Starfall: A Starstruck Novel (4 page)

When we rejoined the others in the living room a few minutes later, Mr. O’s eyebrows rose. “You have it?”

In answer, I held up the Archive crystal.

“Excellent. How does it work?”

I blinked. “I, um, thought maybe you’d know?”

He held out a tentative hand. “May I?”

Though I felt an odd reluctance, I placed the flat, round crystal on Mr. O’s outstretched palm.
 

The instant it touched him, he gave a sharp gasp of pain and dropped it onto the thick carpet between us. “I…I can’t. It appears only you can safely handle it.” He seemed visibly shaken.
 

“I’m sorry!” I stooped to pick it back up. “I had no idea it would—”

“Not your fault.” He examined the hand the archive stone had touched. “No damage seems to have been done, but this will make it difficult for anyone but you to figure out how it works. That should be your priority, whenever your other duties do not interfere.”

I nodded. A new challenge, one both interesting and important, would be a welcome distraction from the constant ache in my heart. “Any suggestions where I should start?”

“None. Unless you’ve found anything here?” He glanced around the apartment. “Perhaps a journal or log left by prior Sovereigns?”
 

“I haven’t exactly looked yet. But I will.”
 

“Yes, do. Though perhaps not tonight. We have that breakfast meeting at eight, then petitions in the Royal Audience Hall followed by a luncheon and a meeting with the Healers. After that, I’ll do my best to rearrange a few things to give you time to devote to this new project. I, ah, recommend against mentioning it to Nels just yet.”

I managed a wry smile. “Yeah, I’d rather not have him nagging at me while I’m trying to figure it out.”

Mr. O’s smile looked more genuine than mine felt. “I’m glad we are in accord. Good night, Excellency.”
 

He headed for the door but Sean hung back. “I’ll catch up in a minute, Dad, okay?”

Though his father raised an eyebrow, he nodded, bowed to me and left.

Sean turned to me, his bright blue eyes as sympathetic as they were interested. “It’s great you remembered that Archive thing. Wish
I’d
thought of it yesterday. Figuring it out will probably do a better job than all this political stuff to—”

“To distract me?” I finished, making him grimace. “I’m sorry, Sean, that’s not fair.” Especially since I’d had that identical thought just now. “You haven’t gloated once about Rigel leaving, even though you have every reason to be glad.”

“Hey, give me a little credit. It’s true I was never a fan of you two as a couple, but I didn’t want you hurt. Ever.” He held my gaze, willing me to believe him.

“I know. And I really am grateful. You’ve been right there for me ever since we got to Nuath.” I paused, then added in a bitter rush, “Unlike Rigel, who deserted me right when I needed him most.”

Sean made a small motion of denial but I plunged on.
 

“No, it’s true, you know it is.” A totally unexpected surge of anger—at
Rigel
—swept through me. “He said himself he was taking the coward’s way out and he was right. Nothing can
ever
excuse what he did to me.”

Sean shook his head again. “I thought the same thing at first M, but—”

“But what?” My sudden anger threatened to spill over onto Sean. “You agree with your dad that what he did was all noble? That it was ‘the right thing to do’?”
 

Sean hesitated for a long moment, then shrugged, not quite meeting my eye. “No. Hurting you definitely wasn’t right. But…you should still cut him a little slack. These past few months were pretty rough on him, and I…well, I made it worse, lots of times.”
 

Surprise at his unexpected defense of Rigel undercut my new anger—but I refused to let go of it. It felt so much better than despair. Empowering, even. “You’re a good guy, Sean, you know that? Maybe if—”

“Look, I…I gotta go.” Still not making eye contact, he turned toward the door. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? And, uh, good luck with that Archive thing.”
 

I frowned after him, wondering what could have sparked his sudden change in attitude, then shrugged. I already had enough puzzles to solve. That one would have to wait.
 

A few minutes later, as Molly was finally helping me out of my fancy gown, I let my gaze wander around my bedchamber. Surely, if prior Sovereigns
had
left any sort of record or clue for their descendants, it would be somewhere in this apartment?
 

The Royal chambers, I’d learned, contained a variety of compartments and amenities accessible only by someone with Sovereign blood—like the secret elevator. A non-Sovereign couldn’t even use the hot water shower (something less than 1% of households in Nuath boasted, water on Mars was so precious). If not a journal, maybe there was some kind of crystal reader hidden in a genetically coded hidey-hole I hadn’t found yet.

As soon as Molly left, I put a robe on over my nightgown and channeled the welcome energy of my newly-discovered anger at Rigel to begin a systematic search.

*
   
*
   
*

“So, did you, um, find anything last night?” Sean whispered as we all headed to my breakfast meeting the next morning.
 

His wariness reminded me of how strangely he’d reacted when I’d suddenly gotten pissed at Rigel last night—and reminded me I needed to
stay
pissed if I didn’t want to return to that awful pit of misery I’d lived in since getting his message. The hole that used to be my heart was still a long way from healed—if that was even possible—but anger dulled the pain, at least temporarily.

“Not yet,” I told him, “but I’ll keep looking.”
 

Mr. O heard and nodded approvingly. “That’s the spirit. I knew you’d be able to put that, ah, disappointment behind you.”
 

I stiffened.
Disappointment?
It was such a massive understatement, it had the opposite effect he clearly intended, pointing up the enormity of my loss. As despair crept over me again, my anger started slipping away. Desperately, I snatched it back. I needed that anger and the strength I drew from it to be the leader Nuath required right now.

Sure enough, the breakfast meeting was so boring, I had to consciously re-stoke my new anger at Rigel to keep me focused. While Palace staff discreetly served breakfast and cleared empty plates, a dozen or so acting ministers presented reports on their various areas of Nuathan welfare.
 

It could have been interesting if they’d been sharing actual data. Instead, they mostly spouted pompous nothings about “rebuilding Nuath to its former glory,” etc, etc. I was sure these ministers all had decades more experience than I did, but it didn’t seem like any of them knew as much about their supposed areas of expertise as they should, given their positions.
 

When the talk turned to elections, I finally spoke up. “I understand the heads of certain
fines
are now serving as some of the acting ministers?” I couldn’t help noticing none of those non-Royal ministers had been invited to this particular meeting.

Deirdra, the acting Elections Minister, nodded. “We didn’t have quite enough, ah, capable Royals remaining after Faxon’s overthrow to head all twenty-seven ministries, Excellency, so we were forced to draw six acting ministers from other
fines.
Now, however, enough Royals are available to replace them.”
 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for me to confirm all the acting ministers until every
fine
is able to nominate enough candidates to stand for a proper election,” I suggested.

“
Every
fine?” She seemed taken aback. “During your grandfather’s tenure—”

“The Sciences and the Royals made up the whole legislature. I know. But given current circumstances—”

Mr. O’Gara cleared his throat noisily. “Ah, perhaps these details can be discussed later, Excellency? It wouldn’t do to make any hasty decisions, I’m sure you agree.”

“But—” I glanced over to see him giving me a disapproving, even alarmed look and realized I should have talked to him before making such an apparently radical suggestion in front of all these ministers who might or might not fully support me.

“I, uh, suppose I should speak with my advisors before we make any sweeping changes.”
 

Deirdra’s worried expression cleared. “Of course, Excellency. Very wise.”
 

As the conversation moved on, I tried to use my new emotion-sensing ability to sort out which reports, requests and people I could trust…which stirred a sudden memory of Rigel urging me to “read” the Royals on the ship, during our trip to Mars.
 

I swallowed. Would I ever reach a point where
everything
didn’t remind me of Rigel?

The moment the meeting ended, Mr. O glanced at his omni. “This ran a bit late. You barely have time to change before the first petitioners are due in the Audience Hall.”
 

Molly and I hurried back to my apartment, where she hastily decked me out in one of the formal, gem-encrusted gowns appropriate for Royal audiences. But when we rejoined Mr. O and Sean on our way to the Audience Hall, Mr. O frowned.
 

“Where is your Scepter? You’ll be expected to have it for this.”

Oops. It was true that all the pictures I’d seen of prior Sovereigns in the Royal Audience Hall had shown them holding the Scepter—which I hadn’t touched since the day I was Installed, it was so ostentatious. “Back in my bedroom. Should I—?”

“I can get it,” Molly volunteered. “It’s in that cabinet in your closet, next to the jewelry one.” She’d shown me how to give her handprint access to most of the wardrobe cabinets, so I wouldn’t have to open them for her every time she dressed me.

“Thanks, Molly.”

She must have run—way easier in her outfit than mine—because she managed to return with my Scepter just as we reached the imposing gold-figured double doors of the Royal Audience Hall.

“Got it,” she panted, handing it to me a half-second before the doors were flung open by two bowing Palace staffers.
 

I took the Scepter from her, again experiencing that curious
mine
feeling.
 

“Ah, good.” Mr. O surveyed the still-empty Hall. “Let’s get you situated before the petitioners arrive, shall we?”
 

Somewhat hampered by my heavy gown, I crossed the enormous room, mounted the dais at the opposite end and seated myself on the ornate golden
cathoir
, or throne. A half-minute later the doors opened again to admit the mayor of Newlyn, my first appointment.

“Sovereign Emileia.” A member of the Agricultural rather than the Royal
fine,
Mayor Balfour folded himself practically in half, his bow was so deep. “I come to request your intervention in our dispute with Bailecuinn over water resources. Our hydroponics have been shorted of late, resulting in lowered production of the leafy greens Newlyn is so deservedly known for. Bailecuinn, on the other hand, has yet to see any drop-off in their grain production. Therefore, our immediate need is clearly greater than theirs.”

He went on to spout data on Newlyn’s water reclamation plant and how that water had been apportioned over the past few years. When he finished his rapid-fire analysis, I forced a smile.
 

“If you’ll send all pertinent figures to Mr. O’Gara, we’ll review both your claims and theirs. Mayor Cheara is scheduled to make a similar appeal on behalf of Bailecuinn later this morning.”

Though I could sense he wanted to argue his point further, Mayor Balfour bowed and retreated, since each petitioner was only allotted a five minute audience.
 

Absently playing with my Scepter during the brief break between appointments, I noticed that the translucent pink stone embedded near the top happened to be the
exact
same shape and size as the purple Archive stone. Could that possibly mean—?

My next petitioner was announced before I could check whether the pink stone might be removable, forcing me to turn my attention to her, instead.

After two hours listening to litany after boring litany involving Nuathan minutiae (Mayor Balfour’s case on water resources turned out to be one of the more riveting ones) I decided Nels, Devyn and the others must have been crazy to have actually
wanted
this job. No wonder you had to be born to it.

My very last appointment turned out to be Nels Murdoch himself, though not with a petition. Instead, he pulled up a holo-screen from his omni, oriented so I could see it.
 

“As you requested, Excellency, I have collected a few names for your consideration as possible members of your Advisory Council.” Not surprisingly, Devyn was at the top of the short list, which also included Mr. O’Gara, Phelan Monroe, whom I’d met on the
Quintessence
, and four others I’d met in passing last night and at my post-Installation Royal Reception.
 

“Thank you, Nels. I’ll consider each of these carefully.” I’d need to conduct in-person interviews to figure out which ones I could trust.

Nels nodded, then glanced at Mr. O. “I don’t suppose you have any more details yet about that, ah, problem we discussed two days ago?”
 

“We’re working on it.” Mr. O smiled reassuringly at him. “The Sovereign has discovered something that may be of assistance.”
 

I nodded, since Nels clearly needed reassuring. “We think previous Sovereigns may have left information that will tell us how to proceed without, er, aggravating the situation.”
 

Seeming way more relieved than my vague reassurance justified, Nels bowed his way out.
 

As we left the Audience Hall, Mr. O informed me I had forty-five whole minutes before my luncheon. I headed back to my apartment as quickly as my stupid formal gown would allow, eager to experiment with the Scepter before mentioning my new theory and possibly giving anyone false hopes.