The ball room was a dazzling maze of flowing gowns and striking Hapan nobles, intermixed with the occasional rebel fortunate enough to snag an invitation to the new Queen Mother’s coronation. These auspicious few included Jacen and his entire family. As the son of the former galactic Chief of State, events like these weren’t anything new to Jacen. Yet it was vitally different in meaning, and anticipation left him with a vaguely sick feeling. So he loitered in a corner, nursing a goblet of a very strong local beverage that made him feel like he had been punched in the gut. Or, he mused darkly, maybe that was just how he felt anyway.
He swirled the drink around aimlessly in his cup, stirring up flavor, as the bartender had instructed. Leaned against a massive marble pillar, he had a perfect view of all the coming and goings of the Hapan court, decked out in their finest for the elevation of their Princess to Queen. Despite the recent loss of Teneniel Djo, they seemed to be in good spirits. But then, over half of them had probably plotted her death themselves at some point.
Jacen’s mood darkened further. He wasn’t even sure why his temper was so foul. Maybe it was the stiff, formal Jedi robes. He had inherited a distaste for ceremony from his father. Or it could be the fact that his mother had just miscarried her baby, his little brother. Or it may well even be that he had come here with the plan of hiding behind the more social persona of his twin sister, who had mysteriously abandoned him early in the night. But if he was truthful with himself, Jacen knew none of these were the case.
He was upset that Tenel Ka was becoming Queen.
He didn’t know why that bothered him, though. It was best for Hapes, for the galaxy, for the Jedi. All around it was a good move. But he just could not overcome the feeling that he was forever losing one of his best friends. And there was absolutely nothing he could do about it, aside from sulking.
Amidst these gloomy musings, a figure across the room on the dais where Tenel Ka would soon appear, snagged his eye. It was Prince Isolder, Tenel Ka’s father. He had just emerged from a curtain in the back, and then moved to take his place on stage. This was no great matter in and of itself, but it sparked something in Jacen’s dismal mind.
Quietly and deliberately, he circled around the room, drawing closer to the rostrum. At last he stood at its edge—where the stand met the wall—and rested casually against it for a moment. A young woman dressed in a Hapan guard uniform gave him a harsh look and he stepped away from it a bit, then threw her an apologetic smile for good measure. She scowled, then looked away.
Feeling slightly guilty at the intrusion, but not so much that he refrained, Jacen stretched out with the Force and touched the guardswoman’s mind. A gentle nudge to keep her focus diverted, a cursory glance for the throng to make sure no one was looking at him, and he vaulted onto the platform with the speed and discretion only a Jedi could muster. His feet never hit the stage until he had disappeared into the thick curtains forming the backdrop. When he wrestled free, he was in the wings off the rostrum.
Before him, giving herself a last onceover in a full length mirror, was Tenel Ka. Her dress was a deep rose color with long sleeves, but exposed her neck and shoulders. It clung to her muscular body down to the widest part of her hips, then ballooned fantastically around her. The train was easily a meter long. Her auburn hair was curled and piled on the top of her head. She looked absolutely stunning.
He wasn’t sure if she sensed his arrival or saw his reflection in the mirror, but she turned to face him with a smile. “Jacen, what are you doing back here?”
“I needed to see you,” he stumbled over the words. Her question had taken him slightly off guard. Now that he was there, looking at her, he didn’t remember why he’d come.
She ignored his discomfiture. Instead, she stepped forward and took both his hands in her own. “Well I am glad. I am in desperate need of a friend right now.” She turned away from him, her gray eyes sad. “I am scared, Jacen. I don’t think I can do this.” Her hands, so small in his own, were trembling.
His heart softened immediately, breaking for her. “But you’re so strong, Tenel Ka. You’re the strongest woman I know. You can do anything.”
She glanced at him from beneath thick lashes, her mouth set in an amused line. “You really believe that?”
“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t,” he smiled encouragingly.
Without hesitation, she reached out and ran the back of her fingers along his cheek. “Thank you. That is quite a compliment, taking into account the number of stalwart women in your acquaintance.”
For some reason, he found himself leaning into the hand cupping his face. The gloom once again gathered in Jacen’s heart. It felt like the end, as if one of them were about to die. “Tenel Ka…”
“Shh,” she ordered. Tears glistened wet in her eyes. “Don’t. But know that I will always be your friend, Jacen Solo. Always.” He wrapped his own hand around the pale fingers on his skin, then kissed the sweet palm. She sighed heavily at this gesture, but didn’t resist him. For a moment they just stood that way, and then something resolved itself in her eyes. Outside the curtain the music was fading. It was her signal that the ceremony was about to begin. She whispered, breathless with urgency, “Kiss me, Jacen. Do it now, while we still can, without guilt. A moment from now you will be forever lost to me.”
He stared at her with a mixture of shock and despondency. Then, slowly, he leaned down and pressed his lips to hers. Their kiss was sweet and tender, and far too brief. Too soon she pulled back, a resigned smile on her face. They said nothing. She simply turned from him and stepped through the curtain to take her place beside her father.
To take her place as Queen Mother.
Jacen watched from the shadows as Isolder lifted her crown from a pillow presented to him. The Prince said a few words, but Jacen didn’t hear them. Tenel Ka kneeled, and her mother’s tiara was placed atop her red curls. There was applause, but Jacen didn’t hear that either.
Everything was drowned out in the deafening rush of blood pounding in his ears.
- * *
Slipping away from Jacen hadn’t been easy, but Jaina had managed escape him early on in the evening. She knew he would probably give her an earful about it later, but really she had no choice. She had to find Jag, and they couldn’t talk properly with Jacen hanging around. In fact, she wasn’t sure they’d be able to talk properly in any case. Still, she had to try. He would be transferring to Contruum in a scant few hours, and Jaina would go wherever the Jedi sent her. Though it wasn’t definite, there was a possibility she would never see him again.
A soft stringed melody was floating from the orchestra as she paced the circumference of the ballroom in search of her handsome Corellian. To her great disappointment, Jagged Fel was nowhere to be seen. She was sure he was there somewhere, but the sheer numbers filling the room proved to be a great hindrance. The task was made even more difficult because she had to carefully elude Jacen’s eye at the same time.
Just as she was about to give up, her quest was further delayed when a female voice called softly from behind her, “Jaina!” At the same time, Jaina felt her aunt’s touch in the Force, willing her to wait.
Jaina pulled a smile from someplace, then turned to face her approaching master. “Mara, you look beautiful tonight.” It wasn’t a lie. Her aunt’s svelte form was wrapped tightly in a deep green dress that highlighted her bright red mane and emerald eyes. She easily appeared ten years younger than her true age. Even among the horde of Hapan beauties, Mara Jade Skywalker still turned heads.
“Your uncle and I don’t attend functions like these often anymore,” she smiled brightly, “so when we do, I like to do it up right.” She leaned forward and whispered conspiratorially, “Besides, I like to remind Luke every once and a while exactly how lucky he is.” The remark was punctuated with a playful wink.
Caught between being amused and aghast at thought of the Jedi Master ogling his wife like the rest of the men in the ballroom, Jaina barely managed a tight chuckle.
“So,” Mara took her by the arm and steered them both leisurely in the opposite direction, “are you having a good time?”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Jaina replied dryly.
“Why not? This is probably the last moment we’ll have in a long while that’s free of stratagem and subterfuge,” Mara sighed. “Old assassins like me take pleasure in a little danger now and then, but you’re so young. You should enjoy this. Go dance, there’s plenty of young men here who’d be happy to oblige.”
Jaina frowned suspiciously. The whole conversation didn’t sound like something the Mara she knew would say. Something was going on, and she wanted to figure it out before Mara led her into the verbal trap that was no doubt coming. “I doubt that,” she pursed her lips, trying to imagine where this was going it.
“I don’t, not looking like you are tonight,” Mara laughed genuinely enough. “You’re so oblivious to them. Although I guess that’s part of the charm sometimes,” she mused aloud.
Jaina noted that the weaving path Mara was leading them on seemed to be deliberate, even if she tried to make it random enough. “I’m not oblivious. I just choose to ignore,” Jaina smirked.
Mara quirked an amused brow at her. “Oh really? And why would you do a thing like that?”
They were treading dangerous ground now. “Hapan men,” Jaina sniffed, then waved one hand dismissively. “They’re too subservient for me. I’d like someone who can hold his own.”
“A strong-willed man?” Mara clarified. Jaina nodded. Then her aunt grinned wickedly, and she knew the hammer was about to fall. “A Corellian then, perhaps. A man with a military mind. A pilot, certainly. Someone like, oh, I don’t know, a certain Chiss colonel in our acquaintance?”
Jaina felt all the color drain out of her face. She stumbled a little, cursed softly, blaming it on the huge lavender skirts whisking around her ankles. “I…I don’t…” she tried to find an argument, but knew there was none. Mara knew. She stared up at the older Jedi and swallowed hard. “Mara—”
“Hush,” her master’s smile was no longer devious. “It’s all right, Jaina. I just wish you had trusted me enough to tell me. But it doesn’t matter. I have a present for you.”
“A present?” her mind was still reeling.
Gently, Mara took her by the shoulders and turned her around. Jaina found herself looking at the exit. A long hallway stretched like an appendage off the grand Reception Hall. “Second door on the right,” Mara whispered from behind her, then gave her a little nudge forwards.
Jaina just stood there for a moment, confused. She glanced over her shoulder to ask Mara what was going on, but the former Emperor’s Hand was already sashaying her way back into the crowd. Hesitantly, Jaina made for the door indicated to her. She paused at the entrance, hand on the knob, then opened it.
Inside, his back to her as he gazed out the floor to ceiling window, was Jag. The room was small and cozy, a parlor of some kind, with a couch and two matching chairs, and an empty fireplace on one wall. The moonlight was the only illumination. It flickered in pale ribbons over his features as he turned at the sound of her entrance. He looked as stunned to see her as she was to see him. “Jaina?”
“Hi,” she stepped the rest of the way in the room and closed the door behind her. “Well, I’m going to have to compliment Aunt Mara on her impeccable taste. She gives the best presents.”
“What?” he frowned.
“Nothing,” she laughed softly. “What are you doing in here?”
He shrugged helplessly. “Master Skywalker grabbed me and pulled me in here. She said something about Luke needing to ask me new questions about the shield strippers…I don’t know, really. It was all a little bit disorienting. What are you doing here?”
Jaina slid forward and slipped her arms easily around his neck. “I’m here to see you.”
She saw the puzzlement in his eyes fade. “She knows?”
Jaina nodded. “And I didn’t tell her, I promise. She figured it out somehow. Although I guess that’s not too surprising. She spent a good part of her life as a spy, after all.”
He still looked troubled, and his arms wrapped protectively around her tiny waist, cinched even smaller in the binding gown. “I guess.”
“So,” Jaina smiled, able to dismiss those thoughts with no trouble, “are you going to kiss me or what?”
His frown melted into something decidedly more tender, and he leaned down to catch her lips in a light kiss. “I’m sorry,” he said after he pulled back. “I was neglecting my duties as a good boyfriend.”
Jaina’s eyes lit up at his words. “Boyfriend, hmm? Is that what you are?”
She could feel no uncertainty in him or his reply. “As long as you’ll have me, yes.”
His boldness both scared and thrilled her. “Well then. I guess that means you’re in favor of maintaining this after you’re sent to Contruum.”
“It does. Are you opposed?” They fell right into the comfortable banter that had been the author of their relationship.
“Not at all,” she grinned slyly. “But a little convincing couldn’t hurt.”
“I see,” his demeanor became serious. “First of all,” he tilted her chin to the right with one finger, “my credentials are excellent.” His mouth bent to suck gently on the soft skin on her neck just above the collar bone.
Her pulse fluttered wildly under his kiss, and she gasped at the heat stirring inside her. “Go on,” she breathed, clutching the back of his suit jacket in fistfuls.
He left a path of kisses up to her ear, where he paused, so close his lips brushed her skin when he spoke. “I always aim to please.”
“I think I’ll need further demonstration,” she instructed, eyes closed and head back.
“Jaina,” he sighed, nibbling gently on the lobe of her ear. Her name sounded almost like a plea on his tongue.
Then, just as she thought she couldn’t take the painful pleasure of it any more, he pulled back. Disappoint suffused her. “What’s wrong?”
“We need to talk,” Jag blew out a reluctant breath and let go of her. He took a step back for good measure.
Jaina was left feeling bereft, hanging on the verge of surrender and then unexpectedly dropped. He appeared no better. “What is it?” She stretched out to touch him in the Force and felt only a solid wall guarding his thoughts.
He took her hands, then stared at them, avoiding eye contact. “There are things I would tell you that I can’t because of an oath I took; an oath of fealty to the Chiss. Things that you and the rest of the rebel leaders need to know.”
“I don’t understand,” she shook her head, trying to clear away the cobwebs. She couldn’t focus. Her mind was still snagged on the warmth of his lips, the pleasant scratch of a would-be beard on her neck.
“Listen to me,” he did look at her then. “This is important.”
“I’m listening,” she promised, putting her thoughts fully in the moment.
“When this is all over with the Baci, the New Republic will no longer exist as it once did. It will have to be rebuilt. You will need aid. Who do you think the rebel leaders will call on?” his gaze was intently fixed on her face.
Jaina blinked a few times, then said tentatively, “The Chiss?”
“I didn’t say that,” he pursed his lips, but there was a positive glint to his eye that led Jaina to believe she had guessed correctly. “You did.”
“Yes,” she eyed him, curious. He was trying to tell her something without actually saying it. But why be so cryptic? “I did.”
“If that were to happen, there would be…repercussions,” he explained slowly. “Nothing is free, Jaina, especially for the Chiss. This war that we are helping with now, it’s not done out of fear of you turning our own weapons against us. There are other motives at work.”
“Okay,” she chewed her lower lip thoughtfully. “You want me to tell my Uncle this?”
He shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t want you to do anything. This is all hypothetical, right?”
“Right,” she agreed, eyeing him.
“You understand?” he raised both brows.
“I think so.”
A huge sigh of relief escaped him. “Good.” He stretched out and pulled her back into his arms, holding her tighter than before. “I would never hurt you, Jaina,” he whispered into her hair.
Jaina clung to him with just as much fervor. “I know.”
- * *
“What’s the total numbers? How many did we lose?” Cale Wilos’s voice was a strained murmur, his forehead resting tiredly in his palm. Sitting behind his massive desk, shoulders hunched, he was a much less imposing figure than he had been that day many months ago when Leia Solo was brought aboard the Dintellion. His white uniform jacket was gone, and in its place was a simple black undershirt, rumpled and slightly stained with sweat. His long raven hair was out of its normal tail, and hung in strings around his face. Though he tried to hide it, Zeya saw the shaking in his fingers as he combed it out of his eyes.
“Twenty four capital ships, Premier,” Zeya answered blankly. She stood across from him, legs shoulder width apart, hands clasped behind her back; forever the soldier. “Thirteen fighter squadrons. And the Dintellion is expected to be under repairs at the Bilbringi driveyards for several weeks.”
He grunted, and slid his pale hands down his face. Still he refused to look at her. Instead, he reached blindly to his left, fumbling with a wine tumbler until he had brought it to his mouth and taken a long swig. She watched him, torn between despair and disgust. With sudden vividity, she recalled the days of their youth, a childhood when they had played and learned as a team. Even then they had had great plans, unstoppable plans that had rocketed them both to the top. She had worshipped him in those days. He had been strong and full of vision for the Baci.
So very much had changed since then. Now when she looked at Cale, her cousin and best friend since her earliest memory, all she could see was a broken and rotting monarch too swelled up with pride to care about duty. He still had dreams, but they all revolved around himself. With him it was always my throne, my heir, my war, my needs, my, my, my! There was no us, no team. He didn’t listen to her any more, and because of that she had lost faith in him.
“But the Queen Mother,” he finally lifted his head to look at her, “she is dead?”
“She is, Premier.”
“Well,” he mustered a smile, “that is at least one good thing. It wasn’t a total loss.”
“No, Premier.” Zeya kept her eyes fixed on a place just above his head. She was too sickened to look at him.
“Anything else?”
“Estimated time of complete repair for the fleet is seven to eight months. Also, Tenel Ka Chume Ta’Djo was crowned the new Queen Mother of the Hapes Cluster less than an hour ago.” She took a deep breath. “On a more personal note, the young woman I brought you before the Terephon engagement has been examined, and has conceived.”
His black eyes lit up at her last words. “She has?” he stumbled up out of his chair. Exuberance radiated off him in the Channel.
“She has,” Zeya nodded. “In six months our House will have the stability it so needs.” Though she didn’t show it, Zeya was just as relieved at this new development as Cale was. She loved her clan more than anything. All she was and did was devoted to its success and elevation. Cale had damaged that in recent months, thanks in part to that Solo witch, but now things were different. Maybe she could learn to breathe again.
But only after the war had been won, of course.
Cale laughed gleefully and clapped his hands like a delighted child. “Blessed be the Channel! We’re saved.”
“Yes,” she agreed, and smiled just for good measure. “Only good things can stem from this.”
He sat back down in his chair with a plop, a huge, goofy smile on his face. “Arrange for the very best of care and accommodations for her.”
“I already have, Premier.”
“Of course, you always know what to do,” he laughed again. “What would I do without you, Zeya?”
“Probably die of starvation because there’d be no one to spoon feed you,” she grinned tightly, and was only half kidding.
For once, he didn’t take offense. “Probably,” he agreed, chuckling. “You know, looking back, I can’t believe I even tried this with Leia. This is so much easier. And quicker, too, if I understand human gestation periods correctly.”
She resisted an eye roll. “Well really we have no way of telling how long it would have been, as far as we know humans and Baci have never interbred before.”
He waved her off. “Doesn’t matter. That’s history. This new child will be the future.”
“Am I dismissed?”
“Go ahead, joykill,” he waved her away.
She bowed respectfully, then spun on one heel into a retreat. There was no doubt that Cale’s new heir would make things “easier,” as he put it. But probably not in the way that he assumed. She had needed him to sire a child so that the clan would have a future and could maintain power. Zeya had always been a realist, and realistically, Cale was no longer fit to lead. The latest debacle at Terephon had proven that.
Because of him, they were going to lose this war. So as far as she saw it, she had two choices: the Baci could go down in flames with her cousin at the helm, or she could find a way to salvage them.
It was really no choice at all.