Starbound: A Starstruck Novel (34 page)

“But…you can’t be getting sick already? You haven’t even been apart twenty-four hours!”

M just shrugs. “I know it makes no sense, but I’m definitely not faking.”

I plop down next to her and grab her hand before she can stop me. “You’re not faking this, either.” I force my voice to be more gentle than I’m feeling. Sure enough, she starts to look better again almost instantly. “You think I didn’t notice before?”

She stares at me. “You mean—you did that on purpose? During the interview?”

“I could tell you were about to lose it.”

“Thanks. But—” She regards me uncertainly. “Why are you so angry?”

Guess I’m not hiding my feelings very well after all. “Because you getting this sick this fast, especially after that antidote the Council gave you, proves you and Rigel must have done a lot more than talk that night on the ship. When he was in your bedroom.”

M snatches her hand away from mine. “I already admitted we kissed. But that was
all
. Besides, it was just that parlor room with the chairs, not the bedroom.” Like that makes a difference.

“Yeah? So why would just kissing change anything? It’s not like you hadn’t done
that
before.”

“Sean,” Dad says warningly, but I keep watching M, waiting for her answer.

“I don’t know.” She looks away from me. “I got sick on the ship, too, when they sent him down to Steerage—faster than in November, though not as quickly—or as badly—as this time. It’s like every time we’re apart and then get together again, our bond gets stronger and being apart gets worse.”
 

Her eyes snap back to mine, and now she looks pissed, too. “And you
know
we haven’t had a chance to do anything since landing on Mars, not even kiss. So don’t go talking about
proof
when you don’t have any!”

I’m so relieved there might be a different explanation than the one I assumed, I immediately back down. “Sorry. You’re right. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” I reach for her hand again, but she leans away from me, still mad.

“No. You shouldn’t. And don’t feel like you have to help, either. I mean, if you think I’m such a liar, why would you even
want
me to get Acclaimed?” She’s already turning paler again and I feel like a monster. A jealous monster.

“Look, I said I was sorry, okay? And of course I want to help if I can. Any way I can. Please let me, M.”

She looks away again with a sigh. “I’m sorry, too.” I can almost feel the anger draining out of her. “I’m just…stressed, I guess. I really did appreciate what you did during the interview. I…wouldn’t have made it through otherwise.”

“I’m here whenever you need me,” I promise her. She still doesn’t look at me, but gives a little nod. I’ll take it.

My dad clears his throat. “We only have an hour to eat before we need to leave for Ballytadgh.”

“—so yes, I think we should go back to a truly representative legislature,” M is saying to the moderator in Ballytadhg’s town square. “If you read the documents that originally outlined our government, you’ll see that’s what the first Sovereign and his Cabinet had in mind, giving every
fine
a voice. We have a chance now to go back to that ideal.”
 

I can’t believe how good she is at this, even with all that preparation. She’s handling this Q&A like a seasoned politician…with my help. Even if it’s just some bizarre DNA thing, I’m happy I can make her better. Happy that she
needs
me.

“So, are you saying Faxon decimating our government and killing half of our Royals was a
good
thing?” comes an indignant question from the audience.
 

I glare in the questioner’s direction and see it’s that prime
twilly,
Gordon Nolan. Crap! Why wasn’t that guy arrested or something? This was supposed to be one of the
easy
crowds. I guess her opponents saw her rising numbers and figured they’d better do something.

M tenses slightly at the question, but I doubt anybody but me notices. I slide my hand an inch or two over until it grazes her wrist and she sits up straighter, looking her heckler in the eye. “Of course I’m not saying that, Gordon. Those murdered Royals included my entire extended family, in case you’ve forgotten.”
 

The jerk flinches and the people sitting around him frown in his direction. Good.

“I’m saying,” M continues, “that out of all the evil Faxon perpetrated on our people, this could be
one
good thing we get out of it, something to give more of our people a chance to be heard as we rebuild Nuath and move forward into a better, brighter future.”

Spontaneous applause erupts, and I remember M telling me on the way here that the Arts—what Ballytadhg is mostly known for—were one of the
fines
that got marginalized in the legislature over the centuries.
 

After that, most of the “questions” are excited suggestions about other ways Nuath could be better off. M doesn’t have any trouble responding, since they play right into the talking points she and my dad have rehearsed. Still, when the session ends—with more applause—she slumps a little, like somebody let some air out of her.

Not caring if she objects or not, I take her hand firmly in mine. “Great job, M,” I whisper.
 

“Thanks.” She squeezes my hand slightly. Then releases it. She waves at the still-applauding crowd as we walk back to the car to head to her next appearance, in Glenamuir—our old village.
 

As soon as the car pulls away, she leans back against the seat and closes her eyes. I start to reach for her hand again, just a few inches from mine, but stop myself. Maybe if I wait, she’ll touch me instead.

Molly, meanwhile, is bouncing with excitement to see Glenamuir again. Even before we reach the outskirts, she’s pointing stuff out to M. “See? I told you there are sheep on Mars. Some goats, too, but not as many, and they’re mainly around Bailecuinn, to the east.”
 

“You guys were right.” M sits up and looks out the window. “This part does look a little like Ireland. I didn’t quite believe it from what I’ve seen so far.”
 

 
“Yeah, until we got to Ireland, I figured stone walls were just a Nuathan thing.” Molly points as we pass one. “Of course, they’re reddish here instead of gray, but otherwise they’re
exactly
the same.”

“I guess that makes sense, if the original colonists were brought here from Ireland.” M perks up a little as she looks around. I’m glad to see her interested in something other than politics. Or Rigel.

The car stops at the edge of the Glenamuir village square, where a crowd’s already waiting. Cormac steps out to check security and Dad and Molly follow. M hangs back for a minute, then suddenly reaches over and grabs my hand. I try to hide my happy shock as she clings to me, soaking up as much healing as I can give her before she faces the crowd.

After a few seconds, she gives me an apologetic little smile. “Sorry. I just needed a little—”

“Hey, it’s
totally
okay. You can grab my hand or—whatever—anytime you need to, I told you that.”

“I know. But…it doesn’t seem fair, using you like, I don’t know, a recharging station or something.”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. I’m happy to help. Patriotic duty and all that.” I grin to lighten her mood but she still looks serious.
 

“Even though—”

I don’t want to hear what she’s about to say, so I interrupt her by saying it myself. “Yeah, even though I know you’d rather it was Rigel here instead of me. And that you’re worried about him seeing us together on the news and stuff. I get it.” I don’t like it, but I get it.

She looks at me for a few seconds, then nods. “Okay, then. Thanks, Sean.” She lets go of my hand.
 

I pretend she did it reluctantly.

Glenamuir
(GLEN-uh-mer) (pop. 898):
largely Agricultural village in northwest Nuath; longtime home of O’Gara family during Faxon’s reign

In spite of Sean’s words, I still felt guilty as I stepped out of the hovercar and looked around at the little village of Glenamuir. It was similar to Bailerealta, but bigger, with red stone buildings and gray metal roofs.

“It hasn’t changed at all. Oh, look, it’s the Corcannons!” Molly waved enthusiastically and a family near the front of the crowd waved back. “They were our next-door neighbors when we lived here.”
 

Sean extended his arm to lead me to the platform and I took it, since it would look odd if I didn’t.

This forum started out exactly like the one in Ballytadhg, with the mayor of Glenamuir giving a little speech about how honored they were to have me here, me responding with my prepared opening statement—which was well received—and then the first questions, which were read by the stunning older woman acting as moderator.
 

“Yes, I hope to have a properly elected legislature up and running as quickly as possible,” I was saying several minutes later, when a disturbance broke out near the back of the crowd.
 

Mairi, the moderator, frowned in that direction, then repeated what she’d said at the beginning. “Anyone with questions or comments, please message them to my omni. I’ll relay them in the order received.”

In response, a man shouted, “You’re only asking the easy ones! I want to know why anyone would want a girl who can’t even keep her Bodyguard in line to lead our whole country? Because her grandfather did? She’s no Leontine, just look at her!”

A few people standing near the man nodded their agreement, but most of the crowd started shouting him down.

“Give her a chance!” one woman cried.

“Leontine was young once, too!” another yelled.
 

“Please,” I said, taking advantage of my microphone. “Everyone is entitled to an opinion. I don’t claim to be my grandfather, but in time I hope to lead effectively in my own way.”

The moderator quickly jumped in with the next submitted question, one about allocation of resources. But as I answered, I noticed a few reporters converging on the dissenters in the back to collect statements. There seemed to be at least a dozen of them, more than I’d thought.

I was flagging again by the time Mr. O signaled the moderator for the final question. I managed to answer in a reasonably steady voice, then gave a shortened version of my closing statement. Sean was waiting as I stepped from the platform, ready to give me the boost I needed. Grateful, I clung to his hand for a second, but when I noticed news cameras and omnis turned our way, I let go and waved.

Sean didn’t protest but I could feel his disappointment, just as I’d felt his elation when I’d grabbed his hand in the car earlier. None of this was fair to him, but it was even less fair to Rigel. Not only did he have no way to mitigate his symptoms, he had to watch me cozy up to Sean on national TV.
 

“Want a tour of the village before we head back?” Sean asked, his spirits reviving.
 

I didn’t have the heart to say no, he and Molly were so eager to show me around. Several of their old friends came up to greet them, some with hugs, then a few shyly asked to be introduced to me. Others kept their distance, though. When I focused, I picked up definite hostility from a few of the girls near Sean’s age.
 

As we moved on, I heard one girl loudly whisper, “Of course he has to pretend he doesn’t mind. What else can he do?”
 

“She so doesn’t deserve him,” another girl said, not bothering to whisper at all. “Little cheat. Good thing for her I’m not old enough to vote.”

Sean’s ears turned bright red. “Ignore them,” he murmured. “They’ve been watching too much garbage on the feeds, that’s all.”
 

Molly didn’t say anything but I could tell she was bothered as well. I hated that I was indirectly spoiling their excitement at being back in their old village, but what could I do? Confronting those girls would only make the gossip worse.

He and Molly determinedly showed me their old school, house and favorite haunts, but I could tell the visit had become bittersweet for them. Not only weren’t they coming back to stay, I was sure being here reminded them of their sister Elana, who apparently still hadn’t recovered much memory.
 

The Corcannons invited us to stay for dinner, but Mr. O and I were both eager to get back to Tullymayne. He wanted to analyze the latest news updates to prepare me for tomorrow and I was desperately hoping to talk to Rigel. I hadn’t had so much as a one word message from him yet and I was starting to worry.
 

As soon as we got back, I headed for the bathroom again, but not to throw up this time, since Sean’s frequent touches were keeping my symptoms to a manageable level. Locking the door, I pulled out my omni.
Still
no message from Rigel. Stifling my disappointment, I waited a moment, flushed the toilet, then rejoined the others.

 
“—buzzing about our Princess’s visit to Sean O’Gara’s home village of Glenamuir today,” a reporter was saying. “Many say it speaks well of the Princess that she would include one of the smaller villages in her tour of Nuath. Perhaps more importantly, the videos we’ve seen should help quiet fears that the relationship between the Princess and her future Consort might have been irreparably damaged by the events on the
Quintessence
.”
 

The screen showed Cormac, Molly and Mr. O getting out of the car on our arrival at Glenamuir, then zoomed in on Sean and me, still inside. I’d assumed the tinted windows gave us privacy, but I was wrong. In the close-up, I grabbed Sean’s hand and hung on to it while we had a conversation that looked deceptively intimate without any sound. Then they showed me holding Sean’s hand again right after my closing remarks but cut away before I let go to wave.

I cringed, imagining how this must look to Rigel if he was watching—which he probably was, unless he was already too sick to stay awake. Meanwhile, Sean was regarding me both sympathetically and a little warily.