Queen''s Shadow

by E. K. Johnston

  “Yes, Your Highness,” Palpatine said. “Nute Gunray’s third trial has ended in a hung jury. Not the best outcome, obviously, but not the worst, either, given the strength of the Trade Federation’s legal team. The Republic lawyers must regroup, but they are already planning their next moves.”

  Amidala couldn’t seethe in public, and so Padmé set her face in stone.

  “Thank you, Chancellor Palpatine,” she said, her flat voice harder than a rock. “We appreciate your continued efforts on our behalf.”

  “Would that I had better tidings on this of all days,” Palpatine said. He drew himself up. “Your Highness, you have done great things for Naboo, and as one of your subjects, I am sad to see you go. I wish you all the best in your future endeavors, whatever path they take.”

  Amidala nodded, an acknowledgment and a dismissal, and Palpatine stepped down from the platform to make his exit from the room. As soon as the door shut behind him, Rabé materialized at Padmé’s elbow. She had been standing out of earshot for the tones Palpatine had used, but for some reason no one had ever gotten around to mentioning that Rabé didn’t need to be in earshot to understand a conversation. Lip-reading was inexact, but when paired with Rabé’s Lorrdian-trained ability to read body language, people often betrayed themselves to her in ways they couldn’t imagine.

  “He is troubled by something,” she said. “Something isn’t moving as quickly as he’d like it to.”

  “That could be any number of things,” Padmé said. She leaned back against the throne and felt the gentle touch of ribbons falling against her neck. “We will leave the Chancellor to his plans and continue to make our own.”

  “I’ll go back and set out a garden dress for you,” Rabé said.

  “Thank you,” Padmé told her. “Could you ask them to serve lunch on the terrace? I know it’s late and the others might have eaten, but I’m starving and the weather’s too nice to eat inside.”

  “Of course,” Rabé said, and floated off on her silent feet.

  “Do you think it’s a foolish idea?” Padmé asked.

  “I think it’s wildly impractical,” Sabé said, appearing at her side and helping her to stand. “But most of your ideas are. So far you’ve done all right.”

  They were in no hurry, since even Rabé would need time to arrange for lunch. Furthermore, it gave them an opportunity to have the conversation Padmé wished they’d had before Palpatine arrived.

  “Where did Rabé even find this much ribbon on short notice?” Sabé asked, stooping to retrieve those that had fallen.

  “I’ve stopped asking that sort of question,” Padmé said. “It’s much easier to accept that she can get things done than figure out how she does it.”

  “That’s true enough,” Sabé said.

  Padmé stopped, and turned to look directly at her.

  “I don’t have enough capital to free them all,” Padmé said, still avoiding the word buy.

  “Then we’ll find out what they want on Tatooine and sell it to them in trade,” Sabé said.

  “‘We’?” Padmé said, her heart in her mouth.

  “Of course we,” Sabé said. “You haven’t tied your own shoelaces in four years. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”

  “That is not fair or true,” Padmé said, laughing as she descended from the platform on Sabé’s arm. She could feel more of the ribbons and one of the braids come unpinned, and the shawl was tangled up in the train of her gown now that she was moving. “Most of my shoes don’t even have laces.”

  “That’s as may be,” Sabé said. “But my hands are yours for as long as you need them. I was only waiting for you to ask.”

  “Thank you, my friend,” Padmé said, and meant it with every atom of her being.

  “Come on,” Sabé said. “Your hair is a disaster and I’m starving, too, and apparently we have a lot to talk about.”

  By the end of an hour’s time, they were seated on the terrace in the sunshine, with good food and plenty of conversation to be had. Rabé had just revealed that her application to Theed’s most prestigious music academy had been accepted when Sergeant Tonra arrived. Sabé hailed him immediately but stopped short of inviting him to sit by her. It was clear that he had eyes only for the queen, and he had a datapad in his hands.

  Eirtaé watched with a keen eye while everyone sat around her and ate a very late lunch. She could, if she had to, take in any number of details and analyze threat levels accordingly, but for now, Eirtaé surveyed the scene as an artist. She loved the light here in the lake country. While she knew academically that it was the same sun that shone down on Theed, her heart noticed minute differences to the quality of it. Everything seemed greener, more vivid and more saturated. The lake itself was almost too bright to look at. The marble gleamed. The Panakas seemed softer in the light here, though they never let their guards down. Saché blushed freely every time Yané looked at her. Padmé’s eyes sparkled to see her friends so happy.

  Except there was a bit of Theed-light in Padmé’s eyes, Eirtaé saw. Padmé was with them—not Amidala—talking and laughing as they coerced their guards into telling what they planned to do after their service to the queen was up, but there was something just a little bit dimmer to her countenance. Eirtaé looked at Sabé out of habit, certain the other girl would know, but Sabé only shook her head in the particular way that meant Later, when there are fewer eyes.

  Eirtaé would have stood to go and look out over the vista, to try again to think about how she might paint it, except Sabé’s attention shifted. Eirtaé followed her gaze.

  “Sergeant Tonra,” Sabé called, but then didn’t say anything else.

  It was immediately clear why. Tonra clasped a datapad in his hands, and it was late enough in the day that the voting would be done. Theed was the last region of the planet to vote, and once time zones were taken into account, they were always finished by noon. The Naboo had more than mastered efficient democracy.

  It was hardly the place for an official declaration. Padmé could stand, and then they all would, but then they would be a crowd of people standing on the terrace, and no one would be able to see. Eirtaé knew the thoughts that were cycling through Padmé’s head as well as she knew her own and was therefore unsurprised when Padmé spoke.

  “Please, Sergeant,” she said. “If you would read the results, I know we are anxious to hear them.”

  Yané was holding one of Saché’s hands, and Rabé had the other one. It was unclear which of them was more nervous.

  “As you wish, Your Highness.” Tonra bowed and turned to where Saché was sitting, and addressed his first pronouncement to her directly. “I am pleased to announce that your bid was successful, your ladyship. You are now a member of the planetary legislative assembly.”

  Yané let out a loud whoop and threw her arms around Saché’s neck, kissing the top of her head. Rabé got out of the way just in time to clear a path for Mariek Panaka, who, in an uncharacteristic display of emotion, actually picked Saché up off the ground and swung her around in victory. She set her down just as Padmé got to her feet and crossed to where Saché now stood.

  The queen held out her hands to the youngest of her handmaidens, and Saché all but threw herself into her embrace. Eirtaé could see that Padmé was whispering something in Saché’s ear—advice or congratulations or both—but she wasn’t bothered by not knowing what was said. Saché still wore the red she had worn when Palpatine had made his hurried visit, and Padmé had changed into a deep blue gown that was more suitable for outdoor picnicking; Eirtaé liked the colors together.

  Tonra waited patiently while everyone congratulated Saché on her new position. It took quite some time. After what she had gone through during the occupation, Saché was special to every member of the Royal Security Forces. She had, after all, saved most of their lives by refusing to name them during the Trade Federation interrogation that had resulted in her scars. They had repaid her bravery with loyalty second only to the queen’s, an
d when Saché had announced her intention to run for a seat, it was with their full support.

  At last the commotion died down, and everyone’s attention returned to the waiting sergeant.

  “The full list of representatives is available if you would like to check it,” Tonra said. “But it is my honor to tell the queen that Naboo will next be served by Queen Réillata.”

  The terrace was full of professional politicians, but Eirtaé was also a professional artist, so she didn’t miss the tiny shifts in everyone’s facial expressions. Yané’s eyebrows rose a fraction of a centimeter. Rabé became very interested in the rolled fruit that had been set out for dessert. Saché was still too pleased by her own news to react at all. Sabé’s face became, if possible, even smoother. And the Amidala-mask slid over Padmé’s features a bit more quickly than it usually did.

  “You have our thanks, Sergeant,” the queen said formally, and inclined her head. “Any of you who wish to go and check local results are welcome to do so.”

  Panaka sucked air through his teeth.

  “With your captain’s permission, of course,” Padmé added.

  Eirtaé knew that none of them had voted for Réillata, though of course there had been no discussion as to how any of them would vote. Padmé believed that the reins of government were best passed on, and Réillata had served as queen before. She hadn’t been a bad queen; she had only run once, until she declared for this current election. She had ruled for a single term when they were girls and had gone on to be a moderately successful opera singer after leaving office. Running now as an older candidate than tradition dictated, Réillata had campaigned on the experience and stability her years afforded her. She and Padmé agreed on matters of planetary defense, specifically going forward with the projects that had not been completed in Padmé’s tenure, but so did the other candidates. Jamillia, the candidate Padmé had liked the most, would be able to run again in two years, at least, and next time, Padmé would be able to support her openly rather than hold to the queen’s neutrality in public.

  “At least she waited until this election,” Sabé said. She spoke quietly enough that the guards, even the off-duty ones who were sitting down with them to eat, knew to tune her out. “It would have been an unnecessary mess if she’d run against you directly.”

  “I know,” said Padmé. “And maybe a balance of younger and older rulers ought to be considered. Any path can be a poor one if it goes blindly in one direction.”

  No one answered, though Eirtaé suspected none of them precisely agreed with Padmé. It was difficult to change course with a single election. The moment drew out long enough to be awkward before Padmé straightened and smiled.

  “But we have to celebrate Saché!” she declared. “A hero of Naboo will take her seat in the government.”

  The guards, both sitting and standing, took the cue and immediately began telling stories of Saché’s bravery during the Occupation. It was not precisely a custom, telling a story that everyone knew as a means of celebration, but it was familiar—and an excellent way to change the subject, of course. Even now, Padmé was in control of the situation.

  “The Trade Federation types never guessed she was carrying messages for our resistance,” Mariek said. “She was so little then.”

  “She’s little enough now,” Panaka said. “And she knows how to use it.”

  Saché bowed regally, though her motion was somewhat restricted by Yané’s head in her lap.

  “And then those damn droids caught her,” Mariek continued. “Some statistical analysis of her movements or something. They took her away, and it was horrible. We could hear her screaming for hours, and we figured it was only a matter of time before they came for us. Only they never did, because she never gave us up.”

  “I wouldn’t let them turn themselves in,” Yané said. “They tried, and I ordered them not to, with what authority Queen Amidala had left with us. I knew that Saché had made her choice, and we weren’t going to unmake it for her.”

  They’d all heard the story a hundred times, but there was no mistaking the affection in Yané’s voice as she told it. The handmaidens who had accompanied Padmé offworld during the Occupation hadn’t heard this tale until well after the Battle of Naboo. Perhaps that was why they never minded when it was retold. They hadn’t been able to help Saché when she was captured, but they all helped her deal with the trauma afterward.

  “They had to let her go, in the end.” Tonra took up the story. “She stayed right in plain sight. She walked through that blasted camp three times a day, in view of all the droids and Trade Federation guards. And they’d stop her and search her, but she never had anything on her, and because she distracted them, the new messengers got through.”

  “My brave decoys,” Padmé said, uttering the word that was almost never spoken, even now. “You have all given your best to Naboo, and to me, and I thank you for it.”

  Eirtaé had enough of an ego to admit she liked being thanked in public like that, but she kept her face professionally blank as she bowed to the queen. Then she got up and went over to the edge of the terrace to look at the lake, to see if this time she would be able to determine how best to capture it.

  Padmé joined her after a moment, hovering outside her personal space if Eirtaé wished to be left alone, but clearly with something on her mind.

  “I’m going to Otoh Gunga,” Eirtaé said when it became apparent that Padmé was not going to speak first. “Their technology is so different from ours, and I want to see how it affects their art.”

  It hadn’t been particularly easy to arrange, but Eirtaé was charming when she wished to be, and her paintings of Naboo forestscapes were of great interest to the Gungans. They gave her a place to start, at least.

  “That’s wonderful,” Padmé said. “Will you still paint?”

  It had been Eirtaé’s primary medium since she had discovered her affinity for capturing images. Understandably, no one was quite sure how it would fare underwater.

  “No,” she said, then amended herself. “Well, kind of, I suppose. The Gungans have a way of growing vacuum. It’s how they push all the water out of their habitations before they fill them with breathable atmosphere. I would like to see what happens if instead of oxygen, the vacuum is full of pigment. It would make interesting patterns in the water, for starters, but I think it might also impact how we expand our aquaculture.”

  “You’re going to put paint in bubbles and use the pattern analysis to improve growth of our blue-algae?” Padmé asked. Blue-algae was an excellent fertilizer. Using it on a limited number of fields had nearly doubled their output during Naboo’s growing season. It was no secret that if more algae could be grown, the whole planet would prosper.

  “Well, when you say it like that, it sounds all practical and not at all artistic,” Eirtaé said. She laughed. “But yes, that is what I am going to do.”

  “It’s perfect,” Padmé said. “Skill and art and practicality. The very fabric of Naboo.”

  “Plus it smells better than the shaak scat most of the farmers use now,” Eirtaé pointed out.

  “Also that,” Padmé allowed. There was the barest hint of a smile on her face, but it was a genuine one. Eirtaé knew that once the mantle of queen was fully passed along, Padmé might smile more freely when she was in company.

  They went back to the picnic, where Mariek had procured some of Saché’s favorite five-blossom bread for a true celebration of her election. They listened while Saché outlined all the places in her platform she felt she was the weakest, and offered what advice they could. Now that the results were announced, Padmé was free to speak her mind, though she limited herself to Saché’s questions. Yané confessed that she had already selected—though not yet purchased—a house, and when they insisted, she called up a hologram of it.

  “It’s enormous,” Saché said. “I’ll get lost in there.”

  “Well,” Yané said, “if you’re at the legislative assembly, I’m going to have to do s
omething. I know we had originally talked about waiting until your term was up before we decided, but I found this place, and I couldn’t help thinking about it.”

  “I think that’s wonderful,” Saché said.

  Naboo culture held children as precious, and therefore there were not a high number of orphans as other Mid Rim planets might have. Still, after the stresses and suffering of the Occupation, a few young people did manage to fall into the crack between extended family and government oversight. Yané had always been a frequent volunteer with those children when she was able to do so, and had spoken often of someday taking in a few of them permanently. Now that she was in a position to offer more personal aid, it was not surprising that she chose to do so.

  “I have cousins there,” Mariek said. “They can help you get it furnished before you move in.”

  “That would be wonderful,” Yané said. “Thank you.”

  It was, Eirtaé realized very suddenly, the last time. It made her feel a little cold, made the sun seem a little dim, made the lake shine a little less brightly. It was the last time that all of them would ever sit like this and think about the future together. This feeling was what had made Padmé so restless all day and was probably what had made Sabé so overwhelmingly placid about everything. They were already preparing, or at least Padmé was, and she didn’t want to impinge on any of their dreams by making requests.

  She was a stunningly good queen, Eirtaé realized, to give them this freedom. Had she asked for their continued aid, no matter what she was going to do next, of course they would have given it. Instead, she had given them their space and held her tongue while they decided. It was a sacrifice on her part, one that Eirtaé imagined she held equal to the sacrifice the handmaidens had made when they joined her service, and it was just as happily given.

  They would go their separate ways with Padmé’s blessing. It would always be a little sad, but there would be new tasks to conquer and new work to do. In the last communication Eirtaé had received from her parents, they had asked what name they ought to put on her travel papers. As a private citizen, she had needed to update some of her datawork for the journey to Otoh Gunga and for her residency there. She hadn’t replied yet, uncertain as to what she would do, but now she knew it as much as she had ever known anything else.