Queen''s Shadow

by E. K. Johnston

  “Sola,” she said, and crossed the room in a flurry of rustling fabric to kneel before her sister.

  “Hello, Padmé,” Sola said. She smiled and turned the blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms so that Padmé could have a clearer view. “This is Ryoo.”

  “She’s beautiful,” Padmé said, reaching out to touch her niece’s face.

  “She screams for two hours in the middle of the night for no logical reason,” Sola said. “But yes. Would you like to hold her?”

  Padmé did, and carefully took the sleeping baby from her sister’s arms. She sat down on the sofa next to Sola and stared into her niece’s face for a moment before she heard her father give a soft cough. Belatedly, Padmé realized that she needed to make some introductions.

  “Mom, Dad, you remember Captain Tonra?” she said. “He fought in the Battle of Naboo and has been with me ever since.”

  “Congratulations on your promotion, Captain,” Ruwee

  said.

  “And this is Dormé,” Padmé continued. “She is my wardrobe mistress, amongst other things.”

  They all knew what those other things would involve.

  “Thank you, for staying with our daughter, both of you. Please, sit down. We try to keep the formalities of politics at a minimum here, or no one would ever get anything done,” Jobal said. Tonra and Dormé did as they were told while Padmé suppressed a laugh. “We had hoped the danger would be less on Coruscant, now that Padmé was no longer queen.”

  “It is,” Dormé assured her. “But we are still being careful.”

  “I’m glad to see Captain Panaka’s legacy continues,” Ruwee said. “I didn’t always agree with his methods, but he kept everyone safe so that they could keep my daughter safe, so I came to understand him.”

  “He visits for lunch, sometimes,” Sola said. “I try to be out of the house before they start shouting at each other.”

  Off of Tonra’s confused look, Padmé said, “My dad and Captain Panaka like to debate the necessity of military action. The Royal Security Forces grew in size under my term, and I don’t think my father has ever forgiven me for it.”

  “It was necessary, sadly,” Ruwee said. “And it saved us, I know. But surely we can scale back again?”

  “Ruwee, let them sit for more than two minutes before you start,” Jobal said.

  “It’s all right,” Dormé said. “Occupational hazard.”

  “And Dad is much more reasonable than most of the senators I work with,” Padmé said. “But don’t worry. All of my friends are pacifists.”

  She’d meant it as a joke, but as soon as she said it, she realized how comforting it was, even when she was butting heads with Mon Mothma. It reminded her of where her aim was set and of the sort of senator she wanted to be. In her arms, the baby cooed, and Padmé looked down. Ryoo had woken up but hadn’t started crying, so Padmé made faces at her in an attempt to make her smile. There was a lot to be said for this form of negotiation, as well.

  “Did the queen give you any indication of how long you would be needed in the Senate?” Sola asked. She stood up and went to the table where the teapot was sitting. “Tea, anyone?”

  “No,” Padmé said. “Just that she wants me to go back. And yes, please.”

  Sola poured for everyone, having long ago learned that when Padmé brought home people she worked with, they tended to follow her lead regardless of what Jobal declared about informality. It was one of the most common Karlini teas and didn’t need any additives to improve or change the flavor. Although it wasn’t Padmé’s favorite, it was rarely exported, and therefore drinking it was one of the quiet rituals that confirmed she had come home.

  “Will you?” Jobal asked.

  Padmé hesitated. She looked at her mother and father, at the walls of the house—still her most comfortable place in the galaxy—and felt the weight of the baby in her arms. Ryoo had worked an arm free of her wrappings and was grabbing at Padmé’s necklace. She tucked the piece into her collar—it was too precious for babies—and offered up one of the baubles from her hair instead. Ryoo put it directly into her mouth, and Padmé retrieved it quickly. She was not up to speed on this, clearly. Her sister laughed and provided one of the baby’s toys.

  “Yes, though I don’t know for how long,” Padmé said. “The queen has given me her trust, and I have many projects underway on Coruscant. I miss home of course, but…”

  “If you like, we won’t bring it up again,” Ruwee said. “You can help me in the gardens instead.”

  “Well it’s far too nice a day to spend indoors,” Sola agreed. “Let me get Ryoo’s sun protection, and we can all go out. Even if Dad doesn’t conscript any of us, he can lecture us while he does things, and we all know he likes that almost as much.”

  “I’m a builder and a lecturer,” Ruwee said. “What did you expect?”

  Padmé handed the baby off to her mother and went to walk with Dormé as they all went out to the gardens.

  “Are you all right?” she asked, speaking with enough volume that Tonra heard her, as well. “I know my family visits can be a little awkward, but they really do mean to be inclusive. I meant to warn you, but once we arrived on the planet, everything happened so quickly.”

  “It’s fine, my lady,” Tonra said. “Sabé did let us know what to expect.”

  “It’s just an adjustment,” Dormé said. “And frankly, it’s nicer than the Senate’s idea of inclusion.”

  “All right,” Padmé said. “But if you want to go, you can just go. Mom will have prepared guest rooms for you if you need to get away from all this Naberrie family charm.”

  “Why, Senator,” Dormé put a hand to her chest as if she were in the deepest shock. “What a thing to say!”

  The visit went well. As promised, Padmé’s parents didn’t bring up her senatorial future again, and all it cost her was two hours of sanding down beams for the new greenhouse that Ruwee was building so that the local school could have flowers to study and draw during the cold season. She brought R2-D2 over to help, but the droid was immediately distracted by the baby, and instead of contributing to the building project, he spent his time entertaining Ryoo with a variety of noises and, until chastened, displays of controlled lightning.

  “Why do you have an astromech unit?” Sola asked, once R2-D2 was playing with her daughter in a way less likely to result in electroshock or a short circuit.

  “Artoo is a hero of Naboo,” Padmé said. “He repaired our hyperdrive when we were running the Trade Federation blockade, and he was an important part of the battle to retake the planet. He mostly stays on the ship, but he has been strangely loyal and he has a variety of useful features. Also, sometimes he just makes me smile.”

  “Well, Artoo,” Sola told the little droid, “you need direction as a babysitter, but I suppose you’ll do.”

  The droid chirped at her and then returned his full attention to Ryoo.

  “You’re not really in favor of arming civilian traders to help them fend off pirates, are you?” Sola asked, her voice quiet. “That’s almost exactly how the Trade Federation blockade began.”

  “No,” Padmé said. “The other senators I work with are entirely anti-aggression, to the point of nondefense. But they’re mostly from Core Worlds. They’re smart and experienced, but I think this is a place where I outpace them, and I haven’t found a way to gracefully pull them up on it yet.”

  “So you’re ungracefully playing the other side of their arguments?” Sola said. “That could be dangerous.”

  “It’s not as serious as that,” Padmé said. “We keep those debates off the floor, so there isn’t a record of them beyond what we ourselves make. It’s more like a dress rehearsal, so that when Mon Mothma or Bail Organa takes the matter to the rest of the Senate, they’re aware of how the discussion might go.”

  “Don’t you ever take the matter to the floor?” Sola asked.

  “Not yet,” Padmé admitted. “It galls me, I’ll tell you that, but I’ve decided to wait a
bit longer before I address the Senate directly over a motion I’ve written. They all remember what happened the first time I addressed them, and that sort of government shake-up isn’t easily forgiven.”

  “You saved us,” Sola said. “That’s what happened.”

  “I know,” Padmé said.

  “You had better go and rescue Dormé before Dad adopts her,” Sola said, looking across the garden to where Ruwee was loudly proclaiming that Dormé was the best carver he had seen in ten years. “Your friends are always so talented.”

  “That’s how they end up with me,” Padmé said. “It seems mercenary to surround yourself with people who are good at things that you are not with such intention, but it does keep life interesting.”

  She got up and went to see if Dormé needed rescuing. Her handmaidens could usually handle themselves, but expert assassins and cunning politicians were one thing, and Padmé’s parents were something else. Dormé held a small vibroblade and was carving scrolling vines into the parts of the beams that would be visible from inside the greenhouse.

  “She has such steady hands,” Ruwee said. “And she can see a whole pattern in her head and then make it fit where she needs it to go.”

  “What do you think the wardrobe mistress does?” Padmé asked. Dormé smiled.

  “Well, when my daughter is finished with galactic politics, you won’t have any trouble finding something to do here,” Ruwee said.

  “Thank you,” Dormé said. “My great-grandmother taught me how to carve. It’s easier for her now that she is older, and sewing makes her joints hurt. I’m looking forward to seeing her when Cordé and I switch places in a couple of days.”

  Dormé finished carving the vine and went back to add leaves and flowers to it.

  “I meant to ask,” Ruwee said. “How is Sabé? We were hoping she might come with you, but I suppose she has her own visits?”

  “She is well,” Padmé said. “And yes, she does. Saché took her off to see the others, I think, and then she’ll go home.”

  “Your friends are doing marvelous work here,” Ruwee said. “In the legislature, with those children, with music, and I’ve read the initial reports of the blue-algae project. It’s very heartening.”

  “I’m proud of them,” Padmé said.

  “You know,” Ruwee said, “no one has to be amazing forever. It’s perfectly all right to save a planet or two and then retire to being normal for the rest of your life.”

  Padmé took up the sander again. It was easier to think on her father’s terms when she was helping him with his heart’s work.

  “It is strange to see my friends go on to do such wonderful things without me,” Padmé said. “And Sola, too. Ryoo is wonderful, and I think just as much a part of Naboo’s future as Eirtaé’s blue-algae. But I don’t know what I would do, if I came back now. I want a family, but not yet, and the only skill I have truly cultivated is politics.”

  “You are an excellent aid worker,” Ruwee pointed out.

  “And that’s what I am doing in the Senate now,” Padmé said. “Or trying to.”

  “You’re always going to go back,” he said.

  “Yes.” Padmé felt oddly energized. “I know it’s not the life you wanted for me, and I know it’s not the life I want for myself—at least not forever—but it’s still good, and I still need to do it.”

  “You always have our support.” Ruwee said as Jobal appeared with more tea.

  Padmé took a cup from the tray and let the smell of it bring back memories of a thousand cups that had come before it. Hopefully, there would be more than a thousand cups in her future. They continued to work on the greenhouse, so that the young artists of Naboo would have flowers when there were no flowers to be had.

  Padmé spent her last night on Naboo back in the royal palace. The queen had been so understanding of the time Padmé needed with her family that when Réillata asked if she would spend the last few days of her furlough in the capital for further discussions, Padmé could not refuse her. Now the time for talk was ended, and Padmé was ready to face the Senate again. She had the full backing of her planet, the support of her queen, and almost all of her own confidence.

  She was packing again, but this time she packed with certain intent. Sabé was with her, along with the others, and together they were curating a new collection of gowns that would fit the image Senator Amidala was trying to project. Padmé had banished most of the bright colors regretfully, save for a few accent pieces she couldn’t bear to part with, but it was with a certain amount of relief that she sent all the larger headpieces into storage, along with the most ornate of the gowns.

  With Dormé’s eye for line and function, they constructed a wardrobe based on darker shades of blue, green, and maroon. All of the dresses were still heavily embroidered with Naboo designs, and many consisted of multiple layers, but they were easier to sit in and easier to walk in. Padmé would be able to turn her head and turn a corner on her own. The practicality of Dormé’s designs extended to support garments and footwear.

  Cordé had begun sketching new styles for Amidala’s hair that relied less on structural aids and more on discreet pins. The pins—designed and made by Cordé’s jeweler sister—could, in a pinch, double as weapons or tools, yet they were small enough to make it through most security scans. Versé and Sabé had worked together on outfits for even more mobility: jumpsuits and the like that could be combined with dramatic capes to remind everyone of Amidala’s status without getting in her way.

  “It’ll move better than the battle dress,” Padmé said, holding the white trousers up in front of her.

  “And it’s probably easier to climb in than the guard uniform is,” Sabé added. She kept a straight face, but her eyes were shining. Typho had been sworn to silence, but they all would have given a great deal to have seen Padmé come down out of that tree.

  Sabé was addressing her own clothes. They had given her a guard uniform, as well as two sets of robes in case she was needed as a handmaiden. She had commissioned a new pair of boots—carefully scuffing them once the cobbler was gone so that they didn’t look so pristine—and a utility belt, in addition to the one that went with her uniform. Her clothes ranged from practical trouser-and-tunic combinations that were scarcely embellished at all to three higher-end outfits in case she required them.

  “Are you sure about the gowns?” Sabé asked. “I can’t exactly wear them in my neighborhood.”

  “We might need you at short notice,” Padmé said. “I know it’s unlikely, but we have the cargo allowance for it, and this way, you will be prepared for all eventualities.”

  “Fair enough,” Sabé said.

  There was a knock on the door, and Mariek came in. Padmé had barely seen her while they were on Naboo, and she was glad that the captain of her guard had returned.

  “Are you about ready to send all this down to the ship?” she asked.

  “Yes, Aunt,” Versé said.

  Cordé set the last few fragile pieces in their boxes, and Dormé checked the seal on the crates. When everything was secured, the crates went onto repulsorlift sleds, and Mariek left to supervise the loading. She had only just stepped out when there was another knock on the door and Saché steppedin.

  “Hello,” Padmé said warmly. She had seen her friends during her furlough, at their concerts, homes, and art shows, but it was never too much.

  “I came to ask if you are having dinner with the queen tonight,” Saché asked.

  “I’m not,” Padmé said. “She had a previous engagement with the trade ministers, and I didn’t want to infringe.”

  Also Padmé had eaten with the trade ministers often enough already.

  “Well, then I have an invitation for you, for all of you,” Saché said. “I am hosting a dinner party. I have the southwest hall, with the windows you like. It’s just going to be us, so you can come down whenever you are ready.”

  “That sounds wonderful,” Padmé said. “Let us finish up here, and we’ll b
e right down.”

  The southwest hall was Padmé’s favorite because it was small and simply appointed. Its glory was in the wall of ceiling-high windows that let in so much light and the balcony beyond that, where all of Theed and much of the surrounding landscape was visible. As queen, Padmé had read there and had taken audiences with the closest of her confidants. It seemed a more than fitting place for a farewell dinner, and she was glad that Saché had remembered.

  “Just us” turned out to be all of the handmaidens, except for Yané, who had cancelled at the last minute because the set of twins she was fostering had fallen ill and she was staying home to tend to them. Saché was visibly disappointed but put her best face on it.

  “They’re sweet kids, most of the time,” Saché said. “And I’m so proud of her for what she does.”

  “I met them when we visited,” Padmé said. “It wasn’t very long, but it was enough to get to know them a bit and to see Yané again. I can’t imagine having twins, but she’s so good at it.”

  “She really is,” Saché said.

  Padmé’s attention was caught by the new stained-glass window. She had commissioned several after the Battle of Naboo, to replace the ones damaged during the occupation, but this was not one of hers. The window depicted a royal procession wherein a tiny glass figure of herself walked the streets of Theed under a canopy while her attendants surrounded her. Rabé followed her gaze and laughed when she saw the window.

  “How many of us do they think there are?” she said. There were a great many flame-hooded figures in the scene.

  “Is one of them holding the canopy?” Saché asked, squinting. “I don’t think the artist understands what it is we do.”

  “Good,” said Sabé, and they all giggled. “That’s how it’s supposed to be.”

  Rabé performed for them while they waited for the dinner hour to approach, and Eirtaé gave more details about her time in Otoh Gunga than she had given to the legislative assembly. She had also brought several of her pieces for Padmé to see, and Sabé insisted on buying one of them, even though she currently had nowhere to put it.