by Brenda Hiatt
“Shall we?” Mr. O said, turning toward the corridor on the left.
After a five minute walk, we reached our destination and I gasped yet again. “Main function room” was an absurdly dry description for the most sumptuous ballroom I’d ever seen or even imagined. Chandeliers of pink crystal illuminated gem-encrusted frescoes of flowers and foliage on the walls and intricate gold-inlaid mosaics on the floor. Tables laden with all kinds of delicacies and drinks were scattered around, adorned with fantastical ice—crystal?—sculptures in every color of the rainbow.
People were already entering through another door, decked out nearly as lavishly as the room. Molly and Sean stared around, as stunned as I was, but Mr. O appeared unfazed. Of course, he’d probably been here before, when my grandfather Leontine was alive.
“There will be a receiving line,” Mr. O informed me before I could ask. “You, Sean and the senior acting ministers and their spouses.” He nodded toward the other early arrivals. “This way.”
Soon every healthy Royal in Nuath was there, well over a hundred of them by now, along with the heads of every fine and the few non-Royal town or village mayors. Each formally greeted me with bows and congratulations before moving on down the line to the ministers.
Some of these Royals, Mr. O whispered during a brief break, had only recently been released from treatment for memory or other impairments inflicted by Faxon. Another two dozen or so had arrived from Earth three days ago, on a ship from Montana.
“I’ll never remember all these names and titles,” I murmured at one point, as the introductions went on and on. Didn’t Mr. O get how distracted I was right now? Wasn’t he?
“Not to worry. I’m recording everything so you can go over it after, ah, afterward.” He tapped his breast pocket, which I assumed contained his omni. “We’ll have time to talk later, I promise. For now, just keep smiling.”
He and Sean stayed by my side after the interminable receiving line ended, Mr. O’Gara deftly steering conversations away from undesirable topics, but there was no chance for private conversation. Slowly, we made our way around the enormous room, Cormac and Molly trailing behind me. I smiled and nodded as one government official after another outlined what they hoped I’d be able to do for their particular Ministry, and at least a dozen Regent hopefuls politely tried to convince me they’d be my best choice.
Several of the Royal guests still had obvious memory issues, like Jeremy, the former Minister of Elections, who told me at least four times that he’d once visited the Midwest during the six years he’d spent on Earth in his twenties. And Thora, once a Legislator from Monaru, who kept calling me by my mother’s name, Galena, then blushing and apologizing profusely, swearing I looked just like her.
Some unimpaired Royals made me uncomfortable, too. There was one in particular, Cora, a recent arrival from Earth, whose bright blue eyes held an almost fanatically intense gleam whenever she looked at me, giving me the creeps. Gordon, at least, kept his distance, merely smiling with exaggerated politeness any time I looked his way.
As we went, Cormac and Molly tasted and served me whatever food or drink I showed an interest in, though Mr. O frowned me away from the prettiest glasses. Sean informed me in a whisper that those contained an alcoholic beverage called spakriga, the Nuathan version of champagne.
If it weren’t for the terrible threat looming over everyone, I might possibly have enjoyed myself, at least at first. But as the evening wore on and people kept talking at me, I had an increasingly strong urge to yell at everybody to shut up—that they had no idea what was really important, that their whole complicated colony might be gone in two days.
Instead, I smiled my thanks to Molly as she handed me another adorable little canapé, then whispered to Sean, on my left. “How soon till we can politely get out of here? I can’t believe your dad’s making us do this when we need to be working on…you know.”
“Yeah, I know. But he thinks following the traditions will keep people from panicking.”
Before I could argue the point, the acting Minister of Transportation came up to ask me a question about getting the trains onto their old schedule, forcing me back into Sovereign mode.
Though I’d been dying for the reception to end, when it finally did, the fear I’d managed to push to the back of my mind resurfaced. The ornate clock above the door showed it was nearly eleven, which meant I now had less than thirty-seven hours to save Nuath…or not.
Late as it was, when I suggested we all go back to my quarters to talk, Mr. O immediately agreed.
“You were a very good sport tonight,” he said the moment we were safely behind closed doors. “All of you were. I know pretending everything is fine wasn’t easy, but I do believe it will go a long way toward undermining any rumors certain people might start.”
Gordon, in other words.
“Let’s quickly check the feeds, shall we?” he continued. “Then we can discuss what our next step needs to be.”
As he moved to the main vidscreen, he noticed the message light flashing. “I hope you haven’t been bombarded. I meant to have your messages routed through me for sorting before you receive them, at least until a permanent aide can be found. We’ll check what’s there in a moment.”
There was nothing particularly surprising in the news. A few stories, still, about last night’s power glitch, but mostly it was all about the happenings at the Palace today. The entire colony of Nuath had apparently been throwing an incredible, all-day party. Some of the shots of people celebrating in the streets—celebrating me—were both embarrassing and heartwarming. And made me hope all the more I could somehow keep them all safe.
After ten minutes, Mr. O turned off the feed and pulled up my list of waiting messages. To both my relief and disappointment, none were from Rigel or Eric, but one was from his grandmother.
“Interesting,” Mr. O’Gara commented after shunting half a dozen messages into his own in-box for evaluation. “I wonder what Morag Teague can want?” He clicked it.
This time Morag’s bow looked forced and mechanical. “I cannot, of course, refuse your direct order, Excellency,” she said without any introductory niceties. “Though Rigel’s Healers have strongly advised against it, I will inform them he is to be at the Palace by noon tomorrow. Your good health.” With another perfunctory bow, she signed off.
Mr. O turned to me with a frown. “What was that about? Did you contact her?”
“Of course.” I lifted my chin, refusing to feel guilty. “I sent her a message almost as soon as I got here. She’s refused to let me talk to Rigel ever since she took him away.” He didn’t need to know about the one conversation we’d managed. “But the vote is over now and I’m Installed and everything, so what difference does it make if we’re together? Especially if having him here can help me stop the Grentl?”
“I thought Eric Eagan was going to help you with that? Rigel Stuart only knows what you’ve told him.” His voice was heavy with disapproval.
“That was the plan, but as I’ve been trying to tell you all day, Eric isn’t returning my calls and I’m getting really worried. I think he’s the only one who knows where the Grentl communication device is or how it works.”
“Eric never shared that knowledge with anyone else, as a safeguard?”
“A couple of other Scientists knew at one time, but they’re both dead now.”
“Then he should have given you more information at the outset, against the chance of something happening to him.” He swallowed, his alarm now matching mine—finally. “We need to track him down immediately. We’re running out of time.”
“I hope Eric is okay. But especially if he’s not, I need Rigel here.” I sent Sean an apologetic glance, which he ignored. “I knew you wouldn’t approve, but I’m going to need every advantage possible and my bond with Rigel is an advantage.”
“That serum you were given—”
“Keeps me from getting sick, yes. In fact it makes me feel mostly normal. But when Rigel’
s with me—” when he’s touching me, kissing me, I thought but didn’t say— “I’m better than normal. I’m stronger, faster, smarter, more confident—all the things I’m going to need to be, to deal with the Grentl and save Nuath.”
Mr. O’Gara continued to glare at me for a long moment, apparently deep in thought, then sighed and shook his head. “It’s far more important to find Eric Eagan. We can deal with this…other matter later, after the main threat has been averted. You’re sure Eric told you nothing about where the device is located?”
“Just that it’s in a sealed room somewhere in the Palace. I think—I hope—if I find the room I’ll be able to open it. From what he said, it’s probably one of those Sovereign-bloodline-only things, like the door to this apartment. But first we have to find it.”
He nodded, then stood. “Yes. Well. It’s late and we’re all tired. Let’s tackle that problem in the morning, shall we? A discreet inquiry into Eric’s whereabouts will likely turn him up, then we’ll go from there.”
Sean stood, too, but hesitated when his father moved to the door. “So…you’re okay with Rigel Stuart coming here and starting those rumors back up?”
“I didn’t say that, Sean,” Mr. O’Gara snapped, “but now is not the time to discuss it. Come along.”
I could feel Sean’s anger, jealousy and resentment—partly at his father—as he reluctantly followed him out of the room. When the door closed, I let out a sigh of my own, which Molly echoed.
“Poor Sean,” she said. “I’m pretty sure he was starting to think, well—”
“I know. But you get why I need Rigel here, don’t you?” I looked at her pleadingly, hoping for one ally.
She lifted a shoulder. “I guess. I just…hate to see Sean hurt.”
“Me, too, and I’m really sorry about that. He’s a great guy. He’s just not…Rigel.”
Once I was ready for bed and alone again, I turned on my bedroom vidscreen and replayed Morag Teague’s last message—quietly.
“Though Rigel’s Healers have strongly advised against it, I will inform them he is to be at the Palace by noon tomorrow.”
No, I didn’t see how she could wriggle out of that promise, or how those Healers could refuse to do as she asked. She was his guardian, after all, the only one in Nuath with full authority over him—except me. I should definitely have Rigel back by noon tomorrow!
Sean had been right earlier: everything was going to work out okay. Mr. O would track down Eric and, with Rigel’s help, I’d be able to do whatever I needed to do to keep Nuath safe. Right at this moment, I was absolutely sure of it.
For the first time in nearly two weeks, I fell asleep with a smile on my lips.
I was still cheerful at breakfast, which made Sean glower and Mr. O avoid my eye. We were all eating in my apartment today, so we could talk. “Any luck finding Eric?” I asked brightly as we sat down, earning a quick frown from Mr. O.
“Not yet. He’s not at his home, so I’m making inquiries elsewhere, to include all of the Healing facilities.”
That sobered me a little. “Do you think he’s sick? Or hurt?”
“Perhaps. He’s extremely elderly. He might even have died.”
I’d tried hard not to think about that possibility. “Well, um, let me know as soon as you hear anything.”
Finally subdued, I finished my breakfast in silence while Mr. O ran down the list of people who’d applied for audiences and what excuses he’d used to put them off. For the next twenty-four hours, all our attention needed to be on averting the Grentl threat.
As soon as Sean and Mr. O left, I checked for messages—first on my omni, which only Rigel and Eric could access. Nothing. Then I went into my bedroom to check the vidscreen, where almost three dozen waited, though most had already been copied to Mr. O to deal with. I scrolled quickly down the list, then suddenly sucked in my breath. There, third from the bottom, was one from Rigel! It had come just ten minutes ago.
Hoping against hope he wouldn’t say he’d be delayed getting here, I touched “play”—and there he was, my Rigel, big as life and so gorgeous my heart turned over.
“Hey, M,” he said. “You might want to sit down to listen to this.”
What? Why? I wanted to shout at his image, my bubble of happiness punctured by his wooden tone, his sad smile. Backing up, I dropped onto an ottoman, my eyes glued to the screen.
“I’ve had time to do a lot of thinking,” he continued in that same awful, expressionless voice, “and I’ve come to a decision. You’re not going to like it, but I think it’s the right thing to do. What we had together was wonderful, but I think we both knew it couldn’t be forever. You hold a position now that requires you to make sacrifices and I need to be one of those sacrifices.”
No no no no no, I started chanting silently as the terrible words kept coming.
“I’ve decided to go back to Earth immediately. You need to be with Sean now, for the good of Nuath. But because it will hurt too much to see you two together from now on, I’ve asked to have the last year of my memory erased before I go.”
“NO!” This time I said it out loud, leaping to my feet. But he continued talking, while I kept shaking my head like I could make it all not true, make him not really be saying these horrible things.
“I know I’m taking the coward’s way out, and I’m sorry for that, M, and sorry I can’t tell you a proper goodbye. I hope in time you’ll be able to get over me and be happy with Sean. He’s not a bad guy, you know, even if I haven’t always been his biggest fan.
“By the time you get this message, the procedure will already be done, and I’ll already be on board the Luminosity. I’m bringing along a letter for my parents explaining what I’ve done and suggesting we move away from Jewel, so please don’t try to come after me. Your focus right now needs to be on keeping Nuath safe, both from this immediate threat and into the future. Please do your best to stay safe and to be happy. Goodbye, M.”
The screen went blank.
I was left staring at the spot that had been Rigel, too stunned to cry.
CHAPTER 36
iobirt inghlactha (ee-BURT en-HWAHK-thuh): acceptable sacrifice
Sean
“I see,” my dad is saying to someone on his omni when I come out of the bathroom and join him in the living room of the huge two bedroom apartment we’re sharing. “Thank you.”
He clicks off and turns to me with a sort of grimace. “Good news and bad news. I’ve located Eric Eagan at one of the smaller Healing facilities in Pryderi. He’s alive, but that’s all they would tell me, as I’m not a family member.”
“But they’ll have to tell M, won’t they, since she’s Sovereign? If she insists?”
“That’s my hope. I was just about to call her with this development.”
“I’ll go tell her myself,” I offer, heading for the door. “If that’s okay?”
Dad’s expression tells me he knows why I want to do this, but he nods anyway. “Tell her the more quickly she can get Eric here to the Palace the better—though she knows that already.”
“Right.” I hurry toward M’s apartment, rehearsing how to give her this news. I was kind of a jerk at breakfast just now, too jealous to think about the kind of pressure she’s under. Hopefully this news will make her happy—happier than she already is, what with Rigel arriving any minute now.
I shove that thought away, telling myself—again—that if having him here will help her do what she needs to do, I should be all in favor of it. I guess I’m still having trouble wrapping my head around this Grentl thing. A few days ago I thought Nuath’s problems were mostly over, with Faxon gone. All we had to do was get M up far enough in the polls to be Acclaimed. And I was totally on board to help with that.
But now there’s a threat way worse than Faxon hanging over the only place I’ve ever thought of as home, and I can’t do anything to help. But maybe this news will.
I tap the door chime on M’s apartment and Molly opens the door, her face white and
scared, which makes me forget for a second why I’m here.
“What? What’s wrong? Are you okay? Or is M—?”
Molly flaps a hand toward M’s bedroom and my gut clenches. “No, M’s not okay, but I can’t get her to tell me what’s wrong. She’s just sitting on the floor in there muttering to herself. Sean, I think she’s finally cracked under the pressure! What are we going to do?”
Pushing past Molly, I shrug, like it’s no big deal. “We’ll snap her out of it, that’s all.” It might not be that easy, but I want to erase that scared look from Molly’s face—even though I’m scared now, too.
M is sitting on the floor of her bedroom, in between a white leather ottoman and the vidscreen, which is blank. She doesn’t even look up when I come in, just keeps rocking forward and backward, chanting, “No, no, no,” over and over and over.
I squat down on my heels in front of her. “M? M, it’s Sean. Can you hear me?”
She doesn’t respond, just keeps rocking and chanting, so I put a hand on her shoulder to stop the rocking, at least. For a second she pushes against me, but then a kind of shudder goes through her and she looks up at me.
“Sean?”
Relief explodes through me. I nearly hug her to my chest, but stop myself in time. “Yeah, M, it’s me. What’s going on?”
First horror fills her eyes, then tears. She waves a hand at the blank vidscreen in front of her. “It’s Rigel. He— Oh, no, no, no, no.” She tries to start rocking again, but I don’t let her.
“What? What about Rigel? He’s not coming here after all? Did Morag do something to him?”
“Not…not Morag. He—” She breaks off with a wail, then suddenly starts sobbing so hard I’m afraid she’ll hurt herself, her breath coming in gasps that sound almost like screams.