Firas ran for his life.

“Haramy!’ The merchant’s cries followed Firas down the canal. “Thief!”

Firas couldn’t help but let slip a bout of laughter as he danced from one skiff to the next, the wooden planks swaying beneath his steady feet. Beside him, a wiry boy raced past. His glasses looked as if they were about to fall right off his nose, as usual.

“I can’t believe,” Alban huffed, pumping his small arms as he tried to keep up, “that he’s chasing after us.” He cast a long look over his shoulder, trying to see if the man was gaining on them or not.

Aunties dressed in long galabeyas with headscarves wrapped around their necks stumbled from their path as they leaped from the canals to the cobbled streets. Firas could hear a few threats about taking a ship-ship to their backside, which only made him smile. Dusty children took up the race right along with them, their giggles echoing between the squat huts stacked one on top of the other over the canals. They wove through the crowd, just barely skating by shoppers and merchants alike. Behind them, the portly Taurus they’d stolen from barreled through the crowd, his face as red as the dawn.

“Alban left!” Firas shouted. His friend’s lithe frame darted away into the shadows between two peeling whitewashed walls and into the alley beyond. Firas skidded to a stop, dust curling at his feet.

“Over here, ya ghaby!”

He didn’t think the merchant’s face could turn any ruddier.

“Come back here, you little thief!” the merchant roared, his fist rising just as he stumbled into a group of women. They shrieked as his thick hands scrambled to get a hold of their galabeyas, trying to stay on his feet.

Firas grinned. He wouldn’t have to do anything now but watch.

The women’s dark hands rained down, the slaps echoing across the canals where Firas winced in sympathy. Their screeching Arabic garnered more attention, the rolling tones and quick jobs rising with their anger. Firas gave the man a quick salute before darting off.

Stars and skies, how he loved market days. It was one of the few days he was able to escape the confines of the school and just be free. Free from his studies, free from the cranky, old asatza, his father’s disappointment. It wasn’t as if he needed any more schooling on how to control his Scorpio abilities—he’d been training since he could walk.

And it wasn’t as if he needed to steal. Being the son of the Kaed had its privileges. Firas never had to worry about money when his father was the commander of the entire military. Firas wandered beneath the colorful rugs that hung from painted balconies, drying in the humid air of Jawahra. Abayas, tunics, and shalvar of all colors flapped in the winds rolling in from the Wasat Sea. Stray cats, dirty and ragged, stalked the streets, darting from his path. Between the alleyways that crisscrossed the canals, a rainbow of boats had been tied together, creating one large, multicolored bridge over the pristine waters.

The floating markets of Jawahra were famous. Boats and merchants came from all over Aras to sell their wares. Many of the dhows were painted with their Sign’s colors: red for Aries, forest green for Taurus, and so on. Each was etched with fantastical scenes of Zodiac history. The wars they’d fought for the King of Babylon. The stars gifting them with this new realm, safe from the humans on Earth who wanted to use them for their own gain.

Firas wandered around the edges of the market, sticking to the walkways that lined the canals. Light glimmered from the rippling waters, dancing along the carefully cut gemstones placed on satin pillows within their glass cases, the swaths of silk and cotton, and even little blown-glass figurines in the shape of Arabian horses. Though the air hung heavy, and the humidity clung to their clothes, shoppers moved about the boats, checking the latest goods brought in from all four provinces.

Along the canals, the city of Jawahra was swathed in color. Painted every hue of the sea, they stood out from the dark jungle that surrounded the city. Firas had never left his home before, but he imagined there was no place like Jawahra. Their home was unique, with hundreds of waterways holding the island together. Rich jungles had once grown from the southern beaches that bordered the Alakhir Ocean to the north, where the Wasat Sea stretch for miles and miles. Now, the stone walls and water gates had taken over most of the island, with the jungles slowly receding towards the furthermost corners.

Jawahra was a swirl of culture and color, of rich and poor.

Firas lived for every second of it.

These days almost made him forget the rest—the laborious training his father cruelly forced onto him, the endless lessons on how to control his abilities. He’d wake up before the sun rose from the ocean when the indigo hues of the night still clung to the sandstone buildings. Hours would be spent in the training yard within his villa’s walls, his sweat soaking the richly packed earth from sun up to mid-day.

But for now, he was free.

Firas passed a group of girls shopping at a cloth stall set upon a more richly decorated dhow. From their dark, curly hair and flashing gray eyes, he could tell they were locals even before he took in their loose shalvar pants and colored tunics. Shell bangles adorned their hennaed wrists, as aquamarine lined their ears and fingers.

They stopped their gossip long enough to shoot him appreciative glances, something he’d become used to over the past few years. He strolled by, head tilted just so. They giggled and huddled together, their eyes trailing after him as he hopped to the next boat.

“Stop preening. Stars and skies, it’s like you don’t get enough attention at home.” Alban snorted, leaning against the tent poles, crossing his long, dark arms in disdain. His watery eyes darted about the stalls, always assessing behind those glasses.

Cancers were always shrewd, ever cautious.

“I don’t get enough attention at home,” Firas pointed out, shrugging. “Did you get anything good?”

Alban fished around his pockets to reveal an emerald pouch of silk that jangled when it shifted. “Pretty good for only having a few minutes at that merchant’s boat.”

Firas snatched the purse, taking a peek at its contents. Gold and silver mina coins clinked together. The imperfectly-shaped metal looked ancient with the outline of some old Assyrian king worn into its dull surface.

“Oh, come on. You have to do better than this if you want to beat me,” Firas replied, shaking his own pockets full of stolen goods.

Alban just rolled his eyes. “I hate when you do that.” His voice pitched an octave higher. “Oh, look at me. I’m so strong and handsome. Everybody loves me.”

Firas smirked. “Don’t act bitter when you know it’s all true.” He reached out to ruffle Alban’s black hair. His friend waved him away irritably.

“You know, someday you’re going to get in some sort of trouble you won’t be able to get out of with just your good looks,” Alban told him curtly.

Firas wasn’t paying attention. He’d caught sight of a woman at the far end of the canal. Her hair was that odd, silver color only Air Signs had, uncovered from any scarf or headdress. Her sari was a large wrap of gold-spin silk, laced with dainty flower petals. A massive golden snake rested against her collar, stark against her bronzed skin. At her waist hung a green purse that looked way too heavy for her to handle.

Firas could help with that.

“I’ll see you back at the school?” Firas asked distractedly.

Alban frowned. “Did you even hear me?” But Firas was already walking away.

Nimbly, he jumped between the boats, his feet sure and steady as they swayed with his movements. The woman was paying more attention to the goods laid out before her than her surroundings. His hand slipped in and out of her purse before she even realized he was beside her. Casually, he strolled away, hopping back up onto the walkways.

“I saw that.”

Firas whirled around. A girl sat on the ledge, her feet dangling over the water. She was younger than him by a few years with dark mahogany hair that glimmered with hints of auburn in the sunlight. She was pretty but in a simple way. Her nose was too short, her face was still round with youth. Yet it was her eyes that made her stand out. They were the same gray as most Water Signs, but with hints of blues and greens woven together around the iris.

“What?” he asked stupidly.

“I said,” she repeated slowly, “I saw that.” Her Arabic was different as if she hadn’t grown up speaking it as often as he had.

“Saw what?” he asked indignantly. He’d be damned if this girl outed him now.

Her head tilted towards the woman now searching her purse a bit frantically. “That.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He turned to leave but stopped when her laugh bounced across the cobblestones.

“If it makes you feel any better, I wouldn’t have seen it if I hadn’t been watching you.”

His lips curled at the admission. He glanced over his shoulder, one brow raised. “You were watching me?”

She blushed, her tanned skin blossoming. “I mean—I wasn’t—”

Firas studied her a bit more closely as she struggled for the right words. Now that he had a closer look, he knew she wasn’t from around here. There was just something about her that screamed outsider. Her clothes were slightly more modern than the traditional designs people usually wore. Her hands were bare of henna, something many female Water Signs liked to ink onto their skin, and there wasn’t a bangle, stone-studded nose piercing, or garnished ring in sight.

“You’re not from here, are you?”

The girl blinked up at him, startled by the change of subject. “No, I’m not,” she admitted sheepishly. “Was it my bad Arabic that gave it away?”

“Where are you from?” He was interested now. Jawahra was the only place he’d ever known, and his only source of information on the rest of the world were tidbits he’d glean from tourists and merchants.

“Earth.”

Now that was new.

The Zodiacs had begun on Earth, gifted by the stars with powerful abilities. They had been coveted, once. Treated like gods, aiding foreign kings in their wars. But that had been a long time ago. When the world of man had turned too treacherous, the stars had guided them here, a world outside of a world. Portals had led them from one realm to the other, the last gift from the stars. The original portals were still here in Aras, scattered throughout the four provinces, but the Zodiacs no longer went to Earth. There was no need. At least, that’s what Firas had been told.

Zodiacs did not go to Earth. And yet, here was a girl claiming she was from there rather than here.

“How did you do that?”

Firas realized he’d been staring at her for too long. He cleared his throat, glancing away. “Steal?”

“Steal without her noticing.”

Firas’ lips curled, a devilish gleam in his eye. “I can show you if you want.”

The girl looked taken aback, unsure.

“Unless you’re scared,” he added.

She frowned, a determined look crossing her face. “I’m not scared.”

Firas hopped onto the next boat, extending his hand. She eyed it as if it were a snake about to strike. “Do you trust me?” he asked.

She smiled. “Never.”