Star Wars_ The Dark Lord Trilogy - James Luceno [217]
“—we still have less than we need to stop his supermajority from amending the Constitution any way he happens to want,” Padmé finished for her. She weighed the reader in her hand. “I am willing to present this to Palpatine, but I am losing faith in the Senate’s readiness, or even ability, to rein him in. I think we should consult the Jedi.”
Because I really think they can help, or because I just can’t stand to lie to my husband? She couldn’t say. She hoped that both were true, though she was sure only of the second.
Bana Breemu examined her long, elegantly manicured fingertips. “That,” she said remotely, “would be dangerous.”
Mon Mothma nodded. “We don’t know where the Jedi stand in all this.”
Padmé sat forward. “The Jedi aren’t any happier with the situation than we are.”
Senator Breemu’s high-arched cheekbones made the look she gave Padmé appear even more distant and skeptical. “You seem … remarkably well informed about Jedi business, Senator Amidala.”
Padmé felt herself flush, and she didn’t trust herself to answer.
Giddean Danu shook his head, doubt plainly written across his dark face. “If we are to openly oppose the Chancellor, we need the support of the Jedi. We need their moral authority. Otherwise, what do we have?”
“The moral authority of the Jedi, such as it is,” Bana Breemu said, “has been spent lavishly upon war; I fear they have none left for politics.”
“One Jedi, then,” Padmé offered to the others. At least let me speak the truth to my love. At least. Please, she pleaded with them silently. “There is one Jedi—one whom I truly know all of us can trust absolutely …”
Her voice trailed off into appalled silence when she realized that she wasn’t talking about Anakin.
This had been all about him when she’d started—all about her love, her need to be open with him, the pain that keeping this secret stabbed her heart at each and every beat—but when the thought had turned to trust, when it became a question of someone she knew, truly and abolutely knew, she could trust—
She discovered that she was talking about Obi-Wan.
Anakin … Something was breaking inside her. Oh, my love, what are they doing to us?
Chi Eekway shook her head. “Patience, Senator.”
Fang Zar unknotted his fingers from his raggedly bushy beard and shrugged. “Yes, we cannot block the Chancellor’s supermajority—but we can show him that opposition to his methods is growing. Perhaps that alone might persuade him to moderate his tactics.”
Bana Breemu went back to examining her fingertips. “When you present the Petition of the Two Thousand, many things may change.”
“But,” Giddean Danu said, “will they change for the better?”
Bail Organa and Mon Mothma exchanged glances that whispered of some shared secret. Bail said slowly, “Let us see what we can accomplish in the Senate before we involve the Jedi.”
And as one after another of the Senators agreed, Padmé could only sit in silence. In mourning.
Grieving for the sudden death of an illusion.
Anakin—Anakin, I love you. If only—
But that if only would take her to a place she could not bear to go. In the end, she could only return to the thought she feared would echo within her for the rest of her life.
Anakin, I’m sorry.
The last of the hovertanks whirred up the ramp into the skyshrouding wedge of the assault cruiser. It was followed by rank upon immaculately regimented rank of clone troopers, marshaled by battalions, marching in perfect synchrony.
Standing alongside Obi-Wan on the landing deck, Anakin watched them go.
He couldn’t quite make himself believe he wasn’t going along.
It wasn’t that he really wanted to go with Obi-Wan to Utapau—even though it’d be a relief to pull out of the political quagmire that was sucking him down. But how could he leave Padmé now? He didn’t even care anymore about being the Jedi to capture Grievous, though such a feat would almost certainly bring him his Mastery. He was no longer certain he needed to be a Master at all.
Through the long, black hours of meditation last night—meditation that was often indistinguishable