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TELLING Padme that she had let him go felt like a failure, but Araminta only ignored the senator's concerned chatter and the moisture farmers' fearful gossip. Araminta could only think of how Anakin had looked in that moment, eyes blazing and more driven than she had seen him in a long time. She recognised the look in his eyes– it was the same way he'd looked the day he'd stepped out of line to save her.
Maybe she was weak, sympathetic and pitiful. Maybe she was everything Octavian would hate. But despite that, she did not regret letting him go, the stone around her throat heavy with woe and a chance to prevent a similar pain. She could only trust him to be careful and smart while she stuck to the mission, eyes trained on Padme, who retreated into the kitchen and began to make herself dinner.
Cliegg had offered them to make themselves at home for the night until Anakin returned, claiming them to be "friends of the family." The sentiment was nice, but lost on the assassin, who padded after the senator.
"Do you think he will be okay?" Padme asked for the millionth time that evening, as she began to boil something on the stovetop. She had offered to make dinner as a favour to the Lars family for their kindness, while Araminta merely watched, the only job in her eyes.
"Skywalker's strong," Araminta said, simply, from her place on the floor where she was sitting cross-legged, the sandstone cool against her skin.
"I'm worried for him. What if he finds something terrible?" Padme continued, sounding panicked.
"Terrible things are a part of life," Araminta replied, casually. Padme huffed at the negativity, while Araminta mused at her own dramatics. She was actively trying not to imagine Anakin finding anything terrible, and only hoped he found nothing and turned back. The consequences on the emotional padawan would be severe.
Araminta continued to observe the senator like a cat, as she moved about the kitchen, easily and with grace. The assassin tilted her head. "Where does a senator learn to cook?" she inquired, voice more condescending than she intended it to be.
Padme's cheeks flushed. "I baked every day as a child."
"No maids?" Araminta quipped.
"I did not rise to nobility until later in life," Padme said, quickly. Araminta blinked at her, not expecting the answer. She didn't care enough to ask more, but she nodded, accepting the response with respect. "And what about you?" The senator asked, pans on the stovetop sizzling, the kitchen chamber beginning to fill with an amazing smell.
"What about me?" Araminta asked.
"What was Zyris like?"
Araminta sighed at the mention of her homeworld. "I already told you, I don't remember much. I was eight when I left."
