this addition has been edited as of january 2, 2020

CHAPTER THREE

ARTEMIS ARRIVED BACK IN the parlor to find Anakin alone on the adjoining balcony; Master Kenobi was nowhere to be seen.

Artie hesitated. It was one thing to joke with Padme, but to be around the Jedi in person was incredibly daunting. Their philosophy was strange, yes, but their elusive nature and nearly tangible power were quite intimidating, and without Padmé nearby Artie found herself unsure how to approach Anakin. She wondered if she should even attempt it. What if she was interrupting some deep, ceremonial meditation? Were there customs? Proper etiquette she did not know of? Bewildered, she almost retreated back into Padmé's room.

No, Artie told herself firmly. There's no need to be frightened. He may be a Jedi, but before anything, he's a boy and they're hardly scary at all.

So she marched forward. On the balcony, the air was brisk and smelled of ship fuel, filled with the hum of thousands of speeders big and small racing through the city. It was evening but with the miles of blaring headlights and skyscrapers lit up from base to tip setting Cityscape aglow, you'd hardly know. Anakin was leaning against the side of the balcony, eyes downcast and unfocused. Artie halted near him, keeping what she thought an appropriate distance between them. When he didn't look up, she cleared her throat.

"Oh," Anakin said, eyes lifting and meeting hers. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize . . ."

Artie lifted her eyebrows. "I thought Jedi could sense everything."

"Usually we can," Anakin agreed. He looked down again. "I suppose I'm distracted."

"I'm not sure this is the best time to be," Artie chuckled, settling against the barrier. "Is everything okay?"

Anakin eyed her almost suspiciously. He seemed to ponder for a moment and the crease in his forehead softened, but when he spoke he only said, "Is there any activity inside?"

"It's quiet," Artie replied, slightly put-off that he'd so obviously dodged her question, "but it might not stay that way. Is Master Kenobi patrolling downstairs?"

"Yes, but he'll come back up—there's half a battalion stationed at the entrance. Not really any need for him to stay."

Artie nodded, her lips drawn tight. Was he trying to keep the conversation dull? "Good point," she said, fully resolved to wait alone inside. If Anakin did not want to talk to her, she'd waste no more of his time. Artie had turned halfway on her heel when he suddenly piped up.

"Your face is cut," Anakin said, "and your knees look like they've been bleeding. What happened to you?"

Artie bristled. So much for courtesy.

"I meant to ask earlier," he added quickly, "but Padme took you before I could . . . . Are you okay?"

"Fine," Artie said, waving a hand. Her fingers crept subconsciously to her ear and twisted at a stud. "I got hit by the explosion on the landing platform this morning, but . . ." Her thoughts wandered to Cordé. "I got lucky."

Anakin nodded and turned his eyes back to the skyline. While he wasn't looking, Artie stole a look at him. She realized, whenever a band of light from traffic hit him just right, his bronze face was drooped and heavy shadows encircled his eyes; there was a tired slump to his stature. "You look exhausted," she remarked.

Anakin glanced at her, then locked his gaze on his hands. "I don't really sleep well."

"Why?"

Anakin did not reply for several moments, and Artie began to fear she'd crossed a boundary. Warm with embarrassment, she turned away.

"It's my mother," Anakin said suddenly, voice low and grim.

Artie cast her eyes back to him. Against her better judgment, she pressed him further. "Do you dream about her?" Her heart pounded like a fist beating the hollow of her chest. If nightmares were the topic, she had plenty of experience to share.

Anakin nodded weakly. "I don't know why—I haven't seen her since I was little."

Something writhed in Artie's stomach; she knew how he felt. "Is there any way you can visit her?"

"I'm not permitted to," he mumbled. "The masters say she's an attachment and I must learn to let her go."

Artie blinked in disbelief. "But she's your mother."

Anakin smiled sadly. "I wish they shared your sentiment."

They fell silent. Artie was too stunned to muster a reply. She knew of the Jedi Order's notorious rejection of selfish affections and desires, but she'd always assumed that meant trivial things like wealth or fame. But to consider a parent an expendable attachment—that missing them was a condemnable weakness—was a heartbreaking prospect. She was suddenly filled with pity for Anakin Skywalker.

"That's awful," Artie whispered. "I'm so sorry."

Anakin shrugged limply. "I'm mostly used to it by now," he said. "I only wish I wouldn't dream about her so much—they're more like nightmares, really. She's always in danger . . . or she forgets me."

It occurred to Artie that knowing she suffered awful nightmares too might help Anakin not feel so desolate. Her dreams, so realistic and terrifying they often left her waking up in tears or a cold sweat, were private things she hardly even shared with Padme, echos of a past she hoped endlessly to forget. But if hearing about her nightmares might make Anakin feel less isolated, Artie figured her pride could take the hit. She took a deep breath. "You know—"

"Captain Typho has more than enough men downstairs," Obi-Wan's voice broke in. Artie whipped around to find him ambling easily out onto the balcony. Anakin, who must have sensed his master, turned to face him calmly. "No assassin will try that way. Any activity up here?"

"None," Artie squeaked, feeling like she'd been caught misbehaving, though she had no idea why.

"Quite as a tomb," Anakin agreed, much steadier. "I have to say, though, Master, I don't like standing around waiting for something to happen to Padmé."

"Well, I certainly hope we're waiting for nothing," Kenobi said.

"Do you believe what the council reports?" Artie asked. "That spice farmers planned the attack?"

Obi-Wan sighed and put his hands on his hips, eyes fixed on the floor. "Our intelligence is reliable," he said, forming a scowl. "There's little reason to think otherwise."

"But it seems unlikely," Artie pressed. "Nabooian farmers aren't violent and even if they did hold issue with Padmé, she's adored by the people—they'd never go so far as to attempt an assassination." In her heart, Artemis knew she was right. No Nabooian would ever act out in such a way. They simply were not a radical system.

"It's a good point," Anakin said, his eyes on Artie. "Perhaps we should look further into it."

Obi-Wan shook his head. "I just don't think it's quite as dramatic a situation as you're hoping. Master Windu told me you and Padmé suspect Count Dooku, and while I certainly don't trust the man, I wouldn't put him so low as to murder political adversaries. We're not at war just yet."

Artie huffed. "But Master, I really do—"She broke off. An odd feeling came over her, enshrouding her like a cloak across her shoulders. It was powerful intuition and a sense of impending disaster; there was an invisible cord attached to her navel and someone was giving it a good hard yank, pulling her back inside, pulling her to Padmé's room. Padmé, Padmé, Padmé. Her name rang through Artie's head. Save her. She'll die. Save her. Save her. "Something's wrong," Artie whispered, dizzy with fear and confusion. What was happening to her?

Obi-Wan's eyes widened. He looked to Anakin, who had his lightsaber ready in his hand. Without a word between them, they bolted for the bedroom. Watching them spring to action jolted Artie from her stupor and she tore after them. They burst into Padmé's chamber and before Artie could even scope out what was wrong, Anakin threw himself onto her bed, his glowing blue lightsaber bursting from its canister and arcing through the air. It cut through something tangled in the sheets, narrowly missing Padmé's leg. There was a hiss, an angry screech that told Artie there was something alive squirming in the bed, and Anakin swung again. Something hit the floor with a sickening thud.

"Kouhuns, Master," Anakin announced. Artie's stomach lurched; kouhuns, she recalled from a distant school lesson, were venomous jungle arthropods often utilized for assassinations. Their venom took minutes to kill, and they were known to sting anything with a pulse.

And someone had snuck them in Padmé's bed.

She bolted upright with a small scream, looking from Anakin, who still loomed over her, to Artie, to Obi-Wan. "What—"she gasped, "what is—why are you—"

Artie made to comfort Padmé, had taken one step toward her when the pull at her navel returned. Now, it dragged her attention to the large window that took up the west wall of the bedroom, and through the blinds, Artie spotted a probe droid, bobbing in the air outside. Everything fell together in her mind: the droid had slipped the kouhuns inside, it must be programmed to return to its master, and its master must be whoever wanted Padme dead so badly.

The intuition seized Artie again. Catch it.

She didn't stop to consider the stupidity of her next decision. All she knew was that Padmé had almost been killed again, and she was going to figure out why. It was like she moved independently of her own will, and yet she wanted to do this. Artie charged at the window. Obi-Wan had taken a leap in the same direction and she suspected they'd had the same idea, but she was a step ahead of him.

"Artemis!" he shouted, "wait!"

She'd already jumped. She crashed headfirst through the window and tackled the probe in her arms. She bobbed in midair for a moment, hundreds of feet above the roaring traffic, but the metal was slick and Artie lost her grip at once. She clung to the head of the droid by her fingertips, and even that hold was slipping. Panicked, it zoomed forward at head-spinning speed, and Artie thought clearly for the first time.

She knew, almost indefinitely, that this was how she would die.

note.
not my favorite chapter but still very fun to write! i love artie and ani soo much!
be sure to comment your favorite part!