by Brenda Hiatt
“It means we can go home!” Sean burst out, looking positively ecstatic at the prospect.
“Not yet, dear,” Mrs. O’Gara cautioned him, “but soon, we hope. Once we know for certain what the political climate is like. Unfortunately, things are likely to become even more dangerous in Nuath before they get better. Faxon is unlikely to step down without a fight.”
“With the news reports so vague and confused, how will we be able to tell?” Mr. O sounded frustrated.
His wife patted his arm. “It’s still very early days. We’ll know more soon. Besides—” She broke off and glanced at me.
“Besides what?” I prompted. “I need to know this stuff, don’t I?”
“Yes,” Mr. O’Gara said decisively. “That’s why you’re here, after all. To learn as much as possible about ‘this stuff,’ as you put it.” He chuckled, his frustration apparently no match for his good mood.
It sort of made me want to smack him. Smack all of them, with their stupid grins.
“It’s why we’re so anxious to get back,” he continued. “There is an enormous amount of work to be done, work we can help with.”
I was perfectly fine with them leaving to rebuild the government or whatever, but clearly that wasn’t all they had in mind. “What kind of work?” I asked suspiciously.
“Bolstering the resistance, now that it’s finally taking hold. Organizing protests, so that Faxon can be deposed with as little bloodshed as possible. Bringing together the various factions that oppose him, so they can work effectively together.”
I waited, knowing there was more, and that I wasn’t going to like it. I was right.
“Needless to say, once Faxon is removed—which could happen at any time—we’ll need to act quickly before the resulting power vacuum degenerates into anarchy or even civil war, which could tear our people apart. In other words, the moment it’s safe, we need to bring back the exiled Royals.”
Which obviously included me. But not the Stuarts, since they weren’t Royals and not exactly exiled, having been on Earth for seventy-five years. And if the “authorities” wanted Rigel away from Jewel right now, how much more would they want to keep him on Earth if I went to Mars?
The panic I’d been fighting now grabbed me by the throat. I tried to force my brain to function so I could argue my side convincingly.
“Look, I know this is really important to you and all, but you can’t possibly expect me to just . . . just walk away from everything I’ve ever known, everyone I care about, to become some . . . figurehead for your cause.”
“Not a figurehead!” Mrs. O’Gara seemed shocked. “Not at all. It may seem that way at the moment, because you don’t yet know enough and aren’t yet old enough to truly lead. But our Sovereigns have been anything but figureheads. Surely you’ve learned that much by now?”
“Sovereigns in the past, maybe. But this new government will be starting from scratch, right? Even Allister has said no one expects me to actually lead until I’m older. So what would that make me, exactly, if not a figurehead?”
She and her husband exchanged glances and I got a sense they didn’t really want to answer. But I kept waiting and finally Mr. O’Gara said, “I won’t deny that at this moment you are primarily a . . . symbol to our people. A symbol of hope, and a rallying point. But even as a minor, a Sovereign has certain powers.”
Mrs. O’Gara cleared her throat and he broke off with a guilty glance at her.
Immediately, I pounced on what he’d started to say. “Powers? What powers do I have? Right now?” Maybe enough that I could at least make them bring Rigel back?
“Well . . .” Mrs. O’Gara pursed her lips and sent her husband a quick frown. “Once you’re properly Acclaimed Sovereign, you’ll likely appoint a Regent to serve until you reach your majority. Depending on your age, you can invest certain powers in that Regent while reserving others to yourself, but it’s been many generations since a Regent was required, so I’m not certain exactly where the dividing lines are.”
I stared at her, fervently wishing I had her ability to tell if someone was being truthful. Even without it, I had a gut feeling there was a lot she wasn’t telling me. Especially when she sprang to her feet the moment I opened my mouth to ask more questions.
“I’ll just get a fresh pot of tea, shall I?”
I doubted I’d get more answers out of her tonight but I wasn’t about to let the subject drop for good.
At breakfast the next morning, Aunt Theresa informed me that I could go to taekwondo that day after all. No doubt she’d learned Rigel was out of town, and didn’t want the money she’d paid for those classes to go to waste.
Not that I wanted to argue. Whatever her reason, I was eager to go someplace other than the O’Garas,’ someplace I could burn off a bit of my frustration. I headed out as soon as I finished my morning chores.
After warmups and kicking drills, Master Parker split us into pairs for sparring practice. I found myself opposite Darlene, a black-belt in her early twenties, one of the most aggressive sparrers in the school, even counting most of the guys. I hadn’t sparred with her since I was a yellow belt, but the memory made my stomach clench. She’d knocked me down twice, hard, and I’d come away with a couple of really nasty bruises, even with all the pads we had to wear.
“Master Parker says you’ve gotten better lately,” she whispered as we bowed to each other. “Let’s see whatcha got.”
Though nervous, I smiled grimly as we shifted to fighting stance. I was better now, and I was in a mood to prove it. Master Parker gave the Korean command to begin, and Darlene immediately led off with a lightning-fast roundhouse kick, followed by a back-spinning kick to my head, which I barely ducked before missing her completely with a roundhouse kick of my own.
She came at me again and I forced myself to focus, imagining her as one of the people trying to keep Rigel away from me. My momentary fear vanished, replaced by anger and an unexpected surge of confidence.
Darlene’s next kick seemed to happen in slow-motion, giving me all the time in the world to fade back and counter with a solid back kick to her midsection that sent her flying, landing on her backside.
She was up again before I could worry that I’d hurt her, coming at me with renewed determination—and a hint of respect in her eyes. She feinted a bit, watching for an opportunity, then lunged in with a vicious axe-kick that would have knocked me to my knees if it had landed. Again, I had no trouble sidestepping and delivering a roundhouse to her chest pad, followed by a back-spinning kick that connected solidly with her padded helmet.
This time, she didn’t get up. Time abruptly returned to normal as concern spiked through me. “Darlene?” I said uncertainly, and to my relief she started to stir. She was struggling to sit up when Master Parker blew his whistle and hurried over.
“Just sit still for a moment,” he told her, then looked at me. “Marsha, are you sure you don’t want to spar in the upcoming tournament?”
Darlene was clearly still dazed. “What was that? It felt like a baseball bat.”
“Sorry,” I said in a small voice, appalled by what I’d done, legal move or not. Now I understood how Rigel and Sean must feel when playing sports against regular Earthlings. But if I couldn’t control myself any better than that, I definitely had no business trying to be a leader.
Just like I’d tried to tell everyone from the start.
Between freezing drizzle and no Rigel at church, Sunday was dreary. Especially since I was feeling the first twinges of headache and nausea from going too long without seeing him.
The only diversion occurred when several of Jewel’s more prominent citizens gathered for the latest gossip after the service. I tuned it out at first, wrapped up in feeling sorry for myself, but then a few words caught my attention.
“What I don’t understand is, why now?” Mrs. Billingsley was saying. “Mid-November isn’t exactly tourist season in Indiana, and the Jewelry Festival isn’t until May.”
Her husban
d put a hand on her shoulder. “Let’s not look a gift horse in the mouth, Belinda. I’ve sold three houses in two days, which has never happened in my life. You said sales at the bookstore are up, too.”
“So are my sales,” chimed in old Agatha Payton. “And have any of you noticed? I probably shouldn’t say this in church, but most of these out-of-towners are awfully good-looking.” Aunt Theresa and one or two others looked slightly shocked and Agatha tittered. “Hey, just ‘cause I’m old don’t mean I’m dead!”
The Billingsleys had owned Belinda’s Books on Diamond since way before I was born, and Mrs. Payton owned and ran Glitterby’s a few doors down. All were at least third generation Jewelites, so their opinions carried weight in town. Mrs. Batten and her mother, who owned and ran Quilt World, nodded their agreement. I glanced at the O’Garas, who all looked impressively clueless.
Was Jewel going to become the next Martian enclave? I used to think it would be cool to have lots of other Echtrans around, like Sean and Molly had always had, but not if they were mainly here to pass judgment on everything I did—and who I spent time with.
“Marsha!” Aunt Theresa broke into my thoughts in a tone that made it clear she’d already said my name more than once. “It’s time to go. Those baseboards won’t scrub themselves, you know.”
The O’Garas’ obvious struggles to hide their horror at my aunt’s words might have been amusing if I hadn’t had a headache. Aunt Theresa was clearly scrounging now to find extra jobs for me around the house. Would she unground me if she ran out of ideas?
Not that it would matter, if Rigel never came back.
I went to the O’Garas’ again that night and this time Allister was there. He spent the first hour shoving facts down my throat and the second hour making me regurgitate them.
“Show me the proper response of the Sovereign to the traditional salute by the people.” He demonstrated that salute as he spoke, bowing with right fist over heart.
I inclined my head to the precise degree he’d drilled me on, my chin tilting down until I could just barely feel tension at the front of my throat. “It is my benevolent duty to guide my people into our best future.”
“Better. Now, in Nuathan.”
I did my best, but my Nuathan was a long way from coming naturally yet. “Is a mo dulgas cumann chun treoir a thabert istich inner nadaoine is fearr sa todhchaí?”
“Dhualgis,” he corrected me. “And thabhairt isteach inár. Again.”
With a tiny sigh, I said the words again, trying to get the pronunciation right.
He nodded, though he didn’t look completely happy. “For a first lesson, I suppose that will do. Say it with authority, mind you, not as a question. You must instill confidence. Now, what are the two primary cities on Mars?”
“Thiaraway and Monaru.”
“How many villages?”
“Eighteen. There were twenty-three, but five have been evacuated to conserve power. Which is why orderly emigration to Earth over the next century is essential,” I added, though he hadn’t asked. It was getting late and I was tired and achy and just wanted to get this over with.
He regarded me suspiciously with his little gray eyes, then gave a small shrug. “Very well. That will do for tonight, Excellency, but we have scarcely scratched the surface of all you must know. Please do not grow complacent.”
I nearly snorted. “I’m not,” I assured him. “Not even a little.”
The weather was still undecided between freezing rain and sleet. Mr. O’Gara drove me the short distance home, since Allister wouldn’t let Sean use his omni to keep us warm and dry for the walk.
“Please thank your aunt and uncle again for inviting us to Thanksgiving dinner,” Mr. O said when I got out of the car. “We’re all very much looking forward to it.”
“I will. Um, me too.” I knew I wasn’t convincing but didn’t much care.
I dragged myself up the porch stairs and into the house, every step an effort. Allister had given me a Martian “book”—one of those scroll thingies loaded up with a gazillion texts on Martian history, government, laws, sociology, you name it. I needed to get started on it, but all I wanted to do was sleep.
In fact, I wished I could sleep away the next seven days and not wake up until Rigel was back. Since that wasn’t an option between school, Thanksgiving, and Aunt Theresa’s increasingly imaginative chore list, it was going to be a long, long week.
CHAPTER 31
tinneas (TIN-es): physical illness, rare among Martians except in the very elderly
I could swear my alarm went off only seconds after I turned out my light, but according to my clock, I’d slept more than nine hours and it was time to get ready for school. Despite all that sleep, I felt even worse than when I went to bed.
“What’s wrong?” Molly asked when I reached the bus stop.
“Not feeling great. I told you this happens when Rigel and I can’t be together.”
She bit her lip, looking distressed. “Already? But you just saw him Friday.”
I just shrugged, not feeling up to explaining that it seemed to take less and less time apart before symptoms started, the stronger our bond became.
Sean wasn’t on the bus. Probably getting a ride with a friend. I was vaguely disappointed, only because seeing me like this might finally make him believe in the graell. No biggie. He’d have plenty of other chances to be convinced this week.
Normally I hurried to Geometry but today there was no point. Still, my steps quickened as I got close and experienced an irrational hope that Rigel might be there after all.
He wasn’t.
Ms. Harrigan was, smiling at me as soon as I came in. Since she was one of the ones who wanted Rigel out of the picture, I didn’t smile back.
I felt steadily worse as the day wore on, finding it hard to focus on anything but my desire to see Rigel again. I went through the day on automatic, nodding and answering questions when necessary. No one but Molly asked if I was okay, so I must not have looked as bad as I felt.
I hadn’t heard from Rigel at all since he left, not that I’d expected to. I’d checked my e-mail every chance I got but after my initial disappointment, I realized he was probably being watched even more closely than I was.
Still, I decided on the bus ride home, what did I have to lose by trying his cell phone? They couldn’t punish us much worse and I just might die if I couldn’t at least hear his voice soon. I punched in his number the moment I got home, renewed hope making my heart beat faster than it had all day.
My hope started to drain away when it rang twice, three times, four. Then Rigel answered!
“M?” he whispered. “I’ve had my phone on vibrate, in case you were able to call. Had to get away from everyone before I could answer. How are you doing?”
I almost blurted out the truth, but realized that would upset him. “Better, now that I can hear your voice.” Which was true.
“Me, too.” I suspected he was editing as much as I was. “I can probably only talk a minute or two.”
I was just about to pour out my feelings to him when he asked, What’s going on in Jewel?”
“I guess you’ve heard what’s happening on Mars?”
“Yeah, it’s all anyone’s talking about here. Are they . . . putting more pressure on you?”
“Guess you could say that. Allister’s trying to cram as much info into me as fast as he can and the O’Garas are all excited they’ll get to go back soon. But no matter what they say, I’m not going with them, so don’t worry.”
“I’ll try. M, I’m so sorry I talked you out of running away. I really wish we had.”
My heart caught at the longing in his voice. “Oh, me, too, Rigel! So much. When you get home, I promise we’ll figure some way—”
I broke off at the sound of another voice at his end, his dad’s, asking what Rigel was doing. Then Mr. Stuart said into the phone, “I’m sorry, M. I know this is difficult for both of you, but please don’t try calling Rigel again. I’ll be k
eeping his phone with me for the rest of our stay here.”
“Wait!” I cried. “At least let me tell him—” But the line was dead.
I let out a scream that the neighbors could probably hear as it echoed through the empty house. Why hadn’t I told him I loved him, very first thing? Or talked about some other way to communicate? Now I’d gotten him in trouble and it would be even more impossible.
Furious at myself as well as at everyone trying to pull my strings, I stomped upstairs, pulled out that Martian e-book thing and snapped it open, determined to find something I could use to my—and Rigel’s—advantage. I clicked to the index, searching for anything about the authority of underage Sovereigns.
All too soon, though, my anger-fueled energy started to ebb and the words began running together. With a sigh that was equal parts frustration and exhaustion, I shut off the book and dragged myself back downstairs to tackle my afternoon chores.
Tuesday mostly went by in a blur, other than the pinch of disappointment I still felt in every class that should have had Rigel in it.
“Honestly, M, snap out of it,” Bri said at one point. “I’ve asked you like six times whether you’re coming to the game tomorrow night, and you give a different answer every time.”
I blinked rapidly to bring her face into focus. “What?”
She gave an exasperated sigh. “Are you coming to the game tomorrow or not? Matt’s driving me, and he needs to know whether to pick you up.”
“Oh. Probably not. If so, I’ll probably ride with the O’Garas again.”
“Thank you,” she said with a little huff. “All I needed to know. I’ll tell Matt.”
It wasn’t until much later that I realized the main point of her asking was so I’d ask about her and Matt, since this would be their first real date. Oh, well.
At lunch I was vaguely aware of Sean and Molly watching me with concern as I sat there with nothing but a juice box, staring into space. Maybe it should have surprised me that neither of them said anything to me. But to the extent I could think at all, it was about what Rigel might be doing in Washington at that moment and what a relief it would be when he got back.
