Zodiac (Zodiac, #1)(44)
His words pull on my memories of Gemini, until it feels as though I’ve lugged Mom’s lessons up from a long way down. “Holograms you can touch,” I say, recalling the mnemonic I’d made up.
“The technology extends the length of the plaza, and it only works when paired with those heavyset glasses. As long as you feel the weight of the glasses on your nose, you know you’re still in the Imaginarium. It’s the only way to keep from going crazy.”
Sounds like a protective measure that falls under the banner of Trust Only What You Can Touch. I scan the childlike people and realize not all of them look like they’re enjoying themselves. Some are crying, others shouting, and a few are running from invisible monsters.
“There are two sides to the imagination,” says Hysan, catching where my gaze has strayed.
“There are two sides to everything,” I say. Only I meant everyone. Maybe I meant Mathias.
Or myself—after all, I never thought I could feel competing emotions for the same person. Or that I could be attracted to two people at the same time.
Mathias looks at me with questions in his indigo eyes. I turn away, hiding my answers.
Hysan leads us forward, toward one peculiar building, different from all the rest. Instead of a globe, this edifice is dull black and cone-shaped, sweeping upward to a sharp point. It’s the tallest building we see, so I think it must be House Gemini’s royal court.
Zodai Guards in Gemini’s orange-colored uniforms flank the entrance, wearing ceremonial swords, their eyes managing to look fierce despite their childlike stature. In our veils, we slip past unnoticed.
Inside, the hall is cool, dim, and quiet. Mathias puts away his field glasses but keeps the silver weapon half-concealed in his palm. He pivots and watches for danger, while Hysan strides ahead, walking like he owns the place.
The vaulted ceiling echoes our footsteps, so we slow down and move quietly. We ride up a moving staircase, then dart along a balcony, peeking in through various doors. Images depicting aspects and characteristics from each House drown the walls and ceiling of each room, rendered in such detail that I could be persuaded this building contains the actual Zodiac—and that each of these doors opens up to our various worlds.
When I look into the room that depicts Cancer, I bite down on my inner lip to avoid crying out. The skyline over the Cancer Sea looks like it always did, our moons like four pearls on a string. The water is clean and roaring, and the pod cities light up the horizon with our gleaming, cascading buildings and sun-bleached streets. From this high up, they look like massive lily pads cradling our Cancrian communities in their palms. It’s not easy closing the door on home.
“You see why I despise this place,” Hysan hisses under his breath as we pass more rooms filled with children who are engaged in some version of playing, cuddling, or fussing. “These people are Gemini’s leading families. Not one of them is less than a hundred years old, yet they behave like toddlers.”
“They seem creative,” I say. After all, we’re in the land of imagination—and I’ve never seen anything like it.
A heavy scent hangs in the air, something fragrant and beguiling. It makes me dizzy and . . . dreamy.
“Don’t breathe too deeply, my lady,” says Hysan, glimpsing the change in my face. “They’re using psychotropic drugs.”
I wonder how I can avoid breathing.
“And before you make excuses for them,” he says, “you should see the miners who pay for all this. Only the richest people can afford youth and imagination. The rest of the population ages and dies like the rest of us, and they spend their lives in the mines, unearthing the minerals that keep the rich rich. It’s sick.”
Hysan’s right, but for a Libran, he’s not being entirely fair. My mom’s lessons taught me that mining is the highest-paid work on Gemini, so the mines are mostly filled with people who want to one day retire to this city and live like children again. There’s a separate settlement in the caves of Gemini’s other planet that’s filled with people who aren’t seeking an inhumanly long life. They’re just normal humans who use their imaginations to build incredible cities within the rock.
We slip into another corridor, where the fragrant scent wafts from every door. Hysan stops at the entrance to a lavish room full of giggling centenarians. They’re sprawled among cushions, watching a puppet show in an ornately carved theater the size of a dollhouse.
We stand at the front of the room, beside the small stage, invisibly looking out at the audience.
“There,” whispers Hysan, pointing to the far back, where two especially gorgeous young people are ensconced together in a blue velvet puff pillow. They have skin as pale as the inside of a cantaloupe and curly copper hair. Their arms are draped around each other, and their cheeks rest together. I would guess they were in love, except they look exactly alike.
“Those are the Twins.”
17
EMBRACED IN SIBLING AFFECTION, the Twin Guardians of Gemini look so angelic, they could be cherubs in a frieze—except for their tunnel-like eyes. Eyes so deep they’re endless.
The puppet show either wraps or reaches intermission because the puppeteer scurries right past us. Everyone is applauding. “How should we introduce ourselves?” I whisper.
Hysan says, “How about we send a message requesting an audience and then reveal ourselves once they accept—”