by Brenda Hiatt
“I’m fine. Still a little cold, but I’m warming up now.” I smiled up at him. Then another thought occurred to me.
How did you explain to everyone that you knew where to find us? Did you have to tell them about our—?
No. I was about to, then had the idea to say you left a message on my cell that I didn’t see until after the game ended. Pretty sure they bought it.
Good. I hope there’s never a reason we’ll be glad we kept that secret, but…you never know.
Just then, Mr. Farmer started to groan, which had the effect of mobilizing everyone else. Cormac collected the rifle by the door and took it outside, along with the pistol. I found the cabinet where Mr. Farmer had stashed Aunt Theresa’s purse and my omni. By the time Dr. Stuart returned a moment later with her black bag, the store looked like no one else had ever been there.
Leaning down, Rigel’s mom smeared some kind of salve on Mr. Farmer’s upper lip. He immediately stopped groaning and relaxed again, breathing deeply.
“That should keep him out for another twenty or thirty minutes,” she said. “He’ll be very confused when he wakes, but otherwise fine. With any luck, he’ll think he passed out from drinking too much. I noticed a great number of beer bottles in the trash can just outside.”
To strengthen that impression, Rigel went out and grabbed a few, putting several empty bottles on the back counter and another on the floor next to Mr. Farmer.
Then, after one last glance around, we all headed outside. We should be well away before he woke up.
12
Brilliance
AUNT Theresa insisted Uncle Louie ride with her—probably so she could start lecturing him right away. He didn’t protest, so Mr. O drove Uncle Louie’s car back while Mrs. O took Sean and Molly home in theirs. When the Stuarts offered me a ride, I quickly accepted. Not only did Rigel and I feel a desperate need to be together after our scare, I had no desire to hear the tongue-lashing my uncle was about to get.
Climbing into the back seat of the Stuarts’ SUV, I leaned contentedly against Rigel. I didn’t care that he still reeked of sweat from the game. He was my knight in shining armor—though his pads, helmet and cleats were all piled on the floor of the car.
“So, it sounds like you managed a pretty good game after all,” I commented to him as we headed down the long gravel drive back to the state road.
He gave me that crooked grin I loved so much. After what you told me, I figured it was the best way to keep you safe. Then, out loud, “Yeah, though of course I thought you were in the stands—at least until halftime. Wish I’d thought to check my phone then. We could have rescued you sooner.”
“Just as well,” I said. “Bryce was there, keeping an eye on all my friends as well as the game so he could report back to his dad. If you’d all left at the half, Mr. Farmer would have known right away something was up, and who knows what he might have done. It must have been awkward, though, all of you rushing off the second the game ended?”
Usually, it took Rigel a while to extricate himself from all the Jewel fans eager to congratulate him after a good game—and from what I’d heard Bryce tell his father, this had been his best ever.
“The cause absolutely justified it,” Dr. Stuart said, “though I’ll admit we had other reasons for wishing to make a quick exit.”
The irritation that accompanied her words—echoed by her husband—immediately concerned me. “What happened? Was another one of the new arrivals rude to you guys at the game?”
“Not rude, precisely,” Mr. Stuart replied with obvious reluctance. “It was more that they behaved as though we weren’t there at all, even when we attempted to speak to them.”
Dr. Stuart nodded. “It was rather, ah, uncomfortable, to say the least. Though, as I said last night, I’m sure in time they’ll come around.”
I started getting pissed all over again. “Let me check something.” I pulled out my omni. If Kyna still hadn’t answered me…
She had. I played the waiting message aloud.
“I must say, I’m impressed, Excellency.” Kyna’s voice was loud enough for everyone in the car to hear. “As the Royals on the Council were the ones to suggest you compose any followup statement, I see no reason to consult them before authorizing this to go out over MARSTAR. I’ll see that it’s sent within the hour.”
“What statement is that?” Mr. Stuart asked, clearly startled. “I wasn’t told that anything would be broadcast via MARSTAR tonight.”
“Just a little addendum to the one the Council sent out last week. Let me check if it’s actually gone out yet.” I tapped the setting on my omni to display MARSTAR messages. “Ah, it looks like Kyna sent it about half an hour ago.”
Dr. Stuart glanced curiously over her shoulder at me. “This is a statement you composed yourself, Excellency?”
“Yes. That’s what the Royals on the Council suggested when I insisted they correct the glaring omission in their last one. I’ll double check what was actually sent—like I should have done last week. Do you want me to read it to you?”
“Please do,” Mr. Stuart said.
I pulled up the text of the most recent MARSTAR transmission and started reading aloud.
“The following is a statement from the Echtran Council. Last Saturday, in our haste to assure everyone that we no longer had anything to fear from the Grentl, we neglected to mention the vital role Rigel Stuart played in averting that danger. As a critical element of the defense our Scientists devised, Rigel Stuart and Sovereign Emileia both agreed to risk their own safety, perhaps even their lives, in order to use a recently discovered aspect of their graell bond to prevent what would surely have been a cataclysmic loss of power and life on Earth. We apologize for the delay in recognizing Rigel Stuart’s essential contribution and wish to extend our extreme gratitude to both him and our Sovereign for their selfless bravery on everyone’s behalf.”
Mr. Stuart drove in silence for a minute or two, then said, “But…didn’t you say you wrote the statement, Excellency?”
“I did. But if you remember, the Council never said anything about how I should word it. They’ve written and sent out plenty of statements in my name over the past year, so I figured it would be okay to send out this one in theirs.”
“A rather clever approach, I must say.” Dr. Stuart sounded both surprised and impressed. “I can’t help hoping it will help—” Her cell phone chimed and she broke off.
“Yes? You have? Why, thank you, Gwendolyn, that’s very big of you. Yes, I’ll tell him.”
She turned back around, now wearing a broad smile. “That was Gwendolyn Gannett. It seems the Echtran Enquirer has been getting some rather, ah, unpleasant feedback over the past several minutes. She asked me to convey her apology to Rigel for publishing that article last week without sufficiently checking her facts first.”
Rigel and I grinned at each other.
“Bet you and Dad get a few apologies, too,” he predicted, then checked his own cell phone. “Huh, looks like I’ve already received a couple of ‘I’m sorry’ emails myself, judging from the subject lines.”
By the time we reached my house, emails and more calls had begun pouring in, all to say how sorry people were for misjudging Rigel and his parents. The growing relief I sensed from Dr. and Mr. Stuart was palpable. Clearly they’d each received a lot more insults and veiled threats than either had been willing to let on to the other.
“You did it,” Rigel told me as he walked me to my door. “I can’t imagine why I ever doubted you. I’m starting to wonder if there’s any problem you can’t solve.”
I laughed. “You helped a lot, just like you do with everything—not to mention you probably saved my life tonight. Again. Even if Mr. Farmer wasn’t planning to kill us, I’d be a pretty sucky Sovereign without you.”
He shook his head. “Nah, you’d be great. But if you think working together on everything from now on will make you an even better one, I won’t argue.” Leaning in, he kissed me and, like always, I me
lted.
“You know,” he murmured after a long, blissful moment, “with all these changes in Jewel, we’re probably facing some pretty interesting times over the next few months—or years.”
I grinned up at him. “Probably so. But as long as we’re facing them together, we don’t have a thing to worry about.”
Keep reading for a preview of The Girl From Mars, book 5 in the Starstruck series!
The Girl From Mars (preview)
1
caidpel (KAYD-pel): predominant sport played in Nuath, combining elements of the Irish sports of hurling and Gaelic football
* * *
“Kira! I’m open!” My teammate Brady’s call comes from across the caidpel field as two opposing players box me in.
Whirling to face him, I toss the ball from my hand to my camman, then use the stick to flick it his way over my opponents’ heads. Brady barely has to stretch to catch the schlitur on a dead run toward the other team’s goal. My way no longer blocked, I’m free to assist. As I streak down the caidpel pitch, the opposing goalposts loom up like a giant letter “A” with two crossbars, one above the other.
Brady lobs the ball toward the middle goal, between the two crossbars, five feet above the goalie’s head. Not high enough. She extends her stick and jumps, deflecting it at the last second, but now I’m in position.
I leap in front of the man she’s aiming for, knocking his camman aside with my left hand as I snag the ball in my right. Two quick steps, then I hurl the ball twice as high as Brady did. The schlitur sails through the small, triangular goal at the top, between the short upper crossbar and the pointed peak where the two posts converge twenty feet above the ground.
Five points! Seconds later the final chime sounds, ending the game with our team up 12-10 over the Healers.
My teammates converge on me, cheering wildly. “You did it, Kira!” screams Leitis, our goalie and my best friend on the team.
“Again,” adds Brady, grinning at me over the top of Leitis’s head. “Was a good day for the Ags when you joined us, Kira. Glad now I didn’t make that three-pointer and throw us into overtime. Gave you a chance to go for the win. Well done!”
“Thanks.” I grin back at him.
This is only my second season in the elite Senior Caidpel League, though I started playing on Hollydoon’s girls’ team when I turned twelve, nearly five years ago. Playing caidpel, even becoming one of Nuath’s top players, might not be as world-changing as helping the Resistance was, but I still love it. Especially at moments like this, when I’ve just helped advance the Agricultural fine’s team into the playoffs.
Our green-clad fans start streaming onto the pitch to congratulate the players—especially me. Though I enjoy the adulation, seeing so many of my teammates being hugged by their families is a sharp reminder that my own didn’t come. Never come.
Dad claims it’s because the crowds spook Mum so much. Maybe it’s true. She’s never really been herself since Faxon’s goons arrested her last year, two weeks before the dictator was overthrown. I should probably cut her more slack.
Retrieving my smile, I turn to a few younger fans thrusting their tablets toward me. I’m autographing the last one when I spot my little sister making her way toward me through the crowd. Scanning the area behind her, I see no sign of our parents.
“Hey, Adina. Did you come by yourself?”
“I came with Bronwyn’s family. They figured I wouldn’t want to miss your big game and they were right—you were awesome!”
I return her hug, absurdly touched. “Thanks, Sprout. You want to stick around and celebrate with the team? Coach said something about Sheelah’s.”
Adina’s amber eyes widen at the name of the best restaurant in Newlyn—one of the best in Nuath, in fact. “Oh, wow, Sheelah’s! But…I better not. The water dispenser in the sheep pen has been glitching lately and Mum never remembers to check it. Besides, I said I’d be home for dinner.”
“You and your sheep.” I ruffle my sister’s short blonde hair.
While my parents and I have the skills with plants typical of most Ags, Adina has always had a special affinity for animals. Dad sometimes teases that Adina is a throwback to the time before Horticulture and Husbandry split into separate Agricultural sub-fines, five or six hundred years ago.
“I’ll see you later then, okay?” I say. “Tell Mum and Dad not to wait dinner. And thank Bronwyn’s folks for bringing you.”
When the happy crowd finally disperses a little while later, our team heads to Sheelah’s for our celebratory dinner. Coach assures us he called ahead to reserve their party room, but when we arrive the owner tells him it’s already taken.
“But…I just called to confirm fifteen minutes ago,” Coach protests. “You said you were holding that room for us.”
The man, both shorter and noticeably pudgier than the average Nuathan, shrugs apologetically. “Sorry about that. They arrived just ahead of you, so what could I do?”
He jerks a thumb over his shoulder toward the archway leading into the room in question—the only one large enough to accommodate our whole team. Looking, I spot the unmistakeable tall, copper-headed figure of Sean O’Gara, the Sovereign’s future Consort, laughing and talking with a dozen other guys around the same age. They all look pleased with themselves for pulling rank to snag the best room—the room that was supposed to be ours.
Even as I watch, Sean O’Gara turns his head and spots our team, still hovering by the door. Nudging a couple of his buddies, he grins widely and gives us a cocky thumbs-up. Gloating. Arrogant, Royal twilly.
“Seriously?” I say to our coach. “They bumped us for the Sovereign’s lapdog and his Royal friends? They don’t even need a room that big!”
“Shh!” Coach hisses at me. “Do you want to get us all in trouble?” Then, more loudly, “C’mon, everybody, we’ll celebrate with fish and chips next door instead. My treat.”
There’s quite a bit of grumbling as we file back out, but no one dares protest too loudly. I glance back over my shoulder as I leave the restaurant and see Consort Sean still grinning at us, like he’s daring us to try to oust him and his gang of Royals from the room we reserved.
“Jerks,” I mutter. “They’re as bad as Faxon’s favorites used to be, lording it over everyone else.”
The only one close enough to overhear is Brady, who immediately falls into step beside me. “You still miss it, don’t you?” He slants a glance down at me with those dark blue eyes that make all the girls swoon.
I look up at him, startled. “Miss—? You mean…when we were still working to change things and caidpel was more than just a game?”
Brady is the only other member of our team who used the sport as cover to help the Resistance last year, when Faxon was still making everyone miserable. Our matches and practices take us all over Nuath, so it was easy to pass messages without Faxon’s bullochts—who were everywhere—getting suspicious.
He nods. “I’m not criticizing, you’re playing better than ever this season. But I can tell you don’t have quite the same fire you did then. Am I wrong?”
For a second I don’t answer, then I shake my head. “Not wrong. But we’re supposed to be happy about it, right? The Resistance did what it set out to do—got rid of Faxon. Brought back the Sovereign.” I can’t quite keep the bitterness out of my voice on that last word.
Brady keeps watching me, not saying anything else until the team is busy placing their orders at the fish and chips counter. Then, softly, “What if I told you there are still ways to make a difference?”
“What do you mean?” I whisper back. “How?”
“Ask me tomorrow, after our practice in Monaru. ’K?”
I nod eagerly and he moves off. Leitis immediately takes his place at my side.
“Ooh, that looked a bit intense, Kira. You and Brady, eh?”
“Nah, just talking game strategy.” I can’t claim I’m not attracted to him. But so is every other girl on the team, along with half the female
population of Nuath, drooling over him on the feeds.
Leitis sighs, looking over her shoulder after Brady. “He can talk strategy to me any time he wants, whether it’s to do with caidpel or not,” she says with a wink.
If I’m honest with myself, I feel the same way. But handsome as Brady is, at the moment I’m more interested in hearing whatever he’s going to tell me tomorrow than in starting a romance.
“C’mon,” I say to Leitis. “We’d better get our orders in before they run out of fresh chips.”
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A Note from Brenda Hiatt
I know there are many, many books out there to choose from, so I want to take this opportunity to personally thank you for purchasing and reading Fractured Jewel. I wrote this novella largely in response to all the readers who kept demanding more Starstruck books after the end of Starfall, the fourth book in the series. As I wrote, more ideas kept simmering. Consider Fractured Jewel a “bridge,” if you will, between my original Starstruck series and a new spin-off series in that world. If you enjoyed Fractured Jewel (or any of the Starstruck books), please consider leaving a review wherever you buy or talk about books to let like-minded readers know they might enjoy it, too.
* * *
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Also by Brenda Hiatt
The Starstruck Series
Starstruck - An orphaned astronomy geek dreams of escaping her tiny town and becoming somebody and then the hot new quarterback befriends her. But strange things happen: her acne clears up, her eyesight improves, and when they touch, sparks fly—literally! Soon she discovers secrets that change her humdrum life forever and expose her to deadly perils. The middle of nowhere just got a lot more interesting!