Starcrossed (15 page)

“How very . . . informal.” Girard looked faintly scandalized. “We won’t keep you. I’m sure there are others, ah, that is, it’s been an honor, er—“

“It was nice meeting you,” I said firmly before he could add anything that would be difficult to explain if overheard. With another carefully polite smile, I turned away to find Rigel hovering, ready to whisk me into the living room, where most of the guests were.
 

“Thanks,” I murmured. He squeezed my arm in response and the awkwardness of the moment faded at the simple pleasure of his touch.

A moment later we were surrounded by friends from school, including the whole football team except, not surprisingly, Bryce Farmer. He had already resented Rigel for taking over Bryce’s quarterback spot, but after Rigel and I accidentally zapped him senseless—something he totally deserved, by the way—he and Rigel barely tolerated each other.

Kind of like me and Trina who, unfortunately,
was
here, along with most of the cheerleading squad, though I didn’t see Molly. Or Sean. Did they maybe think it would be awkward to come, after Wednesday’s incident? If Sean could just bring himself to apologize to Rigel . . . but I wasn’t sure he was up for that.
 

Allister didn’t seem to here either, though I assumed Rigel would have told me if he’d left town.
 

“Oh, hi, Marsha,” Trina greeted me with a syrupy, insincere smile. “You made it. Not quite a perfect party after all, but one can’t have everything.” Then, to Rigel, with a more genuine—though still syrupy—smile, “I just love your house, Rigel! It’s like it was made to entertain. You
so
need to have more parties.”

“I’ll mention it to my parents,” he said, then immediately turned to talk to a couple of football buddies, leaving Trina pouting. The past week or two she’d mostly flirted with Sean, but in his absence she’d been willing to revert to Rigel.

Between Allister’s absence and the Stuarts keeping the Neesons away from me, I was able to relax and enjoy myself for most of the evening—until Rigel started opening presents. He saved mine for last, and I held my breath as he unwrapped it. Would he laugh?

“Wow, M, this is really special,” he said, gazing at the crystal sun catcher etched with the constellation Orion. “Thank you so much.” He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss.

His mother—who always looked way too gorgeous to be somebody’s mom—came forward. I half expected her to frown about the kiss, but she was smiling as she examined the ornament. “Look, Rigel is blue, so it stands out.” She pointed at Orion’s left foot—the star Rigel. “What a thoughtful gift.”
 

I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I was still holding. Maybe it hadn’t been a dumb idea after all.
 

People started to drift back to the buffet table and Rigel threw an arm around my shoulders. “Why were you worried?” he whispered. “You should have known I’d love it. I’m going to hang it right over my bed, where the morning sun will catch it. Then I’ll wake up every morning thinking of you—though I do that anyway.”

A wonderful rush of warmth went through me, partly from his words and partly from the love I could feel radiating from him. I knew he could feel the same from me. Everything was going to be fine. I was sure of it.

By nine-thirty, people started to leave. I knew some of them—especially the cheerleaders and most of the football players—were going to a later party at Nicole Adams’s house. From ten feet away, I could clearly hear Bri and Deb whispering, discussing whether they could convince Bri’s dad they were getting a ride home from another parent and really go to Nicole’s party. The only problem with that plan, apparently, was me.
 

“You know she won’t go,” I overheard Bri say. “Even if her aunt would let her stay out that late, she never goes
anywhere
without Rigel.”
 

Sometimes my enhanced senses weren’t exactly a benefit. I turned away so Bri wouldn’t notice my hurt—just in time to see Allister Adair enter the room, followed by all of the O’Garas.

“Sorry to be so late,” Allister said smoothly to Shim, who had stayed mostly in the background during the party, tag-teaming with Mr. Stuart to keep the Neesons away from me. “I hope you saved us some birthday cake?”
 

“Of course,” Shim said, just as smoothly. “It’s good to see you again, Quinn, Lili.” He gave a little half-bow to the O’Garas, then nodded to Sean and Molly as well.

I quickly scanned the room and saw Rigel talking to Matt Mullins near the buffet table. He clearly hadn’t seen the O’Garas yet so I hurried over to join him. Even though Sean had apologized—to me, anyway—I wanted to be ready to intervene if necessary.

Rigel clearly felt my approach because he turned to me with a smile just before I reached him—then glanced over my shoulder and froze.

“What is
he
doing here?” he practically growled.

I gave Matt a quick apologetic smile and pulled Rigel off to the side, away from anyone else in the thinning crowd.
 

“Allister brought them—he’s related, remember? Now, be nice. Yesterday I managed to convince Molly about us and by now she’s probably convinced Sean, too. He already told me he was sorry for Wednesday, so maybe he’s here to apologize to you, too.” That would be an excellent birthday present, in my opinion, but Rigel just looked skeptical.

Sure enough, when Sean and Rigel greeted each other a few minutes later, no apology occurred, but at least they were polite. The girls crowding around to greet Sean probably helped. I tried not to be bothered that Bri was among them, flirting with Sean almost as outrageously as Trina usually did.

Bri saw me watching and came over. “Hey, M, the O’Garas say they can drive you home since you live so close. Would that be okay? Deb and I were kind of thinking we might look in at Nicole’s on the way home since Justin offered us a ride.”

My unease increased. Justin Blake was a senior and a known player. Even I’d overheard him bragging about the girls he’d scored—and about how much he drank at parties. “Are Nicole’s parents home?” I blurted out before thinking.

Predictably, Bri scowled at me. “Jeez, M, you sound like my mother. I don’t know. Probably not, knowing Nicole. Does it matter?”

Coward that I was, I backed down. “No, you’re right. Sorry. Sure, you guys go on. I’ll be fine with the O’Garas.”

Her expression cleared immediately. “Thanks, M. See you Monday!”

A few minutes later, she and Deb left with Justin and several others. Soon the only people left were the Stuarts, the O’Garas, Allister and me.
 

Allister hadn’t spoken to me since arriving, but almost as soon as the last non-
Echtran
left (the Neesons had gone half an hour ago), he came toward me with a smile that put me on edge—not that Allister ever did much that
didn’t
put me on edge.

“Princess, it is good to see you again,” he said, making the elaborate bow, right fist over heart, that was reserved for the Sovereign. I’d seen it several times by now, but it still weirded me out. “I regret I have not had opportunity to pay my respects during my current visit to Jewel.”

I pasted a smile on my face that probably didn’t fool anyone. “Um, that’s okay. It’s . . . good to see you, too, Allister.”
 

The slippage of his smile told me I sounded as non-Royal as ever. I knew I should try harder around him, but he was so pompous he made me
want
to antagonize him. I really needed to fight that urge, at least until I knew exactly how much power he had over me—and over Rigel. I forced my face into a polite, expectant expression.

Allister immediately pulled his smile back into place, then motioned Sean over. Sean moved to his side, but with a reluctance that bordered on suspicion, which struck me as odd. Oblivious, still smiling at me, Allister clapped a possessive hand on Sean’s shoulder.

“Excellency, though you have already made the acquaintance of my nephew, he has not been
formally
introduced to you. I now take that office upon myself, belated though it may seem.”
 

Taking a step back, he bowed elaborately to both of us and declared, “Princess Emileia, sole heir to Sovereign Leontine through his son Mikal, I hereby present to you Sean O’Gara, scion of the Second Royal House . . . your destined Consort.”

Cheile Rioga
(KEE-luh ree-OH-gah):
Royal Consor
t

I noticed Sean’s expression—startled, angry and embarrassed—about a quarter of a second before Allister’s words penetrated.

“Wait. What?” Surely I couldn’t have heard him right. Maybe it was just a Martian word that sounded like—

“Your
Cheile Rioga
. Your destined Royal Consort,” Allister repeated. “I presume you have not yet been educated, Princess, about our customs for pairings?”

I swallowed, glancing wildly at Molly, who looked as embarrassed and upset as her brother. “Um, Molly told me people usually, uh, pair up within their own clan. Er,
fine
,” I stammered. She’d said “married” but I wasn’t using that word. Nuh-uh. No way. I was
fifteen
for Pete’s sake!

“Did she tell you that the more important the
fine
, the more important that tradition is?”

I shrugged, not willing to admit to anything more. I could feel Rigel’s hand in mine, feel the anger and frustration flowing from him. I imagined he could feel something similar from me, along with big doses of fear and confusion. What could Allister possibly be suggesting?

Sean, still beet red, leaned over to Allister. “Uncle, I
asked
you not to—“ he began, but Allister waved him to silence.
 

“I know, Sean, but I felt it necessary to make the situation perfectly clear before things, ah, progress any further.” He turned to Rigel and me with a disapproving glare, his gaze lingering on our clasped hands. “I presume from your confusion, Princess, that Molly did
not
enlighten you as to the pairing requirements for the Sovereign and his or her heirs?”

Numbly, I shook my head, gripping Rigel’s hand more tightly, as if he might be forcibly torn away from me at any moment.
 

“Our traditions are quite specific when it comes to the upper echelons of the Royal
fine
, particularly for our Sovereigns. While the Sovereign is always a direct descendant of the previous Sovereign, the Royal Consort is traditionally the ranking person of the opposite sex, of the same generation, from the Second Royal House—in this case, descended from the Sovereign of four generations prior.”

It sounded as complicated as the family trees in the appendix of
The
Lord of the Rings
trilogy.
 

“So, wait,” I interrupted again. “Does that mean Sean is my . . . cousin or something?”

“Fourth cousin, yes. You both trace your lineage back to Sovereign Nuallen, father to Sovereign Aerleas, who was mother to Leontine. Which means you share a great-great-grandfather.”
 

Not
totally
icky, then, but there was still no way on Earth—or Mars—that I was okay with this. “So Sovereigns don’t get to choose their own . . . Consorts?” I glanced at Molly again, but she was no help. She just looked upset and helpless and wouldn’t meet my eye.
 

I’d thought the Stuarts would come to my defense, but though they looked shocked and disapproving, they didn’t say anything at all. And Mr. and Mrs. O’Gara just stood off to the side, like they weren’t involved at all. Cowards. Weren’t they supposed to be famous heroes or something?

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Allister intoned, like he was reading off a script. “The Sovereign has a duty not only to shepherd our people, but to safeguard their future. Maintaining the Royal bloodline is one of those safeguards. In the past, the designated heir to the Sovereign has known almost from birth who his or her destined Consort would be. The two are introduced as young children and encouraged to form bonds of friendship and, later, of love, enhancing their ability to jointly lead our people when the new Sovereign takes power.
 

“You, Princess, have unfortunately been denied that opportunity due to the unconscionable behavior of the usurper Faxon. Therefore, the sooner you and your Consort become well acquainted, the better—for you, for our people, and for the future of our race.”

He finally stopped talking and smiled, like he expected I would thank him or something. Uh, no.

Drawing strength from Rigel’s hand around mine, I said, “That’s all very interesting, Allister, but I don’t see how it applies to me. I mean, we’re on Earth, not Mars. I don’t have a ‘people’ to shepherd and probably won’t, since the Martians are all moving here over the next few decades anyway. So how can any of this really matter?”

Allister finally lost his smile completely, clearly taken aback by my response. Sean didn’t look happy either, though I wasn’t sure if his frown was more for his uncle or for me.

“Sorry, Sean,” I told him—and almost meant it. “You’re a nice guy and all, but . . . I’m with Rigel. You know that. No Martian tradition is going to change how I feel.”
 

Rigel gave my hand a squeeze—subtly enough that no one else would notice, but it boosted my courage enormously. No matter what happened,
he
was on my side.

But Allister wasn’t giving up that easily. “Princess, you don’t understand what is at stake, nor the enormity of what you propose. Never, in nearly a thousand years, has a Sovereign paired with someone outside the Royal
fine
. It simply isn’t done—for a multitude of reasons.”

“Right.” I wasn’t buying it. Not even a little. “Traditions. Customs. Stuff that doesn’t matter diddly-squat to me. Sorry.”
 

Allister sucked in a shocked breath. “There is much more involved than simple tradition, Princess! For dozens of generations, the Royal
fine
has been carefully maintained to maximize leadership qualities. This next century will be a critical one for us all, perhaps the most pivotal period since the colony began, as we make the transition from Mars to Earth. At this, of all times, we
cannot
risk our people losing any shred of confidence in their Sovereign or in the Royal line.”