Zodiac (Zodiac, #1)(30)
“May your inner light always shine,” she whispers, “and may it guide us through our darkest nights.”
I use my napkin to dab the tears from my face. “Thank you.”
A flurry of waiters materializes, and our plates are filled with all kinds of exotic foods. Many dishes have been brought by our guests, so there are specialties from across the Zodiac. I’m only midway through my dinner and about to reach for the Libran fried larks when Admiral Crius makes me part with my plate. He moves me to a small table in a semi-blocked-off corner of the dining hall. I’m now supposed to sit here and meet privately with representatives from each House of the Zodiac.
Up first is the representative from House Capricorn. Guardian Ferez sent his Wildlife Advisor to meet with me, a man dressed in a black robe, the traditional clothes of their House.
Capricorns are considered the wisest people in the universe—as well as the tallest and shortest: Half the population looks like Advisor Riggs—tall, soulful, dark-skinned—while the other half is short, talkative, and ruddy-complexioned.
After we exchange the hand touch, Advisor Riggs tells me House Capricorn is transporting an ark with a team of scientists to aid us in our marine-life rescue efforts. He doesn’t bother to sit down. The whole exchange probably lasts less than a minute.
I meet with the Virgo Advisor next, who does sit. She tells me Empress Moira—who’s also the Zodiac’s foremost Psy expert—has dispatched twelve ships of grain to our House. I’m still in shock at Virgo’s generosity when the Advisor hands me a note from Moira herself, who was close friends with Mother Origene.
Please bid my reverent farewell to your beloved Holy Mother. Origene’s compassion taught me the meaning of friendship.Knowing her has honored me, and her loss leaves a void in the soul of the Zodiac.
While I’m reading the note, a new representative takes the Virgo Advisor’s seat. I don’t look up until I’m finished, and then I see the Libran envoy. Close up, his smile is more of a crooked smirk. The kind that makes it hard not to smirk back . . . and also the kind that makes a guy seem too pleased with himself.
Nishi would call it a centaur smile. It’s a Sagittarian expression for a guy who uses his charm and good looks to distract a girl from his less appealing side.
“You’re young,” I blurt, surprising myself by giving in to a combative impulse.
“I thought you’d be tired of hearing that by now, my lady.” The Libran’s voice is warm and playful, the type that sounds the same when it’s serious and when it’s not.
The stronger my urge to smile, the graver I make my expression—so I’m practically glaring when I ask, “Did Lord Neith send you because you’re my age?”
“He didn’t send me, my lady.” His piercing, leaf-green eyes are so lively, they seem to be holding their own conversation with mine. “I volunteered.”
He offers me his hand for the traditional touch, and balling my fingers into a fist, I reach across the table. Then he presses a soft kiss on my skin.
Shocked, I inhale sharply and mumble something that sounds too much like “Ohrrgh” to have been anything else. My blood buzzes where his mouth touched me, as if his lips were bathed in Abyssthe.
“My name is Hysan Dax, and I’ve come to deliver a tanker of fuel, a gift from Lord Neith and House Libra.”
As he rises to go, I snap to my feet, too. “Why did you volunteer?”
Hysan stares at me, his expression growing serious—or as serious as it probably gets. When the flashy outfit, blond-white locks, and symmetrical dimples fade, I spy something else in his eyes . . . secrets. Lots of them.
“I saw a new star rising in the Zodiac, blazing so bright it burned blackness.” He moves close enough to drop his voice to a whisper. “I wanted to see if the blaze was real . . . or just a trick of the light.”
I feel my face getting hot, and I wonder if the golden glow of Hysan’s skin radiates warmth, like Helios, or if the heat is in his words. “And what’s your verdict?” I ask, even though Nishi would say I shouldn’t flirt with boys who smirk like that.
“I’ve never seen its rival.”
His lips twist into his centaur smile again, and this time I can’t resist returning it. “I’m at your service, my lady.” He bows deeply. “Always.”
When he leaves, a representative from Taurus takes his place. He has to introduce himself twice to get my attention. Their Guardian promises a line of credit to help us rebuild our floating pod cities.
When all the representatives have left, only the Matriarchs remain. Now that the Houses have donated what resources they can, the Council and I must distribute them among the Matriarchs. Even though our House is ruled by consensus, the Guardian has sovereignty regarding all matters involving the other Houses, which extends to emergency relief contributions.
The dining hall has cleared out, and Admiral Crius gathers us at one of the round tables. Only my top Advisors stay for this meeting—Crius, Agatha, Dr. Eusta, and Mathias.
All twelve Matriarchs are in attendance. Two passed away in the tragedy and have already been replaced with the next-eldest Mothers in their family lines. Mother Lea from the low-lying Meadow Islands is the most outspoken of the group. Her lands were submerged by waves, which overloaded their sea-oat fields with salt.
Cancer’s only pure water comes from rain cisterns and desalination vats. A lot of people depend on the grain from the Meadow fields, but they need fresh water to rinse away the excess salt—and their cisterns are full of brine, their desalination vats washed away in the flood. Mother Lea jabs her finger at the tablecloth. “There’s no time to rebuild the vats. If we don’t plant our oats this month, we’ll miss an entire harvest. Holy Mother, we need five tanker ships of fresh water.”