop. I can’t lead an armada. I barely even know what that is!”
He offers me his arm, and I hold on. “They’re panicked,” he says. “They’re not thinking.” His bicep hardens under my hand.
“Whose idea was this?” I ask Hysan when he comes over.
“Don’t you see what’s happened? You’ve given everyone hope, Rho,” he says, his face shining with light. “You’ve been Guardian of Cancer three weeks, and you’ve done what no one’s been able to do in centuries—you brought the Zodiac together.”
He wraps my hand in both of his, and on my other side, Mathias tenses. “I’ve known since I first saw you at your swearing-in, and I’ve felt it these past few weeks in your presence, watching you with leaders from every House: Your light blazes too bright to be contained in one constellation.”
His eyes have never been bigger or greener. “You’re destined to be a guiding star not of one world, but all of them. If not you, who?”
Albor Echus stands and calls for order. The ambassadors must have finished their discussion. “The Plenum has voted. We appoint Holy Mother Rhoma Grace of the Fourth House to lead our united fleet.”
The faces in the audience shine starry bright. My breathing races, and I feel dizzy. I steal a sideways look at Mathias. He and I are the only people onstage who aren’t smiling.
I stare at the audience again. I was willing to give my life to stop Ochus. I can’t hold back now.
“I accept.”
35
AN ARMADA, IT TURNS OUT, is a fleet of warships.
I have to learn these things quickly because the strategizing begins right after the vote, when I’m swept off the stage by Ambassador Morscerta and whisked into a meeting with all the Guardians and ambassadors. They debate for eleven straight hours, dividing responsibilities among the Houses and nominating Zodai to lead the various charges. Just like my meetings on Oceon 6, I mainly spend the time listening and answering questions.
The next few days are a blur of these gatherings, sometimes with everyone at the hippodrome, sometimes with the Lodestars at the embassy, sometimes with other ambassadors at the village. Sirna moved me into one of the bungalows, so I only see Mathias and Hysan for small snippets of time—a quick bite here, a joint meeting there—but mostly, we’re each working on our own tasks. Hysan’s outsourced the production of Psy shields to a factory on Aries, and he’s now pulling on his vast network of people he’s met in his travels across the solar system to raise resources fast. Meanwhile, Mathias is training our Lodestars for combat.
Early on it becomes clear that my function as the armada’s leader is to be more mascot than mastermind—and I’m not complaining. I’m relieved there are better-suited people at the helm, but I wish the twelve Admirals would invite me to their military meetings about the operation. Every time I ask to attend, they insist I focus on the metaphysical battle—my part—and leave the physical one to them. I know they’re probably right, but I just want to be sure we’re ready.
Ochus must know we have a plan, and he’s already proven he’s an extraordinary Seer. Even if we’re veiled from him, I want to know we’ve thought through every possibility.
• • •
The night before we launch our attack, the ambassadors plan a universal celebration in the village. It’s a revival of the Helios’s Halo festival.
The festival is an old Zodiac tradition from before the Trinary Axis. The Houses used to come together to celebrate the Zodiac’s top star, Helios, on the one day a year her flames were predicted to burn brightest. The celebration took place at night, under a ghostly sun: The day’s light would linger long after sunset, forming a phantom ring where it once shone, an effect dubbed Helios’s Halo.
No one’s seen Helios’s Halo since the final festival. Even though it’s obvious why the Guardians stopped celebrating it, no one knows why the actual effect stopped happening, not even Capricorn’s scientists. Piscenes believe Helios is punishing us for our divisiveness. While getting ready for the festival, I ask Sirna what she thinks.
She pauses painting my lips, letting her sea-blue gaze drift, and says, “I think it’s because we don’t look up as much as we used to.” I ponder what that means while she and Amanta finish styling me to their liking.
By the time they deem me ready, the festival has been under way for an hour. I walk outdoors and see people and holo-ghosts packing the village streets, gathering in front of every embassy, sitting at round tables, dancing, talking, eating, and mingling. The inter-market in the main square has been converted into a free food zone, and the line of people waiting winds around the whole village.
I keep to the bungalow’s shadow and cast my gaze across the black-walled enclosure, trying to spot Hysan or Mathias in the crowd. I hope they have an easier time recognizing me than I do.
Amanta styled my hair in an updo, leaving just a few curls free to frame my face, and Sirna added the silver Cancrian coronet. The dress she picked out for me is a sapphire sheet of satin that curves around my shape like cascading water. It falls a few inches above my knees, and the back dips down to my waist, revealing the slope of my spine.
“Trust in Guardian Rho” by Drowning Diamonds begins blasting from a holographic screen, and I see some university students petting Leo’s lions start cheering and belting the lyrics. Watching the video of my band performing on campus makes me think of the Lunar Quadract. I can almost remember taking Abyssthe, setting up my drums, goofing around with my friends . . . but the memory is nebulous, like it’s underwater, along with everything else I’ve lost.
The Rho I was then feels inaccessible to me now.
I hear soft steps behind me and turn to see Mathias. His eyes travel up to mine, and I realize he was studying the slip of my back. Awkwardness reddens his cheeks, then spreads to mine, too.
“You look like home,” he says, offering me his arm.
When he’s close, I catch a hint of sweet-smelling liqueur in his breath. The sight of his fresh trimmed hair and royal blue suit takes me back to the moment before my swearing-in ceremony, when my first crush finally noticed me. It’s hard to recall the innocence of that feeling when we’re no longer those same people. “So do you,” I say, looping my arm through his.
This is the first non-war-related moment we’ve had, and my body’s already reminding me that I haven’t told him about Hysan yet. Thoughts of battle kept my guilt at bay before, but now the old squirm in my stomach has resurfaced.
We cross the plank to join the rest of the festival, and I peer out at the faces, searching for Hysan’s. The crowd is in the high hundreds, and bodies continue to pour out from every embassy. I’ve never heard of the Houses coming together like this in recent history.
“If the stars had shown me this picture a week ago,” I say, “I wouldn’t have believed them.”
Mathias furrows his brow as we orbit the crowd. “On the other hand, if they showed you an immortal mythical monster bent on the Zodiac’s destruction . . .”
I laugh, and after the past few days, the reflex feels foreign. “Did you just make a joke?” I ask in awe. He cracks a toothy smile that fills his whole face with light, and now I come to a complete stop. “Lodestar Mathias Thais, is that a smile?”
His shoulders curve in a little—his stiff stance noticeably looser tonight—and his sweet-scented breath sweeps my skin. “Catch me on a week when we’re not about to be mass murdered, and I might surprise you.”
His indigo eyes are bright and closer to me than usual. Being friendly with Mathias should feel soothing, not unsettling—yet somehow my feelings for him seemed clearer when we were arguing.
We get jostled by the growing crowd, and Mathias steers me clear of their foot-stomping an
d elbow-jabbing. The village keeps filling up with more people, and just like when the Cancer Sea’s tide rises, we’re forced to seek higher ground. Wherever we go, I scan the surrounding faces for Hysan.
The Piscene embassy is on a hill, so we climb up to join the sparser groups gathering on its front lawn. The embassy—a crystal temple with curving corners—is lit up and teeming with people inside. Through its semitransparent walls, their bodies look like shadows.
Now that we have a relative bit of privacy, Mathias gently releases my arm and turns to face me. “Could we . . . talk?”
There’s a quiver in his question that’s an off-key note in his musical voice. The sound sings to something deep within me, and I realize whatever’s weighing down Mathias, I can’t hear it until I’ve come clean about Hysan. I don’t want to lie to him, not ever again, and especially not about this.
“I think we should,” I say quickly, before I can think the words over too much. “But I need to tell you something first.”
A Piscene Acolyte in a floor-length silver veil approaches us with a tray of hot pink drinks. She doesn’t even look at me after she’s seen Mathias. “Seaberry liqueur?” she asks him.
He shakes his head. Instead of leaving, she sidles closer and jingles a pocket within her veil. It makes a tinkling noise like glass bottles touching. “Or perhaps you’d prefer some Kappa-Opioid . . . ?”
“Kappa what?” I ask, adding volume to my voice to prove my presence.
“Not that junk again, Pisces!”
A brusque Taurian Acolyte in an olive green Academy uniform storms over and yanks on the girl’s arm. Hot pink liqueur dribbles down the side of the flute glasses on her tray. “Do you even realize who you’re offering drugs to, Spacey?”
“It’s Lacey,” snaps the Piscene girl, wrenching her arm free. “I’ve told you so ten times, Taurian! And it’s not a drug, it’s a pathway to the stars—”
“Will you two cut it out already,” says an Aquarian Acolyte holding an empty tray. She looks at Mathias and me, on the verge of apologizing for her companions—and then squeals instead.