Jono threw out his hands pleadingly.
“The Queen depends on you,” Obi-Wan countered. “Your job is to protect her!”
Suddenly, Jono’s face flushed with anger. “She would have turned me out into the streets,” he said. “Once Deca Brun is elected, he will hire his people as servants. And where will I go? What will I do? Should I have to become like everyone else? Yes, I am a servant. But I live in a palace!” He flung the last word out proudly.
“Jono,” Obi-Wan said sadly. “I trusted you.”
The anger left Jono’s face. “Then you made a mistake,” he said softly. “You are my friend. I like you, Obi-Wan. But I guess I like living in a palace more.”
Obi-Wan turned at the sound of footsteps. Giba was coming. He would certainly be imprisoned or killed.
“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan,” Jono said. “Truly.”
“Save your sorrow,” Obi-Wan said, striding to the window. He leaped up onto the ledge and judged the distance to the ground. It was too far to fall. But the Force would guide him. “I don’t need it,” he said. Then, he leaped into midair.
The dazzling green of the lindemor leaves rushed up at him. Obi-Wan gathered the Force from the living things around him, centered it inside himself. He flew across the distance and grabbed at a lindemor branch as he fell. His fingers closed around it, and he swung forward, using the momentum to grab at the next branch down.
Then to the next, and the next, until it was an easy leap to the ground.
He didn’t bother looking up. Giba was most likely already summoning the royal guards. He had to make it to the Council Chamber without being seen.
Obi-Wan slipped inside the kitchen door. He ran past the startled cooks, burst into the pantries, raced past the dining areas and found the hallway leading to the wing where the Council Ministry offices were located.
The halls were deserted. Obi-Wan raced down the stone corridor, wishing he had his lightsaber. He heard the sound of approaching footsteps moving at double time. He ducked into the first room he saw.
He closed the door behind him and pressed himself against it. The footsteps hurried past.
He let out a breath. Safe. For the moment.
He was in some sort of royal reception room. An ornate, gilded bench stood on a platform at one end. Rows of chairs faced it. Glittering tapestries were hung on the walls. Antique weapons were displayed behind the bench.
There was another door at the far end of the room. Obi-Wan headed for it. He turned the handle and began to cautiously pull it open. Even as he did so, he felt it push from the other side. It flew open with the combined effort, and Prince Beju tumbled into the room.
He found his footing immediately and turned with flashing eyes to Obi-Wan.
“Hiding like a coward, are you? It’s no use. The guards are everywhere. They can be here in an instant.” Prince Beju strolled toward the series of tubes that called guards and servants. He reached toward the red tube.
“You talk of cowards,” Obi-Wan said coolly, hiding the desperation he felt. If Prince Beju touched that tube, he was lost. And so was the Queen. “And yet you summon the guards.”
Prince Beju hesitated. “Are you calling me a coward, Jedi?”
Obi-Wan shrugged. “I am only drawing a conclusion. Since I’ve arrived here, you’ve spoken of me as a coward. But there has always been a guard within your call. What do words mean when they are contradicted by actions? I have faced you alone, but you only face me with others who will do your fighting for you. Am I the coward?”
Prince Beju flushed an angry red. His hand dropped. He strode to the case displaying antique weapons. He lifted the top and drew one out.
“Do you know what this is, Obi-Wan Kenobi?” he asked, flourishing it.
“It is a sword,” Obi-Wan answered. He had never used the weapon, but he had seen drawings of it at the Temple. It was like a lightsaber, only made of metal.
Prince Beju held the sword up, then slashed downward at a tapestry. The rich fabric was rent in two.
“We keep the edges honed,” he said. “I studied swordfighting as part of my royal training. My father insisted.” He feinted a blow at Obi-Wan, who did not move.
“Do you think you could manage one?” Beju asked. “Or does a Jedi only fight with his own weapon? That way he always has the advantage.” His teeth gleamed as he smiled tauntingly at Obi-Wan.
“Why don’t we find out?” Obi-Wan asked, keeping his tone neutral. He had to keep his mind focused on the battle ahead. He could not let the Prince’s jibes get under his skin.
Beju took another sword from the case and tossed it at Obi-Wan. Before his fingers had closed around the hilt Beju sprang forward with a downward blow. Obi-Wan had time to twist away, but not before the sharp blade slashed his tunic. He felt blood run down his arm.