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

In chapter 22, General Barr says that a ladies' tea can be a pit of vipers, but I would say that it's true of the entire royal court. I love how you hint at the political ins and outs through Kit's POV, although I must say that, while there are certainly other padawans who are as politically inept as Kithera, offhand I can't think of any.

I'm going to disagree with Findswoman who said in her review of chapter 22 that Kit has gained another ally in General Barr – I don't think she's gained any allies at all, really. All these people (Barr, Aad'hish, Jahlil etc) are allies of the queen, and they want Kit to become one of their allies, not the other way around. They actually consider it a done deal that Kit is their natural ally, and that's precisely why Barr tells her so much about the military, but she just doesn't get it.

And judging by the exchange between Jahlil and Airo on the one hand, and Fa'rys on the other, it wouldn't take much to push the military into civil war. That made me curious to know the relative sizes of Aad’hish and Ma'arku's forces; Ma'arku doesn't have a reason to want to fight as long as he has the king's favour, but that could change if the king were out of the way.

Another thing that struck me over these two chapters is that the real piece of work in this story isn't the king (though he certainly is a piece of work, and he even has a lover? ) but the duchess. She's the viper to end all vipers, and that shows in her brief appearance in chapter 22, but also in chapter 23, where she's not even present. There's the fact that she's inculcated the slaver mentality into ‘Soma, which is bad enough; but what was really a yikes moment for me was to hear that she's pushing an underage girl towards that pig Ma'arku. She's clearly the brains behind the whole situation on the planet, and I can completely understand Aad’hish's concerned for the queen's safety. The duchess has managed to bring her son to power and she would be consolidating that if she could get 'Soma to marry Ma'arku, after which the queen would merely be a loose end that she can eliminate. At the same time, the queen has machinations of her own going on, like that envelope she slips to J'rar – I'm guessing that J'rar is her contact with the world outside the palace, so to speak, and I wonder if that's how Namia will find out where Kit is.

I have a feeling that the self-defence session for the ladies is going to be quite something. In chapter 22 Aad'hish tells Kit: "Know your place both as a Jedi and follow the rules of a slave," and that's advice that she would do well to heed, but she hasn't proven very good at it so far.

Lastly, before I go, I want to mention this exchange between Kit and Barr:

Oh the irony.

 

I'm glad you noticed it There are so many levels of plot going on (most of which are never actually shown in the story but have an impact on the ending that it's become quite a tangle to try and finish it and still make all of it work. Hopefully it'll all sort itself out...but I keep putting off actually writing more because I think I'm a little worried about stuffing it up.

'Soma is definitely an interesting piece of work (as everyone is about to discover in the next chapter). She's not everything she seems, and she could teach Kithera a lot about politics...and how to play them.

Ahh, yes...but it's also a definite gift that marks her as someone that belongs to a particular household (and race/group) - and Kithera's a bit too dense at the moment to realise just what an impact that could have...

Thank you

Oh definitely. I think I was watching Versailles tv show and The Great when I was writing this part - which is probably why there ended up with so much intrigue (would highly recommend both shows).

Hahahaha. This made me laugh. Someone who beta'd parts of this started calling Kithera 'padawan oblivious' because for someone who was brought up by Namia and Samukay she can be remarkably dense when it comes to playing politics - even when people are literally smacking her around the head with what she needs to know. I can assure you that eventually it all clicks into place, but it takes a long, long time. I think as we've discovered, she really, really, really was apprenticed to the wrong Master...

You are absolutely correct. They are playing their own game that started long before Kithera arrived, and they just think that she'll go along with said game even though they haven't actually clued her in to what she's supposed to do. They just think she'll work it out (she won't) or that she'll magically do what holovid Jedi do and solve the situation in a nice tidy episode without any bloodshed.

She's definitely the worst of all of them. Think Hamlet, but just change the genders of all the characters...

I mean I do adore Kit, but she's very much not a planner, or someone who can sit still long enough to join the piece - react first and then work out what you're doing...right?....Right???

Glad you enjoyed that...it was a bit of fun to put in there. I mean an army of Jedi would be terrifying - luckily no-one ever took advantage of that...did they

 

Chapter 24


“I have to go and chat with the other ladies,” J’meesha said gently as they moved away from the merchant’s table. She looked at Kithera. “‘'Soma has only a short while before she must return to her tutors.” There was a groan that the Queen ignored. “Please keep her safe and steer her away from any situations one of her age should not get into.”

Kithera nodded, unsure exactly what the Queen was charging her with. The Queen’s behaviour, and in fact the behaviour of the Sami' ruling class was making her head spin. Some treated her as if she was nothing more than a plaything, or less than human, but then others treated her as if she was an honoured guest.

“Let’s go and see Madam!” ‘Soma whispered as soon as J’meesha had taken a few steps in the other direction. She grasped Kithera’s hand, but the Jedi noticed that the girl had very carefully made sure it was her right one.

“Madam?” Kithera asked, but ‘'Soma was already pulling her through the room. She tried again. “We need to stick close to her Majesty, and you are supposed to go back to your tutors soon.”

“Jem won’t care,” ‘'Soma scoffed. “Besides you're a slave, so you can’t tell me what to do.”

Kithera frowned, glancing around at the other women. Some of them glanced their way, but most were busy eating, talking or watching the entertainers that were scattered throughout. There was no way any of them would offer to help. She decided a different tack might be necessary.

“I’m a Jedi, I could mind trick you into doing what I want.”

‘Soma paused long enough to give Kithera a long, considered look and then snorted.

“I don’t think so. If you could do that, you’d be out of here. Besides, that’s just a trick that the holovids show you. No-one can really do that.”

She tugged Kithera’s hand and led her through an open door and into another room, studded with couches and more women gossiping. The conversations seemed to pause as the two passed, and Kithera got the feeling they were being watched far more critically than ‘Soma realised. Even without the Force’s warning, her hackles were rising. There seemed to be something less cheerful than the airy room they’d just left.

In the far corner of the room a strange, billowing tent had been set up. Groups of women sat near the tent, reminding Kithera of the disorganised lines that often appeared at the healer’s halls. ‘Soma stopped in their midst, her posture straightening as she glanced down her nose at the small groups. It was a gesture that reminded Kithera of Namia when she wanted people to acquiesce to whatever she was proposing.

One or two women straightened too, but then slumped back in their chairs after a moment. ‘Soma was smiling.

“We should be next,” she said, triumphantly.

“Is this morning something your sister regularly holds?” Kithera asked quietly, trying to ignore the glares from some of the scattered groups. Maybe if she distracted the princess long enough, she could be convinced to return to the other room.

'Soma shrugged.

“Once a month or so. Before my father died, it was a major event because we had all the Ish-te nobility too, but they’ve all gone now.” She pouted and then brightened. “But this one is bigger though because all the Barons are coming.”

Kithera’s brow wrinkled. There had been a lot of mention of the Baron’s coming, but no-one had ever explained why. She tried for her most cheerful smile.

“The Barons? Why are they coming?”

“You ask a lot of questions,” ‘'Soma said, putting her hands on her hips. “Slaves shouldn’t ask questions.”

Kithera immediately ducked her head, hating herself for the gesture.

“I’m sorry, your highness. Jedi are taught to be curious.”

‘Soma regarded her seriously.

“What else are Jedi taught?”

Kithera tried to hide a smile. Perhaps this could be her avenue to distract the princess.

“Many things. How to fight. How to use the Force. We learn history, maths, science.”

‘Soma made a face.

“That’s not exciting at all. In the holovids all they do is meditate and try to lift up rocks.”

“We do mediate a lot.” She didn’t feel the need to clarify that it was something she hated. The constant music of the Force just made her want to do nothing but move, so being asked to sit still for hours was sometimes akin to torture.

“Princess perhaps-” Kithera started, but ‘Soma cut her off.

“Could you teach me how to fight?”

Kithera blinked, taken aback by the sudden change in conversational direction.

“Tomorrow, I’m teaching the ladies how to do some simple self-defence. You could ask the Queen if you could join.”

'Soma shook her head.

“No. Not that. That’s simple and boring. I mean proper fighting. The fighting that Jedi do.”

Kithera shook her head. “That takes many, many years of practice. I’ve been learning since I was a toddler and I still haven’t mastered all the forms.”

'Soma’s nose wrinkled. “J’meesha can fight properly.”

Kithera nodded, trying to process the small nuggets of information that ‘Soma was unwittingly dropping. She kept quiet, wondering how else she could prompt the girl.

“Your sister was taught self-defence?”

“No, she was taught proper fighting. How to lead an army kind of stuff. How to fight on a battlefield. Father made sure that she knew how to do all that stuff.” ‘Soma pouted. “But I’m much younger than she is. Auntie’s forbidden me from learning the same thing. She says my worth is in whom I marry. It isn’t fair.”

Kithera blinked, unsure of what to do with information, before she realised that hadn’t been the reaction ‘Soma was expecting. “No, I suppose that isn’t fair.”

'Soma folded her arms across her chest and pouted. “You don’t have to get married if you’re a Jedi, right?”

Kithera nodded.

“A Jedi is forbidden to have relationships. We do not marry unless it’s very special circumstances.” She thought of her Master and all of Namia’s rather obvious relationships. A sudden pang of homesickness hit her. It felt like forever since she’d stood in that field teasing her Master about how many relationships she’d had in Kithera’s apprenticeship. She wondered where Namia was now.

“I wish I was a Jedi,” 'Soma said. “It would make life easier. You could right all the world’s wrongs.”

Kithera was about to ask what she meant when the tent flapped open and a grey-haired woman came out. She eyed the line and then pointed to where they stood.

“The princess is next,” the woman intoned. There was a murmur amongst the waiting women, but none of them moved. ‘Soma grinned, almost skipped forward as she grabbed Kithera’s wrist again and pulled her forward. Kithera had no choice but to follow; her sense of foreboding growing the closer she came to the tent. The woman had retreated, leaving the door to flap closed. ‘Soma stood for a minute outside and Kithera realised with a start that was supposed to open it.

She did and then followed the young princess inside. The inside of the tent was, unsurprisingly, darker than the already dimly lit outer room. The only illumination was a soft glow, the source of which Kithera could not make out, but it was enough to see the white-haired Ish-te woman staring at her with undisguised curiosity. She waved a hand at the chairs next to the table and then curtseyed slightly towards the princess.

“Your highness, you delight me with your presence,” the woman said. “Are you here for a reading? Want to know about a potential suitor? Your future? Talk to someone from the other side?”

Kithera glanced sideways as 'Soma snorted. The giggles and smiles were gone, replaced by a cold mask and the same penetrating look as earlier.

“I don’t care about any of my suitors, and my future is in the hands of my sister and my Aunt. No,” she said her hand suddenly nestled in the middle of Kithera’s back as she pushed her forward. “I want you to read her future.”

Kithera stumbled as ‘Soma pushed her towards the table. The woman’s eyes narrowed.

“May I ask why? Her collars and cuffs proclaim her merely a slave.”

“She’s no more a slave than you are, Madam,” ‘Soma said sharply. “She’s a Jedi first. That spells trouble. I want you to tell me her future so I’m not caught unaware by my sister’s plans, or my Aunt’s. I need to know if she’s dangerous.”

Dangerous. The word gripped her. Of course she was dangerous. She was a Jedi. Except not now. Now she was a Force-less, chained slave that had been dragged into a game that no-one had told her she was playing.

“Why do you think I’m dangerous?” Kithera said, rounding on the princess. Her voice was a hiss, the anxiety curling into irritation at being used as a pawn. “I was bought by the King. I’m not dangerous. I’m just a Jedi who wants to get home. I’m certainly not a plaything for others.” The words resonated in her head, echoing what she’d said to Subira that morning.

‘Soma scowled.

“I don’t have to explain to you why I want to do what I’m doing. You have to do what I say, it’s that simple..”

Kithera went to ask more, but 'Soma pointed to the seat.

“Sit, be read and then perhaps I’ll find a way to answer your questions another day.” She gave a grim smile. “Maybe when you are teaching me how to defend myself.”

Kithera wavered where she stood, unsure of what to do next. Something about the situation spoke of far greater consequences than just getting her future told by a charlatan as a party trick.

It was Madam who broke the silence.

“I cannot read her child, with that collar on. We must both touch the sacred life-force for me to properly see her future.”

“Oh! That’s easy!” 'Soma said with a sigh, “I know the code. J’meesha always uses the same one.” Before Kithera could react, the girl pushed her roughly into the seat. Kithera felt fingers sliding against skin as 'Soma scrabbled at the buttons.

There was a soft click.

The world exploded into music. Kithera sat stunned by the sheer weight of the notes. It wasn’t so much as if she was listening to an orchestra, but rather as if she was dangling by her ankles above the pit while every instrument played its symphony at its loudest and most out of tune.

There was no rhythm, no melody and certainly no conductor.

Kithera wailed, throwing her hands over her ears as if that could stop the cacophony. Something brushed her top lip and when she wiped her face, her fingers came away bloody. She stared at them in horror as the music swelled, all brass band and untuned violins.

The world went black.

*

Wet leaves smacked her in the face. Kithera blinked, suddenly aware that she seemed to be in someone else’s body. She was surrounded by forest, the wet boughs bending low as fir leaves crunched beneath her feet. She could hear people behind her, laboured breathing along with the distant sound of heavy boots and machinery. The other person’s thoughts flowed over and around her. The footsteps were the hunters and they were getting closer. There was a crunch of machinery and droids somewhere back in the darkness, and she was aware of how hard her heart was beating.

KIthera glanced down to see a sleeping Nini. She took a shuddering breath, realising that it was Niambi’s eyes she was seeing through. Niambi was suddenly thankful that the baby had eaten well. Kithera looked up to see her Master urging them on, her head swivelling back and forth as if she was trying to gauge how far away the hunters were. She wanted to call out, to tell her that she was here, but she could do nothing. It was as if she was trapped in Niambi’s head, a mere observer as events unfolded.

She realised that Namia had stripped her robes to dress as if she was Ish-te. With a pang Kithera realised that she could not see Namia’s lightsaber and she wondered if her Master had lost it.

Niambi’s thoughts trailed across a memory of watching an argument between Namia and Amma. Amma had wanted to give up. They were failing now, the hunters too close on their heels. She was scared they would all be killed. Namia had argued to keep going, saying that the Force would provide.

Doubt rippled through Niambi. She was tired. Nini was taking everything she had left. Her foot caught on something in the semi-darkness and she stumbled forward, crying out in pain as her ankle twisted beneath her. The jerk woke Nini.

The baby opened her mouth and wailed.

Behind them, in the dark, she could hear the hunters shout and the sound of droids and booted feet.

Kithera felt Niambi curl around the crying infant, sobbing.

The darkness enfolded her.

There were men and they were plotting. She could see nothing in the darkness, only hear the rustle of robes being pulled on and the distant grunt and thump of boots. There was a snickt of a drawn weapon.

“So you know the plan?” A voice in the darkness.

“Scare her. Try to make her realise that Ish-te are nothing but scum.”

“You won’t do that. The Queen loves them too much. This is about getting the rest of the nobles to be terrified of a potential threat.”

“Hah, did you hear that? H’dar’s a political strategist now.”

“Shut it Z’ki. No names, you idiot.” The first voice said, and Kithera could hear the tone of authority running through it.

“But you-”

“I said shut it.” The growl made the rest fall silent.

“What about the Jedi?”

“Neutralise it. Nothing but an apprentice anyway and no Force powers. Easy done.”

“She took down Jahlill’s men.”

“That mewling cat? If that’s all she’s capable of, then she won’t be any problems for us.”

“And if the Queen does get hurt?”

There was a long, pregnant pause. Kithera strained to see anything, but the darkness was too dense to penetrate.

“There is the sister. The king can always marry another.”

Darkness drenched her, pulling her away.

When she surfaced the Queen was covered in blood.

J’meesha, blinking rapidly, stared at Kithera, a thin mist of blood splattered across her face and clothes. The dark blue dress was ruined, the patina of blood discolouring it as the gold trim glinted scarlet in the sunlight.

Her face was pale.

Kithera stumbled towards her, ears ringing.

A sword flashed down, piercing a clean white tunic, from which a blood blossomed like a red flower on a field of snow.

Kithera ran faster, but it was too late. Death jingled through the Force and the Queen was covered in blood.

The blackness consumed her again, but this time it was nothing but flashing images and sensations.

The King, splattered with blood and begging for mercy.

Water filling her lungs as she sinks under; a crowd far above watching her impassively.

A rain of diamonds; sharp and glittery and filled with blood.

A lightsaber sinking into an unresisting chest.

Her hands bound as blood pours down her skin.

The Sami’ nobles screaming as Namia sliced her way through their unresisting bodies.

The glint of golden eyes.

The echoing laughter of the Mukdah.

A defiant Ish-te girl on her knees . A sword swinging. Blood pooling on the floor.

Nga-ba’s face, still and pale.

Kithera’s own arm stretched out in front of her, fingers broken and bloodied and then…

Then there were butterflies. Thousands and thousands of butterflies. Her Master was staring at her, eyes filled with tears, her face pale. Kithera couldn’t work out what she was saying, only that whatever it was her Master was desperate for her to hear it. Kithera blinked, feeling tears slide down her own face.

There was the hum of a lightsaber and she watched its pale blue blade arc through the air.

She woke up screaming.

*

Someone was holding their hand over her mouth. Kithera flailed, hearing a soft ‘oof’, and the hand left her mouth. She opened her eyes to see ‘Soma glaring at her. The princess took a step back, straightening and rubbing her arm. It took Kithera a moment to reorientate herself. She was back in the tent, in the palace. The music was gone. She slowly raised one hand towards her throat and then stopped, she could feel the weight of the collar back around her neck.

“What was that?” ‘Soma asked, mouth thin with disapproval. Kithera blinked, her words abandoning her.

“I don’t know,” she said, trying to blink away the flurry of images that threatened to overwhelm her. “I felt like I was dreaming.”

“Not dreaming,” Madam said, stepping forward. “Visions.”

Kithera frowned. “I don’t get visions. Some Jedi do, but not me. It’s one of those things that I’ve never been able to do.”

Madam gave her a comforting smile and then reached across to pat her hand. The moment they touched, Madam pulled away as if she had been burnt.

“What?” ‘'Soma said. “What did you see?”

Kithera wasn’t sure if ‘Soma was talking to Madam or to her.

“Death,” Madam whispered. She looked at Kithera, her face wreathed in sorrow. “I’m so sorry, padawan.”

There was a commotion outside and then the Queen’s voice, inquiring what was going on. Before anyone could answer, the tent door was pulled open and the Queen was standing in the entrance, her hands on her hips. For a second the image of her, splattered with blood and pale-faced, overlaid the real person in front of them. Kithera shuddered.

“What is going on?” J’meesha asked. Behind her there was a crowd of interested faces. Kithera watched as ‘Soma’s expression change into the same vapid, girlish smile she’d worn earlier.

“I was just getting my fortune told by Madam,” she said.

“I heard screaming,” J’meesha said, raising an eyebrow.

‘Soma managed to look embarrassed. “Ah, we had an incident. The Jedi’s nose started bleeding and you know how I can’t stomach blood.”

J’meesha’s eyes narrowed in a way Kithera guessed meant she could see through the rather obvious lie. The Queen let out a deep sigh.

“I imagine your tutors will be wondering where you’ve got to. I also think the Jedi needs a new tunic and,” J’meesha added, “by her pale face, something to eat and drink.”

‘'Soma grinned. “Of course sister.”

J’meesha nodded her head to Madam, who gave a low curtsey. “Come ‘'Soma, let’s leave Madam to her other customers. I’m sure there are plenty who would love their fortune told.”

‘Soma nodded and followed. Kithera, legs still shaking, made to follow them, but a strong, gnarled hand grasped her shoulder.

“Not all you saw may come to pass, little Jedi,” the old woman hissed. “However, only you can change that.” Her grip tightened further. “Only you can change it.”

Kithera nodded, and turned. The images still flickered behind her eyes. For a second, she felt like she’d been cast adrift on a swirling ocean. Each person in this court seemed to want something different. Everyone seemed to be relying on her for something, but would not tell her what. She desperately wanted to hide away and meditate, to clear her mind, but she knew she wouldn’t get the chance. Even now, she could hear the disapproving click of J’meesha’s fingers because she was not where she should be. She felt lost and alone.

And everytime she closed her eyes, there was the image of the blue bladed lightsaber against the sky, plunging towards an unprotected body. A body wearing Jedi robes.

 

Soma giving Kit more clues and in the tent seeing horrible images. The old woman is giving her advice." Only you can change it."
What will happen next?

 

Yep, good advice from the old woman...but whether Kit takes it is another issue entirely!

To be honest, neither do I. She's the one character I've had to go back and rewrite and change because she's really inconsistent throughout the story.

Mostly it's to protect her sister - 'Soma has already lost her parents and she understands how dangerous the court is, even if she still naive about some things.

Definitely not. J'meesha is horrified about what her sister did for so many reasons.

Yep, it's a pretty awful experience from Kit's point of view and doesn't happen very often in her life - in fact the next time it happens is right here

 

Chapter 25

Kithera was deposited on a couch in the dark corner of the room by Ngaiba, who said nothing, merely disappearing into the crowd of people. For a brief moment there was nothing for her to do, but she found she couldn’t relax. The image of the flashing lightsaber splitting the sky repeated itself over and over in her head. She closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing and reciting the words that the Ish-te woman had said to her - just because she’d seen it, didn’t mean it’d come true. She concentrated on her breathing, trying to still the rapid swirl of thoughts that threatened to overwhelm her.

Just because you’d seen it, didn’t mean it would happen. It didn’t matter though. Even without the melody of the Force, she knew that this was how it would all end. A flash of a lightsaber and the butterflies.

The couch cushions moved as someone sat heavily beside her and Kithera jerked in sudden surprise. Her eyes flew open and she found herself staring into the worried and somewhat wrinkled face of a Sami' woman. She had the same dark eye makeup as the others in the room, but her clothes weren’t quite as lavish, and she settled herself into the couch, placing her walking stick beside her.

“Here I was thinking that a Jedi would never be surprised,” a kindly older voice said softly.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be sitting here, I-” Kithera started. She blinked in confusion, finding her own words unsettling. A Jedi never normally apologised for anything, and yet here she was, imprisoned and enslaved for less than a week and her demeanour was already changing to be more subservient. She slid off the couch and gave an awkward bow. The old woman grinned at her in what seemed like bemusement.

“Nonsense, you’ve apparently had quite an adventurous last couple of days, if the gossip in this wretched place is anything to go by,” the other woman said, extending one wrinkled hand to take her gently by the wrist and guide her back down to the seat.

Kithera sat down heavily, not needing much persuasion. Every nerve jangled as she tried to sort what she’d seen. All she wanted was a quiet five minutes by herself, to sort through the visions and what they could mean, but it wasn’t going to happen. The woman waved down a passing slave who was carrying two plates piled high with food, and took them off her. The girl gave a meek protest that they were meant for someone else, but the woman just waved her away.

“I believe she is worried that she may get in trouble,” Kithera said following the young Ish-te girl’s panicked glances. The old woman followed her gaze and gave a short harrumph.

“The Baroness S’hem has enough food to feed a small army,” she said with a frown, “and can surely do without for once. She will not go hungry.”

The young slave girl nodded her head, still looking anxious. The old woman rolled her eyes again. “If she gives you any grief,” she said, the frown deepening, “then come and speak to me. She will only get away with it once.”

The girl scurried back towards the food tables and the old woman turned and handed Kithera a plate.

“Eat. I don’t know what they feed you in that Temple, but Jedi always seem so undernourished. I often worry that you have any energy to fight at all.” The woman raised a slice of fruit to her mouth and bit into it. She smiled as a bead of juice shone on her bottom lip and then rolled down to her chin. "I’ll have to tell J’meesha to feed our guest better.”

Kithera shook her head. “I’m not a guest,” she said, pointing to the collar. “I’m a slave.”

“Ha.” The woman laughed. “You can’t make a slave of a Jedi, just as you can’t make a king out of Mirrikh, no matter how large a crown you put on his head.”

Kithera looked around in alarm, worried that they’d been overheard. There was another snort of laughter.

“Eat up child, and don’t worry, no-one cares about me,” the old woman said, her voice suddenly sombre. “And I don’t blame them. Only J’meesha makes sure that I’m still invited. Darling girl that she is. She understands what’s at stake and how foolish it is to think that you can ever tame a Jedi, even a Jedi child. A deadly lesson that Mirrikh has yet to learn.”

Kithera curved ham round the cheese, sandwiched it between the thick seeded biscuits, and raised it to her mouth. Just as she was about to bite into it, the old lady reached out and took Kithera carefully by the chin.

“Although you aren’t a child, are you? You may look young, all Jedi do with that silly haircut that they force on their apprentices, but I imagine you’re almost old enough to stand on your own in the galaxy.” She snorted in obvious bemusement and shook her head. When she spoke again it was as if she was only talking to herself. “Their foolishness is going to bring the whole Republic down on us. They think they can control a Jedi with collars and cuffs, but, then again, Mirrikh and Zanu'ba have always thought they can do anything. How interesting it will be when they discover that the Jedi are rather possessive of their apprentices, just as the Ish-te are of their queen.”

Kithera swallowed hard and opened her mouth to ask what the woman meant, but there was the sound of a throat being cleared. She looked up to see Ngaiba watching them, the young man’s quiet, passive face regarding them with a serious look.

“Ngaiba, I’m pleased you are looking well,” the old woman said with a smile. “Come and tell me how they are treating you.” She patted the other cushion but he shook his head.

“Thank you Duchess, but no. I have been told that there is a new tunic for the Jedi and to get her changed.”

He stood stiff and awkwardly, completely at odds to how he’d been when he’d been interacting with the Baron or even when he’d brought her here.

“You cannot spare five minutes?” The old woman asked, Ngaiba gave her a genuine smile.

“I wish I could Mistress, but I fear the repercussions. It will be the same for the Jedi if she is not dressed and by the King’s side while he gives the Barons their tour.”

“Ahh, well then. Can’t leave his majesty waiting,” the old lady said, an unmistakable verbal sneer echoing around the title she’d used. She patted Kithera’s knee again. “You should go with Ngaiba, make sure you live up to Mirrikh’s idea of what a Jedi should be.”

Kithera bowed with as much grace as her tired muscles could muster and as she straightened the old lady’s eyes flashed with some emotion Kithera couldn’t place. “Just remember to be what a Jedi actually is, young padawan, not what Mirrikh or anyone else believes you to be. Don’t let the collar and cuffs define you.”

Kithera bowed again and walked away with Ngaiba. That was another person who wanted a piece of her without explaining what that piece was. Mentally she ticked them off - the Queen, the Duchess, Baron Aad’hish, Subira, the Queen’s sister; ‘Soma, the fortune teller, and - she frowned - the old lady.

She realised that she didn’t even get her name and cursed herself again. Getting someone’s name was something she’d had drilled into her with all of her Master’s political training and she’d dropped it at the first hurdle. The old lady had said she wasn’t a child, but Kithera still felt like one. She’d been Namia’s apprentice for almost ten years, and had seemingly forgotten everything just when it mattered most.

At the thought of her Master, the vision sprang to mind again - of Namia dressed as a ‘Sami' and arguing with Amma, of Niambi’s fear and her baby, Nini’s, desperation.

Kithera’s stomach twisted anxiously but she pushed the mental imagery of her master, the blood, and the suffocating water away. This was not the time to think of what could be. The old woman had told her to remember to be a Jedi, and part of that was being present in the here and now. Therefore, she would deal with them later when she had time - although given her current status and the events of today, she didn’t know when that would be.

Kithera realised that she’d been blindly following Ngaiba out through the crowds and into the quieter and more peaceful slave passages. People occasionally hurried past them, their eyes downcast as they carried baskets of laundry, food and other things. None of them spoke, just flicked furtive glances at her. She didn’t need the Force to feel the fear, anger and resentment that permeated these corridors.

“Um,” she started but Ngaiba just shook his head and continued to walk down the corridor so quickly that she had to trot to keep up with him. He slowed down and opened a door, ushering her in.

She stepped in, half-expecting it to be another corridor. Instead it was a small, disused room piled with furniture covered in dust cloths and boxes neatly labelled pushed up against the wall. Kithera turned on her heels just as Ngaiba latched the door behind her.

She rolled her shoulders back and straightened, watching him warily as she pushed the small spike of fear away. Even without the Force, last night had proven that she could take on a soldier and Ngaiba was not even close to that. Although if it came to having to defend herself, her hand was not going to be much help.

He returned her gaze, his eyebrows arching and then he stalked towards her. Kithera bounced on her toes slightly, her good hand curving into a fist.

“What did she say to you?” Ngaiba whispered harshly as he came closer. She noticed he didn’t come within striking range.

“Who?” she asked.

“Don’t play dumb, Jedi. What did she say to you?”

“Who?” Her voice rose.

Ngaiba paused even as his eyes narrowed.

“The Duchess. The one you were talking to. What did she say to you?”

Kithera frowned. “You mean the old lady on the couch? I didn’t get her name. I don’t even know who she is.”

“The Duchess N’sira of Ekaete,” Ngaiba said sternly as if that title would explain everything. “What did she say to you?”

Kithera sighed, it was another useless name and title in a sea of useless names and titles. She was suddenly so tired of the intrigue and the silly plots and everything that was going on in this ridiculous court. She was tired of everyone trying to move her around as if she was a game piece in a game she had never played, but in which everyone expected her to be an expert.

Do not let the collar and cuffs define you. The old woman’s words rang in her ears.

That’s what she had been doing though, letting them defeat her without even trying. She wrinkled her nose - well, no more. Now there was a spark of fire in her belly, one that hadn’t burnt for days, not since she’d discovered just what Del had been and what he was doing. She knew the spark well, it was the same spark that got her into trouble in the Temple. The one that her Master both adored and despaired at. She shook her wrists at Ngaiba who was still glaring at her.

“We are both slaves. You are not above me.”

She hoisted herself up onto one of the dust-covered tables, and watched him intently. He blinked at her for a moment before his eyes flashed, dark and dangerous with anger.

“I need to know what she said, Jedi,” he spat angrily, “and you need to tell me.”

“I don’t need to do anything for you,” Kithera said, raising an eyebrow and glaring at him.

“You don’t understand what you are messing with,” Ngaiba spat.

No," Kithera said. She met his gaze and held it, sliding off the table to take a step towards him. “Which is why you are going to tell me." She took another step closer and waited until Ngaiba looked away. "Think of it as a trade. I tell you what the Duchess said, and you tell me what in all sith-hells is going on in this damn court.”

There was a pause and then Ngaiba seemed to sag. He nodded his head, reached into the satchel he’d been carrying and pulled out a neatly folded tunic top.

“Fine, but you’ll have to get dressed here. The King is expecting you and being late isn’t worth the consequences.” He tossed it to her and she caught it, wincing as her injured fingers folded around the fabric.

Kithera nodded and started to undo the simple belt that clinched her current tunic. She smiled as Ngaiba’s face coloured slightly and he turned away, clearly uncomfortable.

“The King’s rise to power hasn’t been without issue,” Ngaiba said softly. Kithera tilted her head to one side and raised an eyebrow.

“Even as a new-commer to the court I can tell that,” she said, folding the belt and laying it down on the dust-covered table.

“I mean, he has some supporters amongst the Barons, but not all of them support him. Not with his mother so close and not with her insistence that he marry Princess J’meesha.” Ngaiba said, straightening a dust-cloth on the piece of furniture. Kithera shrugged the blood-stained tunic over her head, feeling the whisper of soft fabric as it came free. It was funny, she mused, that yesterday she’d been so embarrassed in front of Subira, but in front of Ngaiba that sense of discomfort had been replaced by practicality and calm.

“I can imagine that marrying your cousin is looked down on in most cultures,” she mused aloud, taking a few seconds to fold the tunic. Ngaiba shot her a look and then hurriedly looked away, the tips of his ears turning a deep berry red as he did so. Kithera stifled a laugh at his embarrassment and carefully unfolded the new tunic, making sure that it was the right way around before pulling it over her head.

“It’s not just that,” Ngaiba said, being careful this time not to glance her way. “The King’s mother, the Duchess Zanu’ba, has long been an enemy of the Ish-te.” His voice changed, a hard edge clipping his words. “This does not sit well with most of the old Barons and their families.”

“Like Duchess N’sira,” Kithera mused as she pulled her tunic top straight. “She seemed very dismissive of the King, and very friendly with you.”

There was a pause and Kithera looked up to see Ngaiba eying her curiously.

“You see a lot for a Jedi,” he said, quietly. Kithera almost snorted with laughter. Her Master, she mused, would have keeled over onto the floor in hysterics, particularly if she’d watched her padawan’s performance over the last two days. Kithera didn’t correct him.

“I take it,” she suggested after a moment of silence, “that some of the Barons are willing to do more than sit on their hands. The Ish-te, I imagine, also aren’t willing to continue being enslaved.”

His face closed like a trap and his shoulders straightened, mirroring the posture she’d had when he’d closed the door behind them.

“What do you know?” he asked.

Kithera shook her head. “Nothing. I don’t know anything. I’m guessing based on what I would do if I found myself in a situation like yours.”

She watched him almost relax.

“And where do your loyalties lie?” Ngaiba asked quietly.

“To the Temple, the Order, and my Master,” Kithera said, and watched as his eyes narrowed. She carefully did up the belt again, leaving her hands free in case she had to defend herself. “But I’ve seen,” she added, “how the King behaves, and watched the Queen too. I’ve been in enough courts and parliaments in my apprenticeship to tell the difference between a good and a bad ruler.”

There was a pause and Kithera looked up to see Ngaiba eying her as though weighing what he should say.

“And what is your opinion?”

Kithera smiled and raised both hands in the air to shake her wrists and let the slave cuffs glint in the overhead lights. “That I’m just a slave. That people want me to be this mythical version of a Jedi, all fire and fury when I can’t possibly be. That everyone wants their own little piece of me without fully, truly, ever explaining what that piece is, or why they want it.”

She paused again. “If we are going to talk about loyalties, where do yours lie, Ngaiba?”

His eyes narrowed. “If I tell you, how do I know you will not betray me?”

“Because I am a Jedi.”

“You just told me that you are nothing more than a slave.”

Kithera laughed and then covered her mouth with her hand. “I might be a slave at the moment, but I still live by the code of a Jedi. Eventually the Council will work out that my Master and I are missing, and then they will come looking.”

Will they? Where would they look first? Did Namia even tell anyone where we were? How long will it take them? How long can I last? Her mind whispered but she pushed the thoughts away. She took a step towards Ngaiba, trying to relax her shoulders and release their tension.

“Tell me, and I promise I will not tell another. I promise as a Jedi, and we do not break our word.”

Ngaiba nodded. “My loyalty lies to my people. To ensuring that the Ish-te can go back to the lives they led before Mirrikh took the throne. Back to what we were.”

“And the Duchess N’sira? What is her part in this?”

Ngaiba shrugged. “Her daughter married an Ish-te. According to the King’s mother, that makes her a traitor, and so the Duchess’ daughter and her children have been disinherited. Even though that marriage occurred long before this,” Ngaiba waved his hand as if to indicate the entire palace, “it doesn’t matter. Luckily the Duchess N’sira has allies and moved her family off world.”

“Why does she stay? Why not leave too?” Kithera asked. Ngaiba was examining her critically. He reached into another bag on his belt and pulled out a cloth which he dampened with water from a bottle.

“For the blood on your face,” he said quietly. Kithera took it, running it gently over her mouth and chin. When she’d finished, she found Ngaiba still regarding her, although the defiant look in his eyes had faded.

“If she goes then the King’s mother will ensure that there is no Barony to come back to,” Ngaiba said quietly. “She will subsume the Barony into the King’s land. The Duchess N’sira is the sister of J’meesha’s late mother, the former Queen. For many Sami’Ish-te that blood tie is too important to lose.”

Kithera frowned. That would make her J’meesha’s aunt by blood, and explain the power she still held, although not why the King’s mother, Duchess Zan’uba, hated the Ish-te or the power she seemed to wield over the court.

“Where does the Queen fit into this?”

Ngaiba shrugged. “I don’t know. I would have said she was with us, and yet she seems to do nothing. She could kill the King in his sleep and this would all be over, and yet she sits on her throne and makes eyes at Aad’hish.”

“Not all slaves wear chains,” Kithera said and then frowned, wondering why Subira’s words had come out of her mouth. Ngaiba was frowning at her again.

“The Queen is no slave,” he said sullenly.

“How many of the Barons would be with her, if she was the one to kill the King?” Kithera asked into the silence that followed.

Ngaiba glanced away, still frowning. “Some. I don’t know.”

“I imagine killing the King would not be a good look politically,” Kithera said, wiping her hands thoroughly with the cloth. She felt better down here, away from people, now that she had information and time to think. “Which is why to you it looks like she does nothing. I’ve watched her though, she shifts people like pieces without them even realising.”

Ngaiba gave a small grunt, as if considering and then discarding her words. There was the distant chime of bells and Ngaiba’s mouth thinned. “We should go, otherwise the King will wonder where you are.”

“And you will be blamed,” Kithera said, handing the cloth back to him.

“I will be blamed,” Ngaiba said, his face going tight. “Which is why we must hurry.”

He strode towards the door and unlocked it before turning back to her.

“What did the Duchess say?” he asked. “What messages did she give?”

Kithera shrugged. “She said nothing. Just reminded me to be a Jedi.”

Ngaiba’s seemingly permanent frown deepened as he reached for the latch.

“Why is she so important to you?” Kithera asked. “And so familiar?”

Ngaiba didn’t turn back to face her as his hand rested on the handle.

“The man,” he said softly, “the one the Duchess N’sira’s daughter married, is my Uncle.”

***

Spoiler: Author's Note

and yes, before you ask, I've got an entire family tree for the Ovira Royal family...

 

Great more people to help Kithera. The old woman and now Ngaiba. When will she use her Jedi-skills to get free?

 

Catching up on the last two chapters, and there's been a lot going on here...

Chapter 24

Well, 'Soma is definitely not what she seems, and there are many details that go in many different directions. For instance, the fact that, when she takes Kit's hand, she makes sure to take the good one, indicating that she doesn't want to hurt Kit – but in the same breath she tells her "you're a slave, so you can’t tell me what to do", and then in the next sentence she says that she believes mind tricks are something that exists only in holovids... Until that point, I was still buying in the oblivious teenager personality, but I began to suspect that something was up when she asked Kit to teach her how to fight "for real" – and then, they got inside the tent, and the mask dropped completely, and we got to see that, under her frivolous façace, 'Soma is a survivor who won't let herself be pushed around if she can help it.

And the vision! There's a lot to unpack there, and I know that I'll be returning to it as the story unfolds; but what we saw doesn't bode well for J’meesha (or for Mirrikh, but who cares about him, right?) And because we know that at least some of this vision will come to pass, it makes me wonder who will come out on top politically when it's all over... and right now, my money is on 'Soma.

Chapter 25

Now this one – Duchess N’sira of Ekaete – is an old lady after my own heart. What a character, what a personality, and what a story! Speaking her mind about the royal court, and about the Jedi, and about Kit herself – and Kit would do well to pay attention to what she said, because of all those she's interacted with, N'sira was the most plain-spoken.

And Kit finally realises that she can get answers from Ngaiba (about damn time too!) and she uses the situation to her advantage to finally gain some understanding of what is happening. I too was amused about the fact that Ngaiba thinks her observant, because she isn't; but even if Namia wouldn't be proud of her padawan's performance, it seems that some aspects of her training have paid off – for instance, the fact that Kit noticed that the queen is doing a lot in the shadows, whereas Ngaiba, who has been around the court for far longer, hadn't noticed anything at all.

What I found most interesting in this chapter was the mentions of the previous order of things, in particular the fact that the queen's cousin is married to an Ish-te, which indicates that this whole situation with the enslavement of the Ish-te is very recent and that things could potentially revert to normal rather quickly. I'm curious if we'll find out more details of the machinations that brought Mirrikh to the throne; it's clear to me by now that he's really a puppet of his mother and the barons who support her, and being the spoiled brat that he is, it's rather obvious that he didn't do the political manoeuvring here. I'm also curious to see if Kit will eventually have an open conversation with the queen, because that seems very much necessary if they don't want things to go top-heavy – but given what Kit saw in her vision, I'm afraid that things will go top-heavy anyway.

 

A while, she's a bit slow on the uptake in this story - we're about 1/3 of the way through at the moment...still a ways to go Thanks for sticking with it so far - it means a lot.

That's 'Soma - I'm glad you saw that the mask slipped so easily. She's a character I've written and rewritten to try and make sure that she's right because she's actually quite hard to show what she shows on the surface as opposed to what she actually is (given that nearly all my other OCs are 'you are exactly what you look like")

Definitely 'Soma. My money is on her too - in any fight.

I think I might have mentioned it early, but one of the people who beta read it on reddit calls her padawan oblivious, and I can't disagree with that assessment. She just merrily goes through life without really having to put much effort into thinking her way out of problems (when a lightsaber will get you out of the same problem even faster).

I also want to say that I only responded to three of your comments, because otherwise I would have been here for hours and probably spoiled the plot more than I mean to (although we already know how it ends (see! See what I did there? )). I appreciate them though because they often give me a lot of think about as I edit current chapters and get back to writing the final chapters.

 

Chapter 26


The rest of the walk to the place where they were meeting the King was blissfully short and again, Kithera noted, completely silent. This time she watched the Ish-te slaves more closely, noticing and returning the curious and critical stares, the ones that Ngaiba acknowledged and the ones he didn’t.

They rounded the corner and Ngaiba pushed open the door and stepped to one side. Kithera could see groups of well dressed Sami' men standing in small groups around the room. Ngaiba motioned that she should enter and then stood back.

“Are you not coming with me?” she asked quietly. The young man shook his head, and gave her a small, wan smile.

“Slaves aren’t allowed in the lord’s halls once the Barons have arrived. The fact the King has asked for your presence will cause some ripples. While you are there, I will be attending my regular duties. I will return for you when summoned.”

Kithera frowned. She began to ask him what she was supposed to do but stopped. If, as he said, the slaves were not allowed in there, then he wouldn’t know. Besides, she could work it out. If the King wanted her as a trophy to show his apparent power, then all she really had to do was to stand there with her ears open and her mouth shut.

She bowed slightly to Ngaiba who looked rather perplexed for a moment. “Thank you,” she said quietly. The last half an hour, his disclosure and the walk had helped clear her head and recentre herself.

Ngaiba frowned. “What for?”

“For reminding me that I am in fact a Jedi.”

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and entered the room.

*

Kithera didn’t quite know what to expect when she entered, in the holovids the entrance of a Jedi was always greeted by hushed silence, or clamorous applause, but instead it hardly made a ripple. She looked around the room for a place to stand or any instructions but, as Ngaiba had said, there were no other slaves. Instead, the Barons stood around in small groups of two or three, chatting casually as they filled their own plates with some of the vast quantities of food that had been laid out on the long wooden tables that filled the edges of the room.

Kithera cast around for someone she knew and spotted Baron Aad’hish talking with General Barr and another smaller man. She took half a step forward and stopped herself. Her Master had always advised her to look properly at the scene in front of you before entering, something that she’d almost forgotten in her rush to find a familiar face.

Kithera took a deep breath and focused again, looking around the room and taking careful note of who was talking with whom, whose laugh was genuine and whose smile never reached their eyes. She didn’t know half their names, the numbers had swollen considerably in size since the dinner last night; although she did spot the drunken Baron Ma’arku from the night before talking loudly to two other Barons, while, Kithera noticed with a frown, keeping a close eye on Aad’hish. It also struck her that nearly everyone in the room was male.


She let out a long breath between pursed lips and cast another glance around the room; the older Baron from the dinner was also there, standing with another equally elderly Baron. He nodded at Kithera when he saw her glance his way and then beckoned her to come closer.

Fixing a smile on her face, Kithera headed towards where the Baron was standing. She bowed slightly.

“And so this is the Jedi you’ve been speaking to me about, R’Shyyd,” the second Baron said, taking a swig of his wine. “You didn’t tell me she was so good looking.”

Kithera forced herself to keep the pleasant smile on her face.

“I wasn’t concerned about her looks, F’seyl,” R’shyyd returned, “I’m rather more concerned with what will happen when the Jedi Order realises she is here and the conditions in which she has been kept.”

F’seyl frowned. “Surely the Order won’t notice a single padawan missing for a while out of their vast number. In time I’m sure the King will become bored and someone will be able to convince him that shipping her back to the Inner Core is the best idea.” He turned to her. “Don’t you think so, miss? How likely is your Order to notice someone missing?”

Kithera’s brow creased. It was a question she’d asked herself less than an hour ago. She’d like to think that they’d notice her Master and her missing fairly quickly, but she knew far better than that. Back when Knight Tarindae had been a padawan and best friend to Namia, Tarindae and Master Dor had gone missing for almost a year, and no-one had noticed until Master Tarindae had managed to escape.

Before she could answer, R’shyyd rounded on the other Baron, tossing back the rest of his wine as he did so. “It’s not that, it’s that the King is treating this as a game when it’s anything but. The padawan must be returned home before it’s too late.”

F’seyl put a hand on R’shyyd’s arm as if to steady him. He leaned in closer. “Be careful, R’shyyd. The King might see this as nothing but a game of toy soldiers, but the Duchess very much sees this as a real war. That means looking for spies. Be careful of whom you speak and how. No-one wants to end their lives like the Duke of Ekaete.”

Kithera frowned. She’d just met the Duchess of Ekaete, but Ngaiba hadn’t mentioned a Duke.

R’shyyd took a deep breath and then gave a short nod. “You are right, old friend. I often forget the walls of this place now have ears.”

There was a creak of the door and an instant hush. The door opened and the Queen bustled in, a small group of women behind her. The Queen looked around the room, her eyes quickly flickering to take in all the people within. She looked flustered, her cheeks coloured and a lock of hair had escaped her elaborate hairstyle and clung to her forehead. For a second her anger and frustration was evident and then, as quickly as it had appeared, it was gone, replaced by a pleasant, convivial smile.

She turned and said something quietly to the women behind her and then bustled into the room. Kithera took in the group that she had arrived with. They were a wide range of ages although all richly dressed. Several of them carried the same ceremonial sword the men did.

“I see the Baronesses have arrived,” F’seyl said, extending his cup towards Kithera. It took her a few seconds for her to realise that he meant for her to fill it. She reached out and gingerly picked up a wine jug, surprised at how heavy it was.

“Don’t do that,” R’shyyd admonished his friend before turning back to Kithera. “She’s not a plaything, she’s a person. Start treating her like a slave and you’re no better than,” he stopped as if catching the thought before he said it, “other people who shall not be named,” he finished lamely.

F’seyl raised an eyebrow at the elderly Baron and motioned to take the jug from Kithera but she shook her head.

“I’m more than happy to help,” she said quietly, tipping the wine into his cup. Maybe if she did as asked, kept quiet and meek then they would be more likely to talk freely around her.

“See, I told you,” F’seyl said, smiling before turning his attention back to the most recent entries. “I’m surprised they are here, though.”

“Each Barony deserves its own voice in the Council,” R’shyyd said sternly. “It was not that long ago when everyone was welcome at the Council. We’ve excluded the ‘Ishti and reduced them to slavery, now you seem happy that we are excluding the Baronesses.” He waited until Kithera had put the jug down before picking it back up and pouring himself a generous glass which he gulped down, wiping his mouth on his sleeve as he finished it. “Just because the King believes that only men have the right to rule, does not absentee the right of the Baronesses to have their place at the table.”

“I think you should have less wine, my friend,” F’seyl said, taking the now empty glass from R’shyyd and handing it to Kithera. It took her a few seconds to grasp what F’seyl had meant for her to do, but a quick look at the R’shyyd’s flushed cheeks and angry countenance prompted her to slide it down and on to the table, far out of his reach.

F’seyl quickly steered the conversation onto more general topics, the weather in the upper reaches of the Baron’s land, the lack of grain in this year’s harvest, and his granddaughter’s progress at school. Kithera stood silently, only listening with half of her attention as she tracked the Queen and the newly arrived Baronesses around the room.

It became obvious pretty quickly that this was a court divided. The Baronesses clung close to each other, trickling out to join groups that surrounded Aad’hish. On the other side of the room Ma’arku and some of the other Barons stood, talking quietly. The Queen stood to one side, closer to Aad’hish’s group than Ma’arku’s, but far enough away that it did not create undue attention. The Queen quietly filled a plate with food, nodding and talking to people who came to speak with her. She didn’t laugh, although Kithera saw her smile a couple of times and pat people on the shoulder.

A younger woman joined their group and Kithera took a step back to let her join. She smiled at Kithera and then at the Barons. She would be, Kithera surmised, roughly the same age as Aad’hish and the Queen, with the same dark brown hair as the rest of the Sami’ and the same freckled complexion and kohl darkened eyes. She carried herself like a warrior, with an easy grace and, despite herself, Kithera found that she liked the young woman.

“This must be Mirrikh’s fabled Jedi,” she said with a bemused grin as she stared at Kithera. “I wonder how the Republic will take the capture and enslavement of one of their peacekeepers.”

There was silence for a few seconds and then Kithera realised the Baroness was waiting for her to speak.

“I’m sure they will notice,” Kithera said quietly, lifting her chin so that she met the Baroness’ eyes, “and I’m sure my Master is looking for me, too.”

“Ahh, yes. Another thing our high and mighty King has not thought of,” R’shyyd muttered under his breath. He reached for his cup but F’seyl moved it further down the table, much to the muttered disgust of the older man. The woman laughed loudly at the interplay before turning to Kithera.

“Baroness L’ulia,” she said by way of introduction and with a nod of her head. “I would say that slaves are not normally invited here, but I imagine you didn’t get much choice in the matter. Although neither do we, considering we’re stuck here until the King arrives.”

Kithera gave a small bow in return. Several retorts about slaves not having a choice flitted through her head and she clamped her jaw shut hard to prevent any from escaping.

“We thought you might have an idea of where he could be,” Baron F’syel said, raising an eyebrow. “We thought perhaps the Baronesses were late because the Queen was trying to hurry the King along so that he was on time for once.”

R’shyyd snorted. “We thought nothing of the sort,” he muttered under his breath.

“The Baronesses were late because we weren’t invited,” Baroness L’ulia said with a clenched, tight smile. “Well, most of us weren’t. It seems that some,” she glanced at where a couple of Baronesses were talking with Ma’arku, “actually got the invitation.”

R’shyyd frowned. “And wouldn’t it be interesting to see just where your invitations got lost, or even if they were there to begin with.”

“Don’t go too far,” F’syel counselled, putting his hand on the other Baron’s arm. “There isn’t a conspiracy here.”

“Like hell there isn’t,” R’shyyd said. He looked as if was going to say more but L’ulia cut him off.

“Luckily, the Queen was made aware of this meeting being scheduled at the same time as the Lady’s Morning and made sure that we were on time. I’m just glad the King’s normal time keeping ability has meant we arrived before it started and not as it finished.”

“Lucky,” was all F’syel managed. This time it was his turn to take a long swig of his drink.

Kithera glanced away from where the Baroness was still staring at F’syel, the unflinching smile still on her face. A young Baron was edging past the Queen, giving a short perfunctory bow before he ducked through the door.

“Where do you think Zan’re is going?” R’shyyd asked, watching the young man.

“Probably the bathroom, man can’t hold his bladder,” L’ulia said, frowning.

“No,” Kithera murmured and then realised she’d said it aloud. All three Barons turned towards her and she blushed under their sudden scrutiny. “He’s not going to the ‘fresher.”

“Ahh, one of the benefits of the Force,” L’ulia said, raising an eyebrow. “You always get the low down on people’s actual objectives.”

Kithera shook her head. “I don’t have use of the Force,” she said, raising her chin to show the collar around her neck. “It’s just how he was moving that spoke of something other than needing to relieve himself.”

“Pity about the Force,” R’shyyd muttered. “We could use a heads up about what is going to happen.”

Kithera gave a wan smile. The images of the visions flashed again and she bit the inside of her lip as she glanced at the ground, trying to force them away.

She looked up and saw the Queen staring at her from across the room. The Queen raised an eyebrow and Kithera nodded in unspoken acknowledgement before turning back to the Barons and giving a warm smile.

“If you would excuse me,” she said quietly, “I do believe the Queen needs me.”

The three Barons smiled at her. She turned to leave but L’uila caught her hand.

“Chin up, padawan,” she said with a sad smile. “Don’t lose heart. I get the feeling this isn’t how it ends.”

The words were an echo of what she’d said to her Master only days ago. Kithera stared at her and then realised her mouth was open. She closed it with a snap, gave a small bow and headed towards where the Queen was standing.

J’meesha was talking in low, hushed tones to one of the younger Baronesses who looked on the verge of tears.

“I’ll make sure it comes up,” she said quietly.

The young woman shook her head. “The fields are almost empty. Without the Ish-te farmers we won’t have enough to see the entire Barony through the winter.”

“I’m sure the King will provide,” the Queen said, her face a careful blank slate.

“I already appealed to the King,” the Baroness whispered, her cheeks were suddenly pink rosettes in her strained face.

“When?” The Queen’s voice was flat, but Kithera could see how her eyes narrowed.

“Last month, my brother came to appeal. He was told that the King would not see him.”

“Who by?”

The young woman looked up from beneath long, painted lashes. “The Duchess told him so, Your Highness.”

“What did she say?” Queen J’meesha leaned forwards, her tone sharp and her posture rigid.

The young woman flinched and then drew herself up, meeting the Queen’s dark gaze.

“That we wouldn’t have this problem if the Barony was run by him instead of me. That the King would not provide if we were at a loss because of my foolish decisions.” She bit her lip, obviously uncomfortable. “That we should have enslaved our Ish-te like he had done and that then we would have plenty of labour. I can’t do that though. We are trying our best to keep our Barony… I was only following the King’s orders about who could and could not work… I… We tried to protect them…”

“Hush,” the Queen reached out and laid a comforting hand on the young woman’s shoulder. “We will see if we can sort something out. There is money laid away in my personal coffers that should see you get by through the winter. Perhaps spring will bring a new state of affairs.” The Queen glanced around the room and then smiled down at the young woman. “Go, Ma’brille, and talk to L’ulia, she always gives wise counsel.”

The young woman nodded and bowed slightly before edging around the room towards where L’ulia stood, still deep in conversation with the two elderly Barons.

The Queen didn’t acknowledge Kithera’s presence, instead picking up a small cake and adding it to her plate. She took another step further into the room, adding small delicacies from the table to her plate with each step.

“I assume you are here because the King requested you,” she said after a moment.

Kithera nodded. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“And you’ve quite recovered from whatever it was that ‘Soma subjected you to?”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

The Queen rounded on her and Kithera suddenly realised she’d been backed into a corner where no-one could see the Queen’s face.

“And?” The Queen hissed, her eyes narrowing in curiosity. “What did you see?”

“I don’t understand,” Kithera mumbled, not really sure how to answer or how to deal with the sudden change in personality.

“Don’t play coy, padawan,” J’meesha said sharply. “I know what Madam is and what she purports to do. I’ve always thought she was a charlatan, but I know that whatever happened today is not. So I want to know what you saw. The future of my kingdom may depend on it.”

Kithera took a deep breath, the images from whatever that had been rapidly flickered through her brain. How did you tell someone that you’d seen them awash with blood, their sister holding a knife and the King begging for mercy? She shuddered.

“I have never received visions before,” Kithera said softly. She took a step to one side so that she was no longer trapped and took another step further down the table. “I haven’t had time to make sense of what I saw and any sort of vision should be regarded with scepticism. It’s a maybe, not an absolute.”

“So you saw something dangerous,” J’meesha surmised. Kithera bit her bottom lip and then nodded.

“Yes, and I promise I will tell you about them, but I need some time to meditate and work out what I saw.”

The Queen looked pensive for a minute and then nodded. “Perhaps if we both leave now-” she started but Kithera shook her head, surprising herself with how strongly she wanted to avoid talking to the Queen about the visions and what they meant.

The last thing that needed to happen was a conversation in a hall full of people. She certainly didn't want to explain that she'd seen the Queen covered in blood or anything to do with the shimmering blue lightsaber.

“Please,” Kithera insisted “There are things that need doing right now that are more important. I believe that your Barons need you to be here now. It can wait, I assure you.”

J'meesha stared at her for a second and then nodded, but her face was still pensive.

"Before nightfall," was all she said as she turned back to the hall. She passed Kithera her plate and then held out her hands, arms wide.

"My Barons," she said loudly, her voice carrying perfectly across the room.”Seeing as the King must be detained somewhere on urgent business, and we do not want to be here all day, I suggest that we start the meeting now."

There was a murmur around the hall and the Queen's lips quirked upwards slightly as she surveyed the room before turning away. "Come, let me show you to your seats,” she said as she made her way towards the ornate, high-backed chair at the end of the table.

"My lord?" The Queen said loudly as Baron Ma’arku bustled towards them. Kithera watched Baroness L’ulia close ranks with R’shyyd and F’syel while the far more worried-looking Ma’brille, her face still stained with tears, hovered in the background.

“I am wondering if it is best to start without the King and the Duchess,” he started and then glared at Kithera as if seeing her for the first time. “I’m also wondering when the rules changed and slaves were allowed in here.”

“The King requested my presence,” Kithera said softly as her heart pounded in her ears. Something about the way Ma’arku was staring at her was rather unsettling. Despite that, she made sure she met his gaze.

“I imagine that the padawan did not want to defy the King,” the Queen said, putting a hand on Kithera’s shoulder. Kithera said nothing, just bowed her head and tried to make herself look small.

“If the padawan is here, then maybe now would be a good time to inquire as to what the Republic’s interest is in Oviri.” The new speaker was one of the Barons that had been talking with Ma’arku. Behind him the door opened just wide enough for Baron Zan’re to slink in and join the crowd.

“If you like,” the Queen said, motioning towards the long table that graced the centre of the room. She gracefully made her way Several Barons were already seated, watching the interactions with dispassion. Kithera took a deliberate step to the side to let the Queen pass; as she did so, the door swung open to reveal the King’s mother.

The Queen’s hands were already on the back of the chair. Her posture stiffened for a second and her smile returned.

“Why Duchess Zanu'ba, we were not expecting you at this meeting,” the Queen said brightly. “If you are looking for the King, we do not know where he is.”

“I am disappointed,” the Duchess said, sweeping into the room, “that you would start the meeting without him. However, now that I am here…” She let the words dangle in the air as she took two steps towards the seat at the end of the long table.

Baroness L’ulia was faster, placing herself between the Duchess and the seat. Near her, Baron R’shyyd put one foot on the bench and leaned slightly forward to block the other path. A few more steps and the Duchess would have run right into either one of them. Zanu’ba looked flustered as she caught sight of the tableau in front of her. Her cheeks coloured and she tried desperately not to look up at L’ulia, who towered over her. Kithera looked on, torn between amusement and concern. She’d seen the Duchess in action, and L’ulia seemed to be playing with fire.

“You may have the honour, Your Majesty,” L’ulia said, pulling out the seat.

“Thank you,” the Queen said with a smile, taking her seat. L’ulia pushed in the chair as the Queen settled into position. It seemed to be a sign for the rest of the Barons to fall into place. The Duchess walked quickly towards the empty chair at the other end of the table.

“Duchess Zanu'ba,” Queen J’meesha said, voice sweetly chiding, but the threat was clear. “I believe that is for the King, when he eventually arrives. There is, I see, a spot next to the Baron Tarn’ah; perhaps you would do him the honour of sitting there. I’m sure the King, when he gets here, will be delighted by your presence.”

Kithera watched the Duchess’ face become a darker and more mottled red.

“The King has been very busy lately,” the Duchess retorted. “And besides, I think I deserve to sit here beside him.” She indicated the chair that sat to the right hand of the empty end chair. It was occupied by Baron Aad’hish, who went to stand.

“It would be my honour to give you my seat,” Aad’hish said with a smile that wasn’t entirely genuine. “I’m sure that Tarn’ah will not mind sitting next to me for once, I'm sure I do not smell that badly. I’m also sure Duchess N’sira will not mind me taking her place, seeing as she apparently has not received her invitation.” He looked around at the assembled nobles. “Luckily we had enough chairs.”

The Duchess’ eyes narrowed at the perceived slight but her mouth tightened and her chin raised imperceptibly. “Very well, then,” she said, her tone clipped. There was a rustle of clothes as she walked briskly towards Aad’hish who stood and made an elaborate show of pulling the chair out for her.

The Duchess took a deep breath and sat. Aad’hish stepped away from her and stood tall with his hands clasped behind his back. On the other side of the table, L’ulia sat too, and Kithera could see how her hand trembled as she reached for her glass.

Kithera watched the Duchess for several moments before turning back to the Queen, who had been watching the interaction quietly. The Queen smiled and inclined her head slightly towards Kithera. Kithera nodded and returned the favour.

“Well,” Baron R’shyyd said, as Aad’hish took his seat, “Now that we have the seating sorted out, we should begin.”

“I still think that waiting for the King would be the right thing to do,” Baron Tarn’ah said, glancing around the table. “He is the King after all.”

Several Barons nodded their heads in agreement and Kithera saw the momentary smile of triumph flit across the Duchess’ face.

The Queen smiled. “He is, but I also think it would be a shame to waste such a beautiful day shut away in a musty old room. I’m sure that Mirrikh will be here soon. Perhaps if we get the smaller items out of the way, then he will be able to make quick decisions on the bigger items with the best guidance we can provide.”

There was a moment or two of silence and then a grumbling nod of acceptance by Tarn’ah and the rest of the Barons who obviously felt the same way.

The Queen nodded. “So, let’s begin. First order of business, I think has to be-”

The door opened with a bang and the King entered. His face was flushed and his clothes rumpled. At the sight of him the court stood, giving variously elaborate bows and curtsies.

“You started without me,” Mirrikh complained, swaying slightly as he entered the room. He looked like he’d just fallen out of bed, which, if the parade ground rumours about him and Lady J’ya were correct, may be more than likely. The Queen took a deep breath.

“We were going to get the smaller things out of the way,” the Queen said, soothingly. “The trivial stuff that you don’t need to worry about.”

“Maybe I like the trivial things,” the King huffed. He sat down in the end chair and then glanced around at the still standing Barons. “Sit, sit.” Chairs scraped and clothes rustled as everyone hurriedly sat. Mirrikh glanced down the table to where Kithera was standing. “I’m glad to see that my Jedi is here as I requested,” he said with a smile that quickly turned to a frown. “Although I do not know why she’s standing at your end of the table, J’mee.”

Kithera noticed how the Queen’s hand curled slightly at the use of the pet name. “You gave her to me, remember, my sweet?”

“Yes, but she should be down here with me. I am the King after all. I run the country, so I should have the Jedi.”

The Queen’s fingers curled into a fist. Kithera quickly bowed and made her way down to the King’s end of the table. He was leaning back in his chair and looking around.

“Remind me why we don’t have slaves in here again?” he asked sullenly. “It would be much easier to get a refill if we did.”

“Because here everyone is meant to be equal,” the Queen said quietly. “Able to voice their opinions without fear of reproach. Also, this way we can talk without it becoming gossip.”

The King only harrumphed and handed his glass to Kithera. “Fetch me something won’t you?” he asked. Kithera bowed her head slightly and went to fill the glass. When she returned, the Barons were in a heated discussion. The King ignored them, taking the glass from Kithera and slurping it loudly.

One of the Barons who sat next to Ma’arku, was leaning forward on his chair and staring at the Queen. “You said we’d talk to the Jedi,” he said with a scowl. There were murmurings from around the table, but the Queen waved them to silence.

“I did say that,” the Queen said, her voice carrying the length of the table with enough weight and authority that the dissenting Baron sat back. “Thank you for reminding me. Perhaps if we start there, then we can swiftly move on to other matters.” The Queen waved a hand through the air. “Seeing as you are so interested in the Jedi, ‘Trence, perhaps you would like to ask the first question?” She glanced up at the end of the table as if remembering the King was there. “If that is alright with you, Your Majesty.”

Mirrikh grunted and raised his cup in the air. Red wine spilled from the lip, leaving magenta drops on the edge of his collar.

The Baron grumbled for a few seconds, obviously unsettled at being the centre of attention. Watching him, Kithera had the overwhelming idea that the Baron was just a Correllian hound given human form. He stared at her through piggy eyes and she forced a smile on her face. Eventually he grunted again and leaned forward, a look of triumph on his face as if he had thought of the best question.

“Why are you here?”

For a second Kithera was thrown. The question was so open that it was almost impossible to answer.

“See, she cannot tell us.” The Baron snorted. “She’s obviously a Republic spy.”

“Give her a second, you cannot ask a question and then immediately persecute her for not answering it,” Aad’hish snapped.

“Got feelings for the girl, I see,” Baron ‘Trence rumbled. “I suppose she’s pretty enough. Slave too, so no problems there either. Once you’ve done with her, let me know and I’ll have a go.”

Kithera’s face flushed with heat as her stomach churned.

“That’s-” Aad’hish started as the ‘Trence’s chuckle filled the room. The Queen cut him off.

“Enough,” she said, the hard edge to her voice. “This hall shall not be filled with insinuations or crass talk.”

‘Trence nodded and slumped in his seat, looking away. He didn’t say anything else; simply crossed his arms over his chest, an irritated look on his face.

“Alright,” the Queen said, turning her attention back to Kithera, her tone lightening. “Now, you will answer the question. Why are you here?”

Kithera took a deep breath and smiled. She had faced this type of interrogation countless times before. Most of the time it was because she’d done something stupid and ended up in front of the Council, and this was seemingly no different. Her Master called them petty bureaucrats with petty ideas, a notion she’d never been able to marry to the overwhelming and sometimes terrifying censure of the Council, but here in this room, in a court divided, she could see her Master’s point. This was a game she had spent her life practising, and she could play it very well.

“I am here because I was sold by a slaver,” she said, her smile broadening at the resultant frowns. “But you already know that. I guess you want to know why I’m on Oviri. I’m here,” she gave a small shrug, “or rather I was here as part of a mission to test a baby for Force sensitivity.”

“A Sami'’ or an Ish-te baby?” the Duchess asked, her eyes narrowed.

“Ish-te.”

At the announcement the table erupted around her. Suddenly voices were raised in disbelief that an Ish-te could be capable, or in righteous anger that of course it could be so. Even the King was now sitting forward in his seat, a hard look on his face.

Being shouted out, she mused, was at least something she was used to.

“You lie,” Duchess Zanu'ba spat.

Kithera took a deep breath and schooled her expression into the calmest face she could muster.

“A Jedi doesn’t lie.”

It was true, from a certain point of view. They were, ostensibly, here to test Nini for Force sensitivity, but it was clear that Namia had other reasons for visiting. The way her Master had talked to Amma and the way the women had been waiting for them, spoke of something far greater than a simple test.

“And where is this baby now?” the Duchess asked.

“I do not know.”

“How could you not know?” The scepticism dripped from the Duchess’ voice.

Kithera raised her wrists and her chin to make sure the collar showed. “I was captured by the Mukdah three days ago. Without the Force I cannot contact my Master. I do not know where they are. For all I know they could be on the way back to Coruscant.”

That was a lie. The visions had shown the opposite; her Master, along with Amma, Niambi, and the baby being hunted through forests would suggest anything other than a safe and cosy space flight back to the Core.

“Will they return for you?” One of the young Baronesses asked.

“They will.” Kithera hoped her smile showed more confidence than she felt. Stories flashed through her head of padawans who’d gone missing and were never found. Master Tarindae’s face, covered with scars and Master Dor in his hoverchair sprang instantly to mind. Her Master had lost her best friend that way when she’d been a padawan. His Master had been killed and he had gone missing. The Temple had searched for a while, but then given up. She felt momentarily sick at the idea of being forgotten.

“We do not want the Republic on our doorstep,” Baron Ma’arku said, leaning forward. “We should get rid of the padawan.”

Kithera frowned, taking a few seconds to grasp the meaning.

“We aren’t killing the padawan,” Aad’hish said, faster on the uptake. “It’s one thing to have the Republic on our doorstep. It’s another thing if they think we’ve killed a Jedi.”

“How would they know?” Ma’arku said, with a grin that Kithera didn’t like. “The planet is big enough and many people meet with unfortunate accidents.”

“They would know,” the Queen said, her voice brimming with anger. “Because I would know. It will only make the situation worse.We are not killing people because of your sadistic tendencies.”

The Queen looked flustered, as if she had meant to keep those last few words to herself. L’ulia and Aad’hish straightened in their chairs. Kithera saw other Baron’s move slightly as if mentally preparing for a fight. Ma’arku’s lip curled in anger.

“I don’t see why you’re all so worried,” the King interrupted, waving his now empty cup in Kithera’s direction. She gingerly took it out of his hands and held it. “We have a very good army, and a secret weapon.”

“Secret weapon?” L’ulia asked, barely managing to conceal the eyeroll.

“Yes.” The King smiled. “We have our own Jedi. She can train our troops so that if the Republic comes, then they will know how to fight them. If we test all the babies as well, then we could set up our own Temple.”

“Using this padawan as its leader?” Aad’hish asked. Kithera glanced around the table and saw several Baron’s covering their mouths with their hands.

“I don’t think this is a goo…” the Queen began.

“I am King,” he said, angrily cutting her off. “I wish for the Jedi to train our troops and it will be so. She will begin immediately.”

He rose from his seat and the other Barons quickly scrambled to their feet.

“Your Majesty, we still have other things to discuss. The rise in dissent from the Ish-te, the failing grain harvest, the-” Aad’hish tried.

Mirrikh turned his glare on the young Baron. “You seem perfectly capable of inserting yourself into court affairs Aad’hish. You and the other Barons should be capable of solving simple problems without my help.”

“And the Ish-te dissent?” This time it was Ma’arku that spoke, a feral gleam in his eyes. “What would you suggest we do with dissenters?”

The King shrugged. “When and where you find them, kill them. If you can capture them, then I’m sure they’ll make great entertainment for my amphitheatre.”

With that he turned and left, leaving the door swinging open behind him. The Duchess followed him out, glaring at the Queen as she did so. There was a moment or two of silence that followed his departure, as the Barons sat down awkwardly.

“Is he serious?” Baroness Ma’brille asked, her eyes wide with alarm.

“Of course he is serious!” L’ulia snapped. “He was serious last time when he declared that they should be enslaved. We all jumped to it then too. Even though we’ve lived in peace with the Ish-te for centuries until we decided to change that by enslaving them. How is this new decree any different?" She sat back in her seat, her wine glass held in trembling fingers and took a deep swig. “Without them our fields are failing and lying fallow. Our towns are empty and our commerce is gone.”

“But they are our enemy,” Tan’ah protested. “They threaten us, and enemies should not be allowed to stand.”

“Funny how there was no Ish-te insurrection until we started enslaving their people,” L’ulia shot back. She stood up, her cheeks were splotched red with anger. She turned towards the Queen. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty but I cannot stay and bear witness to this. I need to get back to my people. The King has told us to solve the grain shortage ourselves, and I cannot do that from here. I will also not be dragged into the ridiculousness of holding a Jedi hostage, nor in the slaughter of the Ish-te people.” She turned and glared at Ma’arku and the men who surrounded him. “And I do not care if my words are reported to the King or his charming mother. Let them do to me what they will. My people come first; all of them.”

She turned and stalked from the room.

“Anyone else want to defy the King?” Ma’arku asked, looking around the room.

“It was not defiance. L’ulia is merely worried about the grain harvest,” the Queen said quietly. “We all are.” She looked around at the assembled nobles. “Perhaps we should refill our glasses and plates and then reconvene in five minutes.”

There were murmurs as people stood and wandered back towards the plates of food. Kithera didn’t move, instead watching Aad’hish speak quickly and quietly to the Queen. He scribbled something on a piece of paper and folded it before walking towards her.

“You should head to where Jahlil and the men are stationed,” Aad’hish said, as he approached.

Kithera turned and gave him a tight smile. “So it’s easier to kill me?”

She watched the flicker of horror wash over Aad’hish’s face.

“No, padawan. I don’t think they could be convinced to harm you, even for all the money in the Kingdom,” Aad’hish said with what she assumed was supposed to be a comforting smile. “And besides, the Queen wouldn’t allow it.”

“I’m not sure she can stand in the King’s way,” Kithera said, thinking of the way the Queen had reacted in the face of Mirrikh’s anger.

“She might not l—I mean, she may not outright defy him, but she’s stronger and far more stubborn than she looks. It is just within that marriage, she has no other choice.” The words seemed to come from somewhere deep inside him but his voice carried none of the emotion that they should have. Kithera felt a pang of sympathy for him. He was just trying to help. Aad’hish gave a sigh and then turned and faced her, carefully schooling his features into a smile. “I’ll ring for someone to take you down to the barracks. I’ve spoken to the Queen and written a missive that will explain everything to Jahlil.”

Kithera nodded and followed him to the door. Aad’hish pressed a button and somewhere distantly a bell rang. He opened the door and let her out into the corridor, pressing the small, neatly folded letter into her hand.

Kithera bowed slightly.

“We will make sure you stay safe, that’s a promise,” Aad’hish said, quietly. “Just be patient.”

Kithera nodded. Aad’hish stepped back and the door closed. Behind him the Queen was sitting at the table, her hands folded neatly on its surface and her eyes closed, looking older and more careworn than she should as the Barons moved in the background like chess-pieces preparing for war.

 

intrigue but Kithera is still safe with Aad'hish. And now training the troops. Those scheming barons and queen and king.
Nice chapter

 

Thank you

For this moment that is...she still remains for the most part Padawan Oblivious!

L'ulia is, thankfully, what you see is exactly what you get. She's what Kithera could have been if brought up under a different Master - far more confident (actual confidence not foolish bravado) and a better understanding of who she is and what she believes in.

I love any comments I get, it doesn't matter how soon or late they come - and real life does, at the end of the day, very much come first!

 

Chapter 27

The smell of food hit her as she opened the door, making Kithera’s mouth water and her stomach churn. She’d followed the young Ish-te woman through the maze of passageways and out into the same training grounds she’d been in that morning.

They’d crossed them rapidly, the heat of the afternoon sun beat down on them, filling the air with muggy humidity. By the time they got to the shade and then the corridors on the far side, Kithera’s clothes were clinging to her and she could feel her face flushing with the heat. The cooler, darker corridors had been a blessing. The young Ish-te had led her further down until she could hear men’s voices in the distance. Finally they reached another doorway. The young ‘Isthi women stood back and pointed to the door.

“In there,” she said; the first words she’d spoken in their walk. Kithera bowed her head slightly and turned to the door, wondering briefly if this was some kind of trap.

The smell of food grew stronger and the voices louder as the door creaked open. Several men looked up as she entered, their conversations subsiding as they watched her enter awkwardly. She was suddenly acutely aware of the number of daggers held in their hands, and swords strapped to hips. Ma’arku’s unspoken threat echoed in her head.

“Jahlil?” she asked, hating how her voice quavered slightly. She was a Jedi, and they were supposed to be braver than this.

One of the young men pointed towards a table in a far back corner and Kithera smiled her thanks. She picked her way carefully between the tables, keeping her chin up and her eyes focused on where she was going even as she heard chairs scrape and felt people turn and watch as she made her way through.

Jahlil was sitting with his back against the wall, a group of men clustered around him as they talked in low voices.

“What about Z’ki? Do you think he’s with us?” One of the men asked quietly. Kithera frowned. That had been one of the names from her vision.

Jahlil shook his head quickly, pushing away from the wall. His eyes scanned the room as he took her in. “I don’t know, I hope so.” He assured the others.

The rest nodded, but Jahlil stayed silent, scanning the room until he met Kithera’s gaze. He opened his mouth to speak again, then closed it, his lips pressing together into a thin line. “Are you alright, padawan?”

“Baron Aad’hish said to come here and give you this,” Kithera said, fishing the note out and passing it to one of the men who handed it to Jahlil. The young man read it quickly and then gave her a wan smile.

“So the King has a plan,” he said with a small snort. He nodded to himself, folded up the note and stuffed it in his shirt. He glanced at a young man who was carrying a plate of food and a mug towards the table. “San’ji, can you get the padawan some food?” he asked.

“But, I just got this? I don’t wanna eat cold food,” the young man protested.

“Then give the padawan yours and go get yourself some more,” Airo advised from where he sat, spinning his mug idly on the table. When the young man opened his mouth to protest, Airo stopped spinning the cup. “The walk will do you good, San’ji.”

The young man’s face screwed up in irritation and he put the food down on the closest table with a thump.

“Thanks, San’ji,” Jahlil said with a smile. The young man frowned and then stalked back towards where the kitchen seemed to be. Jahlil turned his attention to where Kithera was standing awkwardly. “Eat, padawan.”

Kithera gave a half-hearted smile even as her mouth watered and her stomach rumbled. “I imagine there are rules against slaves eating in the soldier’s mess,” she said, “I wouldn’t want any of you to get in trouble.”

Jahlil raised an eyebrow. “If you are supposed to train us, then you need to eat well. We’ll be with you in a minute.”

Kithera sat down at the trestle table and looked at the piled plate in front of her. Thick, seeded bread leant nestled against a bowl of something that looked suspiciously like Master Yoda’s famous gruel, but smelled far nicer. Vegetables floated in the dark, brown liquid along with what looked like lumps of actual meat. Kithera’s mouth watered as she picked up a spoon. She pushed it gently through the stew, watching how the pieces moved as if hypnotised. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to eat it, it was just that she didn’t trust herself that once she started she wouldn’t stop until she was sick.

Kithera glanced once more at the plate of food and took a bite. She closed her eyes, savouring the taste.

There was a thunk next to her and she opened her eyes to see the young man, San’ji, drop his plate on the table, sending small drops of stew far into the air. He sat down next to her.

“Gin-di is a good cook,” San’ji said as he sat down again. “There’s pie for dessert,” he said, pushing another plate towards her. On it sat a thickly crusted slice of pie with fruit filling slowly oozing out of it. She looked up at him, wondering if she could see how much her mouth was watering. The young man grinned at her look and picked up his spoon. “I’d eat before it gets too cold. It’ll congeal and then you won’t wanna touch it.”

He didn’t say anymore, just turned to his food and began eating. Kithera did the same, taking two more slow bites before hunger overcame her and she shovelled the food into her mouth as fast as she could.

“Slow down,” San’ji said, taking her by surprise. “You’ll choke.”

She slowed down her eating. She felt San'ji looking at her and smiled shyly at him. He grinned at her and nodded. He picked his fork back up and continued to eat.

A few minutes later he spoke again.

“Can I ask you some things?"

Kithera's spoon paused halfway to her mouth. "Depends on what."

"About Jedi?" he said.

She frowned. "Why would you want to know about Jedi?"

San’ji shrugged. "I've always wanted to be one. "

Kithera smiled. "Oh," she said. "Well, okay."

She put her spoon back down on the dish.

“What do you want to know?”

"Is the Order good? Or bad?" he said.

Kithera thought about it. It was such an odd question. Not just because it was unexpected, but also because she had no idea how to answer. She'd said before that the Jedi didn't lie, and then in the very next breath she had. The Jedi were peacekeepers, but she had been trained for war. Jedi were supposed to be good, and follow orders, and yet she had only been captured because Namia had forged her own path without informing the Council.

"It's not really either," she said, eventually. "Sometimes it can be good. When they're trying to help people, or when we protect someone, I would say that we are good. We follow the code and rules of the Order and hope it is enough… But sometimes… sometimes it isn't and terrible things happen. Sometimes Jedi fail."

"But what happens if they fail?" he asked.

"It's called the Dark Side,” Kithera replied. She frowned and pushed her now empty plate away. As if feeling her reluctance to continue, San'ji pushed the plate of pie towards her.

"You don't have to talk," he said. "I'm sorry for asking."

Kithera shook her head.

"It's okay. It’s nice to talk about something without having to worry about politics.” She looked across at him and gave a half–hearted grin. “The Dark Side is when you let your emotions control you. You put your own desires ahead of what is best. You stop caring for how your actions will affect others, and only think about what you want."

She carved off a piece of the pie and thought about Namia's determination to rescue Amma and the others. Of the way that she'd been lied to by her Master, despite the fact that in the past nothing had been kept secret. Kithera wondered briefly how far her Master would go to protect the Ish-te and what she was prepared to lose to do so.

There was a long moment of silence as Kithera ate. The fruit was sweet and soft, and the pastry perfect. She looked up at him and smiled again as she swallowed. "Thanks," she said softly. "This is delicious."

“So what can a Jedi do?” San’ji asked as Kithera carved off another piece. She was feeling better now, the lunch had taken away an edge she hadn’t noticed until it was gone.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, the holovids show-”

Kithera’s laugh cut him off. “The holovids are fiction. If I could do half the things the holovid Jedi can do, then I wouldn’t be in this mess.”

“So you can’t tell what I’m thinking?” San’ji seemed a little disappointed.

Kithera grinned. “I can get the vague idea of what you might be feeling, but I can’t read minds.”

“Can you get people to do whatever you want? Like act like a tip-yip? How far does that go?”

“I can make people do stuff, but normally they need to want something like it, even if it is subliminal.”

“Can you show me?”

Kithera raised her free hand and San’ji’s face fell. “Oh yeah, I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Kithera said softly. “You didn’t put me in these cuffs.”

But you could take me out of them.

She brushed away the thought. In the belly of the castle, with no weapons, was not the place she wanted to start her escape.

“Can I ask one more question?” San’ji said, looking at her and then glancing towards where Jahlil and Airo were sitting. Kithera followed his glance towards where the group of soldiers were sitting. They were packing up various pieces of flimsy and pens while continuing to talk in hushed, urgent tones. When she glanced back at San'ji, he looked as if whatever he was about to ask was of the utmost importance.

“Do Jedi really eat children?”

Kithera’s explosion of laughter was loud enough that everyone else froze. The hilarity and ridiculousness of the question, coupled with the look of shock on San'ji’s face, made her laugh harder until her ribs ached and she couldn’t draw breath. She had the sudden mental image of her best friends Kirsh’of and Jazz, hands clutching cutlery, chasing initiates. It was washed away by the terrifying thought that she might never see them again, and homesickness flooded her. The laughter turned sobs and she bit her bottom lip hard to try and stop the tears that ran down her face as her shoulders heaved with the effort of crying. San'ji dropped his spoon, both hands hovering mid-air, obviously unsure what to do. Kithera hiccupped a giggle at his look of consternation.

“You aren’t supposed to break the padawan,” Jahlil said to San'ji, as he sat down on the other side of her. His hand covered Kithera’s injured one as he passed her a napkin to wipe her face with. His fingers were worn and rough, but strangely warm against her skin.“She’s a guest, remember.”

“Slave,” a voice corrected.

“Go away Fa’rys,” Jahlil said without turning around. “Your opinion isn’t welcome here.”

“I’m the same rank as you, Captain,” Fa’rys snapped back, his voice curling around the rank, trying to make it an insult. “Only difference is that I don’t fawn over the King’s latest toy.”

There was a sound of chairs and benches being pushed back and Kithera looked up to see Airo and the rest of the men on their feet. Beside her, San'ji also rose, moving slightly as if to block her from Fa’rys sight. His knuckles cracked as his hands closed into fists.

“Enjoy your plaything until the King tires of her,” Fa’rys said, his voice dripping with contempt. “And he will tire of her.”

“Be careful what you say, Fa’rys,” Airo warned. “The Jedi took you down this morning without breaking a sweat.”

“She took me unawares and I would not make the same mistake again,” Fa’rys said bitterly.

“Go play soldiers with your men,” Airo scoffed. “I’m sure there are some old Ish-te women you can terrorise to make you feel like a man.”

There was a tense silence. Kithera found herself staring very hard at the table top, tracing the swirls within the wood grain until their end.

“My men, at least, do not spend their time lazing in the mess, or answering back to their superiors,” Fa’rys said angrily. “They at least know discipline.”

“Enough!” This time it was Jahlil who rose to his feet. “Airo, close your mouth for once. Fa’rys, let it be known that I do no more than what is needed for my kingdom to prosper.”

Fa’rys huffed loudly as Airo shut his mouth with a snap. There was a click as Fa’rys turned on his heels once again, and then the door of the mess closed behind him with a scrape. San’ji let out a breath and slumped back onto the bench beside her.

“He’s a…” San’ji started and then trailed away. “He’s…”

“There are a lot of names you could call Captain Fa’rys,” Airo said with a laugh. “Arrogant, chauvinistic, foolish, brash-”

“Close confidant of the Duchess,” Jahlil interjected. He looked up at Airo, who had pulled up a chair opposite them. “Watch your mouth, Airo. I won’t lose everything just because Fa’yrs needs to prove his manliness.”

Kithera stared at the worn table top, her good fingers idling tracing the carvings. It was the second time in two days that had happened. At the Temple, a single outburst like that would have ended with meditation and a conversation about fitness to continue. Two would have - she shuddered - she didn’t want to think about what not being able to handle her emotions in a time of crisis meant about her ability to be a Jedi.

“I’m sorry,” she said eventually. “I don’t know what came over me.”

“San’ji’s manly charms most probably,” Airo said, and Kithera could hear the teasing in his tone. “Most women find themselves sobbing when he’s around.”

“That’s not true,” San’ji’s normally rumbly voice suddenly squeaked in anger. “My mother says…”

“Your mother says lots of things. Just the other day she told me what a good boy you were,” Airo countered. “Of course we were lying in bed at the time.”

Out of the corner of her eye Kithera watched San'ji pick up a spoon. She didn’t need the Force to read his intention. Apparently, neither did Jahlil, who stood up quickly and slapped San'ji across the back of the head.

“Ow! What was that for?” San'ji asked, dropping the spoon. It clattered across the table as the other soldiers laughed.

“You would have tossed that spoon and he would have kicked your arse,” Jahlil said, sternly. Jahlil looked around the room, which was now almost empty, and then back at his men. He sighed. “As much as I hate it, Fa’rys is right. If we are going to do what needs to be done, then we need to be prepared. That means drills.”

There was a groan from around the room. Jahlil held out his hand to Kithera, who used it to pull herself upright. He nodded to her. “The Queen said you needed some space to mediate,” he said, as if there was suddenly only the two of them. Kithera nodded. “And she said to keep you out of the way for a bit.” Kithera nodded again. Jahlil raised his eyebrows, asking, “Why would she think that?”

She thought about keeping everything she’d heard in the Baron’s meeting a secret, but she’d seen how the men had rallied in defence and she’d noted how Jahlil spoke in aid of the kingdom and not of his King.

She closed her eyes, hoping that she was about to make the right choice. When she opened them again, Jahlil was looking at her with his head cocked to one side, his warm, brown eyes regarding her closely.

“I was in the Baron’s meeting,” she said quietly. The mess hall might have almost been empty, but it didn’t mean that there weren’t people listening.

Airo gave a low whistle. “Wouldn’t I like to be a fly on the wall of one of those meetings. What was it like? Are there really no slaves?”

“Airo. Mouth. Closed,” Jahlil snapped, and then took Kithera by the shoulders. “Is the Q-” he started and then looked around the room again. He took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders as the words died in his mouth. He glanced at his companions. “Alright men, let’s go show the padawan what Sami'’ soldiers can do,” he announced in a voice that was only slightly too loud.

There were a few more grumbles and then Kithera found herself being swiftly led from the mess hall, one of Jahlil’s hands firmly grasping her shoulder.

 

Nice meeting with the soldiers, asking her about Jedi and what they do. And she is getting food finally. More allies?