Before the Saga How It Ends | Epic | Kit'verse OCs

Chapter 18


Kithera emerged from the bathroom, plaiting her padawan braid with practised fingers and threading each bead into place. Subira was standing next to the door and talking quietly to Adia. She nodded at Kithera and smiled at Adia, patting her arm before slipping through the door. Adia turned with a frown and looked at where Kithera was standing.

“The King has requested your presence tonight after dinner. We have a lot to do and not a lot of time to do it in.”

The woman paced forward and looked Kithera slowly up and down before clicking her fingers. The small girl who had been talking earlier with the Queen sprang off the bench where she’d been sitting.

“Panya, go see where Hasnaa and Johia are at with the preparations.”

The girl nodded. She was tiny, the slave cuffs looking too big for her delicate wrists. She got to the door before spinning around. Adia frowned as the girl opened her mouth.

“What is up, Panya?”

“Johia said that the new robes wouldn’t be ready until tomorrow,” the girl said quickly.

Adia frowned. “I know that child. I just need something for our Jedi to wear tonight.”

This time it was Kithera’s turn to frown.

“But I am dressed,” she said quietly. “Surely, this is enough? The material is nicer than my robes. I like it well enough.” She grabbed the skirt of the dress and pulled at it as if to show that it was fine.

Adia chuckled. “Subira said you hadn’t quite gotten it yet.”

Kithera frown deepened. “I have gotten it. She explained it and I got it plenty. I don’t need a new dress. I am fine as I am.”

She laughed. “Ah, there is the stubbornness she was talking about.”

“I am not stubborn!”

“I believe the word she used was pig-headed.”

“I am not-“ Kithera started again but Adia held up a hand, raising her eyebrows. Kit shut her mouth with a snap.

“Now is not the time for arguments,” Adia said softly. “I need you to just do what I ask.”

Kithera closed her eyes and thought about what Subira had said about needing the King’s favour to save the Ish-te. She dropped her shoulders and lifted her chin as she opened her eyes.

“Where do we begin?”

Adia smiled.


*

The next couple of hours were a blur of activity. She was introduced to Hasnaa, a tall, elegant woman who tutted over Kit’s hair before sitting her down in a chair and shaving the sides back to almost nothing. The tiny ponytail, the one her Master despised as part of Jedi fashion, disappeared. Hasnaa had even shaved a series of designs into the sides. The Sami' woman had left the top untouched. That part she had styled away from its normal fine, limp texture. Every time Kit went to touch the sides of her hair, Hasnaa would slap her hands and tut ferociously.

It wasn’t that Kit wasn’t used to having short hair. After twelve years of being a padawan, she couldn't be anything but. She was used to the jokes from non-Jedi about how Masters cut their padawan’s hair with lightsabers. Kithera’s experience with the Temple barbers said that the urban legend was closer to the truth than anyone would believe. The barbers at the Temple prided themselves on speed rather than elegance.

Her Master had often told her of the first haircut she’d gotten after returning to the Temple after being apprenticed. The experience had been so bad, that she often let Kithera keep her hair longer than regulation length. For Kit that had meant times that another Master had sent her to the barbers anyway, saying that her hair was too long. Once, a Master had even threatened to do it themselves with a lightsaber.

Once or twice Master Zahalin had taken them both for haircuts at one of the little walk-in places on the lower levels of Coruscant before returning to the Temple after a mission. Kithera had enjoyed those experiences, marvelling at the time the hairdresser had taken to get it perfect before she walked out of the store. Not that the style lasted long, sweating through a couple of training sessions, not catching an errant bolt from a training bolt in time, or just normal Temple life meant her hair quickly returned to being uneven and limp.

Therefore, the concept of having her hair cut by someone who wasn’t trying to get through a temple of highly energetic children or by a lightsaber wielding Master was strangely enjoyable. When Hasnaa’s back was turned, she snuck a quick feel of her hair, marvelling at the softness of the short, choppy stubble.

Then Hasnaa had turned and Kithera, whipping her hand away, smiled at the woman. The other slave just frowned in response and tutted over the state of her eyebrows. Kithera got the feeling that tutting was something Hasnaa rather enjoyed.

She squeaked in pain as the wax had shaped them, much to the amusement of the other women in the room. She frowned as Hasnaa expertly applied make up. The woman said nothing as she finished, just shook her head and left Kithera standing awkwardly in front of the mirrors that had been placed in the middle of the room.

Kithera stared. It was her, but also not her. Frowning, she poked out her tongue. The childish gesture was enough to break the spell. It was an image she'd never actually be able to live up to.

“Is it not to your liking?” Adia said, coming up behind her and misreading her expression.

“It doesn’t seem very real,” Kithera said, moving one hand towards her hair and then remembering Hasnaa tutting and dropping it back to her side. “But then, none of today seems very real.”

“This isn’t the end yet,” Adia said and Kithera frowned at the phrase. “We still have your clothes. Johia has said that your new robes will be ready tomorrow afternoon, but she has something to tide you over.”

Adia stepped back to reveal a woman almost the complete opposite of Hasnaa. Where Hasnaa had been tall and angular, Johia was short and round. While Hasnaa tutted furiously at everything, Johia smiled and laughed as she pulled different clothes out and held them to Kithera before tossing them back on the ground. She scolded Kithera for being too athletic, too flat chested and too short for any of her regular clothes. Panya, the tiny girl who seemed to be the go-for for the other women, was sent scurrying back and forth across the floor to gather up each item as it was discarded. Eventually, Johia stood back and looked at Kithera appraisingly.

“Done,” she said beaming. “Now you may look again.”

Kithera let out the pent-up breath she’d been holding and turned back to the mirrors. If the woman from earlier had seemed foreign, this new one was a complete stranger. Kithera brushed her hands down her front. Johia had dressed her in a flowy cream coloured top that left her shoulders almost bare. The loose sleeves floated around her arms, ending in tight hems at each wrist, hiding her slave cuffs. Her midriff was bare and below that, she had what was only described as form-fitting leggings. However she moved, she would show off bare skin and muscles. After a life of wearing robes that left everything to the imagination, Kithera felt suddenly very vulnerable and desperate to hide.

“You look fine,” Johia said, patting her.

“I…ah…I…” Kithera suddenly felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her face flushed as she looked back at her body and outfit in the mirror.

“Maybe a skirt,” Adia said softly. “The Jedi are supposed to be chaste after all. We don’t want to give the King the wrong idea.”

Johia frowned. “Shame to waste such a body, but I see your point.” She turned Kithera away from the mirror before digging again through one of the trunks she had brought.

Kithera found herself wearing the shortest skirt she had ever seen over the top of the leggings. Johia also replaced the shirt with a longer cream number and then smiled.

“I don’t like it as much as the first,” she said with an exaggerated sigh, “but if you are not comfortable, little Jedi, then there is no point.”

“Thank you.” Kithera felt her breathing slowly calm. The person in the mirror still wasn't her. She was reminded of Subira's comment about pretending to be a holovid Jedi, and that was, she realised with a start, exactly what she looked like. A mythical holovid Jedi with a perfect face.

“One last thing.” Adia fastened a belt around Kit’s waist and then gently took her wrist. She smiled sadly at Kit. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly, as she unhooked a tiny chain from the waist belt and hooked it onto her wrist cuff.

Kithera’s breath quickened again but she forced herself to calm. She wouldn’t survive if she didn’t keep a level head.

“I would be fine without them,” she said quietly, trying to smile.

“I’m sure you would, my dear,” Adia said, patting the back of her hand gently before taking the other wrist. “But it was the Mukdah’s suggestion and, apparently, the King was taken with the idea.”

“I...see,” was all she could manage. Kithera’s eyes narrowed, wondering what the Mukdah’s goal was. She suddenly frowned as a thought occurred to her. “I thought the King had given me to the Queen. Wouldn’t it be her decision then as to whether I am to go chained or unchained?”

Adia laughed. “That would normally be the case, miss, but you are about as much the Queen’s as she is her own person. She will not gainsay the King. There is too much at stake and too much to lose if she does so.”

Adia stood back and smiled. The trio of Ish-te women stood around her, fluffing sleeves and straightening hems while they talked in low voices. Eventually they stopped and smiled at Kithera again. There was a knock at the door and the door opened a crack.

“It’s fine, Ja'biri,” Adia called. "You can come in now. The padawan is dressed and ready.”

The old guard pushed open the door looking serious and nodded when he saw Kithera standing ready.

“The King has already asked once for the Jedi, but the Queen explained she was getting ready. I do not want to see what happens though if he asks again.”

“She’s ready,” Adia nodded at Ja'biri, passing him the lead and box. She smiled at Kithera. “I will be here when you get back.”

As Kithera went to follow the old guard, Adia's hand suddenly lashed out, catching her by the wrist. Surprised Kithera turned, jerking the cord between her and Ja'biri. Adia’s face was serious and suddenly scared.

“Whatever happens,” she hissed, “protect the Queen. If you are to save us, then you need to save her too.”

She let Kit’s hand go and stood back as if nothing had happened. Kithera nodded again.

Then, firmly fixing a smile on her face, turned and followed the old guard out into the corridor.

 

Wow all those preparations with Kit thinking about her times that she went to the barber. And those different hair-cutters, even lightsabers. And what she has to wear. What will she do when she is with the King?

 

It would definitely be very odd from Kit's perspective and quite jarring. Worse when you consider that so much of her life she's been told that she can never be 'the perfect Jedi' and now she's expected to be exactly that...

Absolutely! So many expectations.

Well, if you have a King who expects a holovid Jedi...anything is on the cards...

 

Chapter 19

She followed Ja'biri obediently down the long, winding corridors. The older guard kept up a low, one-sided conversation explaining the various nobles and their relationships with each other as well as with the King and Queen. Kithera listened intently, trying to get her tired and rather fractious brain to focus and take in the relevant details. The light supper that Adia had promised had disappeared in the flurry to get ready. Kithera felt her stomach grumble. Her last meal had been the sandwiches that Del had bought and before that, breakfast. The two meals seemed like a lifetime ago.

Eventually they came to a small, simple door. Ja'biri turned to Kit and nodded his head.

“Here we are. This is the servant entrance to the dining hall,” he said, shrugging apologetically. “I’m to deliver you to the Queen and then leave.” He paused. “Just remember that the other guards in that room may not have the same loyalty and most of the Barons don’t have any loyalty at all.”

He pushed open the door and Kithera stepped through into a lavishly furnished room. It was immense, constructed of the same hewn sandstone that she’d seen in the courtyard only this morning. There were thick rugs scattered through the room and tapestries hung on every wall. A large, garishly ornate table was pushed against one wall. Platters of food and trays of drinks covered every inch of the surface. Tall pyramids of dainty cakes towered over platters of cheese and baskets of ripe fruit. Kithera’s stomach grumbled at the sight of it. Uniformed and collared Ish-te children filled plates from the table before heading back past her. She reluctantly tore her gaze away and tried to focus on the rest of the room.

The rest of the room was filled with scattered, heavy-set lounges and small tables. Some of the plush, ornate chairs were filled with richly dressed Sami'. They lay back against the thick, lush fabric, their feet propped up on tables as they ate delicacies off delicate, gilded plates. Between them scurried Ish-te children carrying and fetching items from the tables.

Most of the lounges were still empty and Kithera guessed that those places would soon be filled by the Barons the King had said were still to arrive.

Kithera watched as one of the Sami' noblemen lounging against the wall cuffed one of the servers, a child, over the back of the head. The boy stumbled, dropping a tray of drinks onto the ground. The woman, perched on the seat next to the nobleman, giggled as the child awkwardly got up onto their hands and knees. The nobleman kicked him, causing him to sprawl further and his companion just laughed harder into her wine glass.

Kithera took two steps forward but Ja'biri held out a hand to stop her.

“Don’t,” he said quietly. “Pick your battles. As much as it hurts you, be glad they are not doing worse. They would though, if you interfered. Worse to you. Worse to the child.”

Kithera bit the inside of her lip and followed him further into the room. The nobles watched them go, their conversations quieting as she passed. She noticed they were making their way towards a semicircle of chairs. The two chairs at its centre were occupied by the King and Queen. Their chairs were more ornately carved and heavier than those that formed the rest of the ring.

Ja'biri stopped in front of the half-ring of chairs and bowed low.

“I have brought the Jedi, your majesties,” he said quietly.

Kithera took a breath, raised her chin and then bowed low in the most elaborate, formal fashion she’d been taught. Her wrist chains tugged at her belt as her arm swept around in front of her and she almost stumbled but caught herself.

When she came up the King was staring at her with undisguised glee. J’meesha was staring at her too, her dark brown eyes betraying nothing but mild interest.

Kithera smiled politely and took a moment to study the rest of the circle. On the King’s left sat the woman who had pinched her face that morning. The one the slave child had described as the Duchess. The elderly woman was even more richly dressed than the Queen and was staring at Kithera suspiciously as if she believed that the young woman would leap forward and strangle the King where he sat.

Even with the heavy, ornate gold jewellery and thick, heavy makeup, she looked enough like the King that Kithera surmised that ‘The Duchess’ was Duchess Zanu'ba that the datapad had described and was, therefore, the King’s mother. Kithera could vaguely remember the summary of the noble family that had been on her Master’s datapad. The Duchess had married the now deceased King Aalam’s brother, making her J’Meesha’s aunt. There had been some more details about family relations on the data pad, but she couldn’t remember them. She closed her eyes briefly as the memory and a feeling of loss surged through her. Now was not the time to give into emotions. From what little she could remember of the rest of the information about Duchess Zanu’ba, dropping one’s guard was, generally, a fatal mistake.

The Duchess clicked her fingers and a boy appeared from behind her chair. He was rubbing his eyes with tiredness but quickly sprang to attention when he saw who had beckoned him. The woman said something and the child disappeared towards the food tables.

On the other side of the king, J’meesha leaned across, putting her hand on the King’s arm and whispering into his ear. His face lit up with delight and he waved magnanimously at Kithera.

“This is my Jedi,” he said to the nobles seated around the circle.

“Our Jedi,” J’meesha corrected and Kithera noticed how Duchess Zanu'ba’s eyes narrowed at the correction. The King seemed unconcerned as he patted his wife’s hand.

“Yes, yes. Our Jedi. I did gift her to you, didn’t I, my love?'' The King took J’meesha’s hand and brought it to his mouth for a soft kiss. Kithera watched the Queen’s polite smile that never reached her eyes and noticed how Duchess Zanu'ba’s eyes narrowed further at her son’s gesture. So the old woman didn’t like the Queen, that fit too with the scattered information from the data pad. That data pad and the field of butterflies seemed like another lifetime ago. Kithera smiled again, trying not to betray her emotions as she bowed once more towards the nobles.

The small boy appeared holding a tray of drinks, his tongue poking out awkwardly as he struggled with its weight. He slid the tray onto the table that stood next to Duchess Zanu'ba’s chair with a clatter. A single drop of liquid flew from the glass and splattered at the old woman’s feet. Duchess Zanu'ba’s heavily jewelled hands shot out, cuffing him over the side of the head. Kithera forgot Ja'biri’s warning as the boy cowed, blinking back obvious tears as a fresh cut across his cheek began to ooze blood. She took two quick steps forward and heard the guards around the wall come to attention in a clatter of armour and weapons.

“Stay back Jedi!”

She ignored them, kneeling down in front of the young boy. Now she was up close, she realised he could not be more than eight or nine years old.

“Are you alright?” she asked gently. The boy nodded silently. Kithera made to wipe the blood from his face but the chains that bound her wrists to the belt around her waist stopped her being able to reach. She tugged at them in frustrated impotence as the child stared at her with large, terrified eyes.

The boy’s eyes widened as Kithera caught movement in the corners of her vision. The long tip of a spear hovered into view for a second before she felt the cold press of metal under the bottom edge of her collar. She turned her face slightly, eyes narrowed in distaste to see a young guardsman glaring at her.

“Back away from the dowager queen,” the young guard said, straightening his shoulders and trying to make himself seem large and imposing. Kithera raised one eyebrow and stared at him until he looked away before getting to her feet. She tried to make her actions as graceful and seamless as she could with her hands tethered. As she regained her feet, she held her hands as high and as far away from her body as she could and bowed her head slightly as a gesture of surrender, feeling the cold prick of the metal against her skin.

“I mean no harm.” She was surprised at how clear her voice echoed across the room.

She glanced towards where the King sat. He was tense in his chair, thumb touching the little button on the dreaded metal box. Beside him, J’meesha sat wide eyed with alarm. The Duchess Zanu'ba had not moved. Instead she regarded Kithera with flat, cold eyes that narrowed slightly when she saw that she, too, was being observed. Finally, the Queen broke the silence.

“Isn’t she a treat!” the Queen cooed, obviously trying to hide her own shock. “Protecting people without thinking.”

“She should be protecting us, not them,” the King said, pouting. His finger still hovered over the button.

“Yes, but it’s just like the clawcat this afternoon,” the Queen continued, her voice too bright and brittle. “Vanquish the evil but also give succour to your enemies. It’s the Jedi way, you know.”

“When did you become such an expert on Jedi?” the Duchess’ voice was scathing. The old woman leaned forward in her chair and smiled politely at J’meesha. Her smile made the question seem far more threatening.

J’meesha smiled back as she stroked the King’s hand.

“We have many books in the library, aunt. After your son gave me such a wonderful present, I decided I needed to learn as much as I could about the Jedi. I spent the whole afternoon in the library learning about them.”

The woman frowned. “I didn’t realise the castle had such a varied collection.”

“Oh yes,” the Queen’s voice was syrupy-sweet. “My father, King Aalam, always made sure that the library was well stocked.”

For a second Kithera could have sworn the old woman was going to strike again. Her face paled and one corner of her mouth lifted in an almost snarl. Then it was gone and the old woman was smiling benignly and politely.

“I shall have to look into that,” she said and, even without the Force, Kithera saw the veiled threat.

“Oh, please do,” the Queen countered, “I find it quite good for broadening the mind.”

“Need to have a library around when the baby comes along, anyway,” one of the Barons said loudly. He was red-faced and rather drunk as he leant across and pounded his cup into his side table. Another boy sprang quickly to attention, spiriting the cup away and replacing it with another.

“Oh? Babies?” A young woman, hanging off the arm of an older gentleman, piped up. “Do you have any news for us, J'meesha, darling?”

The Queen shook her head and bit her top lip as she suddenly made a show of studying the table top. Kithera, glad to be momentarily forgotten, frowned. From what she’d seen of the Queen so far in private, a baby with the King, her cousin, was the last thing she wanted.

“Soon, maybe. The Healer tells me it should be soon,” she said quietly.

“I’m sure once the Ish-te insurrection is taken care of then it’ll happen just like that,” the drunk baron said knowingly. He tried to click his fingers for emphasis and failed sloppily.

“I’m sure it’ll happen once the Queen puts her mind to it,” the young woman added. “She’s always been able to get whatever she wants, whenever she wants it.”

“I have often thought so,” the Duchess noted sourly.

“Enough talk of babies. Their majesties are still young and in the prime of health. I do not think we need to be worried about an heir apparent just yet.” The new speaker was another Baron, younger than the rest. He smiled at the Queen and then lifted a glass in a toast. “They have many years of ruling ahead. Plenty of time to think about children.”

“Thank you, Baron Aad’hish,” the Queen said smiling. It was the first genuine one of the evening and Kithera noticed an almost imperceivable flush of colour creep across her cheeks. The other Barons nodded their assent and there was muttering and lifting of glasses.

Kithera watched silently, not moving but feeling the edge of the spear quiver against her skin.

She knew she should feel something, but there was like there was nothing left of her. Somehow she felt like she was watching everything from far away. As if she’d been invited to watch a play rather than standing there, enslaved and in mortal danger.

“Come, come,” Baron Aad’hish said jovially. “Let's see what this Jedi can do. I’m sure the soldier’s arm is getting tired and we don’t want a mistake with such a lovely gift.”

“She’s quite amazing,” the King said, his fingers finally moving away from the button. “You should have seen her against the clawcat, Aad’hish. I thought she was done for. Even the man who sold her thought he was going to walk away empty handed. He was muttering all sorts of things about someone, some woman, never forgiving him.”

Kithera frowned. What woman? She briefly wondered again about Del’s strange behaviour and then pushed it away. Despite what everyone had said, he’d sold her and that was the end of it. Her being here was his fault and no-one else was to blame.

“He did seem overly attached to the slave,” the Duchess said firmly. “That’s not a good thing to see between a slaver and his merchandise. It often ends in trouble.”

“Well, he sold her, didn’t he?” the King snapped, frowning and looking rather petulant. “And then he left. He was quite accommodating really. Fine fellow.” He waved a fork full of food at the drunk Baron. “He works with that Mukdah. Strange thing that he is. I used the Mukdah on your recommendation, Ma’arku, and it worked out quite well! He said that he would need to bring in a partner and the figure they charged was a bit steep, but I didn’t mind because he brought me a Jedi.”

The King smiled triumphantly at Ma’arku and then at Kithera.

“Brought me a Jedi who then killed a clawcat! I had meant to set that infernal beast on some of the Ish-te rebels tomorrow at lunch, but this was much better entertainment.”

Kithera tried to keep her expression as neutral as possible. The datapads had said nothing about a rebellion and Amma had spoken about people being tempted away or captured, not about war or fighting. A part of her resolved to ask Adia later about what was really happening to the Ish-te.

“I believe you also had a gift for the Jedi, my Lord,” Queen J’Meesha said quietly, looking uncomfortable.

“Yes!” King Mirrikh clicked his fingers and another child appeared next to his chair. “Go get the present.” The child bowed and disappeared.

The tip of the spear wobbled again. Kithera hissed at a sudden sliver of sharp pain. She turned her gaze to stare at the young guard. He stared at her wide-eyed as she winced and then raised an eyebrow. His eyes grew wider and she felt the warm ooze of blood slowly creep down her neck.

“I don’t think the Jedi is any danger to us,” the Queen said softly breaking the sudden silence. “You can lower your spear, Jahlil.” The young guard slowly withdrew his spear. For a few seconds he stood uneasily, holding the weapon rather awkwardly, until the Queen spoke again. “You may go.”

“He’s hurt her,” the King protested loudly. “I think he should be made to pay.”

“It was an accident my sweet,” the Queen’s voice was light and soothing as if she was talking to a small child. “Jahlil just wanted to protect the Duchess.”

“It’s still not fair,” the King pouted and for a second Kithera wondered if he was going to stamp his foot as well. “There needs to be some sort of recompense.”

“What about a match?” It was the drunk Baron, Ma’arku’s turn to speak. Kithera noted with alarm that the cup the child had given him only moments before was now almost empty. “That way the Jedi shows what she can do and gets her revenge.”

“Jedi don’t seek revenge,” Aad’hish said softly. “That’s the way of the dark side.”

“When did you become such a Jedi expert?” the King was still pouting. He glared at the Queen and then at Baron Aad’hish as if they’d both personally offended him, “why do you two know so much more than me about Jedi?”

The younger Baron shrugged.

“You forget that my father sent me to Coruscant for my education, your majesty. Although I’ve never met a Jedi, I did read a lot about them.” He nodded towards Kithera. “Correct me if I’m wrong, young Jedi, but you must remain eternally vigilant against the dark side. The dark side’s powers are no greater than those of the light side, the ones a Jedi uses, but are easier to reach and therefore more seductive. They use emotion whereas a Jedi uses calmness, peace and selflessness.” He came to a sudden stop as if realising that he spoke too long. Swirling the last contents of his cup he glanced up at Kithera. “Am I right, little Jedi?”

She nodded slowly, holding his gaze. “Whoever taught you, taught you well.”

There was a brief flicker of a smile across his face and then the King’s voice piped up, breaking the spell.

“Then who uses the dark side if only the Jedi use the light side?”

“Ahh,” Baron Aad’hish said, draining his cup and setting it down gently. “The dark side is the way of the Sith, an evil race of beings that was extinguished long ago.”

“Oh, that sounds exciting,” the King leaned forward and stared at the younger Baron. “You’ll have to tell me more Aad’hish.'' He leaned forward and grinned at Kithera. “Do you know lots of stories?”

She could feel the tiny, warm trickle of blood make its way down her chest. Part of her desperately wanted to wipe it away, but the chains on her wrist rendered her helpless. Part of her wanted to scream at the King, the Barons and even the Queen that she wasn’t a toy or a play thing but a real person. Instead she forced a smile on her face and looked at the King.

“There are many stories of the Sith, your majesty. Luckily now they are only things of legend. If you like, I could tell you about them sometime.”

“Stories are not as interesting as fights,” the drunken baron slurred. “I think she should have to fight Jahlil anyway. I put fifty druggarts on the soldier beating your Jedi.”

“Surely you jest, Ma’arku,” said the older Baron, the one with the young woman hanging off his arm. Kithera frowned, realising that this was the first time he’d spoken. “She’s a Jedi. She’s been training since she was knee high to a Kyntix. Our soldiers are good, but she will always be better.”

“She’s got to be one hundred pounds dripping wet,” the drunk baron slurred. “Jahlil could take her. He could lift her with one hand. Plus she’s a novice thingy...”

“Not a novice, she’s an apprentice,” Baron Aad’hish corrected quietly. “But you still shouldn’t underestimate her.” He paused and then glanced quietly at the Queen before fixing his stare on Kithera. “In my experience, you shouldn’t underestimate anyone.”

“I don’t want her to get injured,” King Mirrikh said, pouting again. “Why can’t I just punish Jahlil and be done with it?”

“You wanted to show off the Jedi,” the King’s mother spoke up. “You spent so much money on her. She’s not just something to stand in the corner and look pretty.” Her voice curled around the last word in a way that suggested Kithera was anything but. “You wanted to show her off to the Barons, this is your chance.”

“Fine,” Mirrikh snapped, “but no weapons.”

“But she has the Force,” the elderly Baron’s companion piped up. “I’ve seen the holos of what a Jedi can do. Surely that’s not fair.”

“She’s wearing a Force inhibitor collar,” the Queen said softly. “She doesn’t have access to the Force while that is turned fully up.”

“Ha, then Jahlil will eat her. What’s a Jedi without the Force? Just a silly religion playing dress ups in stupid looking robes.” Ma’arku slammed down his cup again. Kithera watched him intently. The drunkenness had given way to something else, and he was staring at her with a gleam in his eyes that Kithera didn’t like. The King bristled at the Baron’s words but the Queen patted his arm.

“I can’t exactly give her full access,” Mirrikh spluttered. “If I do that she’ll disappear.”

“Ha. So next to usele-”

“How about we adjust the collar? That way our Jedi can feel the Force,” the Queen said in a conciliatory manner, cutting off Ma’arku.

“You’ve got to give the soldier something,” the young woman piped up again.

The Queen frowned, biting her lower lip.

“Jahlil can use one of the soldier’s training staves I’ve seen them use,” she said after a minute. “No sharp edged weapons though, we don’t need anyone to get hurt.”

There was a snort from the rather drunken Baron. The Queen ignored him and stood, motioning Kithera to come to her side. Kithera gave a small bow as she reached her and then stood still, feeling the young woman’s nimble fingers change the code on her collar. The music returned slowly, just as it had when she’d face the clawcat. The bass beat first, followed a few moments later by the breathy wind instruments she always knew as hers. The Queen made a small noise and Kithera opened her eyes to find the Queen watching her. She had pulled a small square of fabric from her pocket.

“May I present my champion with a favour?” she asked. Kithera frowned confused for a second, but the Queen tucked the piece of fabric into Kithera’s belt. Kithera had the vague recollection of once reading a story where fighters were given tokens by their patrons. It was a very old world gesture, but she got the symbolism. She was now the Queen’s champion. If she fell, the Queen would, too.

She bowed again and made her way back to where the servants - slaves, she corrected herself - had pulled away the chairs to create a make-shift combat space. One of the other slaves quickly unhooked her restraints and she rolled her shoulder at the sudden freedom.

Kithera warmed up, watching Jahlil eye her warily. Her limbs protested the effort, and her stomach grumbled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since that morning.

One of the other young soldiers returned with a wooden staff and Kithera watched as several other soldiers shuffled into the corners of the room. Given their age and slightly better uniforms, she guessed that they ranked higher than the young men who’d been given security duty.

Jahlil grasped the staff and gave it an experimental twirl. Kithera smiled at him and stepped back and waited. The music sung through her veins, filling her to her core. She could hear her own music against the backdrop of every other living thing in the room.

She found herself repeating the Jedi Mantra. She was one with the Force and the Force was with her.

The Queen’s voice sounded clear and loud across the suddenly hushed room.

“You may begin. ”

 

fighting again and what will happen to the queen. Those nobles all abusing children. What did the queen give to Kithera. And who is Aad'hish?

 

Oh yeah, the "this is a play thing" concept that the King and his court have about Kithera as a Jedi is probably one of the most jarring things that she has to deal with (at this point). They really don't see her as a person, but something to play with (The King), a threat (The King's mother), or a literal champion and saviour/catalyst (the Queen).

Yep, figured that it's not really a Jedi fight if they have no access to the Force...albeit a very limited access.

She just gave her a favour, something to show that she's siding with her. Aad'hish is one of the courtiers - but you can probably start to see how much he means to the Queen and vice-versa...

 

Author's note: This is a really long chapter - sorry!

Chapter 20

Kithera smiled at the young man and bowed slightly. He returned it, his music wobbling, revealing his unsteady nerves. Oh well, at least this would be easy. Kithera turned, palms out and flat, and waited for him.

She didn’t have long to wait.

The staff arced down towards her head and she stepped sideways, using the flat palms of her hands to move it off course. He struck again, thrusting towards her midsection, but she merely pivoted on the spot, twisting her torso and pushing the staff away from her body. He recovered quickly, sending a series of quick, sharp thrusts towards her head. Kithera felt the thrum of the Force move through her, each strike was a snare drum beat, his movement characterised by the low a deep string vibrato. Kithera found herself dancing to the music only she could hear, staying one step ahead of the next chord.

She flung herself up and over his head to land behind him. He spun and she stepped into his arc, catching the pole with her open palms. Her fingers closed around the haft and she tugged, sending Jahlil stumbling forward. Her leg swept around behind his and she pushed gently, sending him off balance. He crashed onto the floor, leaving her holding the staff. She reached down and offered him her hand. He took it, climbing easily to his feet.

“You are very good,” she said quietly.

“Not against a Jedi,” he said, smiling back. “But I thank you for the compliment.”

She bowed her head towards him and then turned back to face the seated royalty. Both of them bowed.

“Well that was boring,” the King said, scowling as he looked at them.

“My sweet, that’s what you should expect. She is a Jedi after all.” The Queen smiled at the King and Kithera could see one of the Queen’s hands was patting her husband on the arm as if trying to console him.

“It was over way too fast,” the King pouted, “and there was no blood.”

Kithera raised an eyebrow, repressing the urge to laugh at the King’s childish outburst.

“Why not add more fighters?” Baron Ma’arku slurred drunkenly. He waved around the area. “There are plenty of other young soldiers out there. We should up the stakes.'' He fished in his pocket and Kithera heard the unmistakable sound of coins clinking. “Say a hundred druggarts.”

“You’ve already lost fifty,” Baron Aad’hish pointed out. Baron Ma’arku made a face and took another swig of his drink.

“Shush Aad’hish, you’re such a spoilsport,” the young lady on the older Baron’s arm said, frowning.

“Lady Aa’nisa, forgive me, I just don’t see how this will end well for anyone,” Baron Aad’hish said with a slight bow of his head. “Fulfilling Ma’arku’s drunken wish to regain whatever honour he thinks he’s lost isn’t going to be useful.”

There were several winces and soft groans from around the table. Aad’hish blushed and Kithera wondered if he’d meant to actually say the second part aloud. From Ma’arku there was nothing but a barking laugh. He slammed his drink back onto the table and smiled at the younger Baron, even though, Kithera noted, there was no joy in his eyes.

“That’s the way Aad’hish, always looking out for me. I just want to see what the Jedi is made of.” He motioned and a slave refilled his cup. He picked it up and waved it in the direction of Kit, spilling some of the contents. “The Jedi are supposed to be these all powerful beings and yet here is one of their whelps in chains. Caught by a wretched Force-eater and his slave.” He turned his attention to the King. “I just don’t think she’s worth the money you paid for her.”

Kithera frowned at Ma’arku’s words. Del certainly had not been a slave of Muldeen. He had been free to come and go as he pleased. Subira’s words from earlier that evening whispered through her mind - Not all slaves wear chains.

“She is,” the King said petulantly. “She’ll show you.” He waved at some of the younger soldiers who had been standing against the walls. “You three, over there, you shall join your comrade.”

“My love, I don’t think-'' Queen J’meesha started.

King Mirrakh cut her off. “No, you don’t think.”

Kithera watched the Queen’s eyes go wide and Aad’hish clench his fist. The King snapped his fingers at another slave. “Get more staves, enough for all of them.”

Kithera passed Jahlil’s staff back to him and nodded her head slightly.

“You’ll need this,” she said softly.

“I’ll try not to hurt you,” Jahlil said, frowning. “Four against one doesn’t exactly seem fair.”

“I’ll be okay. Thank you though. I shall try not to hurt you either.” She smiled at him and he gave her a half-smile in return.

She stepped away from him and rolled her shoulders back, watching the four young guards gather their staves. They were talking quietly to each other. There was movement at the high table and Ma’arku was standing unsteadily on his feet.

“Fifty druggarts to the soldier who manages to defeat the Jedi,” he shouted. Kithera watched Jahlil’s shoulders slump. The Queen motioned to her and Kithera made her way back to the table. Behind her she could hear Jahlil’s voice become more fervent as he whispered to the other men.

“This is all I can do,” the Queen said, her thin fingers working on the side of the collar again. Kithera closed her eyes, feeling the beat of the music get louder. There was more noise now, as her senses extended. The band that had been playing before now swelled into a full orchestra and she breathed out, one long sigh. Finishing with the collar, J’Meesha reached out and took one of Kithera’s hands, squeezing it gently.

“Please keep safe,” she said quietly. Kithera opened her eyes and stared up into the Queen’s dark, kohl rimmed ones. She nodded her head slightly. It wasn’t like she had any actual choice in this. One way or the other the fight was going ahead. When it ended she would just have to make sure she was the one on top.

There was a sour note in the melody and Kithera looked across to where the King’s mother, the Duchess, was talking to another child slave. She watched as the child nodded quickly and then scurried across the room to let herself out of the servants’ entrance. The Duchess looked up and spotted Kithera watching, giving her a small, thin smile.

“Well, what exactly are we waiting for?” Baron Ma’arku asked. He was leaning back on his chair and Kithera suddenly wondered if he would be audacious enough to put his feet on the table and make himself truly at home.

“Yes, yes! Let’s start,” the older Baron’s companion, the one that Aad’hish had called Lady Aa’nisa, trilled.

Kithera bowed to the assembled soldiers. She watched them intently as they regarded her. This might have been easy if there hadn’t been money riding on it for the individual soldier who brought her down. Now there was a hungry look to some of the soldier’s eyes, although Jahlil looked more worried than anything else. He gave her a half smile and then bowed. He signalled his men as Kithera rolled her shoulders and waited patiently, feeling the music of the Force surround and guide her.

She was one with the Force.

The first series of attacks were almost ridiculous in their sloppiness. Kithera let the music guide her hands, swatting away one staff and then catching the second one.

She pulled it forward and jumped, putting her whole weight on the end of the staff. The man stumbled, pulled off balance. Her feet caught him in the chest, causing him to let go of the staff and teeter backwards, disorientated with the sudden change in direction.

She curved her fingers slightly through the air, sending tendrils of cello chords to push him over and he hit the ground with a clatter. She landed easily, staff in hand and smiled at the soldiers. She didn’t know what it was about fighting and drills. It was the only time that she felt truly at ease, like the music of the Force worked with her instead of clattering noisily through her head. Her body was driven to move, the music writhing and swirling around her.

She twirled the staff through the air experimentally and then scrunched her nose and threw it back to the soldier. He scowled at her and she shrugged slightly. She could hear her Master’s voice in her head, telling her not to be so cocky, but she couldn’t help it. It was the first time since the Clawcat that she could feel the Force and the sensation filled her with a giddy pleasure.

Kithera watched the soldiers bounce on their toes as they motioned quietly to each other. She wanted to tell them that it was useless, the Force let her know what was about to happen.

The quiet panpipes of the Force music signalled that the man on her left was going to attack first. The next second he did, his staff curving in an arc through the air above her. It was a distraction to hide the advance of the soldier on her left who thrust his staff rapidly at her head.

She sidestepped the downstroke, and moved past the staff of the man in front of her to strike his chest hard with the heel of her hand.

He bent over groaning and she struck out, catching him across his nose with the heel of her palm. He went down, staff clattering to the floor, hands over his face as his nose dripped blood. His comrades pulled him out of the circle, leaving a trail of little blood drops on the floor.

Kithera made a face. She’d misjudged the hit, catching him on the nose instead of the chin, which would have dropped him without breaking anything.

Part of Kithera told her that she was being unfair. He hadn’t deserved a broken nose, any more than she deserved to be standing in this circle of men fighting for the entertainment of nobles.

The soldiers might not have been slaves, the quiet part of her brain pointed out, but that didn’t mean they were free to say no to the King.

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the tempo of the music change. She twisted underneath another blow, redirecting the strike away from her body.

Kithera shook her head quietly, annoyed that she’d been so caught up in her own thoughts that she’d missed the cue. Now was not the time for philosophical debates.

The next hit caught her across her upper arm as she righted herself. She winced as the shock jarred her, making her fingers momentarily tingle. The soldier, reversing his hands on the staff, tried to hit her with the other end.

She breathed out and then gathered the music around her and jumped, listening to the sounds of the deeper strings as they drove her upwards.

She heard the gasps from the assembled nobles as she tumbled midair and landed behind one of the attacking soldiers. She swept his legs out from underneath him, grabbing his staff as he fell. She stood over him, the end of the staff pointed at his neck. He tapped the ground and she stepped away, dropping the staff. The soldier scuttled, red-faced, from the fight.

The remaining soldiers gathered in a tight knot, whispering quietly as they watched her. The next attack was more coordinated and far more vicious. Two staves swung at her, coming from different directions as the soldiers fanned out around her. Kithera felt the beat of the Force as it guided her movements. She twirled and spun, parrying the blows and deflecting them away from herself. She smiled to herself, momentarily forgetting where she was and why she was fighting, just enjoying the movement and the swell of the orchestra that played in her head.

The door scraped open and as the swell of the music suddenly turned into a cacophony of discordant cymbals. Without thinking, Kithera turned, gathering the music around her hand and pushing it out at the threat. The music disappeared into nothing, leaving her momentarily light-headed. One of the staves smacked hard into her calf, sweeping her legs out from under her and leaving her breathless on the floor.

“Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha.'' Mukdah’s staccato laugh cut through the room. Kithera’s eyes narrowed. She went to gather the Force again to push him away, but the music was fainter and many of the more fragile notes had disappeared altogether. She gritted her teeth and rolled onto her back. Jahlil was bending down, hand extended.

“You won,” Kithera said softly.

“Don’t think that counts. The damn Force Eater threw you off,” Jahlil countered.

Force Eater.

That was the name for the Mukdah that had been whispered through the Initiate halls after lights out when they’d all wanted to scare themselves. That was the name that Initiate Master Pynde-gard had used in her threats. It was the name that Baron Ma’arku had used, too. Maybe it wasn’t allegorical, maybe the name was literal. She couldn’t use the Force, otherwise he’d drain it. Kithera filed the thought away for later. For now, she just wouldn't touch her ability. It would be fine, she’d fought many times without it.

Kithera took Jahlil’s hand and climbed to her feet. She glanced sideways to see the Queen’s worried eyes on her and the King sitting on the edge of his seat.

“See,” King Mirrikh said excitedly, waving his hands in the air. “Our soldiers can be just as gracious as the Jedi.” When they didn’t move, his smile turned to a frown and he waved his hand impatiently. “Well, what are you waiting for? Continue.”

Kithera bowed slightly and assumed a fighting stance. The clash of the cymbals was constant now, interrupting her thoughts and making it hard to concentrate. She could feel Muldeen’s eyes on her and imagine the smirk underneath his face covering.

The soldiers arranged themselves loosely around her as she faced them, trying not to let the consternation show on her face. She suddenly had a very bad feeling about this. She breathed out and repeated the Jedi Mantra slowly to herself.

There is no emotion, there is peace...

For some reason, it helped to lessen the chaotic crash of the cymbals and the slight edge of panic that the Mukdah always seemed to create.

Jahlil swung his staff at her and she moved out of the way, slightly slower than before, relying on her training rather than the dance of the Force. She could still hear it under the cymbals, fainter and more discordant, but still there. She breathed out again and refocused on the soldiers. This could still be a dance, she’d just have to be careful and plan her attacks.

There is no ignorance, there is knowledge...

There wasn’t long to plan. The soldier to Jahlil’s right thrust his staff at her midsection and she tumbled sideways underneath it. She came up and almost got smacked in the face by a blow from Jahlil. Kithera grinned, the soldiers were finally working together. It just happened to be the worst possible time for her.

Unthinking, she reached out with the Force, but the cymbals rang loud and clear through her head. The noise destroyed her focus and she only just managed to deflect a blow that would have hit her solar plexus. She dodged sloppily, hissing in self-disapproval as she did so. Sensing weakness, the other two soldiers attacked, thrusting and swinging quickly towards any opening in an attempt to keep her off-balance.

There is no passion, there is serenity...

She blocked the blows as quickly as they came, trying to keep her breath steady and her emotions under control. This was just a dance. She could do this. Kithera blocked the next blow from one of the soldiers and followed it up with a punch to his head. He dodged the first swing, but she caught him solidly with her left, jabbing up and under his chin.

He landed in a crumpled heap at her feet. She glanced down at the body and then at the two soldiers. The cymbals clashed again and she almost winced. She felt a tingle of frustration. This needed to be over and soon.

Kithera stepped over the unconscious soldier and sized up the last two opponents. Jahlil circled to her left, while the other, a brawny young man with a scar through his eyebrow, went right. Jahlil spun the staff rapidly through the air as he advanced before suddenly striking upwards. Kithera deflected the staff before it connected. She wheeled away, finding herself almost colliding with the other soldier who had moved to flank her. He was too slow to react. She brought her knee up and he crumpled into the ground with a groan. She knew it was a dirty move. In the temple she would have been censured for pulling a stunt like this. But this wasn’t the Temple, she reminded herself. Out here the stakes were far higher. She bent down and collected his staff from his unresisting hands.

There is no chaos, there is harmony.

It was just Jahlil and her now. She grinned at him and grasped the staff in both her hands. She figured she’d put off using a weapon for so long, that now it was right. Jahlil swung. She parried the attack easily and thrust her weapon towards his unprotected flank. He blocked the shot and grinned at her, tousled brown hair damp with sweat. The next few seconds were nothing but a flurry of blows from both sides. She could feel herself suddenly lagging as tiredness and the chaotic music of the Force threatened to overwhelm her. She struck back as hard as she could, pushing for any opening or advantage. She thought she could see one and thrust, changing her grip slightly on the staff.

A second too late she realised she’d misjudged. Jahlil’s staff came down hard on the fingers of her left hand. Kithera snarled. Even without looking, she knew something was wrong. Despite the cymbals clashing through her head, she could hear the faint harp that always appeared when she’d truly hurt herself. The pain would come and it would come soon.

There is no death, there is the Force.

“Enough,” she said quietly. She had to end this now. If she was injured any further then she’d never get away from this place. She’d never be able to find some way of escaping if she couldn’t use her hands. She glanced at Jahlil, who had backed off, a slight look of concern on his face.

“Sorry,” she mouthed. He looked at her bewildered.

Kithera let go of the staff which clattered to the ground. She took two quick steps into Jahlil’s space. She smiled at him then, before he could do anything, punched him in the throat with her right hand. He went down gasping. Kithera leant forward and picked up his staff as he lay gasping on the ground. She turned to where the royalty were sitting and bowed. The table erupted into shouts, applause and laughter.

Kithera ignored them.

Her fingers were starting to throb now. When she glanced at them, they were slowly swelling; bent at an odd angle. She looked down at Jahlil who was still on the ground, his face red and his hand clutching his neck. No-one had come to his aid or hers.

Suddenly she didn’t care what the royalty did with her anymore, she was just too tired. She sank onto the ground nursing her hand. This was how it had ended, with two fighters on their knees and the nobility swapping coins and toasting their victory.

“Ha.Ha.Ha.Ha. The pup proves that it still has teeth.” The voice came from above her. Kithera looked up into Muldeen’s eyes. She was too tired to deal with him now.

“I know what you are,” she said, glaring at him.

“And what is that, little pup?” Muldeen said and she could hear him smiling under his mask. She climbed to her feet, ignoring him.

“I’m sorry for hurting you,” Kithera said, glancing down at the red faced Jahlil. She made sure she kept her back to Muldeen. She didn’t know what reaction she’d been expecting to what she’d said, but she also didn’t know how to answer his question either. She held out her uninjured hand to help Jahlil up. Instinctively she’d curled her other hand against her chest, as if that would stave off the pain. “I just needed to end it.”

Jahlil nodded. “You...managed that,” he said croakily. He took her hand and struggled to his feet, coughing violently. Kithera looked around at her opponents. They were sitting or leaning against the walls, ice packs being applied to various body parts as Ish-te slaves tended them.

“I hope they don’t take it personally,” she said. “I…” She trailed away. She couldn’t say she hadn’t meant to hurt them. She had. It was the only way to stop them from hurting her. This wasn’t the Temple where sparring was acceptable and victory and loss were par for the course. She didn’t know how the soldiers would react to losing, particularly when there was money riding on it.

“I think there might be some bruised egos, but they recognise a good fighter. You’ve certainly given the squad a lesson in not underestimating their opponent.” Kithera looked up to see that Baron Aad’hish had joined them. The young nobleman reached out and shook Jahlil’s hand before giving a tiny gesture. It must have been a signal of some sort because several of the other soldiers rushed forward and assisted Jahlil to the side.

She didn’t say anything, just watched as the young Baron talked quietly to one of the older soldiers, whose dress and insignia marked him as a much higher rank. She couldn’t help but contrast Aad’hish’s behaviour and mannerisms with that of the King, who was exchanging angry words with Ma’arku at the table. The Queen was trying to placate both men, who seemed to be arguing about who had actually won the fight.

“This is General Halid.” Her thoughts were interrupted by the Baron, who had turned back to her. “He would like you to show the troops some of your basic hand-to-hand combat techniques tomorrow.”

Kithera frowned. For a Baron, Aad’hish seemed very comfortable ordering the King’s troops about. Aad’hish smiled as if sensing the reason for her confusion.

“I did my military training with the King’s men under the late King Aalam,” he said softly, picking a staff up from the floor and giving it an experimental twirl. “Then my father died and I was elevated to my current position. For my penance, I get to keep these guys on their toes.” He grinned at the older soldier who smiled back before turning to Kithera.

“I would be most honoured, young Jedi,” he said, nodding his head. Kithera frowned.

“Do I have any choice?” she asked before she could stop herself. All of her Master’s hard fought political training instantly went down the drain. Her hand was throbbing now, she was tired, she was hungry, and she could feel Muldeen staring at her. The frustration flared through the Force, striking through the clash of cymbals with its steel drum beat. She threw up her uninjured hand in disbelief when they both just stared at her. “I’m a slave. You can basically order me to do anything.”

Aad’ish glanced down at the ground. “That situation would not be my choice,” he said quietly. “This is a favour to us, and therefore it’s up to you, padawan. We would be greatly honoured.”

“Fine,” Kithera snapped. It might be a way out, or at least give her an idea of the way the Palace was laid out, so that when she made her escape she would be better prepared. “On one condition.” She turned and glared at Muldeen. “That he is not there.”

“That is fine,” Aad’hish smiled. “The Mukdah will not be in attendance.”

“What are we talking about?” the King’s voice cut through their conversation. Despite everything, Kithera still noted that although Aad’hish’s smile remained in place, the warmth of it had disappeared. The King was bounding up to them, wine glass spilling careless drops on the floor.

“I was just congratulating the fighters on their performance,” Baron Aad’hish said smoothly as he turned to the King. “If your liege allows, of course.”

“Did she say yes?” the King asked, staring intently at Kithera. “Maybe she could teach me some moves.” Kithera took in the man’s pale face, his unsteady gait and the overwhelming sourness of the scent of alcohol that seemed to hang like a miasma around him.

“She did. On the condition that the Mukdah is not in attendance.” Aad’hish said. The King nodded and then glared at Muldeen.

“What are you doing here anyway?” he asked. “You aren’t a noble and I don’t remember inviting you to dinner.”

“You mother invited me, your majesty,” Muldeen replied, gesturing to where the Duchess sat. So that was who it had been. Kithera glanced behind the lizard man; the Duchess might have been talking to Aa’nisa, but Kithera could see that she was actually watching them. “She was worried that the Jedi might get out of hand.”

“Ha.” The King said, taking a drink, “but she didn’t. She was perfect.” He grinned at all of them and then turned to Muldeen. “You can go now.” Muldeen turned to leave but the King spoke again, his voice carrying over the crowd. “Remember in future, Force Eater, that I control the palace and who comes and goes. While you are here, you must do as I command.”

Muldeen nodded again, a strange look in his eyes as he made his way out of the room. As the door closed the cymbals faded away to nothing. Kithera breathed out slowly. She sent a tentative probe out to her fingers and was almost swallowed by the loud, thrumming chords that vibrated through her head.

“I think the padawan is hurt, your majesty,” Aad’hish said quietly in the lull. The King turned and looked at Kithera in surprise.

“It can’t be that bad,” the King said. Kithera curled her right hand around her left, careful not to put any pressure on her fingers. The last thing she wanted was for the King to touch her.

“I think Jahlil’s last blow might have gone a little astray,” the Queen said as she joined them. She moved past both the young men and held out her hand. Kithera stood still, her hand still curled into her chest. The Queen glanced down at Kit’s hand and then up to her face. There was a pause as Kithera wondered how far she could push the Queen. Eventually, she carefully extended her hand. The Queen took it gently and examined it. She clicked her fingers and Panya appeared beside her. “Go wake Subira and have her meet the Jedi at her rooms. Ja'biri or Aj’mal should still be around to escort her.”

“But I wanted to give her my gift,” the King pouted. For a second Kithera wondered if he was going to stomp his foot as well. She watched a momentary frown flicker over the Queen’s face and then it was gone.

“I’m sure it can wait for tomorrow, my love,” Queen J’meesha said softly.

“I already have it up here now though,” the King said stubbornly. There was the rattle of distant snare drum and Kithera watched his mouth set in a firm line and the mirth drain from his eyes.

The Queen opened her mouth but Kithera cut her off. She smiled at the King and gave a graceful bow.

“I would be delighted to receive any gift from you, my liege,” she said. She noted the trill of surprise from the music she had attributed to the Queen, and the deeper bass notes of Baron Aad’hish. Kithera turned what she hoped was her most angelic smile on the assembled nobles. It was the one she used when she was in trouble at the Temple. Hopefully it would have better luck being used on the Nobles.

It did.

“See,” the King said triumphantly, “she does want my gift, my love.” The last two words were almost a sneer. The Queen sighed and smiled again at the King.

“Then it shall be done, your highness,” she said. “But then I must insist that Subira sees her. I want her to be ready for tomorrow and the arrival of the other Barons.”

“Yes, yes,” King Mirrikh grumbled and then clapped his hands. Another young Ish-te slave appeared and held out a large, flat box. The King looked so eager that Kithera struggled not to roll her eyes.

“Kneel,” he announced. Kithera knelt back down, trying to release the growing pain from her fingers to the Force. Part of her wondered if it had been so wise to accept the gift. Considering what the King thought was funny, she may have just walked into a terrible trap.

“For your bravery against the Clawcat,” he announced, opening the box. Inside the box was a large, curved claw. Kithera’s stomach lurched. The claw had been polished until it shone and strung on a gold necklace. He pulled the necklace out so that the claw shone in the light. “To remind you of our victory.”

There was polite applause from the surrounding nobles. Kithera could suddenly feel again the warm, blood damp fur of the clawcat on her fingers and smell the bitter scent of ichor. She shuddered, desperate for the moment to be over.

The King moved around her and gently fastened the necklace. He trailed his fingers over the back of her neck and she closed her eyes as if that could block out the unwanted intrusion. Part of her wanted to tear it off and run screaming from the room. Part of her wanted to throw up as she felt the cool metal touch her skin and his fingers trail across her back. She swallowed hard to push the feelings away and then turned to see him beaming at her.

“Thank you, your majesty,” she managed to mumble after a moment of silence. The King nodded approvingly. There was a polite cough from Baron Aad’hish and Kithera saw Aj’mal standing in the Servant’s entrance.

“I wanted to get the bead made,” the King said and clapped his hand on her shoulder, sending shockwaves down her arm. She clenched her uninjured hand into a fist and bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from crying out. The King didn’t notice.

“My King, I really think for the Jedi to be in a fit state tomorrow, then I need to send her to the healer,” the Queen said. There was a roll of snare drums again, but this time it was muted. The King sighed.

“Fine, but she better be good enough to attend us both tomorrow.”

The Queen bowed her head slightly in acknowledgment and then signalled to Aj’mal.

“Before you go,” she said and reached up to fiddle with the collar. The next second the music was gone, leaving Kithera reeling in the sudden, deafening silence. The pain that had been quietly snaking up from her fingers reared and struck, and she shivered.

“Make sure, Aj’mal, that Subira gives her something for the pain,” the Queen said softly, before turning back to the assembled nobles. Aj’mal nodded and took Kithera’s right wrist gently, clipping the chain from her belt back to it. He held out his hand for her left wrist but she baulked, not wanting to drop her hand. Aj’mal stood still for a second, undecided about what to do.

“Soldier?” the Duchess’ voice broke the moment. “Why are you dawdling? Clip the Jedi and be done with it. Slaves cannot move around the halls unchained.”

“I’m sorry, padawan.” Aj’mal muttered as he took her wrist and gently clipped it. Kithera felt tears spring into her eyes. Without the Force, the pain was excruciating. She forced back a sob. Aj’mal made the last clip and then turned and led her away.

 

Poor Kit again having to fight. Having to defeat the soldiers with the friendly Jahlil as last. And Muldeen again there, that jerk. I hope she will escape soon with or without the help of the queen.

 

All righty doo! I'm all caught up with this AMAZING story, and I'm here at last for a review. I have a lot of ground to cover here, so for the sake of keeping this review manageable I'm going to focus on three aspects.

First: Kit's return to the Jedi Temple in chapters 1-4. Well, the least I can say after reading this is that understand why grown-up Kit from Snips and Snails doesn't trust the Jedi anymore (and I know that what I read here is just the beginning, and that the Zallie business isn't even in play yet). To say that Mace Windu's behaviour is not becoming of a Jedi is an understatement of epic proportions: anger, attachment run amok, losing his temper, not even paying attention to the refugees until Qui-Gon mentions them, it's just all there, but that's not the worst. The worst is that he apparently only gets a slap on the wrist for all that, and the Council lets him sit on Kit's trial, barely reining him in when he wants to proceed with an interrogation in due form without any consideration for the state Kit is in or for Leona's professional warnings. Leona has clearly deduced that Kit was a prisoner somewhere, that she was badly wounded and that she's severely traumatised, but Mace makes it "all about me" and his pain at losing Namia, and he gets away with it. Kit is so thoroughly in shock from her experience with the Sami'Ish-te that she doesn't even fight back, but I can definitely see how the events of these four chapters alone would be enough for her to not feel at home again among the Jedi, and I imagine that this will contribute to her departure when she becomes pregnant with Zallie.

The second aspect is how you handle the Kit/Del/Namia trio and reveal slowly, very slowly what they are to each other. I've read the right stories from the Kit'verse to understand everything that's left unspoken, but I never, in a million years, expected that this would be how Kit and Del met and how their memory of Namia is part of their relationship from the beginning. To think that, after all this time, Del still has that noonflower that he wanted to get for Namia and that led him to become what he is; that, because Estra looked in "Daddy's treasure chest", Kit found herself in possession of it, however briefly; that Del is in this impossible situation with Muldeen where he has to sell Kit as a slave and count on Namia to come and rescue her... Wow, just wow. This is one tangled web of relationships old and new right there, and when you think of it the character at the centre of it is none other than the obnoxious Muldeen. From the hints you dropped, my guess is that, not content with "eating" Del's Force power, he occasionally "snacks" on Nicco and Estra, and that's why Del is so desperate to buy his freedom at any cost. Muldeen has everyone pretty neatly cornered at this point in the story, and I suspect that he won't be a stranger to Namia's eventual death.

The third aspect that I found fantastic is how you're navigating the politics of the Sami'Ish-te. There's the divide between the two peoples (and if I got this right Namia is an Ish-te), but there are also two factions in the royal court: the creepy, panem-et-circenses types, with the man-child king and Baron Ma’arku, who are sending out droids to enslave the Ish-te, and those who are trying to escape this nightmare situation, which includes the queen and Baron Aad’hish (definite romantic undertones there) but also, apparently, some of the guards, plus of course the slaves like Adia and Subira. The thing is, though, that there appears to be an extra layer of politics pertaining in particular to this planet's ties to the Jedi in all that, and while I was initially tempted to believe that the king's mother is just another panem-et-circenses type, the fact that she summoned Muldeen while Kit was fighting Jahlil and his fellow guards makes me wonder if she doesn't have a specific goal of her own. On the other end of the spectrum, but in a similar way, I found myself wondering if Aad’hish has an ulterior motive for asking that Kit share her hand-to-hand combat techniques with the army. A coup in the making, perhaps?

I took good note of the fact that Del will be around for ten days, and I also took good note of Kit's list of wounds from chapter 1. We have an explanation for her broken fingers (or at least the beginning of one), and we can expect that she'll remove her inhibitor collar with a lightsaber set to training mode, but there's a lot that hasn't happened yet, and my heart breaks that the idea that she's in for a rough time before we reach the moment where "it ends." With that said: bring on the pain and suffering, I'm ready!

 

Aww, thank you! It's really, really hard to do, and I get help from a couple of amazing real-life combat experts on the discord and lots beta reading, because those scenes are just so hard to put together, so it's really lovely to hear they work

Yeah, both Kit and Jahlil respect each other are really good fighters who wish they'd met under different circumstances.

Oh definitely. I mean he's got a veritable buffet there with Kithera and all that Force ability right there...just so tempting...

Maybe...

It's funny because I was like "Well, we've got X number of chapters to go" but actually the events of this entire story take place over like a week - so it's really, really not that long from Kithera's perspective - just a lot from ours!

Yeah, and the events of the long ago USJS (version1) also help to add to why she left - although she's a less well-fleshed out, thought through and well-rounded character in USJS than she is now (also more annoying then too). However, this who story-arc and Snips and Snails kinda dove-tail at the moment because her anger and resentment is still there bubbling underneath (although sometimes without the introspection that her own behaviour was sometimes also definitely to blame).

Yeah, I have to admit that it's the scene I still struggle with in terms of whether it's just too out of character for Mace. He holds his emotions so closely in check most of the time that I still get worried this was a step too far (although when Mace's emotions do slip out like in the scene with Palpatine or Anakin they kinda give an idea that he spends a lot of time finding his centre). He and Kithera have a really, really long and unhappy history though before this and even worse after this though the entirety of the rest of USJS series -

I actually started writing this before I wrote Noonflower or any of the other things, and I've just had to keep putting down hints that how Kithera and Del meet is just under the absolute worst circumstances. You can definitely see where Del's grief and guilt come from though...

You've got it in one! Although I think Del's thoughts were originally that they'd sell this random padawan who'd just get themselves out of it and it'd be okay (far more mercenary) and then he finds out that Kithera is Namia's padawan and goes "Oh...no...what have I done" and just breaks.

You are again absolutely correct! It's also one of the reasons that Nicco and Estra don't have the same abilities as their half-siblings - or rather why Kithera always describes them as "music playing behind closed doors" - psychological protection from Muldeen has long-running scars.

Third home-run! You got it faster than Kithera does (one beta-reader called her Captain Oblivious - which is apt) because it takes her a really, really long time to finally put the puzzle together...

I had never heard that term before - it sums up the court perfectly

Oh yeah, those two think they're being subtle but they aren't... I mean it's not hard to work out who Aad'hish tells Davin about in the Library

Um....maybe....

It's a long list - although I should also go back and check that I've included them all too!

Your wish is my command.

 

Chapter 21


Subira was waiting for them in the rooms along with Johia, who fussed about as she quickly undressed her, exclaiming about rips and tears. She opened her mouth to scold Kithera about the blood on the outfit but closed it again. Instead, the woman reached out and gently ran her fingers down the side of Kithera’s face.

Kithera stood, too tired and hurt to protest. The walk through the corridors had been mercifully quick and silent. Aj’mal had tried for banter but quickly gave up. The chains tugged on Kithera’s wrist as they walked, sending spears of pain down her arm. By the time they got back to the room, tears were streaming down her face.

“Sit,” Subira said as Johia tugged straight the last part of the plain, green shift that she had urged Kithera to change into. The healer had pulled out a chair. On the table next to it was a simple meal of cold vegetables and meat.

Kithera sat. She stared at the meal, too tired and too overwhelmed to think about what to do next. Part of her wanted the other two women to leave her in peace and quiet. That way she would have time to think of an escape plan. If Subira splinted her fingers, then she may even be able to fight her way out of the palace. Provided she could get the collar off.

“Eat,” Subira said. Kithera didn’t need any more prompting. She ate greedily and hungrily, disregarding manners and courtesy for the feeling of food in her belly. Eventually she slowed and watched Subira unpack her materials. It was like a ritual. Each piece came out, was examined, and then placed carefully down. Then another piece, then another. Each one had the same three steps, too.

“Give me your hand.”

Kithera reluctantly held out her hand and Subira took it gently. Kithera looked away, unwilling to look at the damage the staff had caused.

“I’ll splint it now and return in the morning,” Subira said quietly. “Well see how the swelling goes. For now though, I want you to drink this.” She produced a small green vial and poured it into a cup of hot chocolate, mixing vigorously.

“What is it?” Kithera asked suspiciously. Subira looked at her and raised an eyebrow.

“Something to help with the pain, padawan,” she said with a half-smile. “It should help with the swelling, too.”

“Do I have to drink it?”

“Technically you don’t have to do anything,” Subira said, “except that you’re a slave. So you in fact have to do anything you’re told. The Queen said to give you something for the pain. I’m giving you something for the pain. If you refuse to drink it, then I’ll tell her. You’ll have to deal with her and the pain.”

Kithera glared at Subira and lifted the cup to her mouth. The drink smelt of cocoa and spice. Subira smiled as Kithera downed the contents.

“Right, now into bed with you,” Johia said from where she sat on the edge of the bed. She waddled over and took Kithera’s free hand gently, leading her to the bed. Kithera climbed in and Johia smoothed the coverlet over her.

“You don’t need to stay to watch me fall asleep,” Kithera said grumpily. She was suddenly even more exhausted. Her body felt too heavy to move and she struggled to keep her eyes open.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Subira said, packing her tools away. The two women turned and left the room, Johia turning the lights out as went. In the bed, Kithera stared at the ceiling. Her hand was beginning to throb less. As soon as it stopped, she told herself, she would make her escape.



*


The shift in light woke her. Someone had opened the curtains to let in a stream of early morning light. For a second she thought she was back at the Temple with her Master.

“Please, Master, go away. I’m sleeping,” she murmured. There was a laugh from the room which certainly didn’t come from Namia. Kithera struggled into a sitting position, pulling the sheet up around her as if it was a shield. This wasn’t the Temple and the lady at the end of the bed certainly wasn’t her Master.

The movement jolted her hand and with the arc of pain, memories flooded back. Why was she still here? She had meant to escape the moment the others had left and the pain had dulled. The only thing she could remember doing last night was telling herself that it wouldn’t hurt to close her eyes for a minute.

“Did you drug me?” she asked accusingly. She glared at Subira, who was slowly unpacking her tools onto the end table in the same methodical fashion she had done the night before.

“Yes.” The woman didn’t pause in her unpacking.

The blunt reply shocked her completely awake. Subira turned her head slightly to watch her, one eyebrow raised in sardonic amusement.

“Why?”

“You needed sleep. I needed you to sleep. I didn’t want you to do anything stupid. It was the only way I could make sure you kept your hand immobilised.”

“I was going to go to sleep. You didn’t need to drug me.”

“Really? You, a Jedi padawan, would have returned to this cell and then just gone to sleep?” Subira chuckled. “You forget that I have known Jedi, padawan. They are not often known for their rational decisions when faced with imprisonment.”

Kithera went to open her mouth to respond and then stopped. Would she have gone to sleep? Probably not. There would have been too much temptation to find an escape route.

The older woman’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “Let me guess. If I’d just wrapped your hand and left last night then you’d definitely have gone to sleep? You would not have tried to escape? You wouldn’t have thought about finding a handy sewerage system or ventilation shaft to get out, despite the fact that this palace is far too old to have either of those?” Subira said, amused.

Kithera glared at her.

Subira ignored her.

“On realising this, you would have taken out the four guards standing outside the door. Then found your way out of the Temple. Rid yourself of the collar and cuffs through some means. Found your Master through the will of the Force and then made your escape home. The Jedi would have then returned with righteous fury to put right all the wrongs in the world.” She paused to watch Kithera who scowled at her and tugged the sheets further up her chest.

Subira put her tools down and came to sit on the edge of the bed. She reached out a hand, patting the lump of blanket over Kithera’s knee. “We’ve all been there, padawan. I tried to escape four times in my first month. Every attempt failed.”

“I’m not you though,” Kithera said stubbornly. She clenched her jaws and stared at the woman. “I’m a Jedi, remember? You, and the Queen, and every Ish-te I meet keeps reminding me of how I’m supposed to save you all. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to do that from in here.” She gestured to the room. “I don’t know how to do that when I’m wearing this.” She pointed to the Force-inhibitor collar around her neck. “I don’t know how to save you when I’m paraded around like a toy. When I have to fight for the entertainment of drunkards. When I’m drugged and put to bed like a child. I am not how this thing, whatever this thing is, ends. I am not your hero.”

The last words hung in the air. Kithera felt like throwing something at the healer as Subira smiled again, a grimace this time with no true joy in it.

“No, you are not. You are right. You are nobody’s hero.”

Despite the fact that she’d said it herself only moments before, the healer’s words stung. Kithera's scowl faded and her shoulders slumped.

“I don’t know how to rescue myself. How can I rescue anyone else?” She paused and twisted the blankets into a knot with her good hand. “I can’t do it, Subira. At the Temple I’m considered a failure. I get into trouble. I can’t listen. I can’t sit still.” She rolled her eyes. “I’m told that the only reason I keep my position is my ability with the Force and the fact that I can fight.”

Subira shrugged.

“Your Master believes in you.”

“Yes,” Kithera sighed. “Sometimes I think my Master is the only adult who believes in me.”

Subira gave a low chuckle. “Namia always liked hard cases.”

Kithera frowned. “I didn’t tell you who my Master was. How do you know her?”

“I told you that I knew Jedi.” Subira smiled and patted her knee again. “The Jedi I know is Namia.”

“But-” Kithera frowned in thought. “You said you knew them personally.”

“I do. Or rather I did.” Subira laughed. “I knew Namia very personally.”

“You’re a paramour?” Suddenly the chaos and confusion of the last two days disappeared into a strange feeling of delight that there was at least one constant in the Universe.

“A paramour?” Subira’s face was a mask of confusion.

Kithera blushed. “It’s a running joke. I have been counting the number of lovers my Master has taken over my apprenticeship.”

“Oh?” Subira’s face twitched in bemused delight. “How many are you up to?”

“Uh, fifty-four at last count.”

“Namia did always have many admirers.”

There was a pause as Subira returned to the bed and began to carefully unbandage Kithera’s hand. Her pinky and ring finger were swollen. Subira frowned.

“This will take a while to heal. Without proper medical equipment it’s hard to tell, but I would say that it’s a greenstick fracture. It should be okay as long as you are careful.”

There was silence again as she resplinted and taped Kithera’s fingers.

“How did you know I was Namia’s padawan?”

Subira cut the last piece of tape and grinned at her. The dour and rather stern healer had suddenly disappeared.

“She never shut up about you. I think I knew more about you than anything else in that darn Temple. All she ever did was talk about you. About how proud she was of you. About what you had done. About the trouble you’d gotten yourself into. About her dreams for your future.” Kithera felt the tears sting the corners of her eyes. Subira took her gently by the shoulders and stared at her. “She is proud of you, little Kitkit.”

The healer, using her Master’s pet name for her, almost brought Kithera undone.

“How do I get out of this?” she asked. “How do I get us all out of this? I don’t know what to do.”

“You said the Temple would have forsaken your position if you were not a fighter, right?” Subira said and Kithera nodded dumbly. The healer’s hands suddenly tightened on her shoulders and Kithera looked up into the woman’s face again.

“You fight.” Subira said firmly. “Take that little knot of anger. The one deep in your belly. The one that Jedi are told to get rid of their whole lives. The one that forms every time they tell you that you aren’t good enough. The one that rails against this situation. Take that anger and use it for the purpose for which it was intended. To make you survive. To help you get back to your Master. To prove everyone wrong.” Subira’s face was close to hers, the healer’s fingers digging into each shoulder. Her voice was a hiss and Kithera found herself unable to tear her eyes away. “Take it and live, padawan.”

 

I love how Subira cares for Kit and helps her by telling her that she knows Namia. Good advice from Subira to take that anger and escape.

 

I loved how you handled the reveal that Subira used to be one of Namia's "paramours". At first she's almost breaking the fourth wall when she talks about crazy Jedi escape plans through the sewers or the ventilation system but once she tells Kit how she knows exactly who she is, it becomes a very heartfelt conversation. The contrast between how Kit thinks that she's perceived at the Temple (a "failure" who gets into "trouble" etc.) and what Subira has heard of her from Namia couldn't be starker, and it's something Kit needs very, very badly to hear in this moment when she feels that she's completely powerless and trapped. She's trying so hard to be a good, proper Jedi, and the advice Subira gives her about using her anger to survive is very un-Jedi-like, but it's advice that will keep her alive and "prove everyone wrong" (even if Mace Windu will probably take some extra convincing!)

 

Yep, motivated by anger and an unstoppable need to keep..well...moving!

Oh definitely. I think Leona sums up Namia's parenting/teaching style best in the Shadow Kit arc - which is that Namia really should never have been a Master and certainly not to Kithera.

Yep, although she's got a long way to go before she manages to escape.

I mean we've all written a story like that at least once...right? Right???

I think Mace would just take it as confirmation of the fact he's been 'right' about her the entire time!

 

Author's note: This is a really long chapter. I'm not exaggerating when I say it's 8000+ words (8264 to be exact), even after I've edited it. I'm really sorry it's so long, I couldn't find a good place to break it up.

Also going to apologise about repeating any themes or inconsistencies in Kithera's character as this rather epic story goes on...I kept finding things in my editing process where it was like "and this is the problem of writing a character with ADD - too many things going on in her head at once!". Finally an apology about the absolute plethora of characters...

*

Chapter 22

*

Kithera stepped out onto the fresh, red sand of the parade ground, its sand already growing warm beneath her thin, leather-soled boots. The air was warm and humid despite the light breeze that ruffled her hair.

The slave collar chafed against her neck. Thin beads of sweat collected beneath it, running down her back, sticking her tunic uncomfortably against her skin.

The place guard who led her, hadn’t introduced himself. Not that she should have expected it, she was a slave after all. The man had grumbled at the imposition of having to do such a menial chore, but Adia had simply reminded him that the King wouldn’t want the Jedi to be late.

The guard had muttered something under his breath before clipping Kithera into the hated waist restraints a bit more roughly than was needed. She had followed him silently as he almost towed her behind him, forcing her into an odd canter to keep up. The pace meant that her bindings tugged against her wrists and, despite the painkillers that Subira had given her that morning, made her fractured fingers ache.

Out in the yard, the groups of soldiers, in their coloured shirts, straightened up and stared as she passed. She had thought the straight, short-sleeved tunic and loose leggings that Jahlil and the other soldiers had been wearing the previous night were what all soldiers on Ovira wore. That was, at least partially, true. The cut of the uniforms was the same, but different groups of men had different colours and symbols on the wide stripe of fabric that had been sewn down the left side of their tunic.

One of the soldiers said something, pointed to her, and then whistled. His friends laughed. Kithera blushed fiercely, suddenly keenly aware of what she was wearing. She wanted desperately to tug at the tabard that Johia had dressed her in that morning. It was shorter than she was used to, and flapped against her upper thighs in an annoying way. The dark blue pieces of cloth covered a simple sleeveless cream tunic that was also shorter than she would have liked. Johia had caught the face Kithera had made about the lack of sleeves. The seamstress had rolled her eyes, and tutted that no-one dressed should be allowed to cover arms like that. All it had meant was that Kithera felt barely dressed, despite the leggings and wrist wraps that she had been given.

Baron Aad’hish disentangled himself from the group of soldiers he had been standing with and walked towards her, smiling broadly.

“I don’t think we’ll need that,” Aad’hish said to the surly looking guard who had brought her there. Despite his earlier grumblings that the job was beneath him, the guard made no motion to undo the clips. “Undo the clips,” Aad’hish commanded.

“Can’t,” the guard said, the pleasure obvious on his face. “Only answer to the King or the Queen.”

Kithera watched the Baron’s eyes narrow slightly, even as the smile remained the same.

“And the King said the Jedi was to train the soldiers this morning, she can’t very well do that if her hands are bound.”

The guard wiped his nose with one hand and gave a little shrug. Kithera found she’d clenched her jaw, an unconscious reaction to the guard’s impudence.

“I have my orders though and they say I can only release her when either the King or the Queen is here.”

Kithera was suddenly aware that the soldiers, previously talking quietly, had gone silent.The men Aad’hish had been standing with were coming to attention, hands resting lightly on their weapons. The Baron made an almost imperceivable gesture. They relaxed, but didn’t go back to talking.

“Then it looks like we’re at an impasse,” the Baron said politely, “you have your orders and I have my soldiers to train. We’ll wait for the King, shall we?”

The guard grinned as if he had won some sort of victory and led her over to a shady spot against the wall. Kithera turned and watched the soldiers as Baron Aad’ish talked to some of the officers and then stormed off, a wad of flimsy in his hand.

After a couple of minutes another officer made his way towards them. The guard shuffled uncomfortably. The man who was coming towards her looked to be about fifty, his uniform impeccably ironed. He didn’t wear what Kithera was beginning to understand as the heraldry colours of each court, but instead the lapels of his shirt were trimmed in the dark purple of the royal household. Sewn onto his breast pocket were a number of small coloured badges.

Kithera suddenly regretted not paying much attention to when they’d learnt about military rankings in class. Not that it would have been much help, Oviri was a world too small to get much of a mention outside of its own system.

The man didn’t smile as he approached, instead he looked the guard up and down and raised an eyebrow. This close, she could almost feel the air of authority the man exuded. The household guard could too, because he shifted uneasily under the long-stare.

Then he turned to where Kithera was standing and gave her a cursory bow.

“Miss Padawan, I would like to know if you have any plans of running away today.”

The question took her by surprise. She frowned at the man and shook her head.

“I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind,” she admitted truthfully. There was a grunt from the guard beside her. Kithera smiled in the practised way that she’d learnt from watching her Master. “But I decided against it. It would be silly. I’m without the Force, I have a shock collar and the grounds are full of well-armed and well-trained soldiers. Even my Master would struggle to escape this.”

The higher-ranking soldier grinned.

“Do you know who I am?” he asked quietly.

“No, but from the pins on your chest and the way the men treat you, I’d suggest you’re of a much higher rank than the man who currently holds my chain.” Kithera smiled at the guard who scowled at her as the older soldier laughed.

“How very astute of you Miss Padawan, even if it is not very politic. I am General Barr, and I would like you to come with me and inspect our troops. Will you give your word that you won’t run away?”

Kithera looked at him and then around at the soldiers.

“I don’t think I would be a very good Jedi if I didn’t make one escape attempt,” she said, smile still in place. A moment later she nodded. “But yes, I think I can give you my word that I won’t run away.” Mentally she added - Today.

General Barr looked down at the sullen looking soldier.

“You can come too if you like, if for nothing else than to hold the chain of the padawan who has given her word that she won’t run away.”

General Barr nodded and turned to walk away. The guard gave a hard tug on Kithera’s chain, making her wince.

“Words don’t mean much from a slave,” the guard muttered. He was, Kithera reflected, probably hoping that General Barr wouldn’t hear, but the acoustics of the parade ground meant that the words carried clearly. The older man turned and came back. His quick, light steps meant he was at the guard’s side in a second.

“Words don’t mean much unless they come from a Jedi. She has given her word as a soldier and I believe it, which is more than I would do for the words of someone who has never risen above palace guard.” The Captain clicked his fingers. “I am hereby discharging you of your duty. You are to hand the slave over to me.”

The guard stood his ground, rolling his shoulders back.

“I was told to keep a hold of her until the King or Queen arrived.”

“By whom?”

“By the Duchess.”

Barr nodded.

“This is my parade ground. My word comes above all except for the Queen, General Halid, and of course the King.” Kithera noted the order in which he’d listed the people he answered to. The guard shuffled uncomfortably but the general held up his hand. “That includes the Duchess. While I serve and protect Lady Zanu’ba as a member of the royal family, I must also do what is in the best interests of the Queen, the King, and my men.”

He held out his hand and the guard, reluctantly, put the end of the chain into it.

“As you were. I will make sure that the Duchess knows of your diligence.”

The guard stood still for a minute and the Captain's head cocked slightly to the side. Kithera bit her lip, trying not to grin at the obvious and almost humiliating dismissal. Eventually the guard gave a grumbling salute which was swiftly returned.

“You’ve been standing in the hot sun,” General Barr said quietly, as they both watched the palace guard stalk away, his swaying gait making him look like the world was rocking beneath his feet. “Would you like some water?”

Kithera nodded. Standing in the parade ground sun had left her hot and uncomfortable. Her mouth and tongue felt thick.

Barr motioned another soldier to him and gave a couple of curt commands. The young man nodded and then disappeared.

“Why are you being nice?” Kithera asked quietly. She squinted in the early morning glare, trying to see the intentions on the man’s face. She still felt adrift without the Force and it seemed that all the people who she had met were working for their own purpose. All of them wanted to use her for some reason, but none of them would let her in on the secret of what it was exactly that they wanted to achieve.

“I would set a poor example for my men if you fainted from heat stroke,” Barr said. His voice dropped until it was barely above a whisper. “None of this,” he waved a hand through the air. “Should have happened. Slavery has no place on Ovira.”

Kithera frowned. She wanted to ask why they were tolerating it, but the soldier had returned with a canteen of water and some fruit. He grinned sheepishly at the Captain.

“Found these by the canteens, Sir. I figure the Jedi may not have had time for breakfast this morning.”

“Good man,” Captain Barr said, nodding as the man smiled at the praise. He glanced at Kithera again. “I can guess how much you had to eat and drink, I’ve seen what they call food in the slave kitchen.” He made a face.

Kithera’s stomach grumbled. Her mouth watered at the idea of food. Adia had brought breakfast down when she’d been getting dressed; a bowl of thick and rather unappetising looking porridge. She’d eaten all of it, but her stomach had complained bitterly that it wasn’t enough.

“Can you walk and eat?” he asked. Kithera looked down at the chains that still bound her hands to her sides. While she could move her arms, she would need to become a contortionist to get the fruit or the water anywhere near her mouth.

“No,” Barr sighed, “I supposed not.” He shook his head as he quickly and silently undid the clasps. He straightened as the last clip was released, his face showing his obvious irritation. “Walk with me and eat. I do believe that Baron Aad’hish has gone to get the King. I don’t know how long they will be.”

Kithera nodded. She walked beside the General, listening as he described the way their military system worked, how their soldiers trained. She wondered why he was giving her so much information. Her Master would have known what to do with it, she reflected, and found a way to use it to her advantage.

Sometimes she wasn’t entirely sure why Namia had taken her on as a padawan. Master Zahalin, like her Grandmaster Samukay, were politicians at heart; Jedi who could turn words into weapons as effective as a lightsaber and just as deadly. She didn’t have the way with words, nor the patience to sit in endless meetings. Her lack in these areas irritated her teachers and made the Council grumble. Namia had always laughed it off, but Kithera was often left to feel that she really should never have been taken on as a padawan at all.

She was so engrossed in thought that it took her a second to realise that Barr had said something and was now, obviously, waiting for an answer.

“I’m sorry.” She felt her face heat as she blushed. “I missed that last part.”

Barr laughed.

“I do go on a bit, and I suppose you know all about how various militaries work. I imagine being part of a martial religious order they’d make it a part of your education.”

Kithera gave a tiny smile.

“We do spend a lot of time studying strategy, but mostly for individual combat. Jedi, as a rule, spend our lives fighting in small groups. We do not lead armies.”

“I imagine that’s for the safety of the galaxy,” Barr said, with a chuckle. “A group of fighting men led by a Jedi would be a formidable force indeed.”

“It still does not excuse my lack of attention,” Kithera said. The Captain gave her an odd smile. He turned to face her and she realised that they were standing far enough away from any of the groups of soldiers that they would not be heard.

“You, my young lady, are a puzzle.”

“A puzzle?”

“You are, by all rights, a newly made slave. Instead of fighting back, or refusing to work, you have in the space of twelve hours managed to make an admirer of one of my Captains by, as he put it, ‘not kicking my arse as thoroughly as she could have’, the Queen is actively protecting you. The slaves who heard what you did for that boy admire you, and the Duchess despises you. Aad’hish is running ragged making sure you are kept from harm, despite any issues it may cause for his own position in court. And, from reports, even the slaver that sold you seemed to be having a crisis of conscience.”

Kithera frowned at Barr’s mention of Del. How could you have a crisis of conscience when you’d sold someone.

“And you?” She asked the question before she could really stop herself.

He frowned and then snorted.

“I don’t know what to make of you. From where I stand, you are a well-mannered and strangely compliant young lady. Nothing, if you don’t mind me saying so, is remarkable about you, apart from your status as a Jedi.”

Kithera laughed.

“You wouldn’t be the first to say that, although perhaps the first to call me compliant.” She sobered. “What would you have done with me?”

“I would either have had you killed or found you a ship and wished you good luck.”

The bluntness of his words made Kithera snort.

“At least you are honest. Although I imagine if you were King, I wouldn’t have been captured in the first place.”

Barr grinned.

“That would be treasonous talk. I respect the King’s chair of authority.”

But not the man who sits in it. Kithera added silently.

The Captain began to say something else, but the parade ground doors opened again and Baron Aad’ish stepped out, red-faced and obviously angry. Following in his wake and struggling to buckle his sword belt, was the King. Kithera was once again reminded of the difference between the two men. The Baron made leadership look effortless; the king merely looked like a child.

There was the sound of another door opening and Kithera looked up to see the Queen and a retinue of ladies arriving on the wide, spacious verandah that sat above the gates. She was dressed impeccably, despite the heat, and followed by a slave child who waved a fan languidly through the air. The group of women who surrounded her were equally well-dressed and giggled and chatted quietly amongst themselves.

General Barr came to attention, bowing first to the ladies on the balcony, who giggled and curtseyed in return. He then turned his attention to the King and saluted. Kithera paused for a few moments and then bowed in an exaggerated and overly formal fashion.

There was no way that a bow like that would have been accepted in the Temple, but here the pageantry seemed somehow appropriate. As she straightened, she could see the King beaming at her and Baron Aad’hish’s frown as he slowed down so the King would be first.

“My Jedi is out here already! I hope you haven’t been waiting long,” King Mirrikh proclaimed loudly as he drew close.

Barr saluted again.

“Not long, my King. We are at your service, after all.”

“Of course, of course. Just Baron Aad’hish said something about everyone waiting.” He shot a look at where the Baron was standing off to one side. Even at a distance, Kithera could see the strain and anger on the young Baron’s face. “I knew it couldn’t be true,” the King went on, “the Baron seems so prone to exaggerating when it’s you men involved.”

Kithera glanced up at Barr and saw the area around the corners of his eyes tighten.

“I believe he just wants your soldiers to be utilised to their best abilities,” Barr replied with a tight smile. He motioned towards where the troops were standing. “Shall we begin?”

Kithera glanced at the General as they turned towards where the troops were now assembled into loose ranks of soldiers.

“I’m not entirely sure what you expect of me,” she said quietly, hoping it wasn’t loud enough for the King to hear.

“I expect you to watch them go through their paces and point out anything that we could be doing better when it comes to unarmed combat,” Barr said quietly. He straightened and called out a series of commands. The men automatically formed into groups and began warming up. The King and Baron Aad’hish joined them as they made their way between each section of soldiers.

Kithera watched the soldiers as they sparred. It was nearly all hand-to-hand combat, although some of it involved vibro blades. She watched the clumsy way the blades moved through the air and wished longingly for her lightsaber. Some of her Masters liked talking about how the lightsaber was the most elegant weapon, and while she usually rolled her eyes at the Jedi sense of superiority, she had to admit they were right. There was something effortless about the way you could move a lightsaber, instead of the more strained movements that accompanied the heavier, edged weapons.

After half a lap of the parade ground, Kithera found she’d moved slightly ahead of the main group. She didn’t mind. Here she could think for herself, without the constant pressure of trying to play politics at the same time. The group ahead of her seemed to be less active than the other groups. A few soldiers were having a heated discussion, while the others sat around a table piled with papers or lounged against the nearby wall. Some of them were sporting bandages or clearly visible bruises. She winced, realising that they were soldiers from the ‘performance’ the previous night. One of the young men rose at her approach, and Kithera recognised Jahlil. Kithera smiled at him and he returned it easily.

“I didn’t know that you would be here this morning,” Kithera said and then grimaced as she realised how stupid it sounded. “I mean, I knew you were a soldier… I just thought… I-” She stuttered to a stop, her face hot in a way that had nothing to do with the sun.

Jahlil laughed.

“You thought after last night we would be too injured to fight?”

“No… I… I-” Her heart thudded in her chest and she wondered how bright her cheeks had gone. “You fought very well, it wasn’t that. It was just-” She stopped, not knowing how to continue, and then motioned to his neck with her bandaged hand. “How’s your throat?” she asked, trying to cover her discomfort.

“Bruised, like my ego,” Jahlil said and then pointed to her hand. “How’s your hand?”

“They say I’ve fractured two fingers.”

Jahlil grimaced.

“Have they treated it?” He frowned. “I mean apart from the bandage.”

This time it was her turn to grimace.

“They don’t use bacta or boneknitters on slaves.”

Jahlil winced.

“Sorry. Maybe I can find something to help.” He turned to the man standing beside him. “Airo? Do you think-” he started but Airo was already nodding.

“I’ll send San’ji to see what we can rustle up.”

Kithera stared at the man Jahlil had called Airo. He was taller and more thickly built than the other soldier. He limped as he turned to beckon at one of the soldiers that was sitting on the ground. He grinned at her when he noticed her staring.

“Your handiwork,” he said. “Jahlil here was just happy you didn’t ruin his good looks. I’m happy you didn’t touch my face too. Don’t need to be uglier than I am. Although your blow did land on an area I’m quite fond of.”

The memory of her knee coming up to hit a very sensitive spot flashed before her. She grimaced.

“Sorry.”

“Not at all,” Airo said. “Got me out of training today.”

“And your handiwork means you saved the local girls from Airo’s rather over affectionate attention,” Jahlil teased. The bigger man punched him gently on the shoulder.

“Don’t get too cocky, or I’ll sneak the Jedi out of the castle to teach the girls how to stop your endless prattle. Those girls care about action more than words.”

“And you would know this, how?” Jahlil asked, grinning.

“I give them action,” Airo said, thrusting his hips. “You give them only words.”

Half a snort of breathy laughter at the banter escaped before she’d realised it. Both men turned, Jahlil’s face was already turning red, his eyes wide and embarrassment obvious. Airo grinned in a way that showed he hadn’t forgotten she was watching.

“I’m sorry, padawan - I-” Jahlil stuttered.

“It’s fine,” Kithera said, still grinning. “You just reminded me of my friends at home.”

“Good, I hope.” Jahlil countered.

Kithera’s smile faltered and she felt a wash of unfamiliar homesickness. ‘Yes,” she replied. “Good.”

A movement to the side caught her eye. Another soldier was heading towards him. She didn’t remember him from the fight the night before. Unlike Jahlil and Airo, this man’s uniform had a dark blue stripe, and Kithera made the assumption he belonged to a different troop or Baron. He noticed her watching him, and ran a hand through his hair. He smiled, showing a row of over-white teeth, as his eyes raked over her body. She found herself tugging down the hem of her too short tunic without thinking.

“Is this the girl who you fought last night?” The soldier looked her up and down again, and then turned away, rolling his eyes as he did so. Jahlil and Airo tensed, watching the man carefully. Kithera rolled her shoulders back and straightened, trying not to show her unease. “She’s a snippet of a girl. You must be as poor a soldier as I thought, Jahlil, to be beaten by a child.”

Jahlil bridled slightly.

“She’s a trained Jedi and I doubt you could do better than we did, Fa’rys.”

Fa’rys took a step towards her and leered. “I think I could take you. Although my father always taught me it was never fair to hit a girl.”

Jahlil said nothing, shifting his body slightly.

“Back off Fa’rys,” he said quietly. “The padawan belongs to the Queen. Don’t do anything foolish.”

“Of course she belongs to the Queen. Nothing of substance, just frippery and sweet words. She only took you down, Jahlil, because Aad’hish never employs real soldiers. You’d never survive in Ma’arku’s army.”

Kithera thought about the drunk Baron of the night before and shook her head. Fa’rys caught the motion and scowled. “At least my men would never get captured by a slaver. Don’t think the King should have even paid him, my men and I would have made short work of the padawan and her master.”

Kithera’s mouth thinned. “If you were after me, I would have escaped easily. I’ve taken down bigger men than you,” she said loudly. “And better looking ones too.”

Jahlil winced. Airo laughed. Fa’rys merely scowled. He stepped away from her, the muscles of his shoulders bunching higher as her comments were repeated and the laughter increased.

Kithera shifted her feet and waited. She’d spent long enough on training mats and in combat to know when someone was about to start a fight. She didn’t have to wait long.

One second he was scowling and the next he was swinging a wide blow towards her head. She ducked slightly, left arm coming up over her head to block the blow. There was a jolt of pain as the impact shuddered through her fingers. Her right hand came up and smacked him in the solar plexus hard enough that he grunted.

She followed through, her hand reaching up and over his left shoulder before grabbing his neck and pushing his head sideways and down, using both their momentum and her weight. He stumbled and she pushed harder until he overbalanced, going down in a clatter of armour.

Kithera took a step back, bouncing slightly on her toes. She opened her mouth to say something flippant.

Her collar buzzed. She frowned as her body tensed. For a moment there was nothing. Then there was nothing but pain. Her legs collapsed underneath her and she sprawled on the ground. Her body refused to move. She could hear herself shrieking in pain.

As suddenly as it started it stopped. From where she lay on the ground, Kithera could see people running towards her. Airo’s and Jahlil’s faces pale with worry and shock, appeared, dark against the sun.

She tried to sit up, but her body was shaking with the shock and effort of moving.

“Don’t move,” Jahlil said, his voice edged with worry and anger. “Don’t give him any more reasons.”

She complied, not that she had much choice. When she swallowed all she could taste was the salty tang of blood in her mouth. Above her, more faces appeared: Baron Aad’hish’s - angry and red, General Barr’s - eyes narrowed with something her muzzy brain could not place and the King - seeming pleased with himself. Across the parade ground came a cacophony of women’s voices raised in worried chatter and the shouts and calls of soldiers.

“What was that for?” She heard Aad’hish ask angrily.

“She was attacking our men,” the King said defensively.

“She was putting Fa’rys back in his place,” Jahlil muttered and then his eyes went wide as he realised who he was addressing. He bowed his head. “Your majesty.”

The King snorted in irritation. “She’s here to give guidance, not to fight without my say so.”

Kithera frowned as her brain tried to process what was happening.

“The Jedi won’t be doing either if you keep shocking her,” Aad’hish said. Kithera could see his fists clench.

“She’s a slave. She should know her place. Just as you should know yours.” A new voice joined them and Kithera felt her chest tighten at the sound of the Duchess.

Above her the King turned, his face wreathed in smiles.

“Mother! What are you doing here? Why aren’t you with the ladies?”

“I wanted to see if your purchase was really worth it,” the Duchess said. She gave a large, fake smile as she took one of the King’s hands and patted it gently. “I didn’t expect to see her attack one of the men.”

“The soldier here said she was putting him back in his place,” the King said, frowning as if he was unsure of what to do.

“That’s not what it looked like to an outsider. Attacking a man unprovoked. People like her only lead to problems.” The Duchess’ smile stayed firmly in place, but she shot a pointed look at Baron Aad’hish. “Like young members of nobility not knowing their place.”

Kithera closed her eyes against the glare of the sun, suddenly tired.

Her hand ached from where she had fallen on it and her mouth still tasted bitterly of iron. The rest of her felt like someone had taken a bat to every muscle in her body, a litany of aches and pains that she had not felt for a long time. She desperately wanted to roll over and get up, but Jahlil’s warning kept her on the ground.

“If I may speak M’dam,” General Barr’s voice cut through the silence. Kithera opened her eyes just wide enough to see the older man’s impassive face. He had moved slightly to stand in front of Aad’hish, who was clenching and unclenching his fists as if it was the only thing stopping him from hitting something.

“I believe that while the Jedi’s actions were rash and foolish, she was only demonstrating the best way to overcome an opponent that was heavier and taller than she. As a soldier, it’s a useful maneuver to both know in terms of attack and defense.”

The Duchess made a quiet sound of protest but Barr continued.

“You must excuse the Baron’s forwardness as well, your highnesses. I have noticed that when he is on the parade ground he reverts to the more crude and forward mannerisms of the soldier.”

“A soldier's place is to listen to his commander. Just as a Baron’s place is to listen to his King,” the Duchess said acidly.

“I’m sure the Baron doesn’t disagree,” Barr said levelly.

“I still want to know what the Jedi was doing,” the King said petulantly. Kithera got the feeling all the undercurrents of political intrigue and double talk had slid right past him.

“Keeping the soldiers on their toes,” Barr said with a tight smile. “I’m sure she and Captain Jahlil were just working with Captain Fa’yrs on what they’d like to teach the soldiers. While we wait for them to get sorted, perhaps I could show you the latest acquisition of new blasters, Your Majesty.” Barr turned that tight, controlled smile onto the Duchess, “and perhaps find someone to escort Duchess Zan’uba back to the rest of the ladies.”

“I-” the Duchess began, but Barr effortlessly cut her off.

“I’ve found the parade grounds no place for a well-bred lady. The men down here are likely to speak in ways that would shame even their mother.” The old soldier shot a look at where Baron Aad’hish was standing.

Aad’hish mustered his own polite smile.

“I will admit that the parade ground sometimes makes me forget sometimes the good education my parents instilled in me. I am afraid if my own mother saw me on the parade ground, she would clean out my mouth with soap.”

The King gave an unbecoming giggle.

“With soap? Maybe I should spend more time down here. Father did always say that being a soldier would make a man out of me.”

Kithera stifled a groan. She was still lying prone on the bare, hard earth. The image of herself as a toy cast away by a child sprang to mind, accompanied by a slowly bubbling sense of irritation.

“I would-” the Duchess tried again but the King turned on her shaking his head.

“I must insist you leave, Mother. The Jedi knows her place again. I will ensure whatever show she has for us will be visible to the ladies on the balcony. My beautiful wife will make sure you get an excellent seat.”

He waved and Kithera turned her head slightly to see one of the distant figures on the balcony give a tiny wave.

“If the Duchess is happy with that, then I would invite Your Majesty to step this way,” Barr said, clicking his fingers. A young soldier stepped forward, bowing to the Duchess before straightening and holding out an arm for her to take. The Duchess stood for a second looking towards where Baron Aad’hish was standing. Even in her prone position, Kithera could imagine the glare she was giving. The men stood still and silent until she gave a harrumph and turned towards the gates, knocking aside the young soldier’s proffered arm. Barr nodded and then gestured towards a far corner of the practice yard. The King bounded forward two steps and then looked across to where Barr was walking sedately and slowed to join his pace.

“What about me?”

Across from her Fa’rys was being helped to his feet by another group of soldiers. He scowled at her and then at the Baron. “That thing injured me.”

Aad’hish turned sharply on his heel. Fa’rys suddenly made a show of studying the ground.

“I think you learnt something valuable in this,” Aad’hish said sharply. “Don’t judge someone by their size. Sometimes the smallest warriors are the most fierce.” He paused. “And you’re lucky you’re not one of my men. Attacking someone unprovoked might be okay in Baron Mar’arku’s infantry, but it isn’t in mine.”

Fa’rys said nothing, just saluted in a way that was on the edge of being insolent and limped off towards the shade.

Baron Aad’hish leant down, offering his hand.

“I apologise padawan,” he said softly. “I should have been quicker to come to your aid. Luckily Barr was here for both of us.”

“I didn’t realise the General outranked you,” Kithera said quietly as she took Aad’hish’s hand and rose steadily to her feet. There was a hiss from the other men and she winced. The Baron said nothing, only a slight tightening of his grasp betrayed his feelings.

“I don’t understand what you mean.” His voice was almost a growl.

Kithera frowned at him, irritated at herself for her idiocy. She needed allies.

“Only that he seemed to be able to tell you what to do. I thought a Baron outranked a General.”

“I haven’t always been a Baron. Once I was a very young, and rather brash, soldier,” Aad’hish said grimacing. “Barr was my Captain back then, and he kept me in line. He kept me alive.”

“He still keeps you alive,” Jahlil replied, evoking a chuckle from the gathered men. “Just like you did with us, sir,” he added quickly.

Aad’hish’s mouth twisted slightly. A second later his shoulders slumped as the anger and fight went out of him. Patting Jahlil on the shoulder, Aad’hish smiled, and the rest of the men grinned in return.

“I’m glad you are my men,” he said softly. “Just like I’m glad that Barr reminds me of my place and purpose when the moment warrants it.”

A moment of silence passed before Aad’hish turned to where Kithera stood, stretching her arms and legs as if she was back on the mats in the beginning of her apprenticeship. She moved slowly and deliberately, testing out tight muscles and checking for injuries. Her fingers were aching, the pain-killers unable to cut through the repeated jarring. Bruises spread from under the bandages, and Kithera wondered what Subira would say when she saw them.

“So what are you planning on showing the King?”

“How to escape?” she muttered, then realizing she’d said it aloud. She looked up to see Aad’hish regarding her with narrowed eyes. The tension returned, as behind him the rest of the men stood, smirking. She glared at Aad’hish, rolling her shoulders back as the muscles tightened in response to her own, growing, frustration.

“You need to have a plan,” Aad’hish said simply. “The King won’t accept any excuses.”

“Plan?” Kithera snorted in mirthless laughter. “How am I, a Jedi padawan, no wait - a slave - supposed to teach battle hardened men to fight better? I mean I could repeat what I did to Fa’rys, but we all saw how that turned out.”

“Be mindful, padawan,” the Baron said quietly, “that you keep in mind your place here and your purpose.”

The bubble of irritation popped at the casual, passive threat. The words flowed out of her before she could stop them - all heated anger and unheeded danger.

“You mean my position as a slave? To be tortured, degraded, denied my freedom and possibly killed by a mad-”

There was a snick of a drawn weapon and then Baron Aad’hish’s knife was at her throat, his voice low as he leaned towards her.

“I said be careful.”

Her angry reply died in her mouth. Kithera cursed herself for the idiocy of her outburst and for thinking Aad’hish was not like the others.

Baron Aad’hish was still glaring at her, eyes narrowed. “If anyone hears you say that, then we are all dead. The King will kill you. He’ll probably also kill me and my men. This is not the Republic, padawan, one foot wrong here and you die and with that every hope dies with you. Know your place both as a Jedi and follow the rules of a slave.”

For a second Kithera thought how easy it would be to take the knife off him. Instead she returned his glare as he leant towards her. The blade of the knife rested lightly against her skin.

“Do you need me to push the button again?” The King’s overly excited yell cut through the moment. Baron Aad’hish gave an annoyed sigh and rolled his eyes

“The Jedi is just showing me how she would disarm someone holding a knife.” Aad’hish said, standing back slightly. He looked at her again and raised an eyebrow. “Choose what you do next carefully, padawan, there is more at stake here than your freedom.”

She smiled at him, the same polite, nothing smile she’d used earlier. She was tired of being used as a plaything for the nobility. Of being an apparent saviour in a war of politics that she had no stake in and knew nothing about. She hurt and all she wanted to do was sleep. If they wanted a show then they could have one.

Aad’hish was holding the knife against her throat with his right hand. Her left hand rose until her hand was level with his arm. She wrapped her good fingers around his wrist. Her two injured fingers throbbed, and she wrinkled her nose in annoyance and pain.

“First I would force the knife away from my throat.” She looked up at the surrounding troops. “I use my left hand because if I did what I am about to do with my right, I’d slice my own head off.”

Her statement was rewarded with a chuckle. She smiled, pushed Aad’hish’s hand away from her, towards the ground. Shifted her stance so that she was now standing next to him, her hip touching his. Baron Aad’hish stood awkwardly, slightly off balance as she pushed his hand further down. The pain from her fingers blossomed but she ignored it. She looked up at the audience, smiling brightly.

“Then I’d punch him.”

Her right hand curled into a fist and she made a few mock blows at the side of the Baron’s head. None of them connected, but Aad’hish still jerked out of the way, wincing slightly. There were a few muted chuckles but the crowd was watching her carefully now. Jahlil’s hand was resting lightly on the pommel of his training sword as he regarded her, with an expression she couldn’t quite read.

Her left hand still holding his wrist, she grabbed Aad’hish’s knife hand with her right. Then curled the Baron’s fist back towards his wrist as she brought his arm up again. She kept going, moving past his center until he flailed for a moment and then fell, awkwardly, to the ground.

“I would push him off balance,” she continued. Her right hand pushed his hand back further, the good fingers of her left digging into his wrist, finding the pressure points that she knew would hurt most until he loosened his hold on the knife. She pried it from his hand and stepped backward. “And relieve him of his weapon.”

Flipping the knife around, she handed the knife back to him, pommel first. He took it tenderly and shook off Jahlil’s offered hand. There was a scattering of applause from the crowd of gathered soldiers.

“And then what would you do?” Jahlil asked quietly.

“Then I’d use the knife to kill them.”

The words were quiet but they carried across the suddenly silent crowd.

“I thought the Jedi didn’t kill?” Airo asked. “Unless they had to, I mean.”

“I killed my first person when I was thirteen,” Kithera said acidly. She pushed away the flurry of emotions and memories that always came with that admission.

“So what would you do if you were in your normal Jedi role?” Aad’hish asked as he sheathed the knife and brushed his pant legs down.

“I would have my lightsaber,” Kithera reminded him, “so it would not matter.”

There was another pregnant silence where they both regarded each other. Kithera wondered briefly what the Baron’s ultimate goal was and then decided she didn’t care. It wasn’t like he was going to let her in on his plan, and she needed to keep focused on her own goal.

“What did I miss?” The voice was accompanied by movement in the crowd. The soldiers parted like a wave to let the King through. He grimaced at Aad’hish’s dust covered clothes. “Did the Jedi do something interesting? Why did no-one call me?”

Kithera closed her eyes for a moment, biting her bottom lip to physically stop herself from snapping at the King. She opened them to see Baron Aad’hish, his back still towards where the King was standing doing the exact same thing. It was an interesting tableau and one which at least showed her the Baron thought the King as odious and useless as she did, even if it may have been for different reasons.

She forced a smile on her face.

“I was just practicing with the Baron what we were going to show you, highness and the ladies,” Kithera said with another elaborate bow, “if that suits Your Majesty of course.”

The King’s face lit up with undisguised glee.

“Some of your mystical Jedi power stuff?”

Kithera shook her head, trying to hide her amusement.

“No, Your Majesty. Just some simple self-defence.”

King Mirrikh deflated.

“Oh. I wanted something fun. Something with all the jumps and twirls of last night, but bigger. I’ve seen the Jedi on the holovids and they do amazing stuff.”

Kithera blinked rapidly at the admission that the King had access to holovids. That meant the world was far less cloistered than she’d thought. It also explained why he so desperately wanted his ‘own Jedi’; the holovid versions were all swash and buckle and very little of the real role of the Jedi. Although her Master’s behaviour before their capture made her wonder how narrow that band between a holovid Jedi and the real ones was in the right circumstances.

“The Jedi would need to use the Force for that, and the collar blocks that ability.” Baron Aad’hish said, turning and facing the King. He spoke slowly now, as if cajoling a spoiled child. Kithera reflected that with King Mirrikh it might actually be the best approach.

Mirrikh frowned.

“We could take it off.”

“I don’t think that would be the best idea, out in the open,” General Barr said as he walked past the king to stand next to the Baron. The King scowled, but the soldier just smiled thinly. “I think the ladies would benefit from seeing some self-defence.”

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” Mirrikh said nodding enthusiastically, “particularly given our current problem with the Ish-te.”

She saw Baron Aad’hish’s eyes narrow slightly and his fist clench, but Barr's hand was on his shoulder, settling him as if he was a nervous equus.

“Yes,” Barr continued smoothly, “I think it would be a good idea for the ladies to have some sort of idea of how to protect themselves, just in case there was trouble.”

The King clapped his hands in delight. A bell chimed somewhere in the castle and he looked up startled and then around him as if he was missing something.

“Well, you see to it and maybe we’ll do it tomorrow.”

“Not now?” Aad’hish asked. The king shook his head.

“Not now. I have some important business to attend to,” he stuttered. He hurriedly pushed the remote into the Baron’s hands and then walked quickly away, clicking his fingers to the Ish-te slave that had been standing to one side. Barr sighed and clapped his hands.

“Back to training, people. We’re done gawking at the Jedi. I expect sword drills and blaster practice. We’ll get back to you about the unarmed combat class the King has requested.”

There was a general groan from the soldiers and then they drifted away in their groups.

“Meeting?” Barr asked quietly as the men dispersed, leaving only herself and the Baron behind. Aad’hish sighed.

“Probably a date with a wine bottle and Lady J’ya,” he said with a roll of his eyes.

“The Queen does not know?”

“The Queen does not care to know,” Aad’hish said and then, at Barr's obvious confusion, sighed. “I have not talked to her, it would not be my place, but I doubt she could not know. The court gossips and some are not subtle. I imagine she is very grateful. Anything that keeps him busy and out of her b-.”

Aad’hish stopped suddenly as a young Ish-te slave appeared. The young man bowed.

“Yes, Ngaiba?” the Baron asked with a smile. The young man smiled back and gave a quick nod of his head.

“The Queen asks if the Jedi can come and have tea with her and her ladies.”

Aad’hish eyebrows knit together slightly in confusion.

“I believe the Jedi belongs to the Queen anyway. I do not know why she would need my permission.”

He offered the boy the remote but Ngaiba took a step back and stuck his hands behind his back. The Baron paused.

“I cannot take that,” Ngaiba said quietly. “It would not be allowed. Also I do believe the Queen would like you to go with the padawan.”

Even without the Force, Kithera could sense Aad’hish’s confusion.

“I do not know why she would want me at a Lady’s tea,” he said bewildered.

Barr snorted.

“The Queen has asked for you, my son. So off you go. A good soldier follows orders after all.”

“Come then,” Aad’hish said, running one hand through his short, dark hair and pocketing the remote with the other hand. He strode away. Kithera noted that he hadn’t mentioned harnessing her hands again. Ngaiba looked at her, gave a crooked smile, shrugged slightly, and wandered after the rapidly disappearing Aad’hish. Kithera bowed her head to Barr, who returned the gesture.

“Keep your wits about you, padawan,” the old soldier warned. “A Lady’s tea can be a pit of vipers. I would take a pitched battle over trying to survive the politics of the women of the court.”

Kithera gave a wan smile and jogged after the Baron and the slave. She caught up with them at the door.

Aad’hish turned to face her; his face was set in a stern scowl and he crossed his arms in front of him. She stopped

“Don’t speak,” he muttered. “You will attend the Lady’s Tea. Your place is by the Queen's side. You understand? This is an order. You need to keep her safe.”

She bit back a retort about not taking orders from him as a Jedi or a slave, but stopped herself. Aad’hish would be, she thought, a hopeless sabacc player; his face betrayed every emotion and at the moment it was wreathed in terrified concern. She nodded and he breathed out.

Ngaiba had gone ahead and paused at the bottom of the stairs, Kithera noticed now, and stood watching her, his dark eyes unreadable.

“You must behave,” Aad’hish insisted, his expression still grim, “or it will all come undone. It won't end well, padawan. You mustn't get hurt. Do you understand?” His tone was final, he wasn't asking anymore.

Kithera swallowed, nodded jerkily, a sudden pit of nerves in her stomach.

“Yes. I think I understand.”

It was a lie. She didn’t understand at all. Aad’hish loved the Queen, that was obvious. The Queen seemed to be on the side of the Ish-te or at least the slaves believed that. The Duchess wanted to keep her son in power and the King himself seemed nothing more than a spoilt child. Somewhere in the middle of that political maelstrom she stood, already battered, bruised and broken and absolutely desperate to survive.

Aad’hish nodded and turned briskly on his heels, making his way towards the foot of the steps. He ascended without a backwards glance. Kithera wondered at his assumption that they would just follow him. His hands clasped together behind his back, fiddled with the white remote. Kithera shuddered. So he trusted her about as much as he did him. At least not being trusted was something she was familiar with.

 

another ally and nice to see her getting along with the soldiers. Even Fa'rys. What will happen at the tea-party? Unstable politics (just like RL)

 

Not really He's very much a useful idiot for several people to gain and wield power...just not the people you want to have the power.

You'll have to read on to find out...but if it helps, think about it as a court divided and how much power everyone is trying to grab. How unfortunate it would be if the Queen, who is the only true heir to the throne, died...

Yeah, another reason why Namia (political prodigy of Samukay) should never have been allowed to take her on as an apprentice. Kithera needed to be leading battles, she's not brave enough for politics (as another Jedi once said )

I have to admit there is quite a bit of real life that kinda steeped into this - but that's also not hard considering how much history repeats (or rather rhymes)

They are a good bunch. My beta reader (who isn't on these boards) ships Jahlil and Kit quite hard...

 

Chapter 23

Kithera followed Ngaiba and Aad’hish up the long, sandstone stairs in silence. They reached the inside landing and Ngaiba went ahead, pushing the giant wooden doors open. Aad’hish gave her a tight smile.

“After you Jedi,” he said, motioning with his hand.

She walked in, her eyes taking a long moment to adjust. After the bright sunshine of the parade ground, the room seemed rather dark by comparison. It was large and sumptuously designed, every area filled with ornate furniture. Women reclined on couches, or talked quietly in groups as they filled plates with small delicacies. There were a number of Ish-te standing against the wall. Most of them were half-dressed men, but some were young girls holding an array of fabrics. They were adorned in ornate jewellery, and Kithera had the sudden realisation that they were living mannequins. Sami' women moved around them, looking at the wares for sale as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

The door at the far end of the hall opened and the Queen swept in, followed by a gaggle of ladies. She moved through the room, smiling and offering a hand at the ladies who curtseyed as she passed. She was far less ornately dressed than yesterday, although her eyes were still rimmed with kohl in what Kithera had surmised was court fashion. Her dark hair had been piled artfully on top of her head and Kithera could see tiny pearls peaking between the dark strands. Kithera bowed, keeping her movements more reserved than the elaborate bow she’d performed for the King. The Queen smiled at her briefly and then moved past her towards Baron Aad’hish.

“Baron,” she said quietly, “so nice to see you attend a lady’s tea.”

“You did invite me, your majesty and, as you know, your wish is my command.”

The Queen smiled and Kithera wondered how the rest of the Court was not alive with gossip at their obvious affection for each other.

“I wanted to congratulate you on the troops. I was wondering if we would get another display?”

The Baron’s face momentarily coloured. “Thank you, my lady. I am actually hoping that we could involve you and your ladies tomorrow. Your Jedi has offered to teach you some simple defence.”

The Queen turned and smiled at Kithera who nodded her head slightly.

“My Jedi,” she murmured, barely audible, then turned back to the Baron and spoke loudly. “Yes, that would be very diverting.” J’meesha turned in a swish of skirts and clapped her hands. “Tomorrow,” she announced, “Our Jedi is going to give us ladies a lesson on self-defence.”

The room broke out in excited murmuring and Kithera felt a curl of anxiety creep through her. Self-defense was easy in that she’d been taught to fight her entire life but, as she looked around the room at the well-pampered and stylish ladies in their elaborate hair and fancy dresses, she wasn’t sure what she could do. It wasn’t that she didn’t think they were capable. Everyone was capable of fighting. It was that she didn’t think that anyone would be capable of fighting while wearing a skirt that was, in some cases, so slim and tight it looked like they had been sewn into them.

She pushed the anxiety aside and smiled at the Queen and nodded her head.

“I’m looking forward to it, Your Highness.”

J’meesha gave a quick nod and the noise around the room changed as the other ladies returned to what they had been doing. The Queen made a small gesture and then started to walk away. Kithera stood still, wondering what she was supposed to do.

“That means you’re supposed to follow her,” a voice whispered from beside her. Kithera glanced sideways to see Ngaiba. The young man smiled, but despite his nonchalance, Kithera got the feeling that he was watching her intently. “When you get there, to the left and two steps behind.”

Kithera gave a quick, tight smile of thanks and scurried after the Queen, making sure she stood where Ngaiba had suggested. She found herself worried the Queen would say something about her absence, then annoyed with herself that she cared. It didn’t matter. J’meesha was talking to a very young lady who was excitedly stammering about something. The two of them looked alike enough that Kithera guessed they were related. Their conversation paused as she reached them. Kithera paused, giving a small bow.

“Is this your Jedi?” the younger girl asked. “May I touch her?”

J’meesha snorted.

“She’s not my anything. She’s a person, ‘Soma. How about you ask her? She might say ‘no’, and if she does then that’s okay too.”

The girl frowned and then glanced at the Queen. Kithera found herself frowning too, unable to discern the difference between the Queen’s actions and her words.

Apparently ‘Soma was having the same issue. “Isn’t she a slave though? Auntie says they must do what they’re told.”

J’meesha gave a small sigh.

“I am sure that’s what the Duchess said, but this is a Jedi and you need to treat her with respect.”

Duchess is the name the Queen had used, but the girl, ‘Soma, had called her Aunt. Which would probably mean that ‘Soma was the Queen’s younger sister. Another piece of information the data pad hadn’t mentioned. Kithera decided there would have to be quite a lot of updating when she got back when it came to the information about Ovira.

If she got back.

She pushed away the intrusive thought. She would get back. There was nothing else to it. Soon Namia would return and then everything would be set back to rights.

Kithera’s brow creased slightly. ‘Soma was young. Possibly still a teen, although the elaborate hair-style and kohl-ringed eyes were trying to make her look far more mature. Kithera realised she had been caught staring, but ‘Soma didn’t seem to care; she was regarding Kithera in a way that spoke of both cunning and intelligence.

“Are you really a Jedi?” the young woman asked. It was if a light switched, the steady, curious look was instantly replaced with a smile and a giggle.

Kithera smiled back, although it was a look of wariness rather than enjoyment. “I am.”

‘Soma nodded, the smile still lighting her face. “And you don’t have a Master?”

“I do,” Kithera answered steadily, wondering where this was leading. “But she isn’t here.”

“So she abandoned you?”

“‘Soma!” Queen J’meesha’s voice cut sharply through the conversation.

The girl smiled, and gave a half-shrug. “What? Aren’t Jedi masters and padawans supposed to be linked by some invisible bond? That’s what the holovids always show.”

Kithera forced herself to smile, even though ‘Soma’s words made her chest ache. “Usually, unless there is a greater need, we travel together.” Kithera raised a hand, twisting her wrist slightly so that the metal of her cuff sparkled. “Without the Force I cannot access the bond, we share.”

“Right,” J’meesha said, “enough questions. We have business to attend to.”

‘Soma waved a hand through the air as if the last conversation was already forgotten. “Are we going to see J’rar?”

J’meesha nodded, and ‘Soma wiggled in excitement. “For my birthday?”

“For your birthday,” J’meesha repeated. “Your coming-of-age is the end of the week, and it should be special.”

The two walked away, and Kithera trailed behind as they walked through the crowds. Her chest still hurt, a tiny curl of anxiety and pain when she thought of her Master. Surely Namia would be trying to find her, although Kithera had no idea how.

J’meesha stopped to talk to some of the women. Left to her own devices, Soma stepped closer to Kithera.

“What do you think of the King?” ‘Soma asked.

The question came out of nowhere and Kithera frowned, feeling like she’d stepped into a trap.

“He’s very enthusiastic,” Kithera managed, almost wincing at the words.

‘Soma’s eyes went wide. “That is certainly one way to describe him.” She frowned. “I was told you met Baron Ma’arku last night. What do you think of him?”

Kithera thought about the drunken Baron. During the fight she hadn’t had time to think about the music of each individual, but now when she thought of the Baron all she could remember was the anger and the deep, violent chord progression that had emanated from him.

“My aunt keeps trying to push me towards him,” ‘Soma said, not waiting for an answer.

“And you feel-” Kithera prompted.

Fierce disgust twisted ‘Soma’s face for a moment. She opened her mouth, but J’meesha was glancing back at both of them.

“Come on ‘Soma, otherwise J’rar’s best wares will grace the necks of other girls.” J’meesha said, her face carefully blank. Kithera wondered how much of their conversation the Queen had overheard.

Kithera once again followed dutiful and silent behind ‘Soma and the Queen. They passed by other stalls; some were loaded with intricate pottery, others tiny, delicate bottles that filled their immediate surrounds with the dizzying scent of perfume. There were stalls with weaponry and armour. Kithera frowned at the openness of the weaponry. Surely it was foolish to have weapons out in the open when there were slaves around. Even with the cuffs the slaves wore, one determined person could do a lot of damage before they were stopped.

Someone grabbed her wrist, and Kithera started in surprise, but it was just ‘Soma pulling her towards a table filled with delicate gold and silver jewellery. Ornate earrings hung in neat pairs, necklaces drooped from stands, and bracelets were coiled in glittery piles.

J’meesha was waiting patiently, her fingers picking up different pieces of jewellery. ‘Soma dropped Kithera’s hand and moved next to her sister. Kithera watched the short, rather portly man notice them and immediately bustle over.

“My Queen,” he said, bowing slow. Thin strands of hair covered his rapidly balding head. The Queen gave a genuine smile of pleasure as the man straightened.

“J’rar,” she said, “as always you’ve brought only your most beautiful wares.”

“Only the finest and most beautiful jewellery for the Queen and the princess,” J’rar said. He made a show of looking around, and then glanced back at the Queen. “Especially when you choose to visit me first.”

“It’s the least I could do for you,” J’meesha smiled. “Especially when you so much for me, and we have so many friends in common.”

Kithera noticed that the man was sweating slightly. “As you know, I live to serve you, my Queen,” J’rar said and Kithera frowned, filing away the fact that he’d only mentioned the Queen and not the crown. “What can I do for you this fine morning?”

“As you know,” J’meesha said, “it is almost my sister’s birthday. As she’s coming into her majority, there is going to be a party.” J’meesha leaned forward. “And, I of course, as her doting sister, need to buy her a present.”

“Of the princess’ choice?” J’rar asked, although he was smiling.

“Of course,” J’meesha said. “Guided by your expert advice.”

'Soma squealed, earning a frown from her sibling, and darted forward to pick up a heavy, gold bracelet.

“A good choice,” J’rar said. “Although perhaps…”

Kithera’s attention drifted from the table as ‘Soma and J’rar debated the relative merits of various items of jewellery. Instead Kithera watched the crowd, and the ebb and flow of people and slaves. It was like watching a dance; groups moved together for a few minutes before breaking apart, individual members drifting away to other groups. She frowned. There was something seemingly quite deliberate in how people moved together, or avoided particular groups or areas.

“-For you, only twenty.”

The change in tone in J’rar’s voice brought Kithera back to the here and now. She focused back on the table, where ‘Soma was holding a necklace and several bangles.

J’meesha shook her head.

“For us, forty as that’s what the tags says. If you go out of business because you undercharge us, then we will not have a jeweller anymore.”

J’rar smiled, his ruddy cheeks darkening.

“When they see my wares on the beautiful princess ‘Soma, I will sell many more at full price.”

“You’ll sell more, because the jewellery is beautiful, not because it’s on me.” ‘Soma protested although her cheeks were reddening.

“Then perhaps a gift for a friend,” J’rar offered.

“Yes, something pretty for the Jedi, please, sister?” ‘Soma asked.

“For the slave? Perhaps then a new collar?” J’rar said, motioning down towards the end of the table. Kithera’s frown deepened “Hers is rather drab.”

J’meesha shook her head.

“Something small. Her collar is special.”

“Ah, a ring then.” J’rar said, pulling out a tray of rings and holding them out.

J’meesha shook her head. “The padawan has already hurt her hand. I do not think we should add to that.”

“Earring then,” J’rar suggested. “That is, of course, if her ears are pierced.”

“If not, we could do it for her!” ‘Soma said, excitedly. Kithera’s eyes widened in alarm. She raised her good hand to touch her earlobe awkwardly, making sure she kept her wrists well away from her collar.

“They are already pierced,” Kithera said, softly. “My friends and I all pierced our ears together.” She grinned the memory, even as a wave of bitter homesickness twisted in her stomach. “Although I’m not sure if the hole closed over.”

“You took them out?” ‘Soma asked.

“Our masters made us take them out,” Kithera said, wincing at the second and far more vivid memory of the dressing down they had all received.

“I think studs would be a good idea,” J’meesha added. “Not liable to impede our padawan’s movement, nor hurt her if it was caught in a fight.”

“Earrings then,” 'Soma said, grinning. What followed was two minutes of highly frantic conversation with J’rar, Kithera was pulled forward and into the conversation, wincing as 'Soma grabbed her left wrist, the jolt of the contact sending rippling pain through her injured fingers. From beside her J’meesha sighed and gently took Kithera’s hand from ‘Soma’s.

“Gentle,” J’meesha said. She frowned, turning Kithera’s hand over gently and studying her fingers. She looked at Kithera, suddenly guarded. “Did Subira look at this injury?”

Kithera nodded. “Yes,” she paused before remembering to add the honorific. “Your Majesty.”

J’meesha was still frowning, her mouth set in a tight, firm line.

“Broken?” she asked.

Kithera took a deep breath, wondering if there would be repercussions if she disclosed how bad the injury was. “Subira said they might be fractured, but she can’t tell.” Kithera took another deep breath before ploughing on. “She said that slaves weren’t given the correct

J’meesha’s jaw clenched momentarily, before she looked back at ‘Soma. “Are you almost finished, sister?”

“I think these ones,” ‘Soma said, holding up a pair of glittering blue studs. The tiny blue stone was surrounded by a latticework of intricate gold detailing.

“Moonstone with traditional Sami’ metalwork, a good choice,” J’rar said, nodding in agreement.

J’meesha smiled. “Then, I think we’re done.”

“Let’s put them in right now,” ‘Soma said. Kithera frowned, not quite sure what to make of ‘Soma’s overt enthusiasm. She couldn’t shake the rather horrible feeling that to ‘Soma, like the rest of the court, saw her as a doll to dress and play with rather than a real person. ‘Soma unclipped the earrings and reached towards her face. Without conscious thought, Kithera took half a step back, reaching up to take the earrings out of ‘Soma’s hands. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the glint of metal as the soldiers on the edge of the crowd came to attention. Around them the crowd had gone strangely silent.

‘Soma was glaring at her.

“I think the Jedi is fine to put her own earrings in,” J’meesha said smoothly. “It’s always easier when you do it yourself. Remember when you and little T’homa tried it when you were twelve?”

“Of course I remember.” ‘Soma’s glare smoothed into a small smile. Kithera wondered if it was because of her sister’s platitudes, or the fact that they now had an audience. “Although if she’s a slave, shouldn’t she have to do what I say?”

“She’s my slave,” J’meesha said gently. She was paying J’rar, the money glinting in the light. “And a Jedi. You missed her display on the practice fields earlier sister, but I would suggest not treating her like a doll.” J’meesha looked up at Kithera. “However, I would also remind you of your place too, padawan.”

Kithera bowed head, making a show of looking submissive. “I am sorry if I startled you, princess.”

“Mmm,” ‘Soma grumbled. There was a pause and then she looked at Kithera and made a little gesture of frustration. “Put them on already.”

Kithera smiled placatingly before carefully unhooking the earrings from their box and slid the post through her ear. For a moment she didn’t think the piercings were still open. A second later the metal was pushing out the back. She did the second one, wincing at the strain on her fingers.

‘Soma watched her expectantly. Over the young princess’ shoulder, Kithera noticed that J’meesha was passing an envelope to J’rar. The tradesman look worried for a second before he stuffed it hastily into his jacket. Kithera glanced around, but no-one else had noticed the interaction.

“Now you look more like a proper Sami’.” ‘Soma said, grinning as if the events of the last minute were completely forgotten. “And in the Queen’s colours too.”

 

From a tea party to a bazaar. Nice interaction between Kit, Soma and the queen. And Kit getting a gift and telling Soma about a real Jedi. What will happen with the message passed by the queen to J'rar?