by Claudia Gray
“It occurred to me that I’d have a greater understanding of the prophecies when I had a greater understanding of myself,” Qui-Gon said. “But why do you ask?”
“Because, wasn’t there one…” Averross snapped his fingers. “It went, ‘One will ascend to the highest of the Jedi despite the foreboding of those who would serve with him.’ That was it, right?”
“Roughly.” Qui-Gon shook his head. “You think that prophecy refers to me? That the Council’s wary of me?”
“Hey, they were, right?” Averross said. “But obviously they got over it.”
“The prophecies aren’t to be taken literally.”
“That’s what I always said. Don’t you remember, it was me who had to talk you out of it, back in the day? You were halfway to becoming a spaceport soothsayer offering to see futures for a credit or two. Still, it’s weird, right? You being obsessed with this stuff as a teenager, and then nearly livin’ out one of the prophecies yourself.”
“I suppose it is strange,” Qui-Gon said.
“And then some,” Averross agreed. His friend seemed distracted again, but this time he could tell Qui-Gon’s thoughts had nothing to do with Averross, and so could be safely ignored.
From the Leverage, both the soulcraft and the Jedi were loaded onto a smaller cargo vessel that could land more easily on the planet’s surface. As they approached the capital city, the cargo ship skimmed above lanes of tall, thin conifers that striped the rugged hills below. Sunset light shone on a broad ocean as the ship rounded toward its coast. Giant cliffs jutted out into the water, their white stone imposing itself on the seascape.
Qui-Gon stepped to Obi-Wan’s side as the ship began its final approach. “Have you learned to pilot yet another type of ship? You’ll be able to fly anything in the galaxy before long.”
However, Obi-Wan’s attention was elsewhere. “Master, the capital city’s nearby, but we’re still in a wilderness. The readouts say we’re practically on top of the royal palace when there’s nothing around for kilometers.”
Qui-Gon chuckled. “Look closer.”
He watched Obi-Wan’s eyes widen as he realized that the cliffs had been hollowed out. Windows in various geometrical shapes had been hewn from the rock, and the sunset already revealed that the transparencies there were in various colors. What lay before them was not only the palace, but an entire royal complex. The only hints above the surface were the round temple known as the Celestial Chalice, and grounds so thickly forested with trees that it was easy to miss the manicured lawns and antique iron fences.
“By night, the palace complex shines like a lantern,” Qui-Gon said.
“It’s remarkable. Why did they do it? Protection from the solar flares?”
Qui-Gon shook his head. “No. Pijali culture believes in focusing on the internal, rather than the external.”
“Admirable,” Obi-Wan said. “Not to mention, unusual in a royal court.”
“Very true.” Qui-Gon couldn’t suppress a smile as he thought of some of the regal pomp they’d been forced to endure in the past.
As they walked down the gangway, the hiss of steam around them, an honor guard of troops marched in their direction. Their cloaks were plain brown, the cloth visibly rough—but as the guards walked, the flutter of the robes revealed brilliant-green shimmersilk linings.
The guards stopped and pivoted to face one another across a path of smooth stone that led toward a high arched door. As they did so, Rael emerged from within the ship, ready to escort them the rest of the way. “So here we are,” he said, stepping in front of them on the path and gesturing ahead. A strange kind of happiness shone from him, one it took Qui-Gon a moment to recognize as pride. “Ahem. Allow me to present Her Serene Highness, Crown Princess Fanry of Pijal.”
Emerging from the arched palace door was a young girl with pale skin. Her dress and turban scarf were plain white, but with slashes in the sleeves and skirt that revealed the rich gold shimmersilk of her undergown.
“We are most honored to welcome more Jedi Knights to our realm,” Fanry said, coolly and properly—then made a face. “I’m supposed to refer to myself in the plural when I’m speaking officially. No idea why. Makes me want to turn around and look for my clone.”
That made Qui-Gon chuckle, and Obi-Wan grinned, too. Obi-Wan said, “When you’re crowned queen, can you change that?”
“I won’t be absolute ruler, so no.” Fanry gave an exaggerated sigh, clearly meant to amuse. “But maybe the new Assembly will have mercy and enact the changes on my behalf. I mean—our behalf.”
Clever, Qui-Gon thought. Quick. Very independent. Exactly the sort of student Rael should have.
Not like Nim.
Nim had died at very nearly the same age Fanry was now.
* * *
—
During his time as a Padawan, Obi-Wan had visited dozens of royal palaces—from a chief’s simple fortress on Lah’mu to the expansive, spectacular queen’s complex on Alderaan. He thought of himself as too worldly to be awed by such places, or even surprised.
However, the inside-out aesthetic on Pijal impressed him. Every table was gilded below, rather than above; every chair was plain, save for the richly embroidered cushions that would be hidden when someone sat. Even the lanterns that hung from the high ceilings were fashioned from plain black metal, but lined with glittery tile that reflected sparkles of light all around.
There was something fascinating, Obi-Wan decided, about the idea of having such grandeur and concealing it—making it known only to those who would be willing to discover what lay within.
“You’re getting to like the place,” Averross said, striding past Obi-Wan on his long legs. “Knew you would. Best palace in the galaxy, if you ask me.”
“Of course you like it best,” Qui-Gon interjected. He remained a few steps behind them, not bothering to keep up with Averross. “This has been your home for nearly a decade. Only natural that you should become fond of it.”
That wasn’t the same thing as Qui-Gon saying he didn’t like the palace. He’d even praised it, before. But Obi-Wan sensed his Master was…blunting Averross’s pride. Refusing to get caught up in his point of view.
I suppose I should be glad Qui-Gon’s not overly impressed with a Master who was responsible for killing his Padawan, Obi-Wan thought. The bleak joke cut too close for him to smile.
They reached the central chamber, where Fanry hurried ahead and took her place on her throne. Obi-Wan noted with amusement that her slippered feet didn’t quite touch the floor. She gestured to the courtiers and guards who stood around her. “Our Jedi guests have arrived,” she proclaimed, lifting her chin. “This is Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn and his Padawan, Obi-Wan Kenobi. Present yourselves to them for introductions.”
A tall, skinny woman with wiry graying curls piled atop her head tottered forward in her narrow-cut brown dress, pale lips set in a thin line. “I am Minister Orth.” Her imperious tone suggested she expected them to have heard of her. “I advise Her Serene Highness—and of course our lord regent—on internal planetary matters.”
There was no of course about it. Obi-Wan felt sure most political figures wouldn’t trip over the title of an important official they’d been reporting to for nearly a decade. She resents Averross, he noted. Maybe it didn’t matter for their mission, but he was going to mention it to Qui-Gon—if only so his Master would know Obi-Wan had been sharp enough to pick it up.
Another introduction also struck him—that of the captain of Fanry’s guard, a slender man with dark skin, strikingly high cheekbones, and a gleaming bald head. “I am Captain Deren,” he said in a voice so low and resonant that he made Qui-Gon sound like a youngling. “My loyalty is sworn to the princess, now and forever.” It was a formal phrase any guard might have uttered, but Obi-Wan could sense how deeply Deren meant it.
“With these guys’ he
lp, we’re finally gonna put the Opposition where they belong. In jail.” Averross took his place on the dais beside Fanry, standing to her right, slightly behind her shoulder. Undoubtedly this was meant to suggest his deference to her—but his ragged appearance and unshaven face suggested Rael Averross deferred to no one.
Has he become too accustomed to power? Obi-Wan wondered. No Jedi should ever fall into that trap. He doesn’t seem as though he cares for authority that much—but he definitely likes the fact that no one can boss him around. The glint in Minister Orth’s narrowed eyes suggested she’d like to give Averross an order or two.
Qui-Gon asked, “How much can you tell us about the Opposition?”
“They were actors, of a sort, before they turned to terrorism.” Fanry held out her hands, as if helpless. “Performance artists, whatever those are.”
Orth interjected, “Halin Azucca had this one show where she wore this enormous white fluffy…thing, about four meters across, and invited audience members to cut off bits of it to be clouds in the sky she was painting. Apparently this counts as art.”
“It was about the paradox of findin’ serenity through destruction,” huffed Averross. “Think about it.”
Minister Orth looked like she’d sooner lick a river toad. Probably Averross’s enthusiasm for performance art was mostly about irritating Orth. Then again, Obi-Wan had once heard of a Hutt who collected fine porcelains. You never could tell what people held inside.
Fanry continued as though neither her regent nor her minister had spoken. “Our royal audiences are available to everyone. We’ve repeatedly asked to meet with this Halin Azucca or other Opposition leaders, under a promise of absolute immunity. But no one appears. No one speaks. Instead we got pranks and stunts, and then vicious attacks.” The holoscreen nearby showed a statue breaking apart to reveal tiny shimmering flight droids, which spelled out various words in the air—and then an explosion ripping through a Czerka warehouse. The contrast was even more jarring than Obi-Wan had expected.
“Terrorists are always lookin’ for reasons to hurt other people,” Averross said. “They don’t like the treaty. Yeah, they give all these different reasons why, none of which justifies the things they’ve done. Even though the moon is finally gettin’ some representation in the Assembly! They never had that before.”
“It sounds mystifying,” Qui-Gon said. Obi-Wan wondered if anyone else noticed that wasn’t the same as agreeing with anything that had been said.
“Well, that’s why we’ve brought you in, Qui-Gon,” Averross said. “You’re better at sizing up a situation than just about anybody, and we needed someone I knew I could trust. Not some play-it-safe type. Too many of those in the Order. You, though—you can get to the bottom of this.”
Mildly, Qui-Gon replied, “I’ve been fooled a time or two.”
“But not often, and not for long.” Averross’s pride in Qui-Gon seemed almost as great—and as paternal—as his pride in Princess Fanry.
“If I may—” Captain Deren waited for the Jedi to nod before he continued. “—in my opinion, ‘getting to the bottom of this’ is irrelevant compared with the importance of safeguarding the treaty ceremony. After that ceremony, we’ll have all the time we need for investigations.”
“You might think we can protect the treaty and the princess without getting these answers,” Minister Orth spat, “but I do not. I only hope the new Jedi on our planet are able to come up with information faster than the one already here.”
“Protect the princess?” Qui-Gon said. “Is there any particular reason you think she would be in danger? Have there been attempts on her life?”
Fanry bit her lower lip and stared at the floor. Averross cut in, “Nothin’s happened to Fanry. Not on my watch—and not on Deren’s, either. The man knows what he’s about. But in the end, if the Opposition’s hell-bent on preventing the treaty from being signed, they could go after the one person with the power to sign it.”
Although agreeing with Averross was clearly difficult for Orth, she nodded. “And the upcoming events will expose her to greater danger. Public appearances, the Grand Hunt—”
“Perhaps the hunt might be postponed,” Obi-Wan ventured.
Every Pijali citizen in the room stared at him as though he’d just stripped off his trousers. He was blushing by the time Captain Deren responded, “The Grand Hunt is a traditional rite on Pijal. Every future monarch must prove themselves on the hunting grounds.”
Averross nodded. “It’s like the ruler has to demonstrate they can provide for the planet.”
“Were Her Serene Highness not to hunt,” Deren said, “many Pijali would consider her coronation null and void. Her signing the treaty would then provoke a crisis far more serious than the Opposition attacks.”
“There’s no talking ’em out of it, guys,” Averross said. “Believe me, I tried.”
Orth’s eyes narrowed. “Perhaps you should’ve spent less time trying to destroy our traditions and more time finding the Opposition.”
“Rael Averross is as intelligent and dedicated a servant as Her Serene Highness could wish,” Qui-Gon said. He stood with his hands clasped together within the sleeves of his robe. “But whatever I can add through a new perspective is at the court’s disposal.”
As was often the case, Obi-Wan noted, Qui-Gon managed to sound very reassuring while actually saying very little.
* * *
—
Later that night, after a sumptuous dinner and some courtly music, the Jedi had been taken to their guest suite. It was an ample space, with bedrooms for them each, and a central room with tall windows that looked out onto the sea. Pijal’s troublesome moon illuminated the water, revealing each wave, each curl of foam. Staring out at the tide, Obi-Wan ventured, “Deren’s the only one I feel entirely certain of.”
“That’s usually the one who causes trouble.” Qui-Gon’s smile was rueful. “So you don’t feel entirely certain of Rael Averross?”
One thing Obi-Wan had learned from his Master: When in doubt, answer a question with another question. “Do you?”
Qui-Gon shrugged, using the gesture to free himself of his heavy robe. “I feel certain that he cares about Princess Fanry, and is committed to the treaty. That’s enough for now.”
His Master was being cryptic again. By now, Obi-Wan ought to have been used to it. He had been used to it. But the abrupt, unannounced end to his apprenticeship had scoured his feelings raw. He wanted to snap, Just tell me what you’re thinking, can’t you for once just—
“How shall we begin?” Obi-Wan said as coolly as he could manage. “By visiting the moon?”
“Yes.” Qui-Gon kicked off his boots. Normally he left them in the center of the floor; it would be Obi-Wan’s job to look after his things. Tonight, however, he collected them under one arm. Apparently the duties of a Padawan were slowly being taken away. “We’ll fly to the moon tomorrow morning in a small, short-run vessel—preferably without any military escort. Less formal, and much better for snooping around.”
Despite his dark mood, Obi-Wan smiled slightly at the word snooping; Qui-Gon’s tone made it clear how much he was looking forward to that. Still, he had to ask: “Do you seriously expect we’ll be able to turn up the Opposition just by flying around the moon? When we’ve never been there before, and hardly know what we’re looking for?”
“Of course not.” Qui-Gon freed his hair from its leather tie, so that it fell loose to his shoulders. “That would be absurd.”
“Then why are we doing it?”
“It’s not the Opposition we’ll be searching for,” Qui-Gon said. With that he walked into his own bedroom.
Cryptic. On purpose. Again. Obi-Wan had sometimes found this habit of his Master’s endearing. Tonight he didn’t.
But he couldn’t help feeling curious about whatever Qui-Gon had planned.
Ships of
enormous size and grandeur were put at the Jedi Knights’ disposal, as well as the finest pilots of the royal star fleet. Qui-Gon refused them all except for a small cruiser for Obi-Wan to pilot himself. Nothing larger was necessary. Obi-Wan would enjoy the experience, and besides, it was bad form to ask for too many favors at the beginning of a mission. Better to keep them in reserve. It was too early to test Rael’s hospitality.
Not Rael, Qui-Gon told himself as Obi-Wan brought the cruiser out of Pijal’s atmosphere. The “lord regent.” That’s who Rael Averross is here.
No wonder the Jedi Council had chosen Rael for this mission. Of all the people Qui-Gon had ever known, Rael Averross was the least likely to be bowled over by riches, finery, and grandeur. Eight years in a palace, and the man still dressed like a Drexelian shell-digger.
But the temptations of power were subtly different, and far more dangerous. Had Rael fallen prey to those? Time would tell.
“Lunar gravity taking effect,” Obi-Wan said. Even as he spoke, Qui-Gon felt the faint pull on the cruiser drawing them in. “If you’d care to enlighten me as to our specific destination, this might be a good time to mention it.”
“Settle us into low orbit while I run some scans. When I find what I’m looking for, that’s when we’ll land.”
“When?” Obi-Wan gave him a curious look. “Not if?”
“They’re here,” Qui-Gon murmured. “We just have to find them, wherever they are.”
Obi-Wan opened his mouth, obviously to ask who “they” were, then closed it again. He was learning patience, Qui-Gon thought—discovering when to wait and let a mystery unfold for itself.
(That, or he was completely sick of dealing with a deliberately obtuse Master. If that was the case, Qui-Gon couldn’t blame him.)
Qui-Gon input a datacard he’d requested from the Czerka ship the day before. A holo began to play, showing yesterday’s plasma attack on the soulcraft. He ignored the images, looking only at the scan findings at the bottom.
