1.
As always, Eeso was woken up by the gentle rays of sunlight. One of her maids tiptoed past her bed at the appointed hour and parted the velvet curtains, pulling them apart by the length of a finger and letting the pinpricks of light slowly pull Eeso out of her dreams. This task could have been automated but her uncle despised droids, considered all technology a security risk, and was fond of saying that the servants had too much free time on their hands.
She summoned the will to rise and set off to the adjoining steam room where a bath scented with almond oil and lilac petals awaited her. A cup of dark coffee had been laid out next to it, sweetly sugared and sprinkled with a few drops of milk, just the way she liked it, and she took a few quick sips before easing herself into the hot water and letting it drive the slumber from her body.
It was the day they had all been waiting for, the day they would come face-to-face with their enemies. Eeso wondered, not for the first time, what it would really be like - whether it would be akin to looking in a mirror once one got past the differences in dress and custom, or whether she would catch some hints of a monstrous nature absent in her compatriots. The Jedi apprentice she had met weeks ago might be there as well, and if so, that would occasion some awkward explanations.
Her mother had thrown her latest fit about it only last night.
"Those people killed my brother, do you understand? I can't be expected to sip tea and make polite conversation with them, I can't."
"You can and you will," her father replied sternly. "His Imperial Highness commands it." It was the same response he made all the previous times she had worked herself into a storm, and, having said it, he turned and walked out of the room, indicating that the subject was closed.
She stretched in the pleasantly hot water, letting her body relax and feeling every knot in her frame untying. Three decades ago, a surprise attack killed her maternal uncle and her mother had not stopped grieving since; but this occurred long before Eeso was born, and, besides, her own side had broken more than its share of treaties over the years, so she had trouble summoning up the appropriate outrage over the incident.
Finally feeling awake, she glanced at the clock and pulled herself out of the bath, dressing quickly. She was already late for breakfast.
2.
"...don't understand how Nicky could agree to it at all," Eeso heard the whimpering voice of her oldest sister as she walked into the drawing room.
"How do you not know this?" she said curtly, sitting herself down on a chair hastily pulled out by one of the servants. "The Jedi contacted the Sarrelonian princeling when hostilities started and persuaded him there was still a way to avert the conflict. We need air support from the Sarrelonians and Nicky had little choice but to accede."
"Nice to see you join us at last," her sister said maliciously, "we were just beginning to anticipate the anguish of spending breakfast without your company."
Eeso smiled slightly; best to leave that without a response. She leaned forward and inspected the inviting assortment of pastries spread out on the table before her.
"Supposedly the Jedi did the same with the Plessians," she went on as she put a chocolate eclair on her plate, "contacting their Vakkarian patrons directly. It might have been the first inspired move he's ever made."
"Hard to believe it's actually going to happen," said one of her cousins across the table.
"I know? Can you imagine it?"
"Us and them in the same room."
"Especially after the last assassination. We may not have proof, but can anyone doubt they had a hand in it?"
"Completely unbelievable."
"Will we have to curtsy?"
"Will they come in those absurd maroon dresses of theirs?"
"Do they even have proper table manners? I heard they refuse to eat with their hands."
"I don't think I'll be able to stop myself from mocking their accents."
"I won't say a word the entire time, I swear. I'll just stare out the window!"
"Nicky will be displeased with that."
"Let Nicky make the conversation!"
A footman standing by the door knocked his heels against the floor. They all turned to look at him with irritation as he did it again, the hard clack of metal resonating against paved wood.
"His Imperial Highness," the footman began to announce, "Nikkolaos the Eight, Autocrat of all Ulth, Duke of..."
"Thank you," the man himself strode into the room, interrupting the recitation as they all stumbled to their feet.
This was unusual: Eeso could not remember the last time her uncle visited them at breakfast. When he needed to see one of them, usually to deliver some peremptory instructions on something or other - her uncle was fond of staging ceremonies at the palace, either to commemorate military victories or honor particularly valorous soldiers, and he had some definite notions of the parts they were to play in these events - they would receive a summons to one of the smaller throne rooms of the palace.
Walking over to Eeso's mother, Nikkolaos kissed her hand before motioning for the rest of them to sit down.
"As always, charming to see you sister," he said.
"Your Imperial Highness, about today…," Eeso's mother looked to be at the start of an anxious monologue, one that would likely segue its way to the subject of her deceased brother.
"It will be a difficult day," Nikkolaos said, cutting her off. "But worry not. All will work out for the best, I assure you."
He looked around with some distaste, seemingly taking stock of them. He must have overheard some of the conversation earlier, Eeso realized. How petty we must all appear to him, she thought, dewy-eyed girls gabbering around a table.
"It will be a difficult day," Nikkolaos repeated.
"When we meet our counterparts," he said the last word with evident distaste, "it is absolutely imperative that you strike up conversations, especially with the male members of the Plessian court. Am I understood?"
They nodded.
"I would like to hear it from each of you."
"Yes, your imperial highness," they all mouthed, their unsynchronized voices mixing almost incomprehensibly.
"Excellent," he said pleasantly. "See that you do not disappoint me. Sister, may I borrow your daughter?"
Without waiting for a reply, he extended his hand to Eeso and, as she rose, led her out of the room.
3.
She followed him to the drawing room he had been using to conduct affairs of state since arriving in the city. He motioned for her to sit, and, lowering herself onto one of the plushy cushions which seemed altogether too big for her, she was startled to see that he seemed a little hesitant, even uncertain.
Finally, he sat down at the table across from her and lit up a pipe full of Kashyyk herbs, the sweet smell slowly drifting to her. Imposing portraits took up most of the wall space in the room, Nicky dressed up in his regal finery with swarms of medals leaving little empty space on his chest. The man in front of her seemed rather meager by comparison.
"Eesorith, I know we have not had many familial interactions over the years," he began with a cloying smile, "you know I have been much occupied..."
How odd, Eeso thought. He wants something from me.
"Of course, Your Imperial Highness."
"Please, we are alone here. Call me Nicky."
Eeso winced. She had never heard anyone call the emperor that to his face - not his siblings, not even his wife. It was a running joke among the servants that the empress referred to her husband as "Your Imperial Highness" even in the midst of their lovemaking. It would be an error to disobey this instruction. But it would also be an error to obey too readily.
"Yes...Nicky."
She made the pause between the words overly long, as if his name was stuck in her throat. He leaned back in his chair, apparently satisfied.
"Many here were upset about your excursion the other day," he said easily, "but not me. Why - I did far worse when I was your age..."
He chuckled to himself and paused, likely recalling some of his own childish escapades. He was a second son and, as a consequence, his childhood was a happy one; whereas his brother grew up with the consciousness that he would, one day, bear the weight of the realm on his shoulders, Prince Nikkolaos was known for sneaking out of the palace, forming forbidden dalliances with the servants, and other misbehaviors which ceased with his brother's untimely demise. Eeso suspected he saw a little bit of himself in her.
She formed a half-smile and remained silent. It was generally a good idea to remain silent as much as possible in the emperor's presence.
"I remember when the Jedi first brought up the idea of the two royal families meeting," Nikkolaos continued. "The fool blabbered on and on. He said the conflict had turned into a personal vendetta, that the bloodshed had fueled a deep hatred among us."
"He went on to say that if we could all just mingle together - if we could sit down together for a meal - if we could talk to each other face-to-face - then we would come to see that we are not so different, that we are all both sides of the same coin. But it had to be all of us, every member of the two royal families, not just some envoys, not even the two regents."
"You know what I thought of all that?"
Eeso shook her head.
"As he was going on about it all, I thought...this could be an opportunity."
"Yes," he repeated leaning forward, his eyes suddenly blazing with life, "an opportunity!"
"I told the Jedi that I could not agree more. In fact, I said, while the two royal families would likely behave themselves under his eyes, the true test would be our ability to get along without his presence. I suggested that, at our first meeting, he give us a half-hour alone to test the waters."
"A stroke of genius on my part," Nikkolaos smiled, "And it brings us to the present day. Eesorith, I have a task for you. A request."
Eeso took in a sharp breath. The emperor was not given to making requests.
"I am flattered that you would think of me, your imperial high...Nicky," Eeso made the substitution under her uncle's gently reproachful gaze. "What am I to do?"
"Plainly put," her uncle said, looking searchingly into her eyes, "you are to smuggle weapons into the negotiations."
Of course.
The past weeks, as the royal court raged over the meetings the Jedi had forced them into, her uncle had maintained a studious calmness, a sort of indifference even. It was very odd, especially given that the emperor was known to have a temper given to uncontrollable eruptions. The assassination of his nephew, the heir-presumptive, was a personal affront, and though he had never been fond of the boy, he must have been enraged. Yet his public persona showed none of that. But now it all made sense, the outward indifference being a mask for a secret plot that would give him the satisfaction he craved.
"How am I to do that?"
"You and your sisters will wear the traditional dresses to the meeting today. You know the kind I mean - puffed up, unwieldy, there is a name for those monstrosities I always forget."
Eeso nodded silently.
"Those dresses are supported by a metal beam running around the waist and to the sides of the dress, keeping them suspended in air. The beam in your dress will be much larger than usual, though not much heavier - my technicians have crafted it out of a specially designed metal - and it will have machetes embedded in it."
"Won't this be detected...Nicky?"
"Indeed, there will be a machine that detects metals, and you will set it off - though your sisters will as well, and they will go on ahead of you. But I'm certain no one will dare to lift your dress."
"And once I am inside?"
"You will be shown beforehand how to extract machetes from the beam. They will be wafer-thin but sharp as a razor. Once the Jedi has departed, some of the men in our party will surround you, seemingly in conversation; shielded from view, you'll extract as many of the machetes as you can before you are noticed."
Her uncle leaned forward.
"You showed some daring the other day, escaping your detail and venturing about the city undetected. You have it in you to do this, I am certain of it."
Eeso looked out the window. It was an incongruously beautiful day, the twin suns shining brightly but not blindingly, the sort of day that would have inspired her younger self to run outside and forget herself in the palace gardens. She wished she could go back in time, or at least that she could feel the easiness she had felt as a child, the sense that life was full of wondrous possibility.
"I cannot force you to do this," the emperor said gently. "If you refuse, I will ask one of your sisters. But they will not handle it as well as you."
She had little doubt of that. Either of her sisters might faint upon hearing of the task at hand.
It wasn't clear how much choice she really had. Her uncle was vindictive and never forgot his grudges, and she shuddered to think of the punishment he would mete out if she refused.
She forced herself to think of it nonetheless. Most likely a forced marriage, perhaps to some aging veteran in need of reward for his service, something to inspire the troops, to show them all that if they are brave enough, one day they might dine at the emperor's table.
"There is a new heir to the throne," her uncle went on. "I vow to you, if you do this, he will marry you. You will be the next queen of the Ulth."
She had to stop herself from wincing. This was not a reward she had any desire to receive.
"And what of afterwards?" she asked, wanting to change the subject. "After they are all dead?"
"Afterwards, we will win," her uncle said confidently. "This war would have petered out long ago were it not for the duty the two monarchies command. Once only we remain, we will draw upon that."
"We will take over the Plessian kingdom without firing a single shot," he continued. "Oh, it will not happen overnight. First I will call upon whatever government emerges to acknowledge my claim as regent of the planet. Our two dynasties branched from the same root and they will not be able to deny me. Then I will make a tour of the Plessian kingdom. Step-by-step, I will remind them of their sacred responsibility to me. It will help that they will be very eager to avoid a war."
What were her options?
Even before her fate would be decided there were more immediate repercussions. If she declined, her uncle's plan would likely fail, she was sure of it; her sisters would not have the nerve to refuse and would crumble under pressure. If she agreed and all went well, she would be complicit in the murder of...how many people? Twenty? Thirty?
On the other hand: if someone were to win the conflict, victory would not come without casualties.
"You hesitate," the emperor said, narrowing his eyes.
She never had much occasion to think about the war, strange as that may sound. It was not something that she could affect, even slightly, and, regardless, honest conversation on the subject was impossible, one had to toe the line or risk punishment even as a member of the royal family. It seemed better to focus her attention on other matters.
She tried to draw on all the political knowledge she had, all the bits and pieces she had heard and cast aside without a further thought.
"What of the Jedi master?" she said, stalling for time.
"Ah," her uncle replied. "We agreed that he will wait in the temple garden with his retinue while the two royal families are left by themselves. Once we have all...mingled...we will walk out and join him there - that was to be the plan."
"The garden is quite some distance away. The Jedi possess many powers but teleportation is not among them. Once he realizes something has gone wrong, he will rush back - but when he arrives, I intend to present him with a fait accompli."
"I thought the Jedi could read thoughts," Eeso countered.
Her uncle shrugged.
"I have heard it said that Jedi powers work best on those whose will is weak. If this Jedi could read my thoughts, he would not have bothered with the negotiations to begin with."
It seemed as if her uncle's plan might work. Would it be so bad if it did, Eeso wondered?
She tried to strip herself of all emotion and lay out the facts clearly in her mind.
Victory by one side is preferable to interminable war.
Certainly. As things stood, there was no end in sight to the fighting, the present cease-fire a lull which would soon come crashing to an end. The best solution would be a negotiated peace, but the best solution was not on the table, would never be on the table.
Regrets? She would have them either way. In one case, the faces of the victims would be seared onto her conscience; in the other, she would wonder if she doomed her planet to perpetual warfare by her inaction.
Better us than them.
Better for her, at least.
We are no worse than they are.
The media was full of stories of Plessian atrocities, children and civilians dying in raids, innocents jailed for crimes they did not commit. "Necessary propaganda," she once heard her father call it. He explained that since most people on either side of the conflict had family on the other side, it was imperative to keep up popular support for the war.
"Besides," he added when she demurred, "they do the same." He showed her Plessian newspapers full of the same kinds of stories, portraying Ulth soldiers as monstrous and bloodthirsty, eager to rape and pillage at every opportunity.
We are all cut from the same cloth, Eeso thought.
They are likely hatching a similar plan, or would be if they were smart enough.
The enemy was as eager for victory, as strategic and duplicitous.
The plan itself was sound.
If she could indeed smuggle weapons into the negotiations, the men of her family would make short work of the Plessians. As for afterwards, her uncle was right - the devotion the people of this planet had to their monarchy bordered on the fanatical. Once they were the only remaining progeny of the dynasty that had spawned both royal families, the Plessians would have no choice but to accept their right to rule.
There really is no other way.
Her family had revenge in their hearts and they would never accept anything short of victory. So: either they would lose, or the war would continue forever, or they would overcome the enemy.
The last alternative sounded infinitely more preferable.
Yet there was something dirty about it all, something that made her feel as if her hands needed washing. It was one thing to reason in the abstract and another to be in the thick of it, to see the faces of the victims before their slaughter.
I'm not built for it.
This is not me, she wanted to cry out, this is not my life. She had resigned herself to a lifetime as a member of the imperial court and all that entailed. There was much that was odious, from the marriage of convenience she would likely to be forced into, to the copious amount of children she would be pressured to have; and yet there were consolations to be had: a luxurious lifestyle, an army of servants, ample free time to be by herself. But now she seemed to be thrust into another role entirely, one that fit her as poorly as an ill-made dress.
Her thoughts turned to the Jedi boy from weeks ago and she wondered what he would make of the choice she faced. He seemed a little starstruck with her - at least, he must have been to offer his aid in escaping the planet. Would he come to think his initial impression was wrong, that she was, in the end, far more loathsome than she first appeared to be? No matter, she said to herself, it does not matter.
She pushed the feelings away, one by one, pushed them far into the recesses her mind, and turned her gaze back from the window, looking her uncle squarely in the eyes.
"Very well," she said, "you may rely on me."