Author's Note:
Thank you, reviewers! :) Eh... You still out there?
I sincerely apologize, readers. I had a writing ethics crisis over the summer and had to resolve some things before continuing everything. If you check you'll find I've edited certain things out of the previous chapters.
I also have learned that "Misti Whitesun"s scars are a physical impossibility, but I haven't changed that, yet. They have to be white, and a Force-choke wouldn't leave any marks. Too bad I hadn't asked my friend studying nursing before writing that section...
So, good news: I can start posting, again. Bad news: real life has kicked in full throttle. I expect updates to be few and far between, maybe a few weeks between them. I have the next few chapters written, but I'm not yet sure if I want to rewrite them or not...
I've figured out where I'm going to end "Comeback", & then I'll write a sequel. I'll give you more details as created & needed or asked for.
The promised glimpse of Anakin Solo's "delicate" mission is here.
Enjoy! :)
TWENTY-TWO
"Hey, Mom!" Sokor darted through Queen Ramallia's entourage of bodyguards. "Have you seen Tira?"
Wiala froze abruptly, causing Jacen to stumble over her. "She wasn't in the cafeteria."
Sokor shook his head, his dark hair wild, his eyes worried. "I haven't seen her since she woke up."
"I thought you went to find her," Jacen commented.
"I did, but Wiala and I have no idea where she went or where to look for her."
Queen Ramallia frowned at her son and stood serenely. "Then we must wait until she is found to leave."
"Unnecessary."
All looked at Queen Ramallia's blonde handmaiden, Yadmi. Her face was a study in absolute carelessness, smoking contentedly on the old pipe.
"Heads up!"
Wiala ducked as Tira landed among the mostly-startled party, a contented air to her hard face. "Who's this?" She tossed her petite friend a small object.
Wiala examined it, her face getting chalk white within moments. Eyes darting around, she dropped it in a pocket, Jacen guessed. "Hardin."
A maliciously pleased twist appeared on her lips. "Chiargáth. Absolute chi—" Tira's face blanked.
"Chiargáth?" a frowning Wiala asked. "What's that?"
Tira stiffened, ignoring her friend's question.
"Tira." Yadmi calmly removed the pipe from her mouth, her tone of both amusement and mild rebuke. "There are children here, you know."
"That so?" the tall teen gritted, muscles taut. Abruptly she leapt up, hung a moment from a light fixture, and dropped back to the ground, looking at and flexing her right arm as if it was new. Her dark eyes blazed, narrowing at Yadmi. "I know," she muttered.
Jacen gave Tira an odd glance. Had it been his imagination, or had she glanced at him when she said that?
Yadmi returned the pipe to her mouth, her hazel eyes scrutinizing Tira as they continued down the hall, headed for the vessel that would take them to wherever Her Majesty had selected to go for her vacation.
The blonde's lips tugged downward. "Hmph."
Jacen looked from one to the other. Was he was missing something?
He was brought back from wondering by a hoarse chuckle from Yadmi. "Hardin's chiargáth," he overheard her murmur as she nodded to herself. "Only a Billaba."
Somehow, Jedi Knight Jacen Solo knew better than to ask.
Chiargáth.
Queen Ramallia suppressed a shudder. She remembered that word. One her birth mother had said.
Did say.
Ramallia glanced over at Yadmi. She knew the blonde handmaiden's secret.
More than even the Jedi Knight knew.
Ramallia found herself watching Clee Rhara. Since she'd taken custody of the note, Rhara hadn't mentioned a thing about the other Skywalker. Of course—the dead Jedi wouldn't want to call attention to herself like that. If Rhara seemed to know Anakin Skywalker personally, she'd be considered insane. Just that morning, in fact, Ramallia'd had to order her captain not to worry about Rhara's birth certificate.
Yadmi didn't seem too concerned about being found, though.
Ramallia, in her forties, had been Palpatine's first child. Thankfully, she lacked Force-sensitivity and her parents had ditched her in the Naboo palace. Named for her great-aunt, Ramallia had been raised by the Naboo officials, her origins gradually fading from memory.
Not hers, though.
She had Yadmi to thank for a few of the others' forgetfulness. The woman, a repeatedly brainwashed Jedi Master, had served as her great-aunt's handmaiden when she had been Queen.
Only then Yadmi'd been Eirtaé.
Ramallia had half expected some dead Jedi to return. She remembered her birth mother, gloating over helping Palpatine force her aunt's essence into clone bodies so he could repeatedly execute her. Ramallia was the only normal one left who remembered her great-aunt.
Former Naboo Queen and Senator Padmé Amidala.
But Tira, not Yadmi, had said chiargáth... Was she a Sith foundling, too?
The Dark Fallanassi was gone, but a worse enemy had come.
Kiacha looked up at the light fixtures, so easy to climb; so easy, and yet...
She shook her head and grabbed Jedi Solo's arm.
"Hey! Wh—"
Before he realized what she was doing she'd swung him around behind her and used his momentum to leap towards the Queen.
"Chiargáth, 'Tira'?"
"Fact." Voice harsh, she stared dispassionately at the Queen. The fool. Did she think her calling for Jedi assistance would be overlooked by her parents?
Suddenly, Queen Ramallia whirled towards her, eyes widened in fearful realization. "You're... They're here??!!" The old woman collapsed, to everyone's bewilderment.
She snorted, disgusted. She widened her stance, refusing to move out of any would-be helpers' ways. "I'm assuming you've never told Sokor."
"Well you obviously haven't either, foundling!"
She raised an eyebrow. "My mother was a Jedi. Yours is a Sith. I prefer my senario, thank you."
Everyone was shocked—except Master Chayunda, of course, who smoked her pipe with a dour smile. "You must admit: Ramallia does have the advantage."
Everyone gave the threesome plenty of room while the Queen and girl looked at the handmaiden.
Who shrugged. "She does lack your emotional instability."
"Mom? Tira? Am I missing something?"
She ignored Sokor, glaring meaningfully at his mother.
The Queen regained some of her dignity. "Since you obviously know whose I am, may I ask whose you are?"
A legitimate question. But she had run out of time. She glanced over the Queen's shoulder towards the hangar. The ship that had been going to take them on the mystery vacation awaited them. But it was going to keep waiting.
The hangar door began to open from the outside. She knew who came for them—came for her—
Kiacha darted in the opposite direction, through the group, and disappeared.
"You asked to see me?" His voice squeaked, and he mentally cringed. Did they really have to stare at him so intently?
"We examine everyone in this manner, young Solo." He jumped, surprised one of the ones behind him had spoken. Normally it was just those in— ...Oh.
Anakin Solo bowed. "I apologize. I am not used to such intense... scrutiny from so many Masters at once."
"But you have received it, before." Her face was expressionless as she glanced across the circle at the main speaker—Master, uh, Window or something—but he thought he picked up on a 'you see?' in her tone.
"Yes, Ma'm."
"Master, please."
"Yes, Ma'm—I mean yes, Master."
He thought he saw an amused glint in her eye as he came up from that bow, but dismissed it as his imagination. This female Master was even more austere than the other two. She had just spoken to him for the first time in his time here. Not looking at her, he turned back to Master... Window.
"Do you distinguish between genders in your Order, Solo?"
Anakin flushed as he turned back towards the woman. "No, but since my uncle is in charge I kind of know all the Masters pretty well."
"Because of your uncle or because of you getting in trouble?" asked an alien one, skin pink and ridged forehead tall.
"My uncle!" he said quickly, startled. Then he thought about the question asked and reddened. "Mostly."
"Known to be reckless, are you?"
He turned a bit to the left and bowed to the female brown-haired little green... thing. "Uh... Sort of."
"Sort of?" the third female asked, her exotic headdress still. Her blue eyes narrowed at him, skin not quite as dark as Master Window's. "Explain."
Vaping Moffs! I'll make them disgusted with Uncle Luke when they've never met him! Why not come right out and tell them about Master Durron?
He heard the female Master behind him stiffen.
Master Window shot her a glance. "Depa?"
"It's nothing."
All the Masters looked meaningfully at that one woman, Depa. Anakin also watched, making sure to remain respectful in his curiosity.
Head bowed forward, her chin-length dark hair hid her expression. She mutely shook her head slighly.
Master Window strode over to her and lifted her chin, not letting her pull away. "Depa—"
She leapt over her seat and landed behind it, head bowed. "Yes, Master?" she asked weakly, voice slightly mocking. "I am a grown woman, now, Mace."
The pink-skinned alien stirred. "Master Windu—"
Windu. Not window. Anakin sighed with relief about not having to find out his mistake the hard way.
"Yes, Master Ki?"
"I suggest we wait until after we are finished with young Solo to question Master Billaba on what ails her."
"I concur," the dark-skinned Human female agreed.
The little green woman made a hrumph sound. "Concur with you I do not. Disrupt this Council, Master Billaba's ailment does. Worse than she says it is it must be, no?"
Master Billaba's face twitched. "Yaddle—"
"She has a point." Anakin wanted to bang his head against something. Why was he getting into this? Irritating Jedi Master Depa Billaba, a model old Order Jedi?
The woman began a coughing fit which vanished just as suddenly as it started. She coughed one last time and resumed her seat, absolutely devoid of emotion. "It has passed. Let us continue."
As the session reluctantly resumed, her dark brown eyes bored into him. He gulped. He had a bad feeling about this...
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