She had a great deal to think about. Who was she, after all, when she was not Queen of Naboo? She had entered politics so early and with such zeal that she had no other identity. She had taken five handmaidens with her, and each of them had been shaped by their roles, as well, to the point where they had all taken names in her honor after she was elected. Who were they, when they were allowed to be themselves? Everyone knew that Rabé dreamed of music, while Yané dreamed of a house full of children that Saché would also call home, and so on and so on with each of the others, but it was more challenging for Padmé to see herself in any of their futures. Would they have room in their lives for Padmé when Amidala no longer held them as queen? And who would she be, even if they did?
“You’re going to trip if you don’t stop daydreaming,” Mariek said beside the queen on the steps. “And won’t that be just the way for you to end your reign, falling up the stairs because you were thinking too hard about things that are no longer yours to think about.”
“I can’t help it,” Padmé admitted. She never could. “But you’re right. I’ll wait until I’m alone before I let myself drift that far.”
“You’ll never be alone, my lady,” Mariek said. “And I don’t mean all of this production, either.” She gestured vaguely at the queen’s retinue and smiled widely. “It will be different, but you will be different, too, and you’re smart enough to figure it out.”
“Thank you,” Padmé said. “It’s strange to want two things that are entirely different from one another. I am ready to stop, but I also feel like I could have done more.”
“I know,” Mariek said. “That’s why I wrote you in, anyway.”
“That’s a spoiled ballot!” Padmé protested, stopping dead in her tracks. Everyone below them on the steps halted, too, and looked up to see what had caused the queen to stop walking. “And you’re not supposed to tell me who you voted for.”
Mariek began to laugh, and Quarsh stepped up to take his wife’s arm.
“Don’t tease the queen, love. I know from personal experience that she has her ways of making you pay for it, and even if she’s pressed for time, I have absolute faith in her abilities.” For just a moment, he was her captain again, the one who had trained them all so well before preparedness had turned to paranoia. Padmé missed him dreadfully.
Mariek laughed harder.
“My lady?” Panaka offered his other arm. “I know you don’t need it, but I am happiest when I know you have my support.”
“Of course, Captain,” Padmé said rather formally. She took his arm and began to climb again. “Since I am so near the end of my term as queen, it behooves me to show measured judgment in all things.”
“You have always done so, my lady, even when we disagreed,” Panaka said. It was almost a peace offering. “That’s why I wrote you in, too.”
The Queen of Naboo laughed in the sunlight as she reached the house with her companions and her guards. The watergate stood thrown open, for this was a place of peace and reflection, and had never needed defending from a hostile force. Before them was the quiet courtyard and sun-drenched gardens where they would wait to hear the news, and behind them was the world that voted on the shape that news would take. Queen Amidala entered the house as the ruler of a planet, one last time.
The holomessage requiring the queen’s security code specifically was from none other than Chancellor Palpatine, and though it was brief, it stated that he would soon be arriving at the lake house to pay a formal visit. He apologized for the short notice. The holo caused a minor stir—mostly because half of them were still in their swimming clothes—but Padmé had always been surrounded by consummate professionals, and they were incredibly adaptable.
Rabé ran the brush through the queen’s hair and considered the challenge before her. When packing, she and Yané had agreed on a simplified wardrobe for everyone, Padmé included, and accordingly had brought with them no outfits that were entirely appropriate for such a high-level political meeting. There weren’t supposed to be any high-level political meetings, not at this time in the election cycle. But Chancellor Palpatine’s mere presence necessitated a certain level of formality, and now Rabé found herself faced with a bit of a scrabble.
It was difficult to explain, sometimes, what her position as a queen’s handmaiden entailed. Part of her task was defensive—advisory—but part of it was also aesthetic. And part of it was giving all of the parts equal weight. It was easy for an outsider, even someone from Naboo, to roll their eyes when the queen’s baggage train went by. The reams of fabric and elaborate headpieces could be dismissed as either wasteful or quaint, depending on the sentiment of the being doing the dismissing, but each piece served a particular function, as did its placement. At the very least, most of the fabrics were treated with resin that made them resistant to blaster fire. The jeweled brooches could conceal recording devices or a personal shield. The heaviest dresses maintained a physical barrier around the queen and had, essentially, an escape hatch so that Padmé could shed the entire getup—save for the utilitarian undersuit—if she needed to move quickly. The headpieces distracted from the queen’s face, making it easier for a decoy to step in, if required. Rabé viewed the queen’s wardrobe and accessories the same way she viewed the royal pistol: necessary components to be deployed with full awareness and cunning.
“Yané, get to work on Saché and Eirtaé’s braids, please,” Rabé directed. A young guardswoman appeared in the doorway, her hands folded together low across her stomach, and Rabé knew without asking that Palpatine had just landed. “The simple tripartite and the jade pins. Can you do that on yourself when you’re done?”
“Of course,” Yané said. “Well, I might need help with the pins at the back.”
“I can do that,” said Saché. “I’ve been practicing.”
“Excellent,” Rabé said. “You’ll wear the dark red robes with the hoods down. Whoever’s not being braided first can lay them out.”
Saché was already seated, so Eirtaé got up and went into the closet. They could all hear the whirring as the droid who kept everything organized called up the garments she requested.
“Sabé, we’ll have to use the lakeside gown,” Rabé declared. “It’s the fanciest thing we packed, and we are not expecting danger. See if you can find a jacket to cover her back, and then get us the green robes. We’ll wear our hoods, even though it’s too warm for it.”
Sabé slid off the foot of the bed, where she’d been brushing out her own hair, and disappeared after Eirtaé into the closet.
“And what about me?” Padmé asked with an impish tone. “I don’t want to get in your way.”
“Oh, be quiet,” Rabé said. “But how typical of the Chancellor to show up with so little warning when we are not at all prepared to receive him!”
“He’s home to vote in the election,” Padmé said. “But he can’t stay for the inauguration afterwards. Perhaps we ought to have expected it, but it’s hardly your fault for failing to read his mind when he wasn’t even on the planet yet.”
Rabé made an undignified sound and resumed brushing Padmé’s hair. She did not enjoy being caught off guard, and to her credit, it happened very rarely. Moving with the efficiency of long practice, she wove half a dozen braids into Padmé’s hair, each of them twisted with gold and silver ribbons. The braids were then pinned up in six wide loops, starting in front of Padmé’s ears and circling her head on the back to give the illusion of size that was typically granted by the absent headpiece. Rabé added more ribbons so that they cascaded down Padmé’s back.
“Here,” said Sabé, holding up an ivory shawl. “Will it suit?”
“Yes, I think so,” Rabé replied. “Can the two of you manage while I see to myself?”
Sabé nodded, and Padmé stood up. She was already wearing a shift, but the lakeside gown was backless, so she stripped to the waist while Sabé laid the dress on the floor for her to step into. Once Sabé drew the gown up to her shoulders and fastened the cla
sp around Padmé’s neck, she arranged the shawl and all of the ribbons. She had to climb up on a stool to paint the queen’s face, because Padmé didn’t trust herself to sit again now that she was fully attired, but by the end of ten minutes, Queen Amidala was fully realized.
Padmé watched as Yané finished Eirtaé’s braids and sat for a moment so that Saché could finish her own hair. Then they all got into the red robes while Sabé and Rabé pulled the deep green hoods over their heads, casting their faces into shadow. It really was too warm for it, but there was no helping the matter. At least Sabé had to be fully hooded at all appearances, even this late in the game when Padmé doubted they would ever have to switch places again.
“We didn’t get this far by being incautious, Your Highness,” Sabé said. By her own decree, Padmé was only ever addressed thus by her handmaidens when they were in company or she was in full makeup. The ceremonial tone gave Sabé’s words an additional weight, making her seem too old for her young face. It was another part of their living, moving disguise.
“I know,” Padmé said. “Still, for your sakes, I will try to make this as quick as possible.”
The other three went on ahead. They would stand in the gallery while Sabé and Rabé stood behind the queen. The rear wall of the receiving room was almost the same deep green as their robes. If the Chancellor requested a private audience, their presence could be ignored, especially if three handmaidens clearly left the room when it emptied. There was a knock at the door, and Panaka came in when the queen admitted him.
“Chancellor Palpatine has been cooling his heels for just less than twenty minutes, Your Highness,” he reported. “Mariek and Tonra are with him. He seems anxious to be underway, but is understanding of the wait.”
“Thank you, Captain.” Queen Amidala spoke in her oddly inflectionless tone. It was a voice Padmé and Sabé had developed together so that either of them could execute it flawlessly, though the others were all more or less proficient with it. “Please escort us to the receiving room, and we will put the Chancellor’s mind at ease.”
Panaka let Amidala precede him out of the room but then fell into step beside her as they walked through the wide marble hallways. Two guards walked in front, and two more brought up the rear, their boots rapping out a sharp staccato that made up for the silence with which Sabé and Rabé walked. They took a slightly circuitous route to avoid going outside—Rabé did good work, as always, but wasn’t sure how those ribbons would fare in anything more than a gentle breeze—and by the time they arrived at the receiving room, the rest of the household was already assembled. Amidala took her place on the throne, with Panaka at her right hand. Her green-clad handmaidens stepped to the back of the raised platform, their hoods pulled low, and faded into the decorations on the wall.
“Your Highness.” Mariek’s clear voice called attention. “I am pleased to present Chancellor Palpatine.”
In Theed, there would have been a great deal more ceremony. Music would have accompanied the Chancellor’s introduction—something from his home province, perhaps, or whatever was fashionable at the moment—and there would have been significantly more of an audience present. The lack of pomp and circumstance did not bother Amidala, and it didn’t seem to bother Palpatine, either. He strode into the room at an easy pace, with Sergeant Tonra behind him, and made his way toward the raised platform on which the queen was installed.
“Your Highness,” he said, bowing from the waist. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me. I know it was an unusual request for this time, but I cannot stay on Naboo long enough for a more customary visit.”
“We are honored by your presence as always, Chancellor,” Amidala said. “Your position in the Galactic Senate gives great prestige to Naboo, and we are pleased to recognize that however we are able to.”
Palpatine smiled winningly. Padmé felt Panaka relax beside her. Surely the Chancellor’s good mood meant that nothing dire was happening and he really did merely wish to pay his respects before heading back to Coruscant.
“Might I trouble Your Highness for a private audience?” Palpatine asked, as expected. “I would not inconvenience the good captain by requesting a stroll in the magnificent gardens, but could we converse here, perhaps?”
Padmé made a show of leaning over to Panaka, who leaned over, as well.
“So far this has gone exactly as we hoped,” he said, one gloved hand in front of his mouth. They didn’t need to confer, not truly, but they were both so practiced at looking like they were conferring that they fell into old habits without realizing it.
“Indeed,” Padmé said. “We will be all right here, however long he wants to talk.”
“Whatever works,” he replied. “I won’t let him monopolize you for more than twenty minutes.”
“That would be appreciated, Captain,” Padmé said.
When she straightened, it was Queen Amidala who spoke.
“Friends, if you will excuse us? I would grant the Chancellor his audience.”
The assembled members of the household made their bows and took their leave. Panaka was last, stopping to clasp hands with the Chancellor as he stepped off the platform. Soon enough, the room was emptied of all save four, and two of those were unobtrusive to the point of invisibility.
Palpatine stepped up onto the platform but didn’t come within arm’s reach of the queen.
“I know visits from me cause you something of a flutter, but I am pleased to see you,” he said. He was close enough to speak at normal levels, and Padmé slid into her own voice, speaking to him as a friend.
“It’s all right,” she said. “To be completely honest, a distraction was both needed and appreciated today.”
“I can imagine,” he said. “Well, actually, I can’t. Senatorial appointments are quite different, and I will never run for office again. But I can pretend I can imagine.”
“I’m glad you were able to come home and vote,” Padmé said. “I thought you would have to cast your ballot remotely.”
“Grand gestures are one of the great joys of having power, Your Highness,” Palpatine said. “And it never hurts to set a good example for public order.”
He hesitated for a moment, long enough for her to see, so she didn’t say anything, and waited for him to continue.
“Have you given any thought to what you’ll do?” he asked.
Padmé was too well trained to slump, but to the practiced eye, she did deflate a bit at the question. She had, of course, given the matter a great deal of thought, but no one had asked her this so directly yet, and now there was no getting around it. She had intended to talk it over with at least Sabé before telling anyone else, but that was no longer an option. She hoped Sabé would understand. It was, after all, hardly the only time Padmé had been forced to say something as Amidala she might have wanted to say as Padmé first.
“My greatest abilities have always been determination and negotiation.” Padmé still spoke in her own voice, but Amidala lingered close by. “I know that if I applied myself, I could learn any manner of skill, but it wouldn’t be something close to my heart.”
“Naboo’s unique culture provides all sorts of methods of expression,” Palpatine said. “But there are some, like myself for example, who enter government service and never get around to leaving it.”
“I have term limits to consider,” Amidala said. “And I know that it is time for the mantle of queen to be passed along. However, I did think of something I could do. I am nearly done putting the initial plan together.”
“If I can be of any aid, Your Highness,” Palpatine said. He smiled at her, mouth curving in a way that might have been disconcerting if she hadn’t known him so well. He always had so many plans underway. “I am happy to help.”
“As Queen of Naboo, I had to focus my efforts on this planet, putting its needs above all else,” Amidala said. She wished she could see Sabé’s face. “But I have never been at ease about the situation on Tatooine, not since leaving it almost four years
ago. Slavery is a blight, Chancellor, on everything the Republic stands for. I can’t bring official political change, given the state of most Outer Rim planets, but I can use the assets I have to free what people I can, and to find them new homes, if they wish it.”
She felt a weight lift from her chest having finally said the words and a brief whisper in her heart when she allowed herself to think of a little boy who had been cold in space and a mother brave enough to let him go where she could not.
“You mean to buy them?” Palpatine asked.
“I do not like that word, but yes,” Padmé said. She did not visibly wince.
“An admirable goal, Your Highness,” Palpatine said. “Though a challenging one, given jurisdictional limitations.”
“I have, as you say, the rest of my life,” Padmé reminded him.
“Your Highness,” Palpatine said, “it may interest you to know that I have currently sponsored a bill before the Senate to deal with this very issue. It will focus on the transportation of such unpleasant cargo through Republic space, and I am hopeful it will have a real impact on the problem. There is no need for you to embroil yourself in it.”
“I know how the Senate works, Chancellor.” This was said in Amidala’s coldest tone, despite herself. Palpatine straightened, almost imperceptibly. “I have stood before it and pled with desperation for the lives of my people, Republic citizens, and they did nothing. It might be only a little effort, but it is mine to make.”
“Of course, Your Highness.” Palpatine bowed. He looked up and hesitated again. “I am sorry, but I do have some ill news to bring you after all.”
“The trial?” she said. There could be only one thing that would bring him all the way home on the pretense of voting, and that was the current status of the charges against the Neimoidians who had invaded her planet four years ago and tried to have her murdered.
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