Their vehicle banked in a wide circle around the Tranquility Spire, the tall central tower, before touching down on a landing pad in the shadow of the smaller tower on the northwest corner.
"Let's get this over with," Lucia muttered, standing quickly and offering her hand to help Serra up from her seat.
The princess realized Lucia was as uncomfortable as she was, though she suspected her bodyguard's unease had less to do with the overwhelming sights and sounds of Coruscant and more to do with her days as a soldier fighting against the Army of Light. Even after twenty years, Lucia still harbored a resentment toward both the Jedi and the Republic. That, and the fact that she still probably felt guilty for hiring the assassin who had killed the Jedi emissary.
Serra, on the other hand, felt nothing but gratitude for what her friend had done. And she had no intention of letting anyone-not the king, and not the Jedi-find out that Lucia was responsible.
"Remember what I told you," she said, placing a comforting hand on her friend's shoulder. "I have dealt with the Jedi before. I know how to handle them. I know their weaknesses. Their blind spots. We will get through this."
The bodyguard took a deep breath and nodded. Serra did the same, centering herself in anticipation of the coming confrontation.
Lucia was amazed at how calm and composed the princess appeared as they prepared to leave the shuttle.
She had always carried herself with a quiet but firm resolve. It gave her an air of confidence and authority that drew others to her. When she spoke, people gave her words careful consideration:even people like the king of Doan. But this was different. They were about to meet a Jedi Master, and Serra intended to lie right to his face.
Lucia had no intention of letting her friend get into trouble, however. At the first sign the Jedi knew Serra was being dishonest, she intended to confess everything, no matter the consequences.
Steadied by her decision, she was able to maintain her own exterior of composure as they disembarked. Outside the shuttle they found an escort of three Jedi waiting for them. Two were human, a man and a woman. The third was a female Twi'lek. Each wore plain brown robes with the hoods thrown back to reveal their features; their simple garb a sharp contrast with Serra and Lucia's more formal outfits.
The princess was wearing a long, flowing, sleeveless dress of blue silk; a finely woven gold stole covered her shoulders and upper arms. Her long black hair hung loose from beneath the elaborate golden tiara she wore, and around her neck was an elegant gold chain and a sapphire pendant signifying her station within the Doan royal family.
Lucia was also dressed in blue and gold-the royal colors-but she wore the dress uniform of the Doan military: dark blue pants with a gold stripe running up the leg and a tight, light blue shirt covered by a short blue jacket with gold trim buttoned up to the collar. Like the three Jedi, however, her head was bare.
The Twi'lek stepped forward with a bow. "Greetings, Your Highness. My name is Ma'ya. My companions are Pendo and Winnoa."
Serra returned the bow with a tilt of her head. "This is Lucia, my companion," she returned.
Ma'ya's eyes flicked down to the blaster prominently displayed on Lucia's hip, but all she said was, "Please, follow us. Master Obba is waiting to speak with you."
From the briefings she had reviewed during the trip to Coruscant, Lucia knew that Obba was a member of the Council of First Knowledge. As keepers of ancient Jedi lore, they often provided advice and guidance to the Jedi High Council. He had also been the Master of Medd Tandar, the Jedi who had died on Doan.
The three robed figures led them from the landing pad through a well-tended garden, dotted by a number of memorials and statues. A small crowd of children rushed past them at one point, laughing.
"Younglings from the trainee dorms," Ma'ya explained. "During afternoons they are given time away from their studies to play in the gardens."
Serra didn't reply, but Lucia could see the flicker of sorrow in her eyes. She knew the young couple had been trying to start a family in the weeks before Gerran's death, and seeing the children no doubt brought back painful memories.
They continued on in silence, the Jedi leading them to the foot of the northwest tower and then inside. They climbed up several flights of winding stairs; toward the end Lucia noticed that the princess had become short of breath, though neither she nor the Jedi had the same problem.
And then, somewhere roughly a quarter of the way up the tower, they stopped outside a large door. Ma'ya knocked, and a deep voice from inside called out, "Come in."
The Twi'lek opened the door, then stepped to the side with another bow. Serra entered the room, Lucia following a single step behind. Their escorts stayed outside, closing the door.
At first glance, the interior of the room might have been mistaken for a greenhouse. A single large window on the far wall allowed sunlight to stream through, making it exceedingly bright and overly warm. Potted plants of at least a dozen different species lined the walls; another half a dozen grew from boxes along the windowsill, while still more hung from planters affixed to the ceiling. There were no chairs, no table, and no desk. It was only when she noticed a small, straw-woven sleeping mat rolled up in the corner that Lucia realized this was the Jedi Master's personal chambers.
"Welcome, Your Highness. You honor us with your visit."
Master Obba, an Ithorian, was standing with his back to them looking out the window. In the elongated fingers of one hand he held a watering can. Setting it down on the floor, he turned to face them.
Like all Ithorians, he was taller than the average human-easily over two meters in height. His rough, brown skin looked almost like bark, and his long neck curved down and forward before looping up again, making it seem as if he was leaning toward them. Looking at the eyes bulging out from either side at the top of his tall, flat head made it easy to see why the nickname Hammerhead was often applied to the species.
"This is my adviser, Lucia," Serra told him, sticking with their planned cover story. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Master Obba."
"It was the least I could do, given your circumstances," the Ithorian explained, his voice deep and resonant. "My condolences on your husband. His death was a terrible tragedy."
Lucia was no expert in the subtleties of politics, and she couldn't tell if Obba was simply a compassionate soul expressing real sympathy, or an expert negotiator trying to put the princess emotionally off balance by mentioning Gerran.
"My tragedy is mirrored by your own," Serra replied in the formal tone of a practiced diplomat. Whatever the Jedi's intentions, his words had no visible effect on her demeanor. "Allow me to apologize on behalf of the royal family for the unfortunate passing of Medd Tandar."
The Ithorian's head dipped in acknowledgment. "I grieve for his death. And it is of critical importance that we learn the identity of the person or persons responsible."
Lucia felt her heart skip a beat, though she gave no outward sign of her anxiety.
"I understand," Serra assured him. "The authorities on my world are doing everything in their power to bring those responsible to justice."
"I want to believe you," Obba replied, "but you can understand if I have my reservations. Medd was killed during an attack on your enemies. There are some who believe your father-in-law was behind the attack."
"That makes no sense," Serra objected. "The king wants to improve our relationship with your revered Order. That was why he agreed to let Medd come to our world in the first place."