She had taken the name Eirtaé four years ago, a bit for privacy and a bit for prestige, when Padmé had been elected, and she had sworn her loyalty and her life to Queen Amidala. She would keep that name forever. As a sign of her own status, surely, but also as a sign of respect for the queen she had served and the girl who had risked her own life for the well-being of Naboo on more than one occasion. And not just for Padmé, either, but for all of them who had served. They had chosen their names as children, newly come to power and slightly intimidated by it. They had chosen their names to bind themselves to one another, a constant reminder of the greater good they now served.
And Eirtaé would keep it. She would keep the name and the service and the friendship—though friendship hardly seemed deep enough a word—and while she lived, she would endeavor to serve Naboo as Amidala had done, whatever form her service might take.
She looked up, and found that Padmé was staring straight at her. As always, the handmaidens didn’t need words to communicate with each other. Eirtaé didn’t stand—there was no point in calling attention to herself—but she did lock eyes with the queen she loved, put her hands over her heart, and bow her head.
Padmé returned the gesture, and Eirtaé returned to her silent contemplation of the lake.
They stood on the steps of Theed’s great palace, as they had once done to meet Boss Nass in the early months of Amidala’s reign. The square in front of them was even more crammed than it had been on that day, because today’s celebration had no procession. The people of Naboo had come out in droves to see their new queen, and they had dressed for the occasion. The square was a riot of color and music, and the air was full of ribbons and the flower blossoms that the children were hurling into the air.
Saché was used to being at the end of the line. Her primary task as a handmaiden had been distraction, but not in the martial sense. While she was a capable fighter and the second best shot—after Sabé—she knew her own physical limitations. Additionally, she’d joined the queen’s service when she was twelve and was therefore hardly much in the way of a threat.
But people did talk to her. Apparently, she had one of those faces. And if she was last in the line of handmaidens, they viewed her as accessible. She heard a great many things by accident, too, because no one ever thought to guard their tongue in her presence. Unlike Rabé, she spied directly out in the open, and because everyone was always looking at her, the others got away with a great deal.
Now she stood next to Padmé in front of the assembled crowd and tried to remember that she had chosen public life, despite what the butterflies in her stomach were up to at the moment.
All eyes were on the queen anyway. She wore an enormous white gown that billowed around her. Her face was unpainted and her hair was simply done, wrapped up in a single coil held in place by strings of freshwater pearls. Padmé’s dress shimmered, but unlike the dress she wore to celebrate peace with the Gungans, this dress had none of the ostentatious superstructure or ruffles. The dress attracted attention, but it would also be easily overshadowed the moment protocol demanded it.
At last, the great doors of Theed palace were thrown open, and an expectant hush fell over the assembled crowd. Two lines of guards came out first—Royal Security Forces volunteers. They marched down the steps, stopping when the first of them reached the bottom so that they lined the staircase. Then the sitting council came out and walked down to where Amidala and her handmaidens were waiting. Finally, after a long beat that Saché recognized as dramatic necessity, Queen Réillata appeared at the top of the stairs.
The new queen was taller than Padmé, and Saché knew from the campaign holos that she had very short hair. Of course, all of that was covered up by the royal headpiece that now crowned Réillata’s head. Her face was stark white, the red of her lips and cheeks standing out as it was meant to, and she wore the red dress of Naboo sovereignty as well as Padmé ever had. She lacked, Saché thought somewhat treasonously, Amidala’s inherent kindness, but every ruler of Naboo had her own style. That was, as Padmé would argue, the point.
Queen Réillata descended the steps with measured speed. This was partially to ensure everyone got a good look at her and also because the dress was something of a challenge to walk in. Réillata managed to make her poise and steady pace look deliberate, and Saché was forced to muster up some grudging respect. This was, after all, Réillata’s second term, and Saché was going to be a part of her government.
Behind the new queen came the new handmaidens. Most of them were of an age with their monarch, but there was one young girl Saché knew to be Réillata’s niece. She was even younger than Saché had been when she’d joined Amidala’s service, and Saché wished her the best of it. Court could be a strange place, even for the most prepared.
Réillata reached the wide dais where Amidala was waiting for her. Governor Sio Bibble carried the royal scepter, which was only ever used on this occasion, and stood between the two queens. For a moment, thanks to a quirk of the Naboo democratic process, they were both of equal rank. Then Amidala took the scepter from the governor, bowed her head, and presented the trappings of rulership to the new Queen of Naboo.
As was expected, the cheering went on for quite some time.
Eventually, Queen Réillata passed the scepter back to Sio Bibble and held her arm out to Amidala. Padmé took it, and the two queens walked up the stairs back into the palace. Power was now handed over symbolically, but there was still a great deal of work to be done. Governor Bibble fell into step beside Saché as they walked behind the queens.
“Congratulations on your election, my lady,” Bibble said. “I’m not from your district, but it made me glad to know that you were on a ballot somewhere.”
“Thank you, Governor,” Saché said. “I hope my service is worthy of your enthusiasm.”
“Well, you had an excellent teacher,” he said. Both of them looked forward, and then Bibble smiled. “I speak of myself of course.”
Saché laughed. “Of course,” she said. “I have had a wide variety of politicians around me throughout my formative years.”
“It is easy to make light of it now that the troubles have passed,” Bibble said, uncharacteristically serious. “But I think we both know where you learned much of what you know. The people will respect you for that, and I trust you will not take undue advantage of their loyalty.”
“Of course not, Governor,” Saché said. She had never mastered Amidala’s voice the way the others had—her vocal range just wasn’t suited to it—but she did have a formal voice to fall back on, and she deployed it now for the first time. “As I said, I hope my service is worthy of enthusiasm.”
Saché wished she were walking with the others. She knew that Sabé was probably right behind her, and the rest were spaced out accordingly in the crowd that now moved inside. She was used to the view at the rear of the procession, not the head of it, and it was throwing off her groove. She wasn’t even dressed as a handmaiden today. They were in soft violet hoods over dark gray gowns—the colors one wore to fade into a brightly dressed Naboo throng—and she was decked out in yellows and greens, with her face fully visible. She looked up the stairs and saw Mariek in the line of guards on the steps. The older woman winked at her, and Saché smiled.
For her last act as queen, Padmé had promoted Mariek and Tonra to captain, accepted Panaka’s resignation, and selected a new sergeant named Gregor Typho, who had fought—and lost an eye—in the Battle of Naboo. All of them would have the option of staying in the Royal Security Forces or going somewhere else—they were all volunteers—but it seemed likely that Panaka would be the only one who went looking for another way to fill his days. In Saché’s opinion, it was time for him to move on.
They arrived in the throne room, and Saché watched as Réillata took the throne of Naboo for the second time. Two of her handmaidens flanked her in chairs behind the long table while the other three, including her niece, stayed near the door. The governor took his seat, Panaka st
anding behind him in an unofficial capacity, and Padmé took a third chair by the queen. Saché moved to stand behind her but stopped when she heard Yané cough quietly. Saché froze, embarrassed, and didn’t move until Sabé and Eirtaé had taken their places behind Padmé’s new seat. Then she took the fourth chair, the one reserved for visiting members of the assembly. She didn’t have to look behind her to know that Yané and Rabé stood there.
“We thank you for your good service to Naboo, Amidala.” Queen Réillata’s words were mostly formula at the beginning of her speech, but there appeared to be genuine enough gratitude behind them. “We know that you have labored long and hard for our beloved planet, and we are grateful for your efforts.”
“Thank you, Your Highness.” If it cost Padmé anything to say the words, she didn’t let her feelings show on her face. “I wish you a smooth and productive term as our queen.”
Sio Bibble shifted in his seat. He was still holding the scepter and couldn’t seem to find anywhere to put his arms. One of the palace chamberlains appeared out of nowhere to take the scepter from him, and he visibly relaxed when it was no longer in his care.
“Amidala.” Queen Réillata dropped out of her formal speaking voice and addressed Padmé as though they were acquaintances. “I know that we have specific parts to play in the coming days of government transition, and specific words we must say, but I would speak with you candidly, if you permit it.”
“Of course,” Padmé said. It was a shade more formal than her regular speaking voice, but only her handmaidens would know that.
“You have left me in an excellent position to begin,” Réillata said. “We are at peace with the galaxy and the Gungans. Our food surpluses have recovered from the invasion, and the construction of the ion pulse is, I am told, entirely on schedule.”
The temperature in the room dropped slightly as Panaka’s face hardened. He had opposed the ion pulse quite publicly, wanting more robust defenses, and his relationship with the queen and the politicians who supported it had never fully recovered. They were calling his decision to leave the service retirement, but the truth was that Padmé no longer trusted him as she once had, and neither did the incoming administration.
“As you know, Chancellor Palpatine’s elevation to that position left us in something of a scramble for a Republic senator,” Queen Réillata continued as though nothing had happened. “It is difficult to find politicians at that level who are willing to go to Coruscant. Senator Oshadam has been more than adequate, but she was adamant that her time of service has ended, and her timing means that it falls to me to fill her position.”
“I can offer you several suggestions, if you would like,” Padmé said.
Saché’s unaccustomed viewpoint meant that she could see Sabé’s face. Sabé was still hooded, of course, and the average observer would have been able to read nothing in her obscured expression, but Saché was hardly an average observer. She saw the briefest of flickers in Sabé’s eyes and knew what Queen Réillata’s words would be before they were spoken.
“Amidala,” the queen said, “I was hoping to ask you to take the position, and to represent Naboo and the surrounding worlds of the Chommel sector in the Senate.”
Padmé was not often at a loss for words. Even when she was, she excelled at saying something perfect and inane to cover her silence. But this time, she said nothing. Her guard was down—or at least it was as down as it ever was—and it was as though she didn’t know where to look.
Sio Bibble shifted in his seat again, obviously blindsided by Réillata’s request but just as obviously in favor of it, even though he was reluctant to say as much. Panaka’s face was carefully blank, but there was an odd sadness to his eyes. Saché thought it looked almost like resignation. For a moment, she didn’t understand, but then Padmé’s gaze met hers. Because of where she was seated, Saché was the only person in the room that Padmé could look at without revealing that she was seeking an outside opinion, and so Saché let her look. It was immediately apparent that the idea of being senator had never crossed Padmé’s mind, but now that it had been proposed, it was all but set in stone.
Saché remembered the last time they had stood at this precipice. She had been behind Padmé then, and hadn’t been able to see her face. The long-haired Jedi had said they must go to Coruscant but had addressed his plea to Sabé, thinking she was the queen. They had practiced for situations like that, the words that Padmé was to say to communicate with them without giving away their charade, but this was the most dire situation under which they had ever used them. Without hesitation, Padmé had said the words that signaled she would go, and by necessity, Saché had stayed behind.
When she had imagined sitting in the assembly, Saché had thought about spirited debates and getting good work done. She knew she would have to do most of that work alone, but she liked the idea of being able to turn to Padmé if she truly needed help, calling on her experience as Amidala for thorny problems that Saché couldn’t solve. And yet here they stood again: a plea to go to Coruscant and a path that Saché couldn’t take. She understood Panaka’s expression with every part of her soul. Sabé thought it was a good idea, and Padmé couldn’t see her, so it was up to Saché to convey the message of support from behind the lines.
She couldn’t say the words back to Padmé. They would make no sense in this context, but she was still locked in Padmé’s gaze, and she knew she would only have to move her mouth a little bit to get her message across.
We are brave, Your Highness.
Padmé took a measured breath, and then Amidala turned to face the queen.
“Your Highness,” she said, bowing her head, “I thank you for the trust you have placed in me by asking me to do this task. I promise you, I will give the matter my fullest consideration, but I request that you wait to hear my answer until after our work transferring power to your term is completed.”
“That is a suitable request,” Réillata said. “We will continue on with the transition as tradition dictates.”
Padmé leaned back in her chair, and only the most practiced of spies would have seen Sabé’s fist close in the fabric of her dress, just below Padmé’s shoulder, showing unflagging support as she always did.
“Governor,” said Réillata, turning to where Bibble sat. “What is next on our schedule?”
As the governor outlined their appointments for the next few days, Saché couldn’t help thinking that she had done well at her first official appearance. It would be more challenging once she was truly on her own. Members of the legislative assembly had small staffs, but nothing like the close-knit cadre Padmé had built around herself. She would always have Yané, of course, but Yané wasn’t part of the elected body and would have her own tasks to accomplish. Saché would learn quickly, as she had always done, and she would pay attention during important meetings rather than let her mind wander as she was doing right this very moment.
Saché managed to get to her feet at the same time as everyone else only by virtue of long practice. Padmé was smiling when she came to take her arm, and together they followed Mariek out of the throne room. Mariek led them to the guest apartments, where Saché was slightly mortified to discover she had a suite of her own.
“There’s a connecting door in this one,” Eirtaé announced when Saché stood awkwardly in the hallway. “We’ll leave it open.”
Saché was all but certain that Padmé would do as the queen requested. They had known that things would change after the election, but she didn’t think any of them had imagined they would change this much, this quickly. Saché caught Padmé’s eye again and saw a quiet request there: to leave thoughts of the future until after their ceremonies here were done. Saché nodded to show that she would do her best to obey, but she couldn’t help the way her thoughts traveled as Yané helped her dress for the evening meal. At least tonight they were in a familiar place, if not familiar rooms, and they had an open door.
They sat as they had done when they had met for the f
irst time, when Padmé was interviewing them upon her election to queen. Soon after that Panaka had begun, quietly, to train them in measures far beyond those expected for their years, but for that meeting, they had been girls getting to know each other. Now there was no one in the galaxy who knew them better. With the transferral of government complete, this was to be their last night in Theed before they went their separate directions. Mariek sat unobtrusively by the unlit fireplace, and Tonra was just outside the door. There were half a dozen more guards in the vestibule down the hallway, but tonight, unless the guards were called for, Padmé and her handmaidens would be left alone.
“To Saché,” Padmé said, raising her glass. “May your term be as challenging as you need it to be.”
Saché raised her own glass in return, and the rest of them followed suit. Yané drank deeply. The alcohol content of the fruit juice was slight, and also: this was their only night of freedom before responsibilities set in.
“To Yané,” Padmé continued. “May your house be full of joy and the happiest of clattering.”
“To Rabé, may your music touch the hearts and minds of all those who hear it.”
“To Eirtaé, may your art show us new pathways in places we had never thought to look for them.”
They drank, and drank again.
“I would be dead without each of you,” Padmé said. “And Naboo would be under the heel of those who would abuse it. I owe you my thanks and more, and so does the planet you have served.”
“We know,” Sabé said. Her face was Amidala-blank, even though the rest of them had put on their relaxed attitudes when they’d changed into their blue-and-ivory nightclothes.
Queen''s Shadow Page 4