She tugged at the laces cinching her waist and looked up to see Jag Fel observing her. “I’d be happier in a flight suit,” she said ruefully.
“No doubt, but you look lovely all the same.”
It was a polite phrase, an expected response. Jaina had received similar compliments at a hundred diplomatic affairs. But none had ever set her cheeks flaming—a response that none of her Jedi training seemed able to mitigate.
She deliberately turned to watch the first dance. Prince Isolder led his daughter through the elaborate steps. Tenel Ka danced as she fought—with singular grace and fierce, absolute concentration.
“I wonder what might happen to a man who stepped on her toes,” Jag mused.
Jaina shot a startled look at him and noted the faint, wry lift to one corner of his lips. “Their heads are mounted on the trophy room wall,” she said with mock seriousness.
A slow smile spread across his face, and Jaina’s heart nearly leapt out of her low-necked gown. She glanced at the floor. Other dancers were joining in. On impulse, she nodded toward the growing crowd and said, “They’ve created a diversion. We could probably sneak out and look around for those trophies.”
Jag rose and executed a formal bow. “May I have the honor of shared evasive maneuvers?”
Chuckling, she took his offered hand. They merged into the swirling crowd, working their way toward the doors.
They emerged into the hall, hand in hand, grinning like mischievous children. This was a new side to the somber young pilot, one that intrigued Jaina. Judging from the expression on Jag’s face and the sense of wonder coming to her through the Force, this playful moment was something new to him, as well.
One of the paneled doors opened, and a slender, red-clad figure stepped from the banquet chamber into the hall. “Jaina. I’d hoped to have the opportunity to speak with you.”
The lighthearted moment vanished. Jag greeted the former queen with a crisp, proper bow and excused himself. He nodded to Jaina and then disappeared back into the swirling crowd. Ta’a Chume led the way to a small receiving room across the hall. Neither woman spoke until they were settled down.
“Enjoying yourself?” Ta’a Chume inquired.
“I think I was about to.”
The queen’s eyes took on a speculative gleam, but she did not comment on the turn of phrase. “Teneniel Djo should have led the dancing, but she did not attend. Do you know why?”
Jaina shook her head.
“Her health did not permit. She was expecting a second child, an heir to the throne of Hapes, or at the very least a son who might find a suitable wife. Then came the attack upon Fondor and the destruction of the Hapan fleet. Teneniel Djo is not precisely a Jedi, but she is what I believe you call Force-sensitive.”
“That’s right,” Jaina confirmed.
“She felt the destruction of the fleet, the deaths of our pilots. The shock was more than she could bear. The child was born too soon, and born dead. Teneniel Djo has never fully recovered.”
The disdain in Ta’a Chume’s voice put Jaina on the defensive. “It’s possible to feel actual pain through the Force, and to experience strong emotions. One of the things a Jedi learns to do is guard against constant bombardment. Teneniel Djo’s sensitivity was stronger than her shields. That doesn’t make her weak.”
“Be that as it may, I am not interested in philosophy, but governance. My son’s wife is not able to attend a diplomatic dinner, much less lead the entire Consortium into war. Isolder is no fool, nor does he shirk his duty. It’s time for him to divorce Teneniel Djo and find a new wife, someone capable of ruling during a time of war.”
Jaina regarded the older woman warily. “I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.”
“You’re in a position to understand such complexities. Your mother was a ruler—a queen of sorts—for many years. Tell me, what came first in your family?”
“She walked a better balance than most people could have,” Jaina said shortly. “My father doesn’t complain. Much.”
“A very pragmatic response,” Ta’a Chume approved. “I see you don’t subscribe to the myths surrounding marriage. It’s not at all what the poets try to make of it, but rather a pragmatic, mutually beneficial alliance, one that is entered into when expedient, and abandoned when it is of no further value.”
Jaina began to get a lock on Ta’a Chume’s target. “You’re considering my mother for Teneniel Djo’s job, and you want me to act as intermediary. With all respect, Your Majesty, you might as well jettison that idea with the rest of the trash.”
The queen’s eyebrows shot up. “Are you always so direct?”
Jaina shrugged. “It saves time. Who knows how long we might have circled around that point, otherwise?”
“Perhaps so. Then let’s speak of more pleasant things. Baron Fel’s son seems a promising young man.”
“He’s an excellent pilot.”
“So are you. But if you are to be an effective leader, you’ll have to know enough of men to be able to take their full measure.” She paused for a sour smile. “Don’t expect too much.”
Jaina rose. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
The queen watched her leave, then her gaze shifted to a painted screen. “What do you think?”
A young man in festive garb strolled into the room. “I think I’ve missed something,” Trisdin observed. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re nudging your protégée toward this would-be nobleman with bad fashion sense.”
Ta’a Chume sent an arch glance toward her favorite. “Colonel Fel’s formal manner lends itself well to court life and conventions, and his military record is most impressive. He is earnest and handsome and idealistic—very much as Prince Isolder was at that age.”
The woman smiled like a hunting manka cat. “Jaina Solo has little understanding of her own personal power and appeal. She must discover it before she can use it.”
“Ah!” he said slowly. “An unseasoned girl is not likely to take on as daunting a task as a married prince, especially not a man who courted her mother, and who is father to one of her friends.”
“Jaina is not worldly enough for my purposes just yet. Perhaps this Jag Fel can help.” Ta’a Chume aimed a cool smile at her favorite. “Feel free to contribute your own efforts to the cause.”
Trisdin’s blue eyes narrowed at the casual, offhanded manner in which she offered his services. “It would be my pleasure,” he agreed, not without malice.
The glance Ta’a Chume sent him showed understanding but no offense. “Charm the girl,” she instructed. “Offer her a sympathetic ear when her handsome young pilot meets his unfortunate but inevitable end.”
She walked away, leaving Trisdin staring after her. He intended to do all that Ta’a Chume asked—he really had little choice in the matter—but he could not help but wonder what his own “inevitable end” might be.
And knowing Ta’a Chume as he did, Trisdin suspected that Prince Isolder would be the next to offer consolation
SEVENTEEN
Jaina eased open one of the ballroom doors and peered in. Her eyes swept the glittering assembly, looking for a tall, straight figure clad in somber black. The room was a swirling sea of bright colors and glittering jewels.
There was no sense of Jag’s presence, either. Like some of the people she knew—Wedge Antilles, Talon Karrde, and her father—Jag projected a strong presence through the Force, an energy very different from that of a Jedi but powerful in its own way.
And now that she thought of it, here was yet another gap in the conventional Jedi view of the Force. It couldn’t perceive or affect the Yuuzhan Vong, or account for people like Han and Jag. Maybe “light” and “dark” were not opposites after all, but simply two aspects of a Force far more varied and complex than any of them believed possible. She stretched out with her senses, trying to catch some glimpse of these larger horizons.
Suddenly a powerful presence flooded her awareness, and these thoughts vanished like the b
lade of a switched-off lightsaber. Jaina whirled to face Kyp Durron.
For a long moment she simply stared at the Jedi Master, disconcerted and slightly disoriented by the rush of his power over her senses. At the moment of his arrival she had been without shields, without boundaries. Jaina felt as if she’d awoken from a deep trance to find herself gazing directly into a sun.
He reached around her and firmly shut the door, leaving them standing alone in the corridor.
Jaina’s shields swiftly returned, and the details of this unexpected meeting began to take focus.
Kyp was somberly dressed in sand-colored Jedi robes, and his silver-shot mane had been tamed into dignified curls. Carefully controlled anger rolled off him in waves, and the expression in his blazing green eyes left little doubt concerning its target.
Jaina’s chin came up in an unconscious imitation of her mother’s regal poise. “Kyp. I suppose you left dozens of mind-controlled servants and guards behind you, stumbling around the palace in confusion. That’s your style, isn’t it? Not to mention the only way to explain your presence here.”
“Getting out will be easier. You’ll be with me.”
“I don’t think so,” she said coolly.
“Think again. I’m here to take you to your brother’s funeral.”
That was the last thing Jaina had expected. Kyp’s blunt pronouncement tore a veil from her heart, and for a moment the terror and fury and agony of Anakin’s death filled her senses.
Jaina hurled away these emotions and replaced them with an anger that matched Kyp’s. She planted her fists on her hips and stared him down. “You’re going to ‘take me’? You and what Sith Lord?”
He stabbed a finger at her in a gesture that reminded her a little too much of her father in a parental snit. “Don’t challenge me, Jaina.”
“Give me one good reason.”
His eyes raked over her, and the expression in them dispelled any fatherly comparisons. “You couldn’t channel the Force wearing that dress. There isn’t enough room in there for it to squeeze through.”
Jaina’s cheeks flamed, but no suitable retort came to mind. Worse, she had to admit that his words touched on the truth. She’d left her lightsaber in her room—the clinging scarlet gown wasn’t designed for such practicalities.
A disturbing truth came to Jaina: if she had her lightsaber at this moment, she would use it. Kyp lifted one eyebrow, as if he sensed her unspoken challenge.
This was uncharted territory for Jaina, and she was not at all sure of her course. But one thing was abundantly clear—she could hardly avoid the funeral now that Kyp had brought it so forcefully to her attention.
“I’ll change,” she said stiffly.
Kyp shrugged a leather strap off his shoulder and tossed her a canvas bag. He jerked his head toward the side room where Jaina and Ta’a Chume had spoken. “In there.”
Teeth gritted, eyes blazing, Jaina marched into the room. The door shut behind her, and she whirled to find Kyp standing there, arms folded.
“Oh, you’ll definitely want to rethink this last decision,” she told him.
He nodded toward the painted screen. Muttering, Jaina strode over and put the barrier between her and the Jedi Master. In the bag was a pair of low, soft boots that she recognized as her mother’s, Jedi robes identical to those Kyp wore, and a lightsaber. Jaina switched it on and considered the blade’s distinctive blue-violet hue.
“You went into my room.”
“That’s not a capital offense. Turn off the lightsaber before the temptation to dispense justice overwhelms you,” he said dryly.
She thumbed it off and turned her attention to the complex fastenings of her borrowed gown. Finally she stripped it off and tossed it over the screen. The loose Jedi robes were a relief—or would have been, under different circumstances.
Finally she came out, grim-faced but resolute. “Let’s get this over with.”
Kyp led the way to a side door, past a surprising number of guards and servants who appeared every bit as disoriented as Jaina had expected.
Jaina’s indignation surged high, then ebbed just as quickly. She couldn’t exactly fault the rogue Jedi for doing what every other Jedi did without guilt or debate. Uncle Luke routinely used mind control to sway people in small, day-to-day matters, as had his first Master, Obi-Wan Kenobi. No one seemed to question whether it was appropriate for a Jedi to use the Force to overpower other minds. In this regard, Kyp was no different from any of the more conservative Jedi. He just happened to be unusually good at this particular trick.
They passed through the grounds and to the outbuilding housing royal transport of various kinds. Kyp settled down on a landspeeder. His long fingers moved deftly over the controls, and the vehicle hummed to life.
Jaina sat down behind him. The landspeeder rose and skimmed quietly through the streets. They left the royal city behind, passed through the docks and circled the edge of the vast refugee camp. Kyp headed for the dense shadows of the public forest, and then eased the landspeeder through narrow paths that wound up a steadily climbing slope.
As they sped up the mountain, the trees began to thin and then gave way to scrub. Twin moons rose, casting their pale light on the strange rocky formations crowning the mountain. Gathered there, their somber faces clearly visible in the light of a hundred torches, were her family and friends.
Kyp pulled up the landspeeder a respectful distance away. Jaina quickly scrambled off and strode toward the gathering. It was bad enough to arrive with Kyp, worse to come dressed alike. She would not complete the illusion of dutiful little apprentice by walking respectfully at his side.
Jaina’s gaze swept the small crowd, starting with her parents and then skimming over a surprisingly large group. All the survivors of the mission to Myrkr were there. Tenel Ka stood off to one side, still in the elaborate gown she’d worn earlier that evening. Jag Fel was with her, and Jaina noticed several others whose festive garb stood in stark contrast to the somber gathering. Their presence eased Jaina’s discomfort over her mode of arrival—obviously Kyp had brought word to others at the palace as well.
Then her unwilling gaze shifted to the center of the circle, and all other considerations dissipated.
They had brought Anakin here, and placed him on a high, flat stone. A ring of torches surrounded him, a bright border separating him from those who bore witness to his passage.
The shadows stirred, and Tahiri stepped into the circle of light. “Anakin saved my life,” she said simply. “The Yuuzhan Vong locked my body in a cage and tried to do the same thing with my mind. Anakin came to Yavin Four, alone, and brought me out.”
She fell silent as she gazed into the torchlight. A yearning expression crossed her scarred face, as if the impulse to follow Anakin one more time was too strong to ignore. Leia stepped forward and rested a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Jaina couldn’t see her mother’s face clearly, but something in it seemed to pull Tahiri back. The girl’s shoulders rose and fell in a profound sigh, and she yielded her place to another.
“Anakin Solo saved my life,” a soft, tentative voice repeated. A young refugee boy stepped into the firelight, and Jaina’s heart simply shattered.
He was a near-exact image of her brother at that age—tousled light brown hair, ice-blue eyes, even the dent in the center of his chin.
“I never met Anakin,” the boy said. “People tell me I look like him. I don’t know why the lady on Coruscant wanted me to look like this. She promised that my mother and sisters would be safe if I let them change my face. I don’t know why,” he repeated. “All I know is that looking like Anakin saved me. Maybe it saved my family, too.”
“Viqi Shesh,” Kyp murmured, naming the devious senator Jaina had distrusted for quite some time. “Han told me about it.”
Jaina silently added another name to the list of scores as yet unsettled. Her eyes widened as her father stepped into the firelight.
“Anakin saved my life,” he said softly. “Mine, and a
shipload of people I would have let burn into starfood. He made the hard decision at Sernpidal, the right decision. I hope he knows that.”
Jaina’s jaw dropped as Kyp Durron moved into the light. “I knew Anakin mostly through reputation, but I suspect that someday I will be able to stand before a solemn assembly and tell how this young Jedi changed—even saved—my life. The deeds of heroes send ripples spreading through the Force. Anakin’s life continues to flow outward, touching and guiding those who have yet to hear his name. Most of us here use the Force—this young man embodied it.”
Others came forward, but Jaina didn’t hear their words. She’d always known that Anakin was different, special. It seemed odd that Kyp Durron would be the one to find the words that eluded her.
At last the voices fell silent, the torches burned low. The rising moons converged, then began to sink along their separate paths toward the jagged forest horizon. Luke picked up one of the torches and moved forward.
This was the moment Jaina had dreaded most. Anakin was gone, and she understood that what was left was little more than an empty shell. But she had fought so viciously to win him away from the Yuuzhan Vong, and for what? To stand by and watch him destroyed now? It didn’t seem right. Nothing about Anakin’s death did.
Luke Skywalker approached the stone bier and lowered the torch. The flame spread, limning Anakin’s body in golden light.
The fire dissipated into thousands of dancing motes. These rose slowly into the sky, shimmering against the darkness like newborn stars. As they slipped away into the night, it seemed to Jaina that the stars shone a little brighter.
Tears filled her eyes as she gazed at the empty bier. A glimmer of insight flickered on the far edges of her perception—a glimpse, perhaps, of what Anakin might have known, might have become. Jaina blinked away the tears and slammed shields around her emotions.
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