Part 25 (2/2)
”Good, Anakin. I knew I could count on you.”
”Always, sir. Always.”
He turned to go. He would go to her. He would see her. He would get the truth. He would do it now. Right now. In the middle of the day. It didn't matter who might see him.
This was business.
”I know who my friends are,” he said, and left.
He moved through Padme's apartment like a shadow, like a ghost at a banquet. He touched nothing. He looked at everything.
He felt as if he'd never seen it before.
How could she do this to him?
Sometimes the closest are those who cannot see.
How could she?
How could he!
In the Force, the whole apartment stank of Obi-Wan.
His finger traced the curving back of her couch.
Here. Obi-Wan had sat here.
Anakin rounded the couch and settled into that same spot His hand fell naturally to the seat beside him . . . and there he felt an echo of Padme.
The dragon whispered, That's a little close for casual conversation.
This was a different kind of fear. Even colder. Even uglier.
Fear that Palpatine might be right . . .
The apartment's air still hummed with discord and worry and there was a smell of oxidized spices and boiled seaweed hoi-broth, that was it. Someone in the past few hours had been drinking hoi-broth in this room.
Padme hated hoi-broth.
And Obi-Wan was allergic to it-once on a diplomatic mission to Ando, his violent reaction to a ceremonial toast had nearly triggered an intersystem incident.
So Padme had been entertaining other visitors, too.
From a pocket on his equipment belt he pulled a flimsi of Palpatine's list of suspect Senators. He scanned down the list, looking for names of Senators he knew well enough that he might recognize the Force-echoes of their presence here. Many he'd never heard of; there were thousands of Senators, after all. But those he knew by reputation were the cream of the Senate: people like Terr Taneel, Fang Zar, Bail Organa, Garm Bel Iblis-He began to think Palpatine was just imagining things after all. These beings were known to be incorruptible.
He frowned down at the flimsi. It was possible . . .
A Senator might carefully construct a reputation, appearing to all the galaxy as honest and upright and honorable, all the while holding the rotten truth of himself so absolutely secret that no one would sense his evil until he had so much power that it was too late to stop him . . .
It was possible.
But so many? Could they all have accomplished that?
Could Padme?
Suspicion leaked back into his mind and gathered itself into so thick a cloud that he didn't sense her approach until she was already in the room.
”Anakin? What are you doing here? It's still the middle of the afternoon . . .”
He looked up to find her standing in the archway in full Senatorial regalia: heavy folds of burgundy robes and a coif like a starfighter's hyperdrive ring. Instead of a smile, instead of sunlight in her eyes, instead of the bell-clear joy with which she had always greeted him, her face was nearly expressionless: attentively blank.
Anakin called it her Politician Look, and he hated it. ”Waiting for you,” he replied, a little unsteadily. ”What are you doing here in the middle of the afternoon?”
”I have a very important meeting in two hours,” she said stiffly. ”I left a doc.u.ment reader here this morning-”
”This meeting-is it with the Chancellor?” Anakin's voice came out low and harsh. ”Is it his last meeting of the afternoon?”
”Y-yes, yes it is.” She frowned, blinking. ”Anakin, what's-”
”I have to be there, too.” He crumpled the flimsi and stuffed it back into his equipment belt. ”I'm starting to look forward to it.”
”Anakin, what is it?” She came toward him, one hand reaching for him. ”What's wrong?”
He lurched to his feet. ”Obi-Wan's been here, hasn't he?”
”He came by this morning.” She stopped. Her hand slowly lowered back to her side. ”Why?”
”What did you talk about?”
”Anakin, why are you acting like this?” One long stride brought him to her. He towered over her. For one stretching second she looked very small, very insignificant, very much like some kind of bug that he could crush beneath his heel and just keep on walking. ”What did you talk about?”
She gazed steadily up at him, and on her face was only concern, shaded with growing hurt. ”We talked about you.”
”What about me?”
”He's worried about you, Anakin. He says you're under a lot of stress.”
”And he's not?”
”The way you've been acting, since you got back-”
”I'm not the one doing the acting. I'm not the one doing the pretending! I'm not the one sneaking in here in the morning!”
”No,” she said with a smile. She reached up to lay the palm of her hand along the line of his jaw. ”That's usually when you're sneaking out.''
Her touch unclenched his heart.
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