Queen''s Shadow Read online

  © & TM 2019 Lucasfilm Ltd.

  All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press,

  an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced

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  For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press,

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  ISBN 978-1-368-02563-8

  Design by Leigh Zieske

  Cover illustration by Tara Phillips

  Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Part II

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Part III

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Part IV

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Part V

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To the girls with deep hearts and

  multiple backup plans…

  And especially to Emma, who is

  my guide for both.

  Sabé kept her eyes closed and tried not to flinch every time the brush made contact with her nose. The finishing powder had to be applied lightly, which tickled, and now was not the time for laughter. Rabé’s hands were steady as she applied the last of the queen’s makeup, and Sabé kept her breathing steady, too. She knew from personal experience that inhaling the powder led to a bout of sneezing, and now was not the time for that, either.

  Around her, she could feel the other handmaidens going about their tasks. No one ran or let their emotions break through their professional façade, but Sabé knew that everyone was on edge. Saché finished with her hair, and Sabé braced her neck for the weight of the headpiece as Yané slid it on. Rabé pulled away the cloth at Sabé’s neck, the one that kept the makeup from getting on the elaborate black dress she wore, and Sabé opened her eyes.

  She looked into the queen’s face. It wasn’t the first time she had done so, of course, but this time felt like it was the most desperate. The measured calm of the queen’s dressing room was not expended much beyond the door. Sabé could hear ships landing in the palace courtyards and the unmistakable clank of droid feet on stone. Anger rose in her. The Trade Federation could at least have used the proper docking areas. It wasn’t like the Naboo defended them any more rigorously than they did the palace.

  Movement in the mirror caught her eye, and Sabé saw Padmé and Eirtaé return to the main chamber. Padmé’s face was scrubbed clean, all traces of her own makeup gone, and she had pulled up the hood of her flame-colored robe to further disguise her identity. Sabé didn’t need to see her face to know her thoughts.

  “The team made it to the royal ship,” Eirtaé said. “But they were captured. Captain Panaka is waiting for us in the corridor. Where would you like to be when they get here?”

  Sabé knew that Padmé wasn’t going to give the answer. Once they began the decoy maneuver, it was all up to the queen, and right now, that was Sabé.

  “Can we make it to the throne room?” Sabé asked. Her voice was pitched low, and her sonorous tones—a much practiced inflection—filled the room.

  “No, my lady,” Eirtaé said.

  “If they catch us here, in the queen’s dressing room, they may underestimate us, think us unprepared,” Yané pointed out. She stood very close to Saché as they waited for Sabé to decide.

  “We will go out onto the terrace,” Queen Amidala declared. “Have Captain Panaka join us with whatever guards he deems fit.”

  Rabé slipped away to see it done, and the rest of them made their way outside. Sabé put her hands on the railing, looking out over Theed. Usually the view brought her peace, but there was none of that now. Too many Trade Federation ships marred the cityscape. She heard the mechanized sound of the invading army coming up the wide marble stairs and—mercifully closer—the heavy step of Captain Panaka’s boots.

  Padmé crouched beside her, fixing some wrinkle in the hem of the voluminous black dress.

  “We will do this,” she said, so softly that Sabé barely heard her. Sabé reached down, and Padmé took her hand and squeezed it. “This dress has enough Karlini silk woven into it to protect you and anyone standing behind you in a firefight, and you know that’s only the beginning. Naboo resists in its own way. Your people are with you, Your Highness. We are ready.”

  They were comforting words, and Sabé could easily imagine saying them herself, except she would never let her queen face such a dangerous situation, no matter what protections were woven into her robes. Panaka coughed, and the door to the terrace was pushed open by uncaring metal hands. It was time for Sabé of Naboo, bodyguard and handmaiden, to do her job. And she would, because that was what she had always chosen to do.

  Sabé turned to face her enemies as the Queen of Naboo, and Padmé all but disappeared into her shadow.

  Padmé Amidala was completely still. The brown halo of her hair spread out around her, softened here and there by white blossoms that had blown through the air to find their rest amongst her curls. Her skin was pale and perfect. Her face was peaceful. Her eyes were closed and her hands were clasped across her stomach as she floated. Naboo carried on without her.

  Even now, at the end, she was watched.

  It was no more than was to be expected. Ever since she’d entered the arena of planetary politics, her audience had been unceasing. First they had commented on her interests and ideals, then later on her election to queen. Many had doubted her strength in the face of an invasion, when the lives and well-being of her people would be held ransom against her—hers to save if only she would give up her signature—and she had proven them all wrong. She had ruled well. She had grown in wisdom and experience, and had done both rapidly. She had faced the trials of her position unflinching and unafraid. And now, her time was ended.

  A small disturbance, the barest movement through the otherwise peaceful water, was Padmé’s only warning before her attacker struck.

  An arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her down into the clear shallows, holding her there just long enough to let her know that she had been bested.

  The Queen of Naboo surfaced, sputtering water in the sunlight as her handmaidens—her friends—laughed around her. Yané and Saché, who had suffered for their planet during the Occupation. Eirtaé and Rabé, who had helped make sure their suffering meant something. Sabé, who took the most frequent risks and was the most beloved. Together—young and seemingly carefree—they were a force that was often underestimated. No matter how many times they were proven able, people who looked at them were blinded by their youth and by their clothing, and dismissed them yet again. That was exactly how they preferred it.

  The lake country was renowned for its privacy. Here, even the queen could go unnoticed, or at least be easily overlooked. Naboo’s natural heritage was to be protected and treasured, even before new treaties with the Gung
ans had been signed, and this had reinforced the isolation of the lakes in the region. The bustle of the capital was far away, and Padmé could have, for however small a moment, some time to herself. Well, to herself, her handmaidens, the guards Captain Panaka deemed appropriate, and all the household staff. Solitude, it turned out, was somewhat relative.

  From the beach, Quarsh Panaka watched his charges frolic in the sun with an all-too-familiar expression on his face. He had argued to bring ten of his people down to the water’s edge with him, and Padmé had conceded. Eventually. This give-and-take had once been his custom when it came to dealings with the queen—even if their relationship had grown colder and more formal of late. He was a professional, so he stood there and glowered, knowing that today of all days, his interference would not be welcomed.

  “You let me do that,” Saché said. The youngest handmaiden wore a swimming suit cut in the same style as the rest of them, but where the others bared skin to the sun, she bared a large collection of mottled scars that wrapped around her arms, legs, and neck. Yané paddled next to her and ran her fingers through Saché’s hair.

  “I couldn’t have stopped you,” Padmé said. She shook her head, shedding drops of water—and the last few blossoms. Waist-deep in the shining lake and speaking in her own voice, she might have been mistaken for a normal girl, but even now there was something about her bearing that hinted at more. “Though I could have cried out and got a mouthful of lake water for my trouble.”

  “And Captain Panaka would have felt honor bound to rescue you.” Sabé said it in Amidala’s voice, and Saché and Yané both straightened out of reflex before Yané sent a wave of water toward the older girl as repayment. Sabé merely swept a flower from her cheek as it landed on her, and continued to float, unbothered by the ruckus. “So really, you were preserving the dignity of many, not to mention a fine pair of boots.”

  Unbothered, but not unaware, Sabé spoke loudly enough to be heard by all those who were swimming, as well as several of the guards, who did little to conceal their amusement.

  “You have aged me prematurely, my ladies,” Panaka said. There was a hint of warmth in his tone, but the uncrossable distance remained. “My wife will hardly recognize me when I go home.”

  “Your wife has no such problem,” said Mariek Panaka from her position three paces away from him. She was not in uniform, because she had been in swimming with the queen. She was wrapped in a bright orange sarong that made her brown skin glow in the late morning sun, and her dark hair dripped down her back while the rest of her dried.

  “Well,” said Padmé, wading toward the shore with Sabé, as always, in her wake. “Soon we will all be able to rest.”

  And there it was: the veermok in the room addressed at last. Because the end was coming, and neither the beauty of Naboo’s lake country nor the best of company could stop it. When the election was over and the new ruler of Naboo was announced, Padmé Amidala would be in search of a new task or calling or profession, and so would most of those in her service. Some, like Panaka, looked forward to retirement, as much as anyone on Naboo ever retired. Padmé guessed Panaka had received several job offers, but they were past the stage where they discussed such personal matters, now. The younger ones, like Eirtaé and Saché, sought the future on their own terms. Musicians, doctors, parents, farmers, and all combinations thereof—it was a time for dreams. Change was coming, and it was coming fast. No one, not even Sabé, had dared to ask the queen about her plans.

  Rabé stood up and followed the queen. Eirtaé dove down one more time—a sort of farewell—and then joined the others as they gathered themselves and left the water, too. They didn’t have to, not with so many guards and Sabé besides, but they would always choose the queen when they could, and soon, they would no longer be able to.

  Away from the lake house, Naboo was voting. The gears of democracy were well oiled, and centuries of tradition made the biennial event run smoothly, even with the inclusion of Gungan voters for only the second time in the planet’s history. Though few of them chose to vote, Padmé knew her efforts to include them were appreciated because Boss Nass had told her as much. Loudly. Naboo was not quite as united as she might have liked it to be at the end of her four years of service to it, but the people were happy with what she had done.

  Almost too happy, it turned out. A faction had tried to amend the constitution so that Padmé could run again. This had been tried only once before, during a time of great upheaval in Naboo’s past, and Padmé could see no reason to fight for something she neither wanted nor believed was right. She had given four years to Naboo, and now it was time for someone else’s vision, someone else’s hands, to select the course. That was the soul of Naboo’s democratic body, that change and service in short stretches were better than stagnant rulership, and Padmé was happy to play all the parts her role included.

  “You weren’t even tempted?” Sabé had asked when the messenger had come with the amendment for Padmé to read and she had returned it unsigned after the barest of glances. It was the closest they had yet come to discussion of the future.

  “Of course I was tempted,” Padmé had replied. She settled back in her seat, and Sabé resumed brushing her hair. “I thought of at least ten more things I could do with another term while I was reading the proposal. But that’s not how our legacies work. Not here. We serve and we allow others to serve.”

  Sabé had said nothing more.

  Now, wrapped in vivid sarongs on the beach, they retrieved their sandals and followed the guards up toward the house. When they reached the grassy hill at the base of the wide stone stairs, Padmé stopped to brush off her feet. They all halted with her.

  “Sand,” she said, by way of explanation.

  “I’m sure the housekeeping droids appreciate your efforts, Your Highness,” Eirtaé said. Her face was handmaiden-straight, so only a few people got the joke.

  The steps weren’t very steep on this side of the house. The port—for water vessels in this case; there wasn’t really a place to land an airship—was on the other side of the estate, and those steps were cut straight into the spur on which the house was set. This way had been purposely constructed as a path to the water, and therefore it was both more beautiful and more leisurely an ascent. Padmé and Mariek led the way up, with Panaka behind them and the rest of the handmaidens and guards strung along like so many ducklings.

  Sabé had paused at the bottom to fasten her sandals. Padmé saw her grimace slightly when she realized that there was, in fact, still sand between her toes. Sabé shook her shoes as clear as she could and then began to climb at an almost leisurely pace. Sabé didn’t often allow her mind to wander when she was with the queen, but here and now, with so little at stake and peaceful change rapidly approaching, Padmé was happy to see her relax as Sergeant Tonra fell into step beside her. He was somewhat taller than Panaka, with white skin that was usually pale, though two weeks in the sun had reddened his face significantly. He had come down the steps just as Padmé had decided to return to the house but was not the least bit winded by his exertions.

  “There are several messages for Her Highness.” He spoke quietly to Sabé, but Padmé still overheard him. “None of them are urgent, but one is official and will require the queen to open it herself.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant,” Sabé replied, ever competent. “We’ll get to them presently.”

  Tonra nodded but did not fall back. Padmé expected Sabé to bristle, as she usually did if she thought someone meant to guard her person, even though she granted more leniency to those who had fought in the Battle of Naboo, as Tonra had. Sabé was as protective of her own privacy as Padmé was of hers—albeit for different reasons. Perhaps, Padmé decided, Sabé was finally allowing herself to appreciate the view.

  The lake spread out as they climbed, its water reflecting the sky with such perfection that, but for a few waves, it was possible to convince oneself that sky and water had been somehow reversed. The green hills that rose up from the sh
ore also descended down into the depths, and what few puffy clouds skirted the blue above were mirrored exactly in the blue below. It was as though two bowls were pressed against each other, their rims forming the treed horizon. There was no sign of human habitation jutting out from between the trees, except for the house they were climbing toward, and the sky above them was never dotted with ships or flying recorder droids or anything else that might puncture the quiet with unwanted noise.

  The house itself was made of yellow rock, and roofed in red, with copper-green domes. There were several sections, each with its own purpose ranging from habitation to cooking, all linked by a series of elaborate gardens. The property belonged to the government, and Padmé had used it as a retreat for much of her career, beginning back when she was first in the junior legislative program as a child. She didn’t own any part of it, but she had influenced the layout and décor in subtle ways so that there was no doubting that it was a place she dearly loved. It was an oasis, a haven. Padmé had always come here to relax, and even though this was, in theory, the most relaxing visit she had ever taken here, it was obvious to all who saw her that she could not quite quiet her mind.

  The queen had arrived two weeks earlier for the customary seclusion during the final campaign, and today was the election at last. Padmé was officially neutral with regard to her successor, though she had of course done her civic duty and cast a vote. A droid had departed with all of their ballots early in the day, but they hadn’t spoken of politics more than absolutely necessary since their arrival, and not at all since that morning. Padmé had run unopposed in her second term, though there had been a few write-in candidates, as there always were. This was the first time she had been this uninvolved in her planet’s politics since she began her studies. She liked it—and also found it deeply unsettling in a way she couldn’t quite explain.

  Padmé had hoped the exertion of swimming would help. The distance to the island was something she hadn’t attempted in several months, though her handmaidens were always game to try. She’d thought the swim would at least tire her out too much to think. Instead, her thoughts had only reordered themselves. Even Saché’s dunking hadn’t helped.