Knight of Shadows
With a heart of furious fancies
"Your husband was near death when I left him, your Highness," the bearded man was saying. "There is no way he could have survived."
"Thank you, General Kenobi. It was kind of you to come all the way to Sifh to tell me yourself. You could have sent a message."
The young woman was remarkably composed for someone who had just learned of the death of her husband and the father of her son. It was not aristocratic control; he could read her aura in the Force and there was no overwhelming grief there. So I was right, Kenobi thought; she didn't love him. That should make this much easier. I wonder how she feels about the child?
Darth is dead. Princess Jessha tried to dredge up some sort of emotion appropriate to the loss of a husband. Nothing came. Even the dislike she had felt for so long was stale and meaningless, mellowed into apathy. She hadn't seen him since shortly after the child's birth-almost two years now. So much had happened since he had fled from Sith, had gone away to join the Jedi. Her shoulders twitched slightly, involuntarily, in spite of her control. That's an ugly way to die: burned. Did he really deserve that? There was a time she would have thought even that almost too good for him. I would have set the fire myself. She smiled the tiniest bit, ruefully. But I was very young then, when it all started. We both were…..