The Mark of the Crown

5

“Respect is the cornerstone of the Master-Padawan bond,” Obi-Wan said through his teeth. His voice bounced off the walls of his room, sounding hollow to his ears. Still, he needed the reminder. Every day, alone in the palace, he questioned Qui-Gon’s decision.

The morning sun burnished the wood of the vast bed he slept in. A tapestry hung on the opposite wall, finely worked with metallic threads of gold, silver, and green. Woven blankets in rich, jewel-like colors kept out the night chill. It was the finest room he’d ever slept in. But staying in the palace for the past two days was no treat.

Qui-Gon had given him an impossible task. Each morning before dawn, Obi-Wan ran through the connecting door to Qui-Gon’s quarters and disarranged the blankets on Qui-Gon’s bed. He lay on his pillow to leave an indentation. Each morning Jono Dunn knocked on the door, bringing tea and fruit. Obi-Wan had told Jono that Qui-Gon meditated in the gardens early. He would wait for Jono to leave, then drink Qui-Gon’s tea and eat his fruit as well as his own. That part was not hard. Obi-Wan was always hungry.

As for Prince Beju and Giba, Obi-Wan had to constantly invent excuses for Qui-Gon’s absence. The Jedi was resting, or meditating, or touring the gardens.

He would be along any minute, if they’d care to wait… they never did. He would take his evening meal in his room. He had already retired for the night….

Perhaps they were suspicious. Obi-Wan couldn’t tell. He had a feeling they were relieved that Qui-Gon wasn’t more involved in the elections. Obi-Wan told Jono that Qui-Gon left much of the monitoring to him.

A soft knock came at Obi-Wan’s door. A moment later, Jono opened it.

“I left a tray for Qui-Gon, as usual,” Jono said. He placed Obi-Wan’s tray on the small table by the window. Usually, he bowed and left quickly, but today, he lingered.

“I did not see him in the gardens,” he said. “It’s my job to pick the flowers for the Queen morning and night. Yet I never see the Jedi.”

Obi-Wan reached for a piece of blumfruit. “The gardens are so large. He most likely avoided you. He doesn’t like to be interrupted during his morning meditation.”

Jono stood quietly. He was a handsome boy, with golden hair and the glowing skin of the Galacians. Although he had accompanied Obi-Wan on several trips to inspect polling places in Galu, he had not talked much.

“You think I am a spy,” he burst out suddenly. “You think I am working for the Prince.”

“Well, aren’t you?” Obi-Wan asked calmly.

“I do not report to the Prince,” Jono said scornfully. “I serve the Queen. The Dunns have served the ruler of Gala since the Tallah dynasty began.”

“So you come from a line of royal servants?” Obi-Wan asked curiously. He pushed the plate of food toward Jono.

Jono ignored it. He raised his chin proudly. “The Dunns are great landowners far from Galu. I was chosen at the age of five to come to the palace. It was a great honor. All children in the Dunn family line are watched from an early age. Only the smartest and quickest are chosen.”

Obi-Wan held out a piece of fruit toward Jono. “I, too, was chosen at an early age,” he told the boy. “I left my family and went to the Jedi Temple. It was a great honor. But I missed my family very much, even though I couldn’t really remember them.”

Jono reached out a tentative hand and took the fruit from Obi-Wan. “The beginning was the hardest,” he said, popping it into his mouth.

“The Jedi Temple is calm and beautiful. It is my home, and yet it is not a home, like everyone else has.”

“That’s just the way I feel!” Jono agreed, sitting on the edge of the bed next to Obi-Wan. “The palace was too grand at first. And I missed the smell of the sea. But now I feel at home. I know my duty, and I am proud to do it. There is honor in serving my Queen.” He met Obi-Wan’s gaze steadily. “But I do not spy.”

At that moment, Obi-Wan and Jono became friends. Jono continued to accompany him on his walks through Galu, but instead of silently staying a short pace behind him, Jono walked beside Obi-Wan, sharing stories of the city and of Deca Brun, his hero.

“The Queen is right to call for elections,” Jono told him. “Deca Brun will help Gala to rise again. He is for all the people, not just rich people.”

Jono never asked again about Qui-Gon. Obi-Wan knew Jono suspected that Qui-Gon had left the palace. He appreciated his guide’s silence. He did not have to lie to Jono any longer. His friend asked no questions.

Jono often spoke of his family. Even though he rarely saw them, his connection to them was strong. Obi-Wan came to envy Jono’s deep commitment. He had left behind a concept of family when he took up his destiny as a Jedi. His allegiance was to the Jedi Code. Was this choice the right one? Suddenly the Jedi Code seemed so much more abstract than the ties of blood.

Heritage. Legacies. He wished he could speak of what he was feeling to Qui-Gon. But his Master wouldn’t understand. He was deeply committed to the Jedi Code. He did not look back and wonder what he was missing.

And besides, he had abandoned Obi-Wan in order to chase a ghost.

Evenings were long in Gala. The sun set early, and the three moons rose slowly in the navy sky. Obi-Wan liked to walk in the orchard at that hour, when the pale gleam of moonlight turned the fruit on the trees to silver. One evening he was surprised to find Queen Veda sitting on the grass, her back against the thick, multi-stemmed trunk of a muja tree. She wasn’t wearing her headdress, and her pale gold hair spilled down to her waist. She looked like a young girl until Obi-Wan drew closer and saw the wasting of illness on her face.

“Sit down, young Obi-Wan,” she said, gesturing next to her. “I, too, like the orchard at this time.”

Obi-Wan sat next to her, cross-legged and erect in Jedi fashion. He had not seen the Queen since he’d arrived. She looked shockingly worse.

“I like the smell of the grass,” Queen Veda murmured, running her hands through it. “Before I was sick, I used to like to look at it from my window. I looked at everything from a window. Now I find I must touch it and smell it and be part of it.” She placed a bit of grass in Obi-Wan’s palm and closed his fingers over it. “Hold on to life, Obi-Wan. That is my only piece of advice to you.”

Obi-Wan saw the marks of tears on the Queen’s face. He wished Qui-Gon were here. His Master’s calm compassion soothed even the most fevered hearts. What would Qui-Gon say? He would start with something neutral, but sympathetic. He would let the Queen speak, knowing she needed a willing space to talk.

“You are not feeling better,” he said carefully.

“No, I am feeling worse,” Queen Veda said, resting her head against the trunk.

“The pain is very bad at night. I can’t sleep. By the middle of the day I feel somewhat better, but at night it begins again. That’s why I come out here, before the pain gets bad. I want to remember days I felt well. Days in the country…” The Queen sighed.

“In the country?” Obi-Wan prompted.

“The Tallahs have a country estate west of here,” Queen Veda said. “Just after I had fallen ill I went there to recuperate. Maybe it was the fresh air. Or maybe,” she said ruefully, “it was being able to rest. No Council of Ministers calling me to meetings. No servants to buzz around me. Just the caretaker and myself. But then it seemed the government could not run without me, so they came to me. Within days, I felt worse than ever. That was the worst thing,” she said sadly. “To feel that I was getting better, and then to relapse.”

“But why don’t you return?” Obi-Wan asked.

“The elections consumed my time at first,” the Queen said. “Now I am too weak to travel. So my doctors tell me. And they are the best in Galu. Every day has been the same for me. Hope that I am recovering. Then despair. Now hope is gone. I’m just waiting.”

Obi-Wan looked at her. The moons had risen higher, painting her pale face with a silvery cast. He saw again that she had once been beautiful.

“Don’t look so sad,” she told him. “I’ve accepted it at last. Now, will you help me rise? It’s time for my tea.”

Obi-Wan rose and held out his hand. Her grip was weak. He placed another hand under her elbow and helped her stand.

“Good night, Queen Veda,” he told her as she moved off, her gown a whisper in the grass. “I’m sorry,” he added softly, knowing she would not hear.

The Queen’s words had moved him. Whether she was lying about wanting Elan to have her birthright, he didn’t know. But he knew the Queen had spoken honestly about her illness and her fears. He could only imagine how terrible it must be to feel as though you are slowly losing your grip on life. To suffer, to feel better, and then to have that hope of life snatched away every evening as the moons rose….

Every evening. Obi-Wan sat up straighten The Force was telling him to focus.

Wasn’t there an odd rhythm to the Queen’s illness? And hadn’t she said she had felt better at her country estate?

Until the Council members arrived…

The thought made Obi-Wan dizzy.

Was the Queen being poisoned?