Sunblind Serpent: The Zodiac Without A House

”Eleven.”

Rhovan’s chair shifted against the floor as he stood, and a faint trace of gold appeared beneath his collar before disappearing. The reaction was so immediate that Marek looked at him before he could ask anything else.

”Cycle XI?” Rhovan asked.

”Before I died.”

Marek turned back to her.

He had known there were years of Celeste’s life he understood nothing about, but death had never been among the possibilities he seriously considered. She spoke to him, argued with his mother, remembered his childhood, and answered his questions with such familiarity that it was difficult to think of her as someone who had already died once.

”You died?”

”Yes.”

The answer left Marek staring at the same face he had known all his life while another problem opened behind it.

Rhovan remained standing. Whatever questions the statement had created for him, he appeared more concerned with something immediate. ”And your Authority?”

”Most of it did not survive with me.”

Only then did Rhovan sit again.

Marek looked between them. ”Most?”

Celeste seemed to consider how much she was willing to explain. ”I remember reaching Cycle XI. I remember what I learned there and some of what I was capable of doing. What exists now is not the Authority I had then.”

”Then what survived?”

”Knowledge. Instincts. Familiarity with certain systems and routes. Sometimes I recognize how something works before I understand why I recognize it.”

Marek thought of something else. ”How did you get those Stillglass Seals?”

Celeste did not answer immediately.

”You told me to wait for the next medical-supply cart,” Marek continued. ”Three of them arrived through the facility’s existing supplies.”

”I knew where to send the request.”

”That isn’t what I asked.”

Celeste was quiet for a moment. ”I know.”

Marek thought of the buried terminology Celeste had used since they began speaking and the ease with which she recognized dangers nobody on Earth should have understood.

”So you were Cycle XI, but you aren’t Cycle XI now.”

”Correct.”

Rhovan rested one arm against the table. ”Then Cycle XI is part of her history, not her current strength.”

Celeste added, ”Amara is not secretly a Cycle XI Astrant, if that was going to be your next question.”

”It was.”

Cycle XI changed what Marek thought he understood about Celeste. The number alone had made Rhovan stand, yet somewhere between the life in which she had reached it and the one she now shared with Amara, Celeste had died.

Marek looked at his mother and remembered coming home to find her clothes smelling faintly of detergent after a hospital shift while she asked why he was still awake. Somewhere within that same life was someone who remembered another world, another body, and an Authority she no longer possessed.

Amara noticed the way he was looking at her. ”Don’t start treating me differently.”

”I haven’t.”

”You’re doing it with your face.”

Marek decided not to argue.

Amara refused to explain the whole history then, but she told him enough to understand that Celeste had not simply begun speaking one morning. At first, Amara dreamed of places she had never visited and woke up with memories that did not quite belong to her. Later, she began recognizing words she had never learned, and there were moments when she would realize something had happened without remembering doing it herself.

Eventually, the presence became consistent enough that Amara understood there was someone there.

”For a while, I thought something was wrong with me,” she said.

Marek thought again of the kitchen doorway and Tomas lowering his voice when he realized his son was listening. ”Did Dad know?”

Amara’s expression changed. ”Yes.”

The sounds of the shelter seemed farther away after that answer. Tomas had already been connected to Project Meridian, and every new detail Marek learned seemed to place him closer to mysteries that had existed long before his disappearance.

”How much did he know?”

”Enough to know Celeste existed,” Amara said. ”He understood some of what was happening, but not all of it.”

Marek hesitated before asking the question that had bothered him from the moment Tomas entered the conversation. ”Did Celeste have anything to do with him disappearing?”

”No.”

Amara answered at nearly the same time Celeste did through the connection.

Marek looked down at the table. Tomas’s connection to Meridian suddenly felt much larger than it had before, but following that question now would take them somewhere none of the three seemed ready to go.

There was another question much closer to him.

”If I eventually found a way to separate you safely, would you want me to?”

Amara’s expression changed in a way that had nothing to do with Celeste. ”No.”

Marek watched her. ”You don’t know whether it’s possible.”

”That wasn’t what you asked.”

”Then if it were possible and neither of you would be harmed, would you want it?”

Her answer remained immediate. ”No.”

Marek had been prepared to clarify the question again, but the certainty in her voice stopped him. ”Why?”

”Because Celeste isn’t an infection or any Condition.”

”I didn’t say she was.”

”Your Mark did.”

His attention dropped to his hand.

Amara had felt the Recognition response when he touched her earlier. Marek had stopped before allowing a complete Case to form, but apparently even that brief contact had been enough for her to understand what his Authority had attempted to do.

”I separate Conditions from the people carrying them,” he said.

”And I am not carrying her.”

Marek looked at his mother for several seconds before asking, ”Then what are you?”

Amara’s answer was quiet beneath the distant movement of volunteers on the other side of the partition.

”Amara.”

Celeste’s presence returned behind Marek’s right ear, familiar now in a way that still unsettled him.

”And I am Celeste.”

Marek remained there with both names while his Mark stayed closed. Ophiuchus wanted distinctions because distinctions were how it kept one thing from being mistaken for another, but whatever boundary existed between Amara and Celeste had been shaped long before he learned enough to notice it. Recognizing that boundary did not give him the right to redraw it.