by Brenda Hiatt
“Despite my extremely full schedule, I very much look forward to more opportunities to speak with you, so that we can all get to know each other better.”
Another chorus of questions broke out, but I gave the tiny bow I’d been taught for leave-taking and stepped back, ending the press conference. Mr. O’Gara quickly flipped the window to privacy mode.
The second the sound outside was muted, I flopped limply into a chair and looked over at Mr. O and the others, who’d been standing just out of sight the whole time. “Well. That was pretty much a disaster.”
“Not a disaster,” Mr. O’Gara assured me, though I sensed his disquiet. “You did cut it a little short—certainly much shorter than they’d have liked—and didn’t get a chance to use any of your policy talking points, but overall I thought you handled yourself extremely well. That bit about freedom of the press was a particularly nice touch.”
Molly, Sean and Cormac also seemed to approve, but it was Rigel I was mainly concerned about and he didn’t seem as happy.
You didn’t like it? You knew I had to say—
No, it’s fine. I know you did. I just don’t much like hearing it. You were great, really. It’s bound to help your poll numbers.
I doubted that, but turned back to Mr. O. “How soon till we know if it did any good…or made things even worse?”
“Within the hour, I’d say.” He switched the window to a vidscreen, like he had last night. “If your numbers go up, we’ll try to use the bandwagon effect to your advantage to turn things around quickly. Meanwhile, let’s see what the networks are saying.”
“And get some breakfast into you,” Sean declared. Molly immediately jumped up and headed to the recombinator.
He’s right. Eat, Rigel agreed when I started to protest. Last thing you need is to get weak or cranky, right?
Once food was in front of me, I discovered I was hungry after all. I ate while we watched the initial reactions to my press conference.
“—well received,” a male reporter was saying. “But many are still concerned that this romantic attachment, confirmed by the Princess, will undermine her relationship with her future Consort, Sean O’Gara. Until we receive a statement from him, however, we have no way of knowing how valid those concerns might be.”
We all glanced at Sean, who looked startled.
“Now, with more from Tullymayne, we go to Gaynor, who is still interviewing those who were on the spot for the Princess’s first-ever press conference.”
The picture switched to Gaynor, this house in the background.
“Thank you, Peter. The mood here is slightly more upbeat after the Princess’s surprisingly competent performance. Some feel that for a girl of sixteen to display such maturity and poise bodes well for her future—and ours.”
Told you you did great, Rigel thought to me with a smile.
“Others, of course, still have strong reservations.” Gaynor turned to a bystander, who parroted back some of the insinuating stuff I’d heard shouted just now.
Mr. O’Gara clicked around to some other feeds. The reports were generally more favorable than I’d expected, though there were notable exceptions. When Mr. O’s omni started buzzing, he glanced at it, then switched off the vidscreen.
“Interview request. You’ll be getting a lot of these today.” He wandered into the living room to deal with them while I finished my breakfast, Sean and Rigel both keeping me company with “snacks” that put my breakfast to shame.
Mr. O turned the vidscreen back on when the rest of us returned to the living room and the first story stopped me in my tracks.
“Did Bodyguard Take Advantage of Princess’s Innocence?” splashed across the top of the screen in bold letters, followed by what appeared to be a live interview with Rory Glenn.
“Innocence, gratitude, call it what you will,” he said angrily to the camera, “but I’ll never believe Rigel Stuart didn’t know what he was doing, playing on our Princess’s vulnerability at a time when her entire world view had been turned upside down. For all we know, he was acting on Faxon’s orders to undermine her chances of eventually supplanting that tyrant. How else do you explain two teenagers almost single-handedly fighting off two dozen trained soldiers?”
Before I could even wrap my head around such mind-boggling logic, they switched to someone else, a woman. “Of course Princess Emileia is grateful to Rigel. It’s why she’s not willing to publicly put the blame on him, where it belongs. I just think it’s a shame she met him before Sean, her real destiny. My heart just breaks to think what he must be going through.”
My stomach started to roil, making me wish I hadn’t eaten so much. Rigel was being made into a scapegoat after all!
“What I want to know,” a man was saying, “is whether that Stuart kid compromised our Princess. What if the whole succession has been polluted?”
I gasped. “Turn it off, please. I can’t stand to listen to any more of—”
“Wait! Look!” Sean exclaimed, pointing to the lower corner of the screen where an inset showed the latest poll results. My approval rating had climbed to 48%, fifteen points higher than it had been last night—though still a long way from the 80% I needed.
“I know you’re not happy with the direction the spin has taken.” Mr. O gave me a look I interpreted as I told you so. “But it’s clearly moving your numbers in the right direction, and quickly. Though your first instinct might be to defend Rigel—”
“You can’t,” Rigel finished for him in an emotionless voice that belied his anger and humiliation. “He’s right. If putting the blame on me will get you Acclaimed, we have to let them do it.”
I stared at him helplessly, frustration and panic making it hard to think. The very thing I’d feared if Mr. O suggested his plan to Rigel was happening anyway. I shouldn’t, couldn’t allow it, but if I insisted on telling the truth now, I’d never get Acclaimed and the Grentl would kill us all.
“I’ll only go along with this if I can reveal the truth—the whole truth—the moment I’m Installed as Sovereign.” I pinned first Rigel, then Mr. O with the most determined glare I could muster. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Sean make a gesture of protest, but he didn’t say anything.
Good by me, Rigel thought, but Mr. O’Gara was frowning.
“Let’s just focus on getting you Acclaimed before we worry about what will follow, shall we?”
I kept my glare in place. “I won’t let anything happen to Rigel because of this. Not even if it means—” I broke off, but Mr. O grudgingly nodded.
“Very well. We’ll do whatever is necessary to keep that from happening. But for the moment it’s clearly to our advantage to let the misconception stand. With luck, it won’t be for long.”
The next two hours proved Mr. O’Gara’s assessment true, much as I hated to admit it. My approval numbers continued to rise as public sentiment turned increasingly against Rigel. Almost as disturbing as the calls for Rigel’s arrest or punishment were those demanding proof of my “purity.”
“What is this, the middle ages?” I huffed after the third mention of that. “There’s nothing in Nuathan law about virginity tests for Sovereigns. I mean, I could pass but…ew. Where are they getting this?”
Mr. O shrugged. “No, it’s not law, but one reason heirs to the throne have always been encouraged to become acquainted with their intended Consorts at an early age was to prevent any other attachments from forming. I suspect your opponents are behind this new idea, in hopes it will convince the traditionalists to withhold their support.”
We kept the news on while Mr. O’Gara sorted through more interview requests on his omni. “You’ll need to grant some of these but we’ll be selective, start with the interviewers most likely to show you in a positive light.” He kept reading, occasionally typing a response—declining the ones I shouldn’t accept, I assumed.
After lunch, we caught the end of an interview with Gordon Nolan that confirmed Mr. O’s theory on where the “purity” nonsense had come
from.
“—also noticed how evasive she was,” he was saying to the interviewer. “All Nuathans should be greatly concerned to know whether the Princess has been compromised, physically or emotionally. Our people, and especially our Sovereigns, have always tended to faithful monogamy and it has been repeatedly demonstrated that a strong bond between Sovereign and Consort creates a more effective leader. There is also the succession to consider. I, for one, would very much like to know exactly what happened behind that closed door we all saw in the video.”
“Nothing happened!” I shouted at the screen, making everyone jump. “Sorry. But I’m not sure I can take much more of this.”
Hey, try to focus on how your numbers are improving instead of all this talk show crap, okay? Rigel thought to me comfortingly.
How come this horrible stuff isn’t bothering you as much as it is me? I sent back. Especially since they’re insulting you way more than me?
That’s why. Trust me, if it was you they were attacking, I’d be even more upset than you are. Try to chill a little, okay?
Mr. O turned off the vidscreen. “I know it’s upsetting, M, but we do need to stay abreast of what’s being said so you can more effectively counter it. But perhaps a break is in order. In a few minutes I expect—” He broke off as the door chime sounded.
“More reporters? Already?” I just might throw something at them, the way I was feeling.
“Er, I don’t think so. Just a moment.”
Mr. O went to the door himself and we could hear him speaking quietly to someone outside. A minute later he returned, accompanied by an imposingly handsome woman who somehow struck me as vaguely familiar, even though I was sure I’d never seen her before. Maybe it was her expression, which reminded me disconcertingly of Aunt Theresa’s, whenever she disapproved of something I’d said or done. The woman’s auburn hair was threaded with gray, which probably meant she was on the elderly side for a Martian.
“Excellency, everyone,” Mr. O said formally, “this is Morag Teague.”
The woman bowed to me, fist over heart. “I am most honored, Excellency.” She didn’t sound honored, though, she sounded pissed.
But that barely registered because at mention of her name Rigel stiffened visibly and I was hit by a blast of shock from him—shock tinged with both eager excitement and fear. Even as I tried to decipher what that could mean, the woman turned her head to look squarely at Rigel.
“I assume you know why I’m here?” she asked him, confusing me further.
He gave her a fleeting, uncertain smile. “It’s…it’s good to finally meet you…Grandmother.”
CHAPTER 28
scar a cheila (scar ah KAY-lah): separated; torn asunder; ripped apart
Stunned, I looked back and forth between Morag Teague and Rigel. Was this Shim’s wife? Hadn’t I been told she’d died? Then, with a start, I realized why Morag seemed familiar. She looked like an older—and much more severe—version of Dr. Stuart, Rigel’s mother.
I kept expecting Morag and Rigel to hug or at least smile at each other. Instead, after several seconds of uncomfortable silence, Morag spoke again.
“You look even more like your father now than in the picture your mother sent a few years ago. Still, you are my grandson, and therefore my responsibility while you are in Nuath.”
She turned to me then with a slightly more pleasant expression, though when I focused I mainly sensed anger and resentment from her. “I must apologize for the role he played in potentially delaying your Acclamation, Excellency. Rest assured I won’t allow him to interfere further in matters of state.”
“As I tried to tell you, it’s not completely—” Mr. O’Gara began, but she waved him to silence with an imperious hand.
“I don’t blame you, Quinn. I’m sure you’ve done your best with him, but recklessness is in his blood, from both sides. Neither of his parents respected propriety or tradition, either.”
“Excuse me?” Indignation overcame my surprise. “You will please, Madam, not insult Rigel’s parents or Rigel himself in my presence. They have all been of great service to me many times over, including saving my life. I owe them a huge debt of gratitude.”
Morag inclined her head to me deferentially, though there was no lessening of her anger. “Your defense of them speaks very highly of you, Excellency. No doubt it is that gratitude that prompted you to shield my grandson from the consequences of his poor judgment. But as his natural guardian it falls upon me to ensure nothing of the sort will be necessary again.”
“How?” I tried not to let Rigel’s growing anger and worry distract me.
She primmed her lips, again reminding me of Aunt Theresa. “I intend to take him home with me to Pryderi before he can do any more harm to your reputation, or to my family’s.”
“Thanks for your concern, Grandmother,” Rigel practically snarled, “but I have a job to do here. I’m part of the Princess’s security detail.”
Morag sniffed audibly. “I’m certain they can find someone far more suitable for that position, Rigel. It has taken seventy years for your mother’s flouting of tradition to be forgotten and I will not have it dredged up again because of her son’s improper association with someone so completely above his station. As you are underage, you will do as I say. Get your things and let’s be gone with no more nonsense.”
Rigel started to refuse, but Mr. O touched his shoulder. “Go ahead, Rigel. We don’t want more rumors that could damage the Princess further.”
Though he looked—and felt—furious, Rigel gave an abrupt nod and headed up the stairs without a backward look.
I’ll stop her somehow, I thought after him. Angry as he was, I doubted he could hear me.
“You can’t just take him,” I told his grandmother the moment he was out of sight. “You don’t have the authority—”
“Actually, she does,” Mr. O informed me gently.
“How? She can’t be his guardian. Both of his parents are alive, even if they’re not here on Mars.”
“As the eldest member of Rigel’s immediate family, Morag is indeed his guardian according to Nuathan law. That would be true even if his parents were here.” He paused to let that sink in. “And I believe it would be best for Rigel to go with her, given what’s being said in the media.”
“Not to worry, Princess.” Morag gave me a thin smile. “This has in no way altered my intention of voting in favor of your Acclamation. I, at least, hold your lineage in the highest respect.”
Implying that Rigel didn’t.
“None of this is Rigel’s fault,” I insisted. “When he and I started dating, no one knew whether I’d ever get to Mars or become Sovereign. And even if I did, Dr. and Mr. Stuart didn’t know my supposed traditional Consort was still alive, so they never told Rigel it might be a problem.”
“Again, your defense of the Stuart family is commendable, Excellency. I have no doubt you will be a most effective Sovereign in time. However, all question of blame aside, Quinn and I both feel it is best—for Rigel, for you, and, most importantly, for Nuath—that my grandson stay with me from this point on. That will minimize the risk of any further scandal that could imperil your Acclamation.”
I turned to stare at Mr. O’Gara. “Wait. You knew about this?”
He at least had the grace to look uncomfortable. “Until Morag messaged me a short while ago, I didn’t realize Rigel still had relatives living on Mars. I was about to tell you when she arrived. Please, Excellency, remember what is at stake. I’m sure Rigel will agree with our reasoning, once he’s calmed down.”
A cold fist seized my heart as I realized he was probably right. Feeling blindsided and betrayed, I tried another tack. “Won’t you hustling him away only start more rumors? Make everyone assume we really do have something to be ashamed of?”
Morag dismissed that argument with a flick of her fingers. “If anyone asks, I will simply tell them that I desired to become acquainted with my long-lost grandson and that you were gracious enough to al
low it. I would suggest you say the same.”
“But—” I sensed Rigel approaching and broke off.
“Rigel, your grandmother and I both agree that the best way for you to support the Princess is to go with her now,” Mr. O said the moment he appeared. “It will help to defuse speculation and improve her chances of Acclamation.”
He stopped on the bottom step, frowning from the two of them to me. He…he has a point, M. If this can help you get Acclaimed faster—
“Are you ready, Rigel?” Morag asked briskly before I could respond. “Let’s go, shall we?”
He nodded, thinking to me as he joined her, Will you be safe? Do you trust Cormac?
Yes. He knew my father and grandfather. But you can’t go, Rigel! Maybe if we tell her about our bond? If I get sick, it’ll be even harder for me to get Acclaimed or do anything about the Grentl.
It would only make her more determined, Rigel assured me. Just get yourself Acclaimed before you can get sick, okay? Then maybe I can come back to help with the Grentl. Be safe, M. I love you.
I looked directly into Rigel’s eyes, which reflected the anguish I was feeling no matter how much he pretended it was for the best. Call me as soon as you can—my secret code is cornfield.
His grandmother put her hand on his arm to lead him away.
Cornfield, Rigel. Did you hear me?
I felt him struggling to control his emotions enough to communicate and after a few anxious heartbeats he sent back, Cornfield. Got it.
I love you, Rigel! Always. We’ll be together again soon, I promise! Then I made myself say aloud, “Thank you for everything, Rigel. I hope to see you again very soon.” It sounded formal, even cold, after my impassioned silent vow. I saw him wince slightly.
Mr. O, Sean and Molly all said their goodbyes, then Morag Teague and Rigel left while I just stood there, numbly staring after them.
