“My brave decoys,” Padmé said, uttering the word that was almost never spoken, even now.
“You have all given your best to Naboo, and to me, and I thank you for it.”
They were all brave. That was how the handmaidens were chosen, or at least it was a strong part of it. That was why Saché had scars on every part of her body: because they were brave.
It was difficult for all of them, particularly Rabé. She’d already developed an accent for school to mask the fact that she’d come from the Western Provinces, and the Queen’s voice required an entirely new way of speaking.
“I got the strangest message from Harli Jafan just now,” Sabé said acidly. “And frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t get even a slight heads-up from you.”
Padmé stilled.
She felt at her neck for the locket, forgetting for a moment that she no longer wore it. She had given it to Sabé as a token, two girls on a planet watching the sky above them fill with starships that blocked them in.
Queen Amidala. It sounded regal. Perfect. Beautiful. And, to all appearances, the Queen herself was all three. She must be brilliant as well, but Tsabin knew that brilliance alone wasn’t enough to run a planet.