'I swore an oath to serve the Crown when I married Gerran,' Serra told him, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. 'Even though he is gone, I would not dishonor his memory by abandoning my duties.'
'I believe you,' the king said after several seconds, his voice suddenly weary. 'Though this brings me no closer to finding out who was behind the attack.'
Silently, Lucia let out the breath she hadn't even been aware she was holding.
The king sat back down on his throne, his expression troubled by doubt and lingering grief over his son. Serra stepped forward and knelt by her father-in-law, close enough to put a comforting hand on his arm, ignoring his guards as they took a menacing step forward.
'Your son was beloved by all the nobles of Doan,' she said. 'And the rebels are universally despised. Anyone could have hired the assassin, with no knowledge whatsoever that the Jedi would be there. The Cerean's death was an unfortunate accident, not some sinister plot.'
'I fear the Jedi may not be so easily convinced,' the king replied.
'Then let me speak to them,' Serra offered. 'Send me to Coruscant. I will make them understand that you had no part in this.'
'I have seen you in the halls these past months,' the king told her. 'I know the pain you still carryover my son's loss. I cannot ask you to do this while you are still mourning his death.'
'That is why I must be the one to go,' Serra countered. 'The Jedi will be more willing to show compassion to a grieving widow. Let me do this for you, Sire. It's what Gerran would have wanted.'
The king considered her offer briefly before nodding.
Serra rose and took her leave with a bow. Lucia fell into step behind her as she left the throne room, only pausing at the doors long enough to collect her weapons.
Only when they were back in the privacy of the princess's chamber with the door closed carefully behind them did either of them dare to speak.
'Take this somewhere and burn it,' Serra spat as she ripped the mourning veil from her head and cast it down to the floor. 'I never want to see it again.'
'I have something to confess,' Lucia said as she scooped the discarded garment up from the floor.
Serra turned to look at her, but Lucia couldn't read the expression on her face.
'I'm the one who hired the assassin that killed Gelba,' she said, speaking quickly to get the words out.
She wanted to say so much more. She wanted to explain that she had known nothing about the Jedi being on Doan. She needed Serra to understand that she had done it only for her sake.
Lucia had always sensed a darkness in the healer, a shadow on her spirit. With Gerran's death that shadow had grown. She had seen her friend slipping into bleak despair as the weeks turned to months, listlessly wandering the halls of the castle in her black mourning garb like some tormented ghost.
All she wanted was to try to ease the princess's suffering. She thought that maybe if those responsible for Gerran's death were made to pay, Serra could find closure, could move on and come out from the shadow that had fallen over her.
She wanted to say all this, but she couldn't. She was just a soldier; she wasn't any good with words.
Serra stepped forward and wrapped her arms around her in a long, gentle hug.
'When the king spoke of someone hiring an assassin to avenge Gerran's death, I thought it might be you,' she whispered. 'Thank you.'
And Lucia knew she didn't have to tell the princess all the things she wanted to say. Her friend already knew.
'I think you should tell the king,' Lucia said when the princess finally broke off her embrace.
'He'd have you arrested,' Serra said with a firm shake of her head. 'Or at the very least dismissed from your post. I can't have that. I need you at my side when I go to Coruscant.'
'You still plan to speak with the Jedi?' she asked, mildly surprised. 'What are you going to tell them?'
'Medd's death was an accident. The king was not involved. That is all they need to know.'
Lucia had her doubts, but she knew the princess well enough to realize that arguing the point would be a waste of time. Serra had no intention of turning her in to either the king or the Jedi, But she couldn't just let it go at that.
'I never meant to cause any trouble for you. Or the king. I'm sorry.'
'Don't ever apologize for this!' Serra shot back. 'Gelba and her followers got exactly what they deserved. My only regret is that I wasn't there to see it myself.'
The venom in her words-the raw anger and hatred-caught Lucia off guard. Instinctively, she took a step back, recoiling from her friend. But then Serra smiled, and the awkward moment was gone.
'We need to leave as soon as possible,' the princess noted. 'It won't do to keep the Council waiting.'
'I'll make the arrangements,' Lucia replied, though she knew it would be several days before their actual departure. As the princess, it wasn't easy for Serra to simply leave Doan-there were diplomatic protocols and bureaucratic procedures that had to be followed.
'This will all work out,' Serra reassured her, coming over to place a comforting hand on Lucia's arm. 'Gelba is dead. My husband is avenged. A quick meeting with one of the Jedi Masters and this whole incident will be behind us.'
Lucia nodded, but she knew it wouldn't be that simple. This wasn't just going to go away. The death of the Jedi had set in motion a chain of events-one she feared might end very badly for both of them.
CHAPTER THREE
The cantina was almost empty at this time of day; the crowds wouldn't start arriving until the late evening. Which was exactly why Darth Bane had arranged this meeting for early afternoon.
His contact-a balding, slightly overweight man of about fifty named Argel Tenn-was already there, seated at a private booth in the back of the establishment. Nobody paid any special attention to the Dark Lord as he crossed the room; everyone here, including Argel, knew him only as Sepp Omek, one of the many wealthy merchants who lived on Ciutric.
Bane sat down in the seat across the table from the other man and summoned a waitress with a discreet wave of his hand. She came over and took their order, then slipped away to leave them to their business. On Ciutric it was common for merchants to make deals in the backs of bars and clubs, and the serving staff knew how to respect the confidentiality of their customers.
'How come we never meet at your estate?' Argel said by way of greeting. 'I hear you have one of the best- stocked wine cellars on the planet.'
'I'd rather not have my sister learn about our transactions,' Bane replied.
Argel chuckled slightly. 'I understand completely.'
He stopped speaking while the waitress returned and set their drinks on the table, then continued in a quieter voice once she was gone.
'Many of my clients are reluctant to let friends and family know of their interest in the dark side.'
Dealing with Argel always left a sour taste in Bane's mouth, but for this there was no one else he could turn to. The portly dealer was the sector's leading procurer of banned Sith manuscripts; he had built a small fortune by discreetly seeking them out, purchasing them, and delivering them in person to his clients while keeping their names from ever being linked to the transaction.
Of course most of his clients were nothing but collectors or Sith fetishists who simply longed to possess a work that had been officially banned by the Jedi Council. They had no real understanding of the dark side or its power. They bought and sold the manuscripts in blissful ignorance, unaware of what they were truly dealing with.
This, more than anything, was what brought the bile to Bane's throat each time he met with Argel. The man portrayed himself as an expert in the dark side. He bartered and traded the secrets of the ancient Sith like cheap rugs at an open-air bazaar. It galled Bane to think of what treasures had passed through his hands into the possession of those too weak and common to ever make use of them.
He had occasionally fantasized about revealing his true identity to Argel, just to see his terrified reaction. Bane wanted to watch him grovel, begging for mercy at the feet of a real Sith. But petty revenge against an insignificant
