1

A charcoal sky.

In the west the deeper shades of twilight were gathering, rising slowly over the gorse-studded heath in its nocturnal embrace. The wind was in the north-east and rising, buffeting the shoreline, the waves low, racing in to crash up the shallow slope of basalt rocks below the pathway in a cascade of foam. There was a tang of salt in the spray-filled air. Behind her a sharp gust lifted the banner above the gateway of the fortress, a standard of dark linen displaying the outline of a bull, and snatched at her pale blonde hair.

The horse was docile enough and clearly knew the way, which was just as well –a life spent mostly on Coruscant and its surrounding planets had not gone far to providing her with equestrian skills, although she liked the animal well enough. The high tide was thundering against the rocks now and night had almost fallen as she ducked her head against the gale. The fortress –the castle, no less– faded, then vanished as she dropped down a slow incline, heading toward the village a mile further along the path. It was a bleak region, especially at this time of day, though not without a wild beauty of its own. There were another two castles further along the coast, granite and wooden gauntlets that crashed into the shorelines and proclaimed the belligerent nature of the population. Which wasn't to count those further inland, or the numerous tower-houses. Not a place to come for a holiday. But of course, she wasn't there for a rest.

It was a strange world. Pre-industrial. A sparsely populated land of gentle hills and rich pastures, of slow rivers and wilder seas, of wind-swept heaths and moorlands, of iron and leather, of wood and stone, of crags that grinned out of fogs, of small settlements and larger towns. With limited natural resources and far from the main hyperspace routes, it was not ready for development. If, she reflected, as a brief surge of sleet spattered her rough green cloak, it ever would be. Some never were and it was a mistake to force things. Perhaps in a millennia. But still she was there. The Jedi rarely interfered with such places, though they would occasionally observe and meet with carefully select groups. Her master, who sat on the Council of First Knowledge, had been ordered to take this particular assignment: a low-key role with minor diplomatic functions. She was mildly cynical about its practical value but the Council were probably more concerned with ensuring she had some experience outside the Core Worlds, which given her master's usual duties had been limited. It made an interesting change.

Pushing through two swinging gates some twenty yards apart, she and the horse arrived at the outskirts of the village, hunched low in a natural harbour in the rock. The houses were mostly of wood with a smattering of stone –rough, though carefully made. A handful had tiled roofs, the rest were of heavy thatch. Despite the wind, the scent of smoke was strong as they made their way along the narrow path, down toward the cottage she and her master were sheltering in. After stabling and rubbing down the horse, she tiredly slipped into the small building, politely nodding to their hostess, an elderly woman of stout appearance who was knitting beside the fireplace.

'The weather's picking up then.' The old woman looked up briefly from her knitting, which appeared to be her way of registering concern for her guest.

'A little. They let me borrow a horse –I stabled it at the back and it's got some bran mash so it seems happy enough. I hope that won't cause any problems.'

'Horses are no trouble as a rule. But stay inside now child. You'll do yourself an injury if you go out again, and where's the sense? Other people are always good for that.'

'It was worth checking Cara.' Her master gave both host and her apprentice an affectionate smile. None of them had held much hope that she would achieve anything by visiting the castle, and it was perfectly clear from her manner that she hadn't. But even a remote possibility had been worth pursuing. Eighteen at her last birthday Cara McInnes was a beautiful girl, a few inches above five feet in height and willow-slender, with delicate features and hazel-green eyes. She had inherited a love of the folk music of her home world, and could sing with a haunting purity that held listeners spellbound. Even her normal speaking voice, with its pronounced but soft brogue enchanted. There was steel beneath the honey though. She was intelligent, her touch with the Force was subtle, she was fitter than her slender figure suggested at first glance, and with a lightsaber she was lethal. One of the Order's handful of Makashi practitioners, her figure and mind were well-suited to the archaic but highly refined style.

'I suppose so Master. From what you've told me the queen won't be happy though.'

'I imagine not –few rulers care for open defiance, and she has other distractions.'

'You mean the talk about the raiders?'

'She can read or be read fairy stories any time she wishes. No, I was thinking of slightly more prosaic matters. She's young after all –only about your age. She lacks experience, her councillors are not all particularly trustworthy, and several are starting to put pressure on her to marry. All oblique of course, just comments, nothing more. Strength and direction. The glories of future prosperity, and alliances between major noble houses. The usual sort of thing.'

Cara sighed and sat on a rough wooden bench beside a matching table. Her master had already met the young queen and her council, and had evidently been giving the matter some thought. Their hostess set aside her knitting, ladled out a cup of heated, honeyed wine and passed it to her. She smiled her thanks –it was warming after the two mile ride beside the shore. 'A Jarl?'

'That would be the most likely option; the Council will probably purchase the hand of someone they feel to be suitable. Some of your folk songs mention similar things I believe? The money will go either to his family or directly to himself for –services rendered.'

'Giving her an heir you mean.'

'Giving the realm one in this case Cara. Although the practical requirements are the same I grant you. I suspect the young lady may have other ideas though. She does appear to have an independent mind.'

'Good for her.'

'Indeed, assuming it doesn't get her killed. You have that in common at least.' There was more humour than rebuke in her master's voice. 'You should sleep Cara, once you've eaten something. We have a reasonable way to go tomorrow, as far as travelling in this weather in concerned. Then you may be able to decide for yourself.'

'I hope the queen will do the same.'

'Perhaps,' her master smiled. 'There will be time enough for that later though.'

The meal was basic, but filling. Cara wondered idly about the place as she drifted off; the people, their beliefs and the climate itself. Such worlds took a little getting used to, after the Galactic capital. Then she pushed the thoughts aside. It wasn't her concern.

Dawn over the small harbour and the sea had little of the aggression of the previous evening. It was still a wild place, with a grandeur of its own, but the rose blush in the sky, the shimmer of the water and glow of the gorse provided a splash of highlighting colour. The temperature had dropped during the night. Away to the west, perhaps half a dozen miles, where the light touched a range of hills, a hint of purple showed –heather, most likely.

'Midalnburh?' Their hostess had come to the door and was watching as Cara said a brief goodbye to the horse.

'Yes, we'll see what happens from then. Thank you for the hospitality this last month –it can't have been easy for you, with a pair of complete strangers around.'

The woman shook her head. 'Strangers are no more trouble than horses. You won't have too far to go, twenty miles at the most. But it's late in the year. Too late for raiding, yet we hear it's still going on.' She held something out; thin, wrapped in linen. Lifting away the top layer, she revealed a long knife which she drew from its ebony scabbard. The blade was straight, about twelve inches long, with a chisel point. Single-edged for most of its length, the first four inches of the spine were also sharpened. The old woman breathed lightly along the steel and she saw a series of faint, repeating wisps emerge like the faint kiss of a dragon's breath –it was a pattern-welded blade, born of a mixture of soft and hard rods that had been carefully twisted, welded together then hammered into life by a master craftsman. The grip was just as beautiful, the figured, curling walnut inlayed with gold and silver. 'These can be good companions. It belonged to my husband. We had no children.'

Cara stared at her in surprise. She had liked the apparently dour old woman –her manner obviously protected a kind heart– and while she had thought the liking had been mutual, she hadn't expected such generosity. A knife like this was probably worth as much as her cottage. More. Carefully she reached out and took the weapon. It would have been insulting to refuse. And the Order did permit its members to accept gifts or mementos of this kind. 'Thank you. I'll look after it.'

'Perhaps it will help look after you. It needs cleaning every week, but you're a sensible girl –you'll know what to do. And may your god go with you, child. Whichever you might worship.' Abruptly, the old woman turned and went back into her cottage. Cara watched for a moment. She knew it was unlikely that they would meet again. But she wouldn't forget. Giving the horse's nose a final pat, she walked back around to the front where her master was waiting for her.

'Ready?' Her master was already at the top of the lane. She noted the knife that Cara had fastened to her belt and nodded her approval. 'She's a kind woman. And she was fond of you Cara –she hardly looked up from her knitting all the time you were away at the castle. You feel sad to be leaving her?'

'I think she's lonely Master.' She couldn't deny feeling some concern for the old woman. Slowly they began to make their way inland; turning a corner, the low cottage and the rest of the village was lost to sight.

'She was. It's one of our blessings that we get to make such friends though. And she won't be as lonely in the future. That's your doing, so look back and be glad. It's always the simple things that make the greatest difference, like you helping with domestic chores and singing for her in the evening –what a granddaughter might have done. She didn't have anyone to think of in that way before, and for her, that has been a gift beyond measure. Happy memories of someone who cared. I've left her a few pictures of you, and some of your recordings –she'll find them soon enough.'

To the left a path wound along a narrow valley –they would take it for a few hundred yards before branching off, climbing the side and heading toward the small town of Midalnburh, the capital of the small kingdom they were currently in. The twenty miles would take them all day to cover –it was not especially difficult terrain, but nor was it easy since, as the old woman had pointed out, it was late in the year, and that meant something in this place. As they moved inland, into the shallow, sheltered valleys, there were indications of frost and the ground felt hard as iron underfoot.

The sun had passed its zenith by the time they approached the northern extent of their looping journey –the way to the south was blocked by a noisy river, which was quite impossible to ford at this time of the year. Another mile would lead them over a short ridge and up a final sharp incline, before they could turn on a direct route to Midalnburh, which sheltered on a shallow slope some nine miles to the south. There had been little to see, and much. Wildlife seemed modest –birds, mostly, and the occasional flock of woolly mammals that were evidently reared for shearing, and presumably for meat. They seemed timid, though pleasant –Cara thought her master was quite taken with them. They did have an appeal as an unobjectionable and clearly undemanding sort of creature. Smaller animals seemed conspicuous by their absence; presumably those that existed hibernated during the colder months. The scenery though was undeniably beautiful, in its bleak way.

The top of the ridge, and the sharp dip and rise beyond it were heavily wooded. At the bottom, the colours grew darker, partly through the reduced light and partly due to the changed nature of the trees. A little fog had formed; there was water there too –they could hear it, a steady babble as they moved down, their feet soft in the leaf-mould. And there it was –a stream of glittering diamonds at the foot of the hill, spanned by a narrow plank bridge. Cara paused briefly to look down and enjoy the sight of the water, the glassy dance and chatter as it rushed along its rocky bed, the damp of the tendrils of fog against her cheek, the hiss, the faint rush of the wind in this soft place, the wetness of the thud.

She looked up. Her master was lying not a dozen paces away at the edge of the bridge. Her eyes were still open –a rarity, but then, death had come as a complete shock. A narrow black shaft protruded from her throat, perhaps two feet into the air, her mouth was filled with blood. Cara's hand snapped down to the knife the old woman had given her, drawing it free and dropping to a low fighting crouch, the blade held out before her eyes. There was movement even as she did so, a figure coming up fast dressed in leather and iron, grey-skinned, humanoid in form but not in features, and endowed with, from the yellow eyes, an intelligence just less than human. A falchion that looked more like a lengthened butcher's cleaver than any weapon she had seen was already swinging at her head, a two-handed blow that scythed past her shoulder as a flash of silver struck its legs, tripping it sufficiently for the cut to miss its mark. A second figure was standing on the bank, dressed in some kind of camouflage in black and grey that blended into the shadows of this narrow valley. He –he –well, it, since the face was shadowed by the trees, was holding a sword, the sheen of the steel soft in the dappled light.

The creature, which was well over six feet tall, recovered with extraordinary agility for something so large, pulled back from the short thrust she aimed at its wrist and sprang toward the new assailant –the second figure had thrown a knife that had caused the momentary loss of balance. Snapping a leg back, it turned aside, punching the heavy pommel of the sword into the snarling face as the creature's momentum caused it to overextend, then slashed the blade down in a vicious cut to the back of the knee, severing tendons in a spray of blood. The hamstrung creature collapsed, hacking back with its own weapon. The other simply stepped away, then forward, ramming the sword into the back of the skull, shattering thick bone like paper and penetrating deep into the brain. From the first whisper of the arrow to the last had taken perhaps ten seconds. And then there was silence.

The camouflaged figure briefly glanced toward the top of the hill where she knew a small tower-house lurked amongst the trees. Apparently satisfied it wiped the blood from its sword on a piece of rag before sliding it back into its scabbard and moved to join her. From a yard away Cara found herself looking at a young man of about her own age.

'Are you planning to kill me? Even now, it's not easy.' The eyes were purple-grey. Unblinking –almost glacial.

'Who are you?' To her surprise he had spoken in Basic, rather than the local tongue, which she had tried to learn without much success.

'My name's Harald Salkeld. You're the outlanders?' The voice was a contrast to the permafrost eyes and the unnerving speed with which he could move –it sounded tired, or perhaps drained, as though his emotions had been steadily worn down. Somewhere, in the background, there was a richness, even a slightly musical cadence that could –should– have been more pronounced. As a singer she paid attention to such things. She watched him retrieve his knife from the leaf-mould, brush it dry and slide it into a short sheath matching that of the sword. Even close-to his camouflaged pattern clothing was effective, as good as the fractal types that were produced on some supposedly advanced worlds. It looked well-worn. 'My queen was concerned for you –she had word yesterday afternoon from the Warden of the Northern Marches that a group of raiders was coming down. You weren't likely to get much warning out on the coast –assuming they would bother to tell you, and there's reason enough to doubt that.' As he spoke, he moved toward a thick gorse bush that hunched between the overhanging branches toward the light. Hauling a frond aside, he glanced into the dry hollow revealed under the bush, then moved to where her master lay.

She was alone now, but her mind still seemed to be working quickly. 'You serve her?'

'As best I can.'

'That was one of the raiders then? What is it?'

'I've no idea what it is, just that they've started to come over the past few months.'

She looked into his eyes, then sheathed her knife and gazed toward her master's body. She had seen death before, but had thought it would be different for someone she knew. The arrow embedded in the throat somehow made it easier –whoever her master had been, what was lying on the ground was no longer her. The house was empty, the occupant gone. He tilted his head toward the side of the valley. 'We should go. I'm sorry about your friend, but we'll have to leave her here for the moment. We've been still for too long as it is. She'll be safe under the gorse until I can send a party to look after her.'

Risk? Trust? If he was a threat, it wasn't going to be in the immediate future, nor could she see much purpose in it. In any event, he had a point about not staying. She watched as the young man carefully lifted the body of her master, gently laid it in the hollow under the thick bush and pulled the branches back into place. It wasn't the best concealment, but it would serve for a while. And what other option did she have, until she could establish contact with the Council via the next scheduled satellite pass? Wordlessly, she followed the young man up the other side of the hill, heading, she noted, toward Midalnburh.

He was a quiet companion, though a good part of that was sensible precaution. There was something nearby. She could feel it –a growing sense of menace in the trees, in the ground and in the air. Picking their way up through the woods and out of the valley she noted his movement. It was completely silent; he passed like a spectre. Nearing the top of the climb he turned aside into a shallow dell, where bracken still held a little of the afternoon glow. A pair of heavy horses, saddled and bridled, were quietly cropping the grass. At their approach, both looked up, clearly waiting. They were no racehorses, nor were they of the shaggier general-riding breed, like the one she had borrowed the previous day. These were giants of their kind, around eighteen hands high, the chests, back and shoulders massively broad and deep, the muscles huge slabs of power. They had to weigh nearly a ton apiece, and looked like they could haul a starfreighter around without breaking sweat.

'Can you ride?' Seeing her nod, he beckoned her over to the nearest of the two horses, a bay with a friendly face, and watched as she briefly patted the long neck, then climbed into the saddle. Satisfied that she knew what she was about, he swung himself into the saddle of the other, an even larger grey, and led the way back out of the dell, through the thinning trees and immediately passing behind a bank, along a sunken pathway. For all their size and weight, the horses, like him, were astonishingly quiet, the only sound being an occasional click of stone, and the rustle of grass and ferns that brushed against their legs.

Neither spoke again for some time. He clearly knew the area well and was picking out paths that sheltered them from wider view, especially of the hills and rising moorland to their right. The clouds had started to build, the golden light of the morning had faded, and the beauty of the land had reverted to its grimmer nature. Cara kept one eye on him as they wound along the paths. It had been the first time she had seen the results of the ancient way of fighting. It was one thing to face a blaster, or even a lightsaber. Here it was different. The galaxy, let alone the Republic, effectively didn't exist. Wars were fought, alliances made. Weapons were born in glowing furnaces and carved from living trees –those who died would do so under a sharpened piece of metal. The savagery was something you couldn't fully prepare for; knowing what happened and seeing it were rather different things. She wished she had not been forced to leave her lightsaber behind on their transport.

Quite what would happen when they reached Midalnburh she didn't know; there had been no instructions and things had changed dramatically, not just through the loss of her master, but because they had already been at the limit of their role as, primarily, observers and disinterested negotiators. As for her new companion, it was hard to say. He had finished the creature off well –she didn't think she would have had many problems with it herself, but perhaps shock might have slowed her a touch, and she wasn't used to fighting with such weapons. Clearly he was. But then, he would. Theirs was a militarist society, and those near the head of the social order would be trained from infancy.

She studied the sword slung at his waist. It was a single-handed type, the blade relatively flat, double-edged and with a slight taper. Clearly a weapon optimised for cutting, although able to stab effectively when necessary. The pommel was a chamfered octagon, the short crosspiece flared and fractionally curved. Both were obviously made of the same steel as the blade, polished to a sheen, but otherwise plain. The only hint of decoration were the grips, which appeared to be fashioned from bleached ivory. It was an austere weapon, but a beautiful one. Reaching out through the force there was –nothing. And everything. She had once stood on a small moon at the Lagrange point between two gas giants. There was a similar feeling around him. He was, or could be, extremely powerful. Rather like the land itself. He seemed lost in thought, though that didn't stop him from constantly watching their surroundings as they rode steadily onward. After the first ten miles it changed subtly, the wildest edge receding slightly, just as the brooding threat had been left behind, at least for the moment.

Crossing a narrow bridge, only just wide enough for their horses to pass, they skirted a wood, thinner than the last, and lighter, then began a slow ascent. There, its evening lights glimmering in the distance, sheltered Midalnburh, in the lee of a larger hill. Her master had come here several weeks before –it was wealthier, as benefited a capital, and generally calmer. Protected though, with a high palisade and defensive ditches. The wall was masonry; the Royal fortress lay within the town. All the buildings were of better-dressed stone than she had seen elsewhere. The old woman hadn't cared for Midalnburh, but that had been a matter of taste and inclination rather than animosity –Cara had spoken with her several times about the towns and villages, glad to gain a local perspective.

They seemed to be taken for granted as they approached Midalnburh itself. Its gates were open and it seemed to be, on the whole, a perfectly pleasant, bustling walled market town. Other than a handful of younger men who stared in her direction, and a whistle which she ignored, nobody paid them much note. The castle itself was a huge structure –substantially bigger than the one she had visited the previous day. Close-to, the outer curtain-wall was of finely dressed sandstone, which to one side actually formed part of the main town wall. What she could see of the inner buildings; the keep, halls and other structures, appeared to be made of the same. The main gate was, like those of the town, open, though guarded. Neither of the two mail-clad watchmen made any move to stop them as they rode through the entrance, into a small courtyard. He jumped lightly to the ground, handing his reins to a groom. She slid carefully out of her own saddle and followed suit.

After the horses were led away, he gestured her to follow him through two narrow doorways. She found herself in a modest-sized chamber that appeared to be some form of office, or at least the nearest equivalent. Her companion exchanged a few words with the sole occupant –a middle-aged steward of the type who would never be phased– then turned to her. 'We'll be wanted later this evening. In the meantime I'll show you to your rooms. I'll arrange for your friend to be brought back –if there are any particular rites, or if you wish her to be transported elsewhere, then we will gladly help with that. Just let one of the stewards know in the morning.'

'Master. She was my master.' Strange, how a little grief suddenly now crept in.

He steered her through another door and down a passageway. 'And a friend too, obviously. You were her apprentice then?'

'Something like that. It doesn't seem strange to you?' The passage ended in a courtyard planted with herbs set in gravel beds, mingling with the heather that surrounded a central sundial. Moving along the cloister, they ascended a flight of stairs and turned again, along an upper walkway.

He shook his head at her question. 'Not especially. We have a queen; I imagine that's as difficult a job as any. I have more than my share of faults, but I hope underestimating women isn't one of them.' Opening a door at the end of the passage he gestured her into a large room lit from a silver hanging-lamp. Here the sandstone was softened by tapestry and linen draperies. The furnishings were of a pale, fine-grained wood, scraped, polished and waxed smooth. A large four-poster bed was the main feature, though there were several chests, a comfortable chair and a dressing table complete with large electrum mirror. A pretty girl who looked to be around seventeen, slim, with deep russet hair stepped through a doorway in the far wall and stood quietly with eyes lowered. He nodded to her. 'What's your name?'

'Brigid, my lord.'

'I'm not a lord, Brigid. But would you be kind enough to look after our guest? She doesn't know the castle. She'll be wanted in about two hours, and then dinner afterward.'

'Of course my lor–' she broke off with a blush.

'Thank you. I hope to see you later Miss McInnes.' He stepped back into the corridor, closing the door softly behind him. It was only after the girl politely came to her side and bolted the door that she realised she hadn't told him her name. Brigid seemed to know what she was thinking though.

'Jarl Salkeld is a little different my lady. I mean no disrespect,' she added hastily.

'He's a Jarl?'

'Oh yes my lady. His father was Jarl Sigwulf of Lindanburh –that's to the north, just off the coast. I was there once, when I was young. You have to take a causeway at low tide to reach it. He inherited the title.' Her fingers lightly unfastened the brooch that pinned Cara's cloak before she could think to stop her. 'I'm sorry –I shouldn't speak out of turn.'

'Brigid –you can say anything you like. And you don't have to do anything, I don't have servants.'

The girl folded the cloak neatly over her arm. 'Thank you my lady. But –I'd like to, if you'll let me? I'll leave though if that is what you wish.'

Cara looked at her for a moment. Her head felt like it was about to burst like shrapnel. 'That would get you in trouble?'

'A little, my lady.'

'Then please stay. I don't want you to have any problems on my account.' She sat on the edge of the chair and closed her eyes.

'Are you hurt my lady?' Whatever else Brigid was, she was a kind girl; her concern was perfectly genuine.

'Just tired Brigid. My master –my friend died a few hours ago. She was the closest thing to a mother I've ever known. And I still have a job to do.'

'I'm sorry for your loss my lady. Your job though –I won't ask what it is, it's not my place. But is it something you can be doing now, or can you rest for a time?'

At least that decision came easily. 'I can rest.'

'I'm glad. Would you like me to prepare you a bath?'

She opened her eyes to look at her. 'Thank you Brigid. And my name's Cara.' The girl vanished through the doorway and she closed her eyes again, focusing on driving some of the pain away. It worked, after a fashion. It would be some time the following afternoon before she could make contact with the Order. Until then? She would have to improvise.

A few minutes later, Brigid returned. 'The water's hot my lady, if you'd like to come through.' She led her into a small chamber with a high-vaulted roof and tiled walls with soft green and lilac patterns. In the centre, a large square plunge-bath was sunk into the floor. Petals were scattered over the surface of the steaming water, filling the room with a delicate scent. 'May I help with your clothes?'

'Help? Oh, I see. No. No thank you Brigid, I can manage.' She gave her a smile though to indicate that she wasn't trying to be offensive. After undressing, she stepped carefully down into the bath and leaned tiredly against the side, enjoying the warmth penetrating her limbs. Brigid waited until she was settled, placed the discarded clothes in a wicker basket, then carried a tall, slender copper jug and a small bag to the side of the bath. Pouring a little water from the jug into her hands, she lathered them with scented soap from the bag, and gently began to rub it into Cara's scalp and hair. She didn't protest –the girl was only doing her job and appeared to be happy enough. She also wanted Brigid to stay, partly so she could learn a little more, and also for the company. While she was talking, she could at least delay thinking too much about her master's death.

'You're very pretty my lady.'

'Thank you, Brigid. I wish I felt it.'

'If you don't mind me saying, you shouldn't worry about that my lady. You should be more concerned about how many will be competing for your favour. Except –I think they might do better to be afraid of you.' With Cara's hair thoroughly coated with the soft soap, the girl began to gently massage her shoulders. 'Of Jarl Salkeld too of course,' she added thoughtfully.

'Yes?'

Brigid picked up on the enquiry in her tone. 'He's –different my lady, as I say. He was brought up mostly here, but these past two years, he's been away more than he's been in Midalnburh. He's nice to servants. And he doesn't use his title. He says they're earned, not inherited. That doesn't make him popular.' Brigid fell silent as she continued the gentle massage, working slowly up Cara's neck and across her scalp. Perhaps she had also seen her crying. She would certainly have felt her shoulders trembling. So much for Jedi serenity. But then, the death of a decent person deserved tears. Especially if they had been close. It worked; the tension slowly melted away. 'You said you don't have servants my lady?' Brigid lifted the jug and began to rinse Cara's hair with heated water.

'No. I'm part of an –order. We're servants ourselves, in our way. That's why I said you don't have to do anything. We're not important. We just do our best to help when we can.'

'You're still our guest my lady. We respect that. Especially if you've lost someone you cared for in our land, and we weren't able to help.' A soft rap on the door in the other room interrupted their quiet. 'Forgive me –that will be one of the wardrobe assistants.' The girl slipped away. Cara relaxed for a few moments, listening to the muffled conversation in the neighbouring room. A door closed and Brigid stepped back in. 'There's about an hour; the Council business is running late, as usual.' She picked up a large, soft towel and unfolded it. Cara took the hint, climbed out of the sunken tub and Brigid began to gently pat her dry, wrapping the cloth around her as she did so. 'I've selected a gown for you –I hope you'll like it. The colour should go well with your eyes.' After wrapping another towel around Cara's hair, Brigid led her back into the bedroom. Her taste in dresses was certainly good –the soft green silk-velvet, embroidered with copper, was as beautiful as anything that could be bought in an up-market boutique on Coruscant. She was relieved to note the modest neckline, although the cut was elegant. The girl lifted it gently off the hanger and helped her with the fastenings, before sitting her down at the dresser, and freeing her hair from the towel. 'Forgive me my lady -I haven't sent out for any jewellery. Normally our guests would like some, but I don't think you need it.'

'I'll take that as a compliment.' She half-smiled. For all her polite manner, Brigid clearly guided guests in the direction she thought best. Which was probably a good thing. 'Will you be here later?' The way she was feeling, a friendly face would be a blessing. And she could trust Brigid. There was a warmth to her that was not, and couldn't be, faked.

'Of course my lady.'

'Good.' She looked at the girl's reflection in the mirror. 'Is there anything I should know? About this evening?'

Brigid gently began to brush her hair, allowing it to hang straight as she worked the remaining moisture out. 'Not really my lady. I imagine it will be fairly quiet, out of respect for your friend. The queen is –kind. Usually. She has to be ruthless sometimes, but she's just. She'll welcome you formally; I doubt she would do more today.'

'But?' Cara held Brigid's reflected gaze for a moment.

The girl had finished brushing Cara's hair, letting it fall soft and sleek to just below her shoulders. 'It's as I said. You're very pretty my lady.'

'I suppose I should be flattered. But I'm not here to rival anybody, least of all her.'

'The queen knows that. So do I –but we can't always help what we feel.'

'No. Thank you, Brigid.' She squeezed the girl's hand to confirm that she appreciated her kindness. And a soft rap on the door signalled it was time.