SIXTEEN

Tenel Ka made her way across the ridge of the palace armory’s steeply sloped roof, running lightly and in perfect balance. The sprawling inner courtyard lay below her, and from this vantage she commanded a clear view of the west gate. Several guards were stationed on either side of the portal, which was used only by members of the royal family. Her father was due to return shortly, and a strong premonition prompted Tenel Ka to set her own watch.

She sped up as she approached the end of the roof and hurled herself into the air. Soaring over the three-meter divide without benefit of her Jedi powers, she landed in a crouch on the lower, flatter roof of the palace kitchens.

As she sprinted toward the western edge of the roof, she scanned the gardens and pens below. Guards walked the parameters of the palace walls, vigilant against threats to the royal family, but from time to time they seemed to forget how many royals had fallen to members of their own household. Other than the garden maze, the kitchen wing offered the best potential ambush sites. It was also conveniently situated right next to the west bailey.

The brazen keening of dugglehorns cleaved the air, announcing Prince Isolder’s approach. Tenel Ka crouched and crept cautiously to the edge of the roof.

Several cooks stood at a long wooden table, transforming a small mountain of game birds into the main course for the evening feast. The steady thump of the cleaver set a counterpoint to the chatter of the young boys who plucked the feathers. Beyond this scene of domestic slaughter lay the herb garden. Two men in loose Hapan tunics picked bitter herbs for salad. Both wore hoods to protect their skin from the bright afternoon sun. More servants went about other tasks—picking berries for pastries, lugging foaming pails of cream from the milk house, scything down clusters of nuts.

Tenel Ka’s cool gray eyes darted over gardens and outbuildings, looking for anything that seemed out of place. All appeared to be as it should be. She watched as one of the older men climbed the stairs to the blizcot, a large birdhouse that enticed the plump little bliz to enter and nest. Their tiny, pink-shelled eggs were a Hapan delicacy and would certainly be included on the evening menu. The old man climbed slowly, hauling himself along the railing with one hand and clutching an egg basket with the other.

A very large egg basket.

The Jedi warrior ripped a flat stone tile from the roof and rose to her feet. Three things happened in rapid succession:

The west gate opened to admit Isolder. The “old man” whipped a blaster from the oversized basket and pointed it at the prince. Tenel Ka hurled the tile with all her strength, sending it spinning toward the assassin.

Her aim held true, and the tile struck the arm holding the weapon with a force that spun the assassin around and sent him tumbling down the stairs. The shot went wild, pinging down into the orchards, sending golden fruit plummeting and launching birds into startled, squawking flight.

The palace guards were upon the assassin before he’d reached the bottom. Ubris, an impressive female warrior who’d been with the prince since before Tenel Ka was born, hauled the assailant to his feet and jerked off the hood.

A hush fell over the courtyard. The assassin was a young woman, and her face was familiar to them all.

Tenel Ka climbed down a trellis and stalked toward the defiant woman. She stopped a few paces away and gazed into a face very like her own.

“Greetings, cousin,” she said coolly. “Aunt Chelik must be desperate for the throne if she is willing to sacrifice her own daughter to get it.” Without waiting for a response, she turned to the guard and nodded. Ubris hauled the traitor away.

Tenel Ka took a long breath, for she understood the sentence awaiting her blood kin. An attack against a member of the royal family was punishable by death, but recently this law had proved an insufficient deterrent. At this rate, the prison yards would soon rival the palace kitchens for legal carnage!

She turned away and went to greet her father. The prince stood inside the west bailey, listening to his bodyguard’s description of the near escape. He was a tall man with a fighter’s disciplined physique. Pale gold hair was pulled severely back into a single thick braid, framing a face that was exceptionally handsome even by Hapan standards. From a few paces away, he didn’t look much older than Ganner Rhysode. Only the fine lines around his eyes and the weariness in them suggested the weight of his years.

The gaze he turned upon Tenel Ka was both proud and somber. “Princess, they tell me that I owe you my life. Clear thinking, quick action—essential qualities for a ruler.”

Tenel Ka suppressed a sigh and turned up her cheek for her father’s kiss. “Welcome home. You had a profitable trip?”

“Walk with me, and I’ll tell you about it.” He smiled down at her. “But please—not on the rooftops.”

They left the kitchen area for the protected inner gardens. Even there, Tenel Ka kept alert, scanning the arbors and alcoves for signs of movement, comparing the length and shape of shadows to the objects that cast them.

“You know of course that your mother has opened Hapes to refugees,” Prince Isolder began.

Tenel Ka’s face clouded with dismay at her father’s formal, distant tone. Things between her parents had been strained for quite some time.

“The people displaced by war need a haven,” she observed.

“I don’t disagree. But the queen mother’s decision ensures that we will face the invaders. I’ve spent much of the last year finding and studying what information we have been able to amass. The more we understand these Yuuzhan Vong, the better our chances of survival.”

It was on the tip of the Jedi woman’s tongue to say that she knew far more about the invaders than she wished to.

“You were among them for a time,” he went on. “Tell me what you learned.”

One grim picture after another flashed into Tenel Ka’s mind: scenes from the terrible days of captivity in the Yuuzhan Vong worldship, the battle that followed, the agony of leaving behind the young man she had loved since girlhood. What could she tell her father of this?

“They are devoted to their religion,” she said at last.

He nodded. “I have read the debriefing given Elan, the traitor priestess. The Yuuzhan Vong venerate two gods in particular: Yun-Harla, the Trickster goddess, and Yun-Yammka, the Slayer. Battle and deceit—these are the enemy’s passions.”

“We spoke to two of the Yuuzhan Vong through their villips,” Tenel Ka related. “One of them made mention of this Yun-Harla. Jaina named the stolen ship Trickster in an attempt to annoy and distract them. She succeeded.”

“From what I know of the Yuuzhan Vong, they would see that as blasphemy,” Isolder agreed.

She leaned forward, her gray eyes intense. “Of what significance are twins?”

Isolder thought this over. “Judging from the information available, twin births seem to be uncommon among the Yuuzhan Vong. I can recall three mentions. Each was thought to be a portent of some great event. In each, one twin killed the other as a prelude to some great destiny.”

Tenel Ka nodded thoughtfully. “And if one twin dies in some other fashion?”

“I don’t know. It seems likely that the survivor will still be viewed as an important person. Why do you ask?”

“Jacen Solo is dead,” she said bluntly, “and the Yuuzhan Vong know he has a twin sister.”

Isolder sent her a sympathetic look. “I see.”

“With respect, I don’t think you do. I fear for Jaina’s safety, yes, but the Yuuzhan Vong can do far worse than kill. Tahiri, Anakin Solo’s friend, was captured on Yavin Four and turned over to the shapers. They scarred her body and implanted memories in her mind in an attempt to make her over into something more like them.”

“Jaina is not under their power.”

“Not directly, no. But if the Yuuzhan Vong perceive her to be the central figure in some important event, they may create a situation that will force her into that role. It is a form of shaping.”

Isolder gave her shoulder a comforting pat. “She is a strong-willed and resourceful young woman.”

“Fact,” Tenel Ka agreed, “but the path she is taking concerns me. In claiming affinity to their Trickster goddess, she has thrown down a challenge they cannot refuse. And in taking on this role, she has already begun to assimilate the Yuuzhan Vong’s expectations. I do not like to contemplate what Jaina’s ‘great destiny’ might be, as defined by these invaders and her response to them.”

“Is this so different from what we all must do? No one is born free of the burden of expectations.”

She cut him off with a swiftly upraised hand. “If you’re trying to nudge me onto the throne of Hapes, you might as well save your time and mine.”

Her father was silent for several moments. “You have seen your mother since your return?”

“Of course!”

“Then you have seen the truth: if you do not take the throne, someone else will have to.”

Tenel Ka began to pace, trying to think of some rebuttal. But the specter of Queen Mother Chelik was all too credible. The woman was niece to Ta’a Chume and a legitimate heir. She would swiftly repudiate her daughter’s attempt on Isolder’s life, and no one would be able to prove her involvement. But Tenel Ka would know, of course, and so would her ailing mother.

No wonder Hapes had a history of distrust for those with Jedi powers! The ruling queen mothers survived by their ability to dissemble and manipulate. They did not appreciate those who could see through their plots and perceive the venal natures doubly hidden beneath scarlet veils and beautiful faces.

Tenel Ka had few illusions about her family. Chelik was not the worst of Ta’a Chume’s possible successors. Alyssia, younger sister to Chelik, was even more devious. Alyssia was too canny to make an open attack on Prince Isolder. More likely, she had slyly manipulated Chelik’s daughter into acting on her mother’s behalf. The girl would be executed for this crime, and the loss of an heir weakened Chelik’s bid for the throne.

Such was the royal family, its court, even Hapan culture. Tenel Ka could not conceive of a life defined by these values. Would she, like Jaina, reshape herself to the expectations of her foes?

“Will you at least consider the possibility?” Isolder pressed.

Tenel Ka ran her hand over her red-gold hair, plaited as always into the braids of a Dathomiri fighter. “I’m not a ruler, but a warrior.”

“Who better to lead in time of war? Surely your grandmother has also urged you along this path.”

“I haven’t seen much of her,” she said. It hadn’t escaped her notice that since their arrival, Ta’a Chume had taken more interest in Jaina than in her own royal heir. There was no jealousy in this observation, but a great deal of concern. Jaina was no fool, but she couldn’t possibly know the truth of the old woman.

A terrible thought occurred to her. Perhaps the real threat to the Hapan throne came not from the branches of the family tree, but from the root. Ni’Korish, the queen mother before Ta’a Chume, was remembered for her virulent hatred of the Jedi. But perhaps Ta’a Chume understood the potential of a dark Jedi ally, and sought to coax Jaina down this path for her own purposes. With Darth Vader’s granddaughter beside her, Ta’a Chume could easily scythe through the various plots and reclaim her throne. A woman who could order the death of her eldest son’s betrothed, and perhaps even the man himself, was capable of anything.

“You look worried,” the prince observed. “Is all well with Ta’a Chume?”

“She is as she ever was.”

“I see,” Isolder said slowly. “Then I would say that there is ample cause for worry.”

Tenel Ka gave a grim nod. For the first time, father and daughter were in complete accord.

* * *

The banquet hall in the royal palace glittered with candlelight, a charming anachronism that the Hapan diplomats seemed to take in stride. There was much about this world that reminded Jaina of her mother’s stories of Alderaan—the tradition, the formality, the emphasis on beauty and art and culture, the sense of being transported into a vital and vibrant re-creation of past times.

Musicians played softly in alcoves upon instruments Jaina had only seen in books. Fresh flowers filled the room with a heady scent, and servants moved with quiet efficiency to remove plates and refill glasses.

The use of human servants disconcerted Jaina, but there was not a droid to be found anywhere in the palace. Nor did the food have the flat, homogeneous flavor that came from a synth unit. Since this was a diplomatic dinner and Jag Fel was the son of an Imperial baron, he had been invited. He sat across from Jaina, resplendent in a formal black uniform. All things considered, she might have enjoyed the experience … had she been in a better state of mind, not to mention a more comfortable gown.

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