Free Star Wars: The Last of the Jedi, Volume 4 by Jude Watson Page B

walked down the stairs, her slippers whispering on the stone.
    He stood, his face in shadow. His robe was deep maroon, the color of dried blood. For a moment her steps faltered. It was as though Death himself had come to call.
    Then she recognized the flutter she had felt all morning, the unease. It wasn’t old age at all, it wasn’t restlessness or the realization it was time to be gone.
    It was fear.
    Padmé, Padmé, I’m afraid.
    She told herself she was being ridiculous. She’d been right; she’d been here too long alone. She walked forward, her hand outstretched, ready to greet the stranger, for on Naboo
every stranger is a potential friend.
    He threw back the hood. She saw his eyes, and suddenly she understood, with absolute certainty, what she’d felt the moment she’d awakened. She’d looked for the streaks of
lavender that meant the sun was rising, light infiltrating darkness. Now she knew what had been chasing her throughout the day, what she’d believed, what she’d feared.
    She was going to die today.

The old woman was still strong. At first she appeared to greet the stranger with respect. She even offered him tea, which he refused. Malorum hadn’t received the title of
Inquisitor for nothing. He knew when even the most skillful being was holding back.
    No matter. He would find out. He had come to the end of his journey. He had no more time to waste.
    “I know about Naboo rituals,” he said. “I know that you were in charge of your granddaughter’s funeral.”
    The woman, small and sturdy, her white hair coiled in back of her head, smiled in a condescending way that made Malorum’s vision go red for a moment. “No one is ‘in
charge’ in our funeral rites. I was there to support our grieving family. Naboo, you see, is not hierarchical like your system. Yes, we have a queen, but we elect her, as well as her
advisors.”
    Malorum felt his teeth grind. “I don’t need a lesson on Naboo political philosophy.”
    She inclined her head, but he could see its meaning. She thought him a pompous fool.
    She would learn.
    “The grandmother is there to make sure everything runs smoothly. This can be quite complicated in a state funeral,” she continued.
    “Senator Amidala died of what, would you say?”
    “We don’t know.”
    “Were there marks on her body?”
    He saw her flinch. She pressed her lips together and shook her head.
    “Who brought her to Theed?”
    “I don’t know. I was summoned after she’d arrived.”
    “She couldn’t have come on her own,” Malorum said dryly. “She was dead when she got here.”
    The grandmother’s cheeks suddenly flushed with anger. She didn’t like the casual way he spoke of her beloved granddaughter. Yet he was choosing his words with great care. The only
way he would get anything out of this woman was to anger her.
    “Whoever brought her to us did so with great care and gentleness, and that was all that concerned us at the time,” she answered.
    “She was pregnant.”
    Her lips pressed together.
    “Did the family know who the father of her child was?”
    “That is a private matter.”
    “Would you like to spend some time in an Imperial prison?”
    “No, not really,” the woman said. “But if you think threatening me with it will give you the answers you want, you’re mistaken.”
    She looked at him. Her eyes were dark gray dusted with gold. Unusual eyes. He was almost mesmerized for a moment, seeing himself reflected in them, seeing all the contempt she felt. He got a
sudden flash of what she was inside, what she was feeling.
    Love. Great love.
    Strength. Courage.
    He pushed those irrelevancies aside and looked beneath.
    Something she’d suspected, something only she suspected…
    “Padmé did not share with us the father’s name,” she said. He could see perspiration around her hairline. She was nervous. “We didn’t ask. Such things are
private matters on Naboo. Because of the Clone Wars we hadn’t seen her in several months.