Chapter Twelve

"My gracious, dahling, you're fidgeting like a womp rat in a wuicka pen."

"Would you like me to help you with a meditation exercise?"

"Would you like me to get you a drink?"

Inwardly, Jaina suppressed a flinch. Usually she reacted to this sort of patronizing with a witty retort or a sharp rejoinder. Except usually, this sort of patronizing was patronizing. This time, it wasn't. She deserved every word of it.

Since when did the concept of marrying Jag make her nervous?

Since she started putting on this dress for real, apparently.

Jaina took a slow breath, then turned to Raul. "Sorry," she said, and meant it. "I'll hold still." Then she looked over her shoulder at her mother and Syal. "No. Thank you, though. I'm fine."

Leia arched an eyebrow. "You don't seem fine."

Sometimes having a Jedi for a mother was a serious pain in the rear. "Well, I'll be fine." She moved as if to shrug, but didn't dare for fear of provoking another round of chastising from Raul. "Still not used to being the center of attention, I guess."

Syal winked. "Welcome to my world."

Jaina laughed. Yes, she knew exactly the kind of holostar she would have made. The kind who was notorious for rude remarks and hospitalizing holomag journalists. She could see the banner headline now: Drunken Solo Does It Again; Rampage Video Up Next!

"Almost… there," said Raul. He yanked something – Jaina wasn't quite sure what, but it felt like some form of torture device – and the corset lashed even tighter around her waist. She wouldn't have thought that was possible. But then it was just a few more tugs and pulls and tying off hidden cords, and Raul bounded out from behind her.

"Thay-ah!" he cried, holding his arms wide. "We are finished, dahling." He hurried forward again, guiding Jaina by the elbow to turn her to face the mirrors. "See, see. You must see it."

She did, and gasped. "It… It looks even better than the fitting."

"It had better, dahling, or – oh! No! I mustn't even think it." Was he actually crying?

Syal put a consoling hand on his shoulder. "It's beautiful, Raul, absolutely beautiful."

"Yes," said Leia, patting his shoulder from the other side. Was she crying too? "It truly is."

Jaina took a deep breath. Why were her knees trembling? "So, if it's all right, I'll leave the three of you to your sobfest and go take a walk around."

When Raul looked up at her with utter horror in his eyes, she hastily added, "Just here in the cathedral."

As soon Leia and Syal started to speak simultaneously, she cut them off with a raised hand and appended, "Just in the back corridor. No one will see me. Especially not Jag."

The three of them seemingly mollified, Jaina headed toward the door. "I'll be back in a few."

"Stop. Pacing."

Jag turned. "I'm not."

Cem raised a brow. "Pacing. Present participle construction of 'to pace.' Verb. To repeatedly walk the same stretch of ground with no apparent progress toward any identifiable destination. Often signifying a state of apprehension."

Their father unsuccessfully stifled a snort.

"Wonderful," Jag said. "Next time I need a protocol droid, I won't bother looking for Threepio."

"You can have him, if you want," said Han from his perch on a stool in the corner of the small room, a chaplain's office appropriated as a waiting area. "Consider it a wedding present."

"Let me think about," Jag replied, deadpan, "and I'll get back to you."

"Yeah, do that. Please."

Soontir ambled over and put a hand on Jag's shoulder. "What's gotten into you, son?"

"Nothing," Jag said, shaking his head a little more insistently than he intended. "I'm just ready to get this over with."

Cem laughed. "More like, after a couple days sharing my room, ready to get into Jaina's –"

"Shut it."

"– good graces."

Jag glared. "If you weren't my brother…"

"Hey," said Han. "Don't worry about it, kid. Feeling a little dread is perfectly normal."

"It's not dread," Jag said. "I just meant… I'm tired of waiting. I'm ready to get started."

His father chuckled, and slapped him on the back. "In that case, Jagged, I'm afraid you're doomed to your torment a bit longer."

"Not that long," Jag said, checking the chrono for the seven thousandth time. "It's only fifteen minutes."

Han chortled. "Uh, Jag? I hate to break it to you, but no wedding starts early. Not even a Fel wedding." He shot Soontir a glance. "No offense."

"None taken." Soontir put out a hand, and quite effectively prevented Jag from starting to walk again. Not that he was pacing, of course. "Han's right, you know. In fact, I would go so far as to say that no wedding starts on time."

"Oh," Jag muttered, "great."

"So…" Cem moved toward the door. "I'm gonna go make sure the cathedral hasn't, I don't know, imploded or something." He tossed Jag a salute. "See you out there, little brother."

Jag waved a farewell, then looked back to his father. "So you're really going to hold me captive here and make me wait, aren't you?"

"Yes," his father said, his expression not nearly as apologetic as Jag would have preferred. "I'm afraid so."

Atop the stool, Han drew out a hand from inside the jacket of his formal dress uniform. His palm held a small silver flask. "One last drink for our unmarried prisoner?"

Walking slowly, muffling her footfalls with the Force, Jaina passed beneath the archway and emerged onto a small corner balcony just short of the cathedral's soaring ceiling. Gazing across the chamber, she picked out the companion balcony on the opposite side. Yes, she could see why they would be the ideal locations to place a pair of trumpeters for ceremonies requiring numerous fanfares and voluntaries, just as the cathedral staffer had explained.

She gazed around the towering, spacious chamber. The stained-glass windows were intricate and cast brilliant rays all the way to the floor below. The sculptures were ornate, the paintings and tapestries luxurious. Certainly a cathedral befitting the extravagance of Bolis Island.

Jaina's eyes traveled down the walls to the seating area. Most of the guests for the ceremony had already arrived. On her side, she picked out Luke and Ben, the three Calrissians, the four Horns, Tycho and Winter, and Tahiri. On the other, she noticed several Chiss – was that Shawnkyr? – and a few of the Wampas, as well as Wedge, Iella, and Syal.

But where was Myri?

And why was Wedge talking into his comlink?

He leaned over to whisper to Iella, then stood and began to walk back up the aisle toward the rear doors. Across the room, Tycho was also in motion. Then Myri emerged from an alcove and began gesturing at her father.

None of them looked confident. Not quite panicked, but not exactly calm, either.

The Force tugged at her mind, and Jaina's eyes returned to the opposite balcony. It was empty, just as it had been before.

Until, a heartbeat later, she noticed a motion in the shadows.

Certainty gelled in her mind, and Jaina spun back to the archway. She hurried through – and jumped, clearing the entire slender stairwell to the first landing in a single plunge. She softened her impact with the Force, then turned down the long, narrow corridor leading across the cathedral to the balcony on the other side. She only made it a few strides, though, before a noise behind her caught her attention.

She stopped cold and looked back over her shoulder, fully expecting to see an adversary bounding up the stairwell from below. Instead she saw nothing.

The noise had been simply the rustling of the train of pink Alderaanian tulle billowing behind her.

"Idiot," she muttered, spinning back around and breaking into a run.

Powered by the Force, she reached the far end of the corridor in seconds. Pausing to catch her breath, Jaina realized that was an impossible prospect cinched into her corset. While she carefully tried to replenish her oxygen supply before becoming lightheaded, her danger sense blazed with murderous intent, but not directed at her. There was no time to lose, and that small balcony was no place for a fight.

So she raised a hand, stretched out her feelings… and yanked with the strength of twenty men.

Only one man flew down the stairs, crashed to the floor, and rolled twice until he collided hard into the wall. Despite the violence of the tumble, he never lost his grip on his rifle. A sniper rifle, complete with silencer and scope. He grunted, then rose to a knee, raising the rifle –

"Not a chance," Jaina spat, flicking out her hand.

The barrel of the rifle bent back at an awkward angle from the impact of the invisible wave, just before the rifle wrenched itself from his grasp and clattered away down the stairs behind him.

"You," she snarled.

Luthor Korde's only reply was a predatory grin. Undaunted, his hand flashed upward with a holdout blaster in his grip. He squeezed off a shot –

– and Jaina suddenly realized her lightsaber was good and useless in its thigh holster, ensconced beneath layer after layer of her –

"Kriff!" she cried, and lunged to the side with all her might to make sure the bolt would clear her shoulder with enough room to avoid a flash-burn.

Korde aimed again, but this time Jaina didn't go for his weapon. Instead she hit the back of his knees with a Force-smack that toppled him onto his backside with a loud thud. The holdout sprang from his hand and flew straight into her waiting palm.

It didn't have a stun setting.

"You've got to be kidding me," Jaina growled, and hurled it down the stairs.

"Made me miss my target." Korde came up again, this time with a long, nasty-looking knife. "But you'll do."

He charged.

Jaina shouted, "Not the dress!"

The hair on the back of his neck rose. An odd impatience made his fingers twitch. Ben tried to identify the source of the sensation, but couldn't. He glanced to his father. "Do you sense something?"

Eyes half-lidded, Luke nodded without looking over. "Jaina."

"How can you tell?"

Now Luke looked at Ben, a smirk on his face.

"Right," Ben said. "But it's not just that she's happy or anxious or whatever. It's something else, isn't it?"

Luke's eyes half-closed again, and after a moment he said, "I think so."

"So… should we go check on her?"

Suddenly Luke's eyes widened. Before he could even finish saying, "Yes, I think we should," Ben was already on his feet, moving toward the side of the vaulted chamber. They did their best to maintain a calm, collected Jedi pace so they wouldn't alarm anyone. When Corran Horn glanced over at them, brow raised, Ben made the universal gesture for Father-Son 'Fresher Break, and Corran laughed. After all, the resort buffet's selection of juices was nearly as plentiful as its selection of foodstuffs.

When they arrived in the corridor running alongside the chamber, Ben closed his eyes and stretched out his feelings in the Force, searching for Jaina. She seemed to be up ahead, near the front of the cathedral, right where she should be.

"I agree," Luke said. "Let's go. Quickly."

They broke into a run. Not powered by the Force, both because they weren't quite sure exactly where they were headed yet, and to avoid drawing too much attention from the other Jedi in the building. They only got a few more strides, though, before a sharp spike of emotion lanced through the Force. Jaina, loud and clear as an emergency klaxon, calling out for her mother's aid.

Ben glanced to his father, whose expression reflected the worry Ben felt. Without a word, never breaking stride, their right hands dropped to their respective hips in unison – and snapped back up holding ignited lightsabers.

Jagged Fel hated when his father was right. In fact, he hated the entire concept of being wrong, no matter who was involved.

But especially with his father. Not because he hated his father, or harbored any patricidal fantasies. Simply because, growing up, it had seemed that his father had always been right – and no one deserved to be that omniscient. His father was smart and wise and irrationally dedicated to the safety and well-being of his family. The kind of man Jag could only hope to be himself. But it was utterly maddening how often Soontir Fel was right about things.

Jag sighed. Yes, the chrono was now three minutes past the scheduled start time of the wedding ceremony. Just as his father had predicted.

"You're handling this rather well, Jagged," his father said. "The delay and all."

"Hey there, buddy," said Han. "Don't push your luck."

Jag could only laugh. He didn't feel like laughing; he felt like getting damn well married right about now. But he felt ludicrous for feeling like that, and his own ludicrousness was laughable. So he laughed. There was nothing else he could do.

Just then came a soft knock at the door, and a moment later his mother slipped inside the small room to join them. She smiled. "And here I was worried I'd find our groom in a sour mood."

"Oh, too bad," Han said, waving his hand in a flourish. "You just missed it."

Syal chuckled lightly, then extended her hand to her husband. "Come along now, 'Tir. It's time to take our places."

Jag stopped himself from saying, About damn time. Instead he said, "Oh, good."

"Yes, dear," his mother said. "Leia's just… finishing up something with Jaina. Once she has the bride in position, she'll be right along for the two of you."

With a smile and a wave, her husband on her arm, she whisked out of the room.

And Jag looked right at Han. "Finishing up what? Not in position yet?"

Han shrugged. "Your mother picks her words carefully, I'll give her that."

On reconsideration, perhaps Jag did hate his parents – both of them – after all. "They should have arrived here together."

"Yeah, well, what're you gonna do?" Han hopped down from the stool and walked over, putting a hand on Jag's shoulder. "It's all right, Jag. We'll be started before you know it."

"I just wish I knew what was going on."

Han laughed, loud and riotously. "Trust me, Jag, you're part of the Solo family now. You don't want to know. You really, really don't."

Jaina Solo hated retreating. In fact, she hated the entire concept of retreating.

Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. Admittedly there were times when retreat was the only strategically viable option, especially when it meant saving as many beings as possible to live and fight another day. But as a Jedi, Jaina had often been able to find ways to create alternative strategic options when other commanders would have had none. So while she hadn't hesitated to order retreats when they were necessary, they just hadn't ever been as necessary for her as they were for most people. Which meant she'd never really become accustomed to them the way she probably should have.

Yes, Jaina Solo well and truly hated retreating. Especially in situations she could easily handle herself, if only external factors weren't getting in the way.

There was no small irony – an irony not lost on Jaina for a second – in the fact that she now fled from a lone man with a single knife like the galaxy's biggest coward. And not for some noble cause or Jedi duty, either. No, she fled for the sole purpose of protecting a garment.

Oh yes. Jaina Solo ran not for her life, but to save her wedding dress.

If that objective didn't matter so much to her – and there was no way she was ever going to admit to anyone in the universe, even Jag, that she was fighting back tears at the thought of this dress getting ruined – she would have laughed. Because really, deep down, this whole situation was laughable. Not to mention her priorities.

But oddly enough, nothing had ever felt more right.

So Jaina ran. Fast enough to keep ahead of the madman, but not so fast she lost him. Because as much as she cared about her dress, she couldn't just leave an assassin at large. Especially not in the cathedral about to host her wedding.

She ran, trying desperately to concoct a way to retrieve her lightsaber from its holster, or to think up a surefire method for knocking the man unconscious for at least an hour without killing him, or to –

And just like that it was over, so quickly her brain couldn't process it in real-time. She saw a blur of motion, felt a burst of wind against her cheeks, heard a thrum and a whack and a thud.

The next thing she knew, she turned around to see Luthor Korde prone, face-down against the stone floor, Luke Skywalker's boot between his shoulder blades, the point of Ben Skywalker's lightsaber leveled right at his throat.

She blinked. "Uh…"

And then the chimes began to ring. Great big enormous bells, sounding the call for everyone to take their seats and positions for the ceremony. Gigantic metal bells, loud enough to be heard from everywhere within the cathedral. Suddenly this narrow corridor was louder than a flight deck launching three squadrons at once.

"Go," her uncle told her. Or at least, she read his lips to say that. "We've got this."

"Thanks," she mouthed, and sprinted for the stairs.

This time she ran not from fear, but joy.