Zodiac (Zodiac, #1)(61)
My airways tighten, and the lack of oxygen rushes to my brain, making my vision blurry. I’m desperate to fight him, desperate to defend Virgo, desperate to save these people from what happened to mine.
The thought of my House focuses me in the Psy, steadying the chaos in my mind. The physical pain becomes more present, like I’m moving closer to its true source. When I’m steady enough, adrenaline and survival instinct compel me to take a swing.
At last, my fist connects with something solid and bitterly cold. I push against it, straining my mental will. His freezing skin burns my fingers.
You’re stronger this time. His words fly like hailstones.
My hand starts turning black, but I manage to throw another punch, and a crack runs down his icy face. His gravelly laughter grates my ears. Stronger, yes, but still unripe. Yet today’s battle is not on water—it’s on land.
His shape dissolves and he shrinks away, retreating into the Ephemeris, until he vanishes into the region beyond Pisces. I fall to the ground, my skin still burning, as the room grows quiet.
Moira is still staring wild-eyed at the place where Ochus had been, her hair tumbling loose. I survey my aching hands, but they’re undamaged. The pain wasn’t real. . . . It was an illusion.
When I look at Moira again, she’s giving me a long, penetrating stare. Just as she seems about to speak, we’re interrupted by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. “Windows on!” she commands, pulling herself upright. “I’ve forecast no storms today.”
As soon as the glass clears, we see a bolt of lightning streak down and singe the nearby field, followed by another bolt, and then another. Soon, lighting is forking across every visible patch of sky.
A lurid storm cloud foams directly above us, flashing ugly purple and red. It spreads wider, shading the ground below, and then an acidic rain starts to pummel the ground, burning through the green and grain like fire.
Moira turns to me in terror. “A Psy weapon? How was this hidden from me?”
“Dark Matter,” I say. “Somehow, he’s using Psynergy to manipulate it—”
Thunder explodes right above us, and the floor tilts. Lightning must have hit the capstone. A sconce falls off the wall, and a chair topples. Somewhere, we hear screaming. Then a crack splinters across the window, and Moira lunges to push me under the table, just milliseconds before the entire glass shatters.
With a sizzling roar, a million shards fly inward, shredding the walls, the table, the chairs, the skin of my arm. I look around and see Moira sprawled on her back, bleeding.
I rush to check her wounds. She’s clutching her arm to her chest, clenching her teeth in pain. Jagged chunks of glass encrust one whole side of her body. “Help!” I shout at the top of my voice. “In here! We need a doctor!”
Moira tries to push me away. In a broken voice, she says, “I’ve been blind to the stars. I looked, but I didn’t see. . . .”
Thunder detonates like a thousand bombs, and alarm horns blare. The head courtier charges in, and when he sees Moira, he kneels and tries to help her stand. “Talein,” she says, “get to your station.”
Grunting and wincing, she pushes us away and gets up without help. When she stands, her proud posture makes her seem taller than before. She plucks a shard of glass from her hip, then staggers to the gaping window frame. Outside, lightning crackles across a bruised and burning sky, and cinders gust downward, setting the grain fields on fire. In the oxygen-rich atmosphere, the flames rapidly spread. Moira doubles over and screeches, as if this is turning her soul inside out.
She catches the window frame to keep from falling, and her courtier and I run to grab her. We pick up an overturned chair and help her sit. Her eyes are squeezed tight, and one side of her face is streaming blood.
“Dear Empress.” The gray-haired courtier is weeping.
“Talein.” She pats his hand weakly. “I had hoped to live out my final years in peace.”
Another lightning bolt strikes, and a temblor rolls through the needle, throwing us from side to side. When it’s over, Moira gazes up at her courtier with a sadness that makes my chest ache. “Talein, call the rest of my Ministers. Call our fleet. We have to evacuate.”
“Yes, Your Highness.” The old man dips a mournful bow, then lumbers off.
The other courtiers have been waiting at the door, and when they try to crowd in, Moira motions them back. “Get to your posts. Launch our emergency plan.”
“Your surgeon is coming, Highness. Let us help you,” one of the women pleads.
“Help the people,” she wheezes. “Get them to safety. This Cancrian girl will wait with me until the surgeon arrives.”
When they’re gone, I use my sleeve to dab the blood that’s dripping in her eye. She’s sliding out of the chair, so I kick away the broken glass and help her lie on the carpet. Blood trickles from the wounds in her side. Where’s Mathias with his field-medic training? Hysan? What if they’re hurt?
I can’t think of them now. They’re fine, they have to be. But Moira may be dying. As I dab at her wounds, she gives me a sullen glance. “Let it be. We have little time, and we must talk. I felt Ophiuchus.”
Her words make me limp with relief. “So I’m not insane.”
“I have no way to . . . judge that.” Her voice is growing weaker. “But you were right about the Psy attack. You have a potent gift for . . . one so young.”