Chapter Five - Appearances
When Jessa first heard the door chime to her quarters she assumed it to be a mistake. A drunken courtier who got the wrong door, perhaps. She looked at the chrono, registered the extreme lateness of the hour, and with a small groan of annoyance turned back around on the bed and endeavored to get back to sleep.
The door chimed again. And again. And kept chiming.
Swearing, Jessa clambered blindly out of bed—which was about three times the size of the one she had back on Commenor— and groped her way through the suite until she came to the door.
"What?" she snapped. "You're going to wake my daughter."
The royal guard on the other side blinked in surprise at her state: her tousled hair, prominent scowl, and scanty nightclothes probably made for an unsophisticated sight, but really, what did he expect? He was the one who had been ringing her doorbell so rudely for the past minute.
Recovering, the young man pressed his lips together, looking genuinely apologetic. "I'm sorry to disturb you, ma'am, but the king requests your presence immediately."
One hand on either side of the doorframe, Jessa could only fix him with a dark, disbelieving stare. "I beg your pardon? Why?"
"He didn't say. If you'll come with me, please?"
Jessa sighed. Though he was obviously reluctant, the guard was clearly under instructions to see that she obeyed the royal summons. "Fine," she said, pushing back from the door. "I'll get changed. Unless His Hoitiness is in such a rush that he'll accept me into his presence thusly attired?" She made an exaggerated gesture at her clothes. She's always hated wearing a lot of clothes to bed, even in cold weather. They made her feel smothered.
The guard gave an acquiescent clearing of his throat. "Very good, ma'am."
Ten minutes later, she was following him through the long, sleepy corridors back toward the royal sections of the palace. Though she was curious, Jessa didn't bother trying to conjure a guess as to what King Richard wanted with her. She'd find out soon enough, and besides, she was too brain-weary as it was. She had spent two hours tossing and turning, dreading the morning to come and the king's press release.
Jessa recognized the pavilion thingy where they'd had supper that night, but once they passed that she was in unfamiliar territory. She wondered if Ceidron was also being beckoned to wait on the king's pleasure at such an unseemly hour. She hoped so. It would serve him right to have to suffer along with her.
Finally, they arrived at a corridor much grander than the ones they'd been walking through, which had been luxurious enough in their own right. This corridor was wide, vaulted, lined with large paintings and windows, so that in the daylight it must be a gorgeous display of light and architecture. For now, though, everything was dimly lit by electric lights on wall sconces made to give the impressions of candles all down the wall. The guard approached a pair of richly-carved double doors equally as tall as the corridor, flanked by two more guards, and stopped.
The guard to the right of the door nodded at them and spoke into his wrist. "Your Majesty, she's arrived."
"Send her in, please."
"Very good, Sire." The door guard looked at Jessa and nodded, even as he pulled open the gigantic door for her benefit. Cautiously, she stepped through.
The room beyond was as open and as dim as the corridor behind it. The size of the room made it seem sparsely furnished, but really, when she stopped to count there were a fair number of beautiful pieces. The main one was a long, polished teka-wood desk straight ahead of her, behind which Richard Naberrie was sitting in the low light.
There were two chairs in front of the desk. One was empty, but the other was occupied by a nondescript-looking man. At his side was a woman, standing at attention, leading Jessa to suppose she was some kind of military.
"Please come in, Jessa," Naberrie called.
Jessa glanced behind her, to see the door was already latching closed. She exhaled and turned back toward the desk, being careful to moderate her pace so she didn't betray anything that might suggest she was feeling nervous.
Richard held out a hand to the empty chair and she stiffly obeyed, taking her seat with as much reluctance as she could figure out how to communicate. Then she fixed him with a stare. "You rang?"
"I apologize for the lateness of the hour."
"Actually, it's more early than late."
"That it is." The king gestured to the man sitting in the chair. "This is Captain Joppa Kal, one of the leading members of my intelligence forces, and his associate Desmé Teelis."
If Jessa had been confused before, she had lost all capacity for reasonable explanations now. "Okay," was all she could think to say.
"They already know who you are."
"Well. Wonderful." After a beat she asked, "What am I doing here in the middle of the night with intelligence agents?"
"Because I would like to cut a deal with you. You see, I am having a little problem with some terrorists and I think you might be able to help me."
Jessa laughed. The sound was swiftly lost in the vast, well-insulated room. "Yes. I'll get right on that. Helping you. Really high on my priority list."
Out of the corner of her eye, Captain Joppa Kal opened his mouth in slight offense, but Richard held up a hand and he closed it again.
"I know you don't think well of me, Jessa, and I'll admit I haven't been endearing, but circumstances of late have forged me into something of a pragmatist. I'm hoping you'll help me, if I can offer something you want in return."
"And what would that be?" she asked sarcastically.
"The financial means to raise your daughter unencumbered in any way and anywhere you see fit."
Jessa stared at him. "Are you bribing me?"
"Don't be ridiculous. A bribe would imply that I find you to be some kind of threat against me. We've already aired the fact that Larkin's admission to the royal family is a political wrinkle, but it's hardly worth an intergalactic cover-up for its own sake."
"Well, thank you for that."
Abruptly, the king got to his feet with a slight scowl and turned to look out the vast window behind him into the black of the Naboo evening. He was quiet a moment. Then he said, more gently, "I have a daughter too, you know."
She raised her chin, wary. "I know."
"A daughter, a son on the way, and a mother to both of them whom I love very much. A few weeks ago they were almost killed in an assassination attempt. I believe the fallout from those events made your arrival here somewhat inconvenient."
"Yes. Yes, they did. I'm sorry for what happened, though."
"So am I. And I want to put a stop to it."
"You think I can help you with that?" Jessa made no attempt to disguise her skepticism.
"Yes." He turned abruptly back to face her. "I request that you infiltrate these terrorists and gather enough evidence to implicate and expose them."
Jessa glanced back at Captain Kal. She supposed the tightness of his face to betray his uncertainty about this proposal, and could only wonder if his disapproval was more of the risk involved or of her. "All right, let's backtrack a moment," she said, returning her attention to the king. "You want me to go undercover, like I'm some sort of secret agent? I don't have the training for that. I need more details."
"You have all the details you're going to get unless you agree," Naberrie said matter-of-factly. "The essential thing you need to understand is that you'll be attempting to infiltrate a highly secretive Naboo conspiracy and yes, I won't lie, it could be quite dangerous. I think that's sufficiently candid on my part."
"How magnanimous." Jessa sighed, looking between the three of them. "Why me?" she finally concluded. "Obviously you must have a reason, and I don't think it's just because I'm expendable as a non-citizen of Naboo. Why haven't you infiltrated these people already?"
Naberrie glanced at Kal who spoke for the first time. "Learning enough about them to even attempt an infiltration has been a long, arduous task," he said. "We've made passing efforts toward that end, yes, but mostly in the way of feelers that accomplished almost nothing. We hope that we will have surprise on our side when— if— we try it this way."
"It may not be evident to you," Naberrie added, "but our people are for the most part fiercely loyal to my family's dynasty. Opposition to Naberrie rule is very, very rare on this planet. At least publicly."
"Sounds to me like you don't like to be criticized," Jessa scathed mildly.
Naberrie reached for a stylus on his desk and began pushing it along the polished wooden surface with a nonchalant air, but he couldn't hide a brief flash of annoyance in his eyes at her words. "Captain Kal's hope is that they are more likely to accept an outsider as sympathetic to their cause. Your background, your history of socialist sympathies makes you the perfect believable candidate."
Jessa exhaled and leaned back in her chair as the pieces began to click into place at last. "I see," she said, crossing her arms and looking up at the king matter-of-factly. "So no false persona; you want me to infiltrate these people as myself."
"It would certainly save a lot of undue headache in the paperwork department."
"What about Larkin?"
"What about her?"
"If your terrorists have any decent kind of intelligence tap, they'll connect her to Ceidron and then to you. Wouldn't that tip the scales in favor of suspicion?"
Naberrie exchanged glances with Kal, and the latter gave a small nod.
"Good point. Now you see the urgency of tabling this proposal before tomorrow's press release."
"So how would you address that little problem?" Jessa pressed.
He seemed to hesitate before replying. "We could take steps to bury or eradicate all of your personal records pertaining to Larkin. They wouldn't even know she existed, nor have reason to suspect."
Jessa blanched. "That sounds a bit shifty."
"Nevertheless, for the protection of you both, and for the viability of the mission, a necessary step. Now—" the king sat down at his desk, crossed his hands, leaned forward, and fixed her with a piercing stare. "I think I've given you enough on which to base your decision."
"Not quite," Jessa countered.
"Oh?"
"You haven't elaborated on your end of the bargain, should I decide to accept your offer."
"I believe I was very liberal."
"And very vague. What about Ceidron? Are you hoping that I'll take your royal line of livelihood and just disappear? Now that he knows about Larkin, he will insist upon being part of her life. You won't be rid of us. I hope you realize that."
Naberrie scowled. "I don't connive to keep families apart, Jessa."
"Well, you'll forgive me, Your Majesty, but I've seen so many short, quick, little glimpses of you that I have no idea what to believe."
"You know what?" he said brusquely. "You're right. Specifics are much tidier when it comes to largesse. I will pay you an annuity of five-hundred thousand Republic dactares out of the Naberrie fortune to pursue any life you see fit, anywhere in the galaxy, even on Naboo. Additionally, I will contribute fifty-thousand dactares toward a trust fund in Larkin Kennich's name, the overseeing of which will be charged to Lord Ceidron Metz. Both stipends will be paid until Larkin Kennich is of age, according to Commenor law, at which time our family's debt to you will have been considered paid."
Jessa did her best to mask the intake of breath at the staggering figure. He was right. They would never want for anything in their lives ever again. She could travel— she could study in universities offworld that hadn't closed their doors to her. Larkin could have the pick of superior education, and one not as biased as the Naboo brainwashing she was sure to receive here.
Ceidron had accused her of being too prideful of accepting a handout from the royal family. This was far, far more than a handout. It was a life. And then some. But then, Jessa reasoned, if Richard Naberrie was telling the truth, her life was exactly what he was asking her to put on the line for people she didn't even know or particularly care for.
At least he had a good regard for the value of things.
She met his eye with a hard stare. "Agreed. I'll do it."
He nodded slowly and stiffly. "Very good." He glanced at Captain Kal. "You'll meet with Captain Kal and his team tomorrow. We need to move quickly. My government has been crippled long enough as it is."
The suite where Claria and Ceidron had first relayed the news to Richard about Jessa served as their home away from home. Ceidron had stubbornly refused to move entirely from their home in the city, but most of Claria's social functions took place in the palace suite on Richard's orders. In some ways, she hated it there— it was closed, sparse, and impersonal. Today, however, she had to admit that the sparseness was an inadvertent blessing.
"Rainer, no!" Claria's longtime friend, Saché Drianna— now Saché Drianna Bakuro— darted across the room and snatched her son bodily away from a tall, viney potted loppel. She was then obliged to pry the end of one if its trailing tendrils from the clenched fingers of his small, fat fist.
Rainer Bakuro protested loudly to his mother, and Saché rolled her eyes slightly at Claria as she wheeled him around, out of the line of sight from this new, tempting target. "You sure you're in a rush to have one of these?" she asked Claria. She hauled Rainer over to the bag of toys she'd brought along, then blindly reached in and pulled one out for him.
Claria laughed. The toddler promptly forgot the forbidden loppel and shrieked in pleasure at the bright colors and patterns that swirled across the surface of the large, pocked ball. "Believe it or not, yes," she replied.
"Well, whenever the longing gets particularly acute, you're welcome to chase this one around for a few days. I'm sure it will take the edge off."
"If only I could," Claria said wistfully.
Saché brushed a couple of stray locks of hair out of her face. "He just never stops," she said, glancing at her son with impatient fondness. "And then he falls asleep and he's so precious that I forget the whole day and start over."
Claria smiled. Motherhood had changed Saché. Not for the worse, but some of her more fastidious tendencies had gone by the wayside. Gone were the pristine presentation, the spotless living spaces, the rigid schedule.
"You could always hire a nanny," Claria pointed out mildly. "You're rich enough."
"No." There was no room for argument in Saché's response. "I may have married into money, but I'm not using it as a means to avoid my own children."
"Children?" Claria raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly at the other woman. "I thought this one was enough."
Saché waved her off and pulled out another toy to occupy the insatiable Rainer. "So," she ventured when it seemed reasonable that they would get another three minutes of uninterrupted time, "this daughter of Ceidron's— why did Richard delay the public announcement?"
Claria shook her head. "We have no idea. All he'll say is that he's made some kind of agreement with Jessa that requires we forestall making the whole thing public." She sighed. "I'm really worried, and so is Ceidron. We haven't seen Jessa since her first night in the palace. Larkin cried the first two nights straight without her."
"Where is Larkin now?"
"With Ceidron. That's the only bright side. Larkin knows Ceidron is her father, and with Jessa gone, she's drawn a lot closer to him than she might have otherwise, or at least not this quickly."
"You don't think Richard convinced Jessa to leave permanently, do you?" Saché's eyes flicked toward her guiltily, cognizant of the awkwardness of the question.
Claria wished she could have widened her eyes in horror at Saché's suggestion, flown into an indignant range at the idea her brother could have done something so cowardly. "I don't know," Claria whispered quietly. She shook her head. "Sometimes I think I don't know him anymore." Saché reached over and squeezed her hand comfortingly.
The moment was broken by an insistent cry from Rainer, who was tugging the seal on the other compartment of Saché's bag. "Hungry?" Saché asked him. She reached over and released the seal with a gentle swipe of her thumb. "Fortunately, that only works with my thumbprint," she advised Claria. Saché fished out a couple of teething biscuits for the baby. "And how do you like Larkin?" she asked gently when he was placated.
"I hardly know. She's polite but doesn't really respond to me. I try not to be...resentful."
"I know it's probably hard."
"How's Eirtaé?" Claria asked, eager to change the subject. "I haven't seen her since the wedding. That was what, a year ago now?" Eirtaé Bakuro, Saché's cousin by marriage had recently been married to Rory Daris, who was a former suitor of Sabé's. Knowing the rivalry that had once existed between the two girls, Claria had drawn quite a bit of amusement from this turn of events.
"Pregnant," Saché replied.
"Really?" Claria blurted. "By the Force!" She wrested her flare of jealousy deep, deep inside where Saché wouldn't be able to detect it.
"I know. They didn't waste any time." Saché glanced at Rainer. "Eirtaé, Padmé. You're married, Rabé is engaged. We are really all growing up, aren't we?"
"You were born grown up, Saché," Claria said with a laugh.
"So were you, according to Sabé." Saché's expression saddened. "Some of didn't get the chance."
Claria choked back a lump in her throat. Saché was referring to their fallen friends, who had died in the attempt on Padmé's life three years ago. Claria in particular mourned her dear friend Versé, without whom she wouldn't have ever played jazz or met Ceidron.
Brusquely, she got to her feet. "No more of this gloominess," she insisted. "Do you want some tea? Or some caf?"
Saché, who was hauling Rainer out of a holo curio, was unable to reply.
"This is quite a risk that you take, Your Majesty, if you'll permit me to be so bold."
Richard checked his reflection in the large glass mirror. The only thing that didn't meet with his satisfaction were the stress lines on his forehead. Even when he schooled his features to a regal apathy, he knew they were still there— lurking. He'd confessed his plan to Yvenne this morning. Her reaction had not been the assurance he'd daydreamed about.
He glanced to his right. Lady Nashira stood regarding him with her eternal serenity. "You agreed to help," he reminded her.
She nodded. "I meant no reproval, Majesty. You are not the first sovereign to send a soldier to his death, nor will you be the last."
"I don't know that he's going to his death," Richard said, more to himself than to anyone. After all, he'd been asserting as much since he'd first conceived this plan.
"Yet you must possess the resolve," she observed. Her face was pensive as she considered him. "I am no pacifist, Richard Naberrie. I admire your conviction."
"At least someone does," he muttered.
The door chime sounded.
"Enter."
He noted Commander Barris in the mirror's reflection. "Is everything ready?" he asked, cutting off any potential formalities.
"It is, my Lord."
Richard straightened his jacket one more time and turned to Lady Nashira. "Shall we?" He held out an arm, which she accepted with no reply.
Richard's entourage walked silently through the corridors toward the hangar, where a heavily-armored speeder was waiting to escort the king to the official blessing and dedication of the Gungan embassy in Theed. The magnificent structure, a harmonious, artful marriage of land and water, was finally complete. Construction had begun shortly after the Battle of Naboo, and would have been finished much sooner, but the war had brought a serious halt to its progress.
The Gungans had assured Richard that his absence would not offend them, given the delicate security situation, but now that he knew his own people were working against him, he was through being cautious. Publicly, anyway. He needed to draw them out, make them reveal a little more of their hand. He could only hope that the idea of him missing such an important diplomatic event would be significant enough that his enemies wouldn't find his newfound boldness in any way suspicious.
"I am curious, Majesty," Lady Nashira said, breaking the laden silence, "if your strategy proves fruitless, if appearances are all that are achieved today, is your young man capable of dispelling any suspicion?"
"You mean will his comportment betray us?"
"Just so."
"He's been in my retinue for many years. He knows my mannerisms and his education is sufficient."
"And should the Gungans discover him and press you on the matter?"
"Then they shall have the truth," he said. "Enough of it, anyway."
When they arrived at the waiting area adjacent to the hangar, a young, nervous-looking man got to his feet. "Sire," he said, bowing deeply.
"Sifko." Richard reached out to clasp the young man's arm. He was about the height, build, and coloring of Richard, and he was dressed in an exact replica of the formal state costume Richard was wearing.
Richard gestured to Nashira. "Corporal, this is Lady Nashira of the Fallanassi, a long-honored guest in our court. As you know, she'll be using her skills to make this charade of ours all the more believable."
"My lady."
"Your Majesty, we're running short on time."
"Of course, Barris. Lady Nashira?"
Nashira relinquished her hold on Richard's arm and approached Corporal Sifko with a focused expression. He gave a nervous lick of his lips. She gave him a reassuring smile and reached up, cupping her hands on either side of his face. "There is no pain," she assured him. "Let us begin."
From amongst a milling crowd eager to see their long-reclusive king, Jessa Kennich swallowed hard. For some reason, now that she was here, she was afraid. Afraid for Larkin, afraid for herself, afraid that she was in over her head.
The last three days had been exhausting. She hadn't had contact with a single person she cared about, but instead had been treated to an intensive regimen of intelligence facts, briefings, and tutorials. She now know all there was to know about the Naboo's recent exposure to domestic terrorism, from the unsolved mystery of Queen Leiandra's murder to the explosion that had stranded her and Larkin in the spaceport such a short while ago. She also had technical knowledge drilled into her head— useful skills and techniques for espionage. She only hoped she could remember it all, should the need arise. There was no assurance this project was even going to work.
Theed was out in style today, in celebration of the Naboo-Gungan alliance. There atmosphere was festive, which did assure Jessa of one thing— whatever else happened, she would be getting some attention.
Her fingers were clenching a folded sign— simple cardstock with angry words in bold colors. A trifle archaic, perhaps, but effective, and more importantly—inexpensive. At the foot of a giant statue outside the university, various student groups were protesting their causes. The one closest to the king's subscribed route was earning the most scrutiny from security forces. They were the loudest, and the most angry. Jessa could only hope they would keep their actions legal. There would be no small amount of irony if her efforts resulted in being arrested again. The security forces had no idea of Jessa or her mission, or if they did, she hadn't been informed.
She took a deep breath and pushed through the crowd.
"Don't buy the lie! Let the dynasty die! Don't buy the lie! Let the dynasty die!"
Seven or eight of the students were shouting in chorus as Jessa approached. She surged toward them.
A grip on her elbow pulled her back. "I'd stay away from that lot, miss," a well-meaning guard advised. "They're prone to spitting and the like."
Jessa jerked her arm away and favored him with a glare. "As well they should," she snapped angrily. "How else is anybody actually going to wake up and pay attention?" She flipped her sign open for his benefit. 'Naberries for Exile!' was splayed brashly across it.
The guard set his lips and released her with a disgusted expression.
A girl among the chanting protestors had spotted the exchange. She caught Jessa's eye and beckoned her over. Jessa hurried to the group and began waving her sign in time with the ditty. Maybe this would be easier than she thought.
She spent the heart of the next two hours protesting. Her feet were already sore and her voice was already hoarse by the time King Richard's motorcade was due to pass by. In between random bouts of chanting and shouting their agenda at hapless passersby— and enduring the occasional expletive or rotten vegetable in reply— Jessa had the opportunity to meet and be met by her fellow activists. She stuck with extreme care to the story painstakingly constructed through the joint effort of herself and the Royal Intelligence team. It was part fiction and a whole lot of fact.
Jessa had to admit that Richard Naberrie had, if nothing else, very keen instincts. In other circumstances, Jessa may have been here of her own accord. She genuinely believed everything she was shouting, just as Ceidron had, once upon a time. The fact that the protestors were, for the most part, native to Naboo only augmented Jessa's sympathy for their grievances— all the more for having an actual acquaintance with the king. Knowing her real objective for being among them made her stomach twist with gnawing guilt.
She forced herself to remember that she was not spying against democracy, but against terrorism. Jessa had never been a proponent of violence, not after she'd gotten a small enough taste of it on Commenor to recognize the horror, the brutality, and futility of it all. Any of her new friends who agreed were not her enemies, and she would not betray them. Neither was she betraying herself. But this rationale did not entirely ease the discomfort she felt with each new handshake, each new, fierce, welcoming smile.
The leaders of the group, a man named Bandism and a woman named Tyré— the same woman who had first beckoned to Jessa— clearly kept up the energy and passion for all the rest of the group. They were the ones who questioned Jessa most closely. It was Bandism who approached them when the motorcade's arrival was imminent.
"Let's start getting closer," he urged. "Closer to the road. I want some of our people visible from the speeders. Maybe we'll make the media broadcasts, even offworld."
The group began shoving their way bit by bit through the crowd toward the edge of the road. Jessa was sure to stay near the center. Sure enough, some of the people already occupying the premium parade ground real estate that Bandism coveted took issue with the protestors' arrival. By the time the scuffles were sorted out, three or four members of the group were being escorted away by security.
Jessa was surprised it was not more until she took a close look at one of the guards and recognized a plain clothes agent who had trained her on basic self defense only yesterday. He caught her eye for the briefest of moments and then scowled hard. "I'm letting the rest of you off on a warning,' he said to those of the group closest to her." It was then that she realized, abruptly, that if it hadn't been for her, the protestors probably wouldn't have been allowed to gather at all. Now, they found themselves miraculously positioned along the way where the king himself would be passing by to witness their complaint. Jessa's toes were mere microns from the energy barrier that divided the plaza from the road. She hoped no one jostled her into it. It wouldn't kill or even injure her, but it wouldn't be pleasant.
There was a loud, excited roar from the crowd ahead of them, and Jessa craned her neck along with everyone else, straining to get a glimpse of the king's speeder. As soon as the first vehicle was in sight, Bandism and Tyré were urging the protestors into action. Jessa held her sign high.
"Naboo, yes! Naberrie, no! Naboo, yes! Naberrie, no! Naboo—"
Jessa shouted and stomped and flailed with the best of them. She followed Richard's speeder, hooded and undoubtedly shielded, pass by and followed its progress beyond her. He had been alone, except for his driver. In the car behind him were some other Naboo dignitaries, and a tall woman wearing alien robes whom Jessa did not recognize from her limited familiarity with the Naboo court.
Bandism gestured wildly that they should keep going, even though nobody's attention was on them anymore.
"Naboo, yes! Naberrie, no!"
Jessa was just considering whether or not anyone would notice if she just mouthed the words when a deafening sound eclipsed the roar of the crowd and any other sound. Jessa felt herself scream and ducked to a squat, pulling her hands and the sign still clutched in them up over her head.
A moment later, some of her hearing returned, and it was full of the outcry of shock and fear all around her. She stood shakily to her feet, and had just barely managed to do that much when someone seized her roughly by the shoulders, dragging her out into the street. It took Jessa a moment to realize that the energy barrier had somehow been deactivated.
The person seizing her was Tyré. She pulled Jessa's face close to hers. "Run," she urged. "We didn't do this, but they'll round us up for questioning anyway. Met me at the Royal Pistol tomorrow around this time." Without even waiting for Jessa's confirmation, Tyré dropped her hands and rushed off into the crowd.
Still reeling, both physically and mentally, Jessa needed another moment before she could follow the other woman's advice. Then she hurried off, heedless of the direction, wondering if the king was alive and if not, what she was supposed to do now.
Sabé was eating a quiet meal with Padmé and Anakin when Dormé came running into the room, ashen-faced, with the barest regard for decorum.
"What is it, Dormé?" Padmé asked, her concern evident at the expression on the handmaiden's face.
"My lady," Dormé said, trembling. "The king— he's been killed."
A/N: Seven and a half months later, here we are! Less time than a pregnancy, at least.
Okay, as promised, now that the school hurdle is over, I'm picking up this fic again. The even better news is that last week I pushed through a huge block in plot logistics, which means that I don't anticipate getting any more serious writers block from here on out. As soon as I had this chapter written I decided to post it, since you guys, my awesome readers, have been waiting so patiently and faithfully for an update. Now that I'm working with a tolerable level of momentum, however, I'm going to resume my old faithful standby of write two, post one, write two, post one until the fic is finished, at which point I'll post my "bank" of chapters at any ol' pace my heart desires.
Ben and Sabé in the next chapter!