About the Book
About the Author
Also by Troy Denning
Title Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Star Wars Novels Timeline
Dramatis Personae
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Epilogue
Copyright
Many people contributed to this book in ways large and small. I would like to thank them all, especially the following: Andria Hayday for her support, critiques, and many valuable suggestions; James Luceno, Leland Chee, Howard Roffman, Amy Gary, Pablo Hidalgo, and Keith Clayton for their fine contributions during our brainstorming sessions—initial and otherwise; Shelly Shapiro and Sue Rostoni for everything, from their remarkable patience to their insightful reviewing and editing to the wonderful ideas they put forth both inside and outside of the brainstorming sessions—and especially for being so great to work with; to my fellow writers, Aaron Allston and Karen Traviss, for all their hard work—coordinating stories and writing them—and their myriad other contributions to this book and the series; to Laura Jorstad for her attention to detail; to all the people at Lucasfilm and Del Rey who make being a writer so much fun; and, finally, to George Lucas for letting us take his galaxy in this exciting new direction.
With Luke consumed with grief, Jacen Solo works quickly to consolidate his power and jumpstart his plan to take over the Jedi. Convinced he’s the only one who can save the galaxy, Jacen will do whatever it takes, even ambush his own parents.
With the Rebel confederacy driving deep into the core to attack Coruscant and the Jedi under siege, Luke must reassert his position. Only he can lead the Jedi through the crisis, but it means solving the toughest problem Luke’s ever faced. Does he fight alongside his nephew Jacen, a tyrant who’s taken over the GA, or does he join the rebels to smash the Galactic Alliance he helped create?
Troy Denning is the New York Times bestselling author of Star Wars: Tatooine Ghost and Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star, as well as Waterdeep (under the pseudonym Richard Awlinson), Pages of Pain, Beyond the High Road, The Summoning, and many other novels. His most recent Star Wars novels are the three books of the trilogy, Star Wars: Dark Nest. A former game designer and editor, he lives in southern Wisconsin with his wife, Andria.
Waterdeep
Dragonwall
The Parched Sea
The Verdant Passage
The Crimson Legion
The Amber Enchantress
The Obsidian Oracle
The Cerulean Storm
The Ogre’s Pact
The Giant Among Us
The Titan of Twilight
The Veiled Dragon
Pages of Pain
Crucible: The Trial of Cyric the Mad
The Oath of Stonekeep
Faces of Deception
Beyond the High Road
Death of the Dragon (With Ed Greenwood)
The Summoning
The Siege
The Sorcerer
Star Wars: The New Jedi Order: Star by Star
Star Wars: Tatooine Ghost
Star Wars: Dark nest I: The Joiner King
Star Wars: Dark Nest II: The Unseen Queen
Star Wars: Dark Nest III: The Swarm War
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Tempest
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Inferno
Star Wars: Legacy of the Force: Invincible
TENEL KA SENSED the hole in the Force the instant she entered the bedchamber. It was lurking in the black depths of the corner farthest from the entrance, a void so subtle she recognized it only by the surrounding stillness. She moved quickly through the doorway, her spine tingling with a ripple of danger sense so delicate it made her blood race.
Before her lady-in-waiting could enter the room behind her, she looked back over her shoulder and called, “That will be all, Lady Aros. Ask DeDeToo to lock down the nursery.”
“Lock it down, Majesty?” Aros stopped at the threshold, a slender silhouette still holding the evening gown Tenel Ka had just removed. “Is there something I need to—”
“Just a precaution,” Tenel Ka interrupted. Her robe was still hanging inside her refresher suite, so she was standing in her underclothes. “I know our embassy should be secure, but this is Coruscant.”
“Of course . . .” Aros dipped her chin. “The terrorists. This rach warren of a planet is absolutely teeming with them.”
“Let’s not be too disparaging, shall we?” Tenel Ka chided. She casually reached down and unfastened the thigh holster where she carried her lightsaber. “We did have to call on Colonel Solo to dispose of a few raches of our own recently.”
“I didn’t mean anything negative about the colonel,” Aros said, practically cooing the reference to Jacen. After his recent heroics defending Tenel Ka against the traitors trying to usurp her throne, he had become something of a sex symbol to half the women in the Hapes Consortium . . . Tenel Ka included. “Quite the opposite. If not for Colonel Solo, I’m sure Coruscant would have sunk into anarchy by now.”
“No doubt,” Tenel Ka said, casually shifting her grasp on the holster so that she held her lightsaber by its hilt. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I believe I can turn down my own sheets tonight.”
Aros acknowledged the order with a bow and withdrew into the anteroom. Tenel Ka used her elbow to depress a tap pad on the wall. Half a dozen wall sconces glimmered to life, revealing a chamber as ridiculously opulent as the rest of the embassy’s Royal Wing. There were three separate seating areas, a life-sized HoloNet transceiver, and a huge hamogoni wood desk stocked with stacks of flimsiplast bearing the Hapan Royal Crest. On the far side of the chamber, a dreamsilk canopy shimmered above a float-rest bed large enough to sleep Tenel Ka and her ten closest friends.
Despite the two sconces flanking it, the room’s farthest corner—the one near her refresher suite—remained ominously dark. Tenel Ka could not sense any sort of optical field keeping it that way, but then again, the only thing she could sense was . . . well, nothing. She reached out with the Force to make certain Aros was not eavesdropping from the other side of the door, then ignited her lightsaber and took a few steps toward the corner.
“You would be wise to show yourself,” Tenel Ka said. “I have no patience for voyeurs . . . as you should well know by now.”
“I’m a slow learner.” The darkness melted away, revealing a tall, shadow-eyed figure with a melancholy echo of his father’s famous lopsided grin. He was dressed in black GAG utilities and smelled faintly of hyperdrive fuel, as though he had come to her straight from a space hangar. “And I don’t usually get caught. My camouflage powers must be slipping.”
“No, Jacen. I am just growing better at sensing your presence.” Tenel Ka deactivated her lightsaber and tossed it on the bed, then smiled warmly and opened her arms to him. “I was hoping you would find time to call.”
Jacen cocked his brow, then let his gaze slide down her body. “So I see.”
“Well?” Tenel Ka asked. “Are you just going to stand there gawking? Or are you going to do something about it?”
Jacen chuckled, then stepped out of the corner and crossed to her. His Force presence remained undetectable—he was so accustomed to concealing himself that he did so even around Tenel Ka—but she could tell by the shine in his eyes how happy he was to see her. She slipped a hand behind his neck and drew his mouth to hers.
Jacen obliged, but his kiss was warm rather than hot, and she could tell that tonight his heart was not entirely hers. She stepped back, embarrassed to realize how insensitive she was being.
“Forgive me if I seem too joyful,” she said, able to perceive now the sadness that tinged his hard eyes, the grief that tainted his clenched jaw. “Tomorrow is Mara’s funeral. Of course you have other things on your mind.”
Jacen’s snort was so gentle that Tenel Ka almost did not hear it.
“It’s okay.” He took her hand, but the softness had vanished from his face, leaving in its place only the stoic, unreadable mask that he had worn since his escape from the Yuuzhan Vong. “I wasn’t thinking about Mara.”
Tenel Ka eyed him doubtfully.
“Well, not exclusively,” Jacen admitted. “I’m happy to see you, too.”
“Thank you, but I’m not offended,” Tenel Ka said. “Our thoughts should be on your aunt tonight. Have you found her killer yet?”
Jacen’s face flickered with emotion—whether it was anger or resentment was impossible to say—and something like guilt flashed through the Force so quickly that Tenel Ka was still trying to identify it when Jacen closed down again.
“We’re still working on that.” Jacen’s tone was defensive, and his gaze slid away in . . . could that be shame? “We don’t have many leads, and I don’t like the direction they’re going.”
“That is very cryptic,” Tenel Ka observed. “Can you—”
“Not yet,” Jacen said, shaking his head. “It’s still early in the investigation, and I don’t want to taint anyone’s reputation.”
Tenel Ka frowned at the implication. “You think it was someone inside the GA?”
Jacen flashed a mock scowl. “Did I say that?”
“Yes.” Tenel Ka looped her hand through the elbow of his black utilities and changed the subject. “But it was thoughtless of me to ask about the investigation, especially with the funeral tomorrow. I hope you’ll—”
“Don’t apologize.” Jacen detached himself and moved to the nearest couch, then sat on the arm. “The truth is, I haven’t been doing very much to find her killer. The Alliance has higher priorities at the moment.”
“The war?”
Jacen nodded. “I’m sure you’re receiving the military’s briefing holos.”
“Of course.” In fact, the holos had been arriving twice a day for nearly a week now, along with urgent requests for Hapan reinforcements, which Tenel Ka could not provide. “Don’t tell me that Admiral Niathal has prevailed on you to talk me out of my last fleet?”
Instead of answering, Jacen slipped over the couch arm onto a cushion, then sat staring into the flame tube that was the focal point of the seating area.
“I see,” Tenel Ka said, astonished that Jacen would agree to even attempt such a thing. He knew as well as she did that granting the Alliance request would place both their daughter and her throne in profound danger. “There is nothing to send, Jacen. As it is, the Home Fleet is barely enough to secure the Consortium from my own nobles.”
“You still need to hear this.” Jacen continued to stare into the swirling tongues of blue inside the flame tube. “You’re aware that Corellia and Bothawui are moving against Kuat, right?”
Tenel Ka nodded. “While the Hutts and Commenor make preparations to attack Balmorra.” She retrieved her dressing gown from inside the refresher, then added, “I do watch those holos they keep sending me.”
“Sorry—just making sure,” Jacen said. “But what the briefings don’t say—what they can’t say—is that after the battle at Balmorra, the Confederation is going to mass its fleets at Kuat. Whoever wins there wins the war.”
“Military planners always think the next big space battle will end the war.” Tenel Ka slipped the dressing gown over her shoulders and returned to the seating area. “They’re usually wrong.”
“This doesn’t come from the planners,” Jacen said. “I’ve seen it, . . . in the Force.”
“Oh.” Tenel Ka dropped into a chair adjacent to Jacen’s, stunned by the implications of what she had just heard. If Jacen’s Force-vision was accurate—and she knew enough about his Force powers to think it would be—the Confederation would soon have a massive force in position to threaten Coruscant herself. “I see why you are worried.”
“Worried might be an understatement,” Jacen replied. “So would terrified. The Alliance just doesn’t have the strength to stop them yet.”
“Yet?” Tenel Ka asked. “Are you telling me that Thrackan Sal-Solo wasn’t the only one building secret fleets?”
Jacen shook his head. “Sorry. I’m talking about the Wookiees. Kashyyyk is certain to assign their assault fleet to our command, and that will tip the balance back in the Alliance’s favor.”
“I doubt the Confederation is going to wait that long,” Tenel Ka said, almost bitterly. Alliance holochannels were filled with impatient speculation about the endless debate on Kashyyyk, with the commentary ranging from simple impatience to accusations of cowardice. “Are you telling me the public reports are misdirection?”
“Not a bad idea, but no,” Jacen said. “I’m telling you that our agents assure us it’s a matter of when, not if.”
“In this instance, when is if,” Tenel Ka said. “Wookiees are very stubborn. By the time they finish their deliberations, the Confederation will be storming Coruscant.”
“I hope you’re wrong.” Jacen tore his eyes from the flame tube, then met Tenel Ka’s gaze. For once, she could sense his emotions through the Force, could feel how frightened and worried he truly was. “But I just don’t know.”
“I see,” Tenel Ka said, finally starting to realize what Jacen was trying to tell her. “And you didn’t come to ask for the Home Fleet?”
Jacen shook his head. “Not really.”
“I was afraid of that.” Tenel Ka sank back in her chair, calling on the Force to keep her heart rate under control, her thoughts focused. “So you only came to warn me that the Galactic Alliance is about to collapse.”
“Well, that’s not the only reason.” Jacen grinned and cocked an eyebrow.
Tenel Ka groaned. “This is no time for jokes, Jacen. Your timing is worse than when we were teenagers.”
“Okay, then I could use some advice instead,” Jacen said, accepting the rebuff as gracefully as he had when they were younger. “Have any?”
Tenel Ka’s answer was immediate. “The Jedi could do something. Perhaps they could launch a StealthX raid, or perhaps Master Skywalker could speak to—”
“I asked for advice, not wishful thinking.” Jacen’s voice was suddenly sharp. “The Jedi won’t lift a finger to help us. They’re practically traitors themselves.”
“Jacen, that’s not true,” Tenel Ka said, refusing to be intimidated. “The Jedi have supported the Galactic Alliance since its inception, and Master Skywalker is on the same side you are. If the Alliance is to be saved, you two must put aside your differences and work together.”
A flash of fear flickered through Jacen’s eyes, then he looked away, reminding Tenel Ka of some petulant courtier refusing to acknowledge a rebuke.
“And if we can’t?” he asked.
“Can you stop the enemy’s advance without the Jedi?”
Jacen shook his head. “Not at the moment—and maybe not with them.”
“Then what choice is there?” Tenel Ka made the question a command. “The Jedi Council is unhappy about your coup, but the Masters will not stand idle while the Alliance falls—especially not if you grant concessions.”
Jacen fell silent a moment, then turned to face Tenel Ka. “It’s more complicated than that. Luke hasn’t been himself since Mara died.” His dark brows arched in concern. “He barely talks to anyone, and he’s drawn in on himself so far he’s practically cut off from the Force.”
“Surely you don’t expect him to remain unaffected by his wife’s death?”
“It’s more than grief,” Jacen said. “You heard about Lumiya?”
“I heard that he truly killed her this time.” Tenel Ka’s answer was cautious, for the ’Net had been full of reports linking Lumiya’s death to Mara’s—until the Jedi Council had issued a terse statement asserting that Lumiya’s demise involved other matters. “It’s hard to believe the timing was purely coincidental.”
“It wasn’t,” Jacen said. “I’m afraid it was a vengeance killing.”
“A vengeance killing?” Tenel Ka shook her head in disbelief. “Even if Master Skywalker would do such a thing, it doesn’t make sense. The Jedi Council itself said that Lumiya had nothing to do with Mara’s death.”
“Luke didn’t discover that until after he killed Lumiya—and that’s when he began to draw in on himself.” Jacen leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees and staring at the polished larmalstone between his boots. “I think he’s having a crisis of confidence, Tenel Ka. I think he’s stopped trusting himself . . . and the Force.”
Tenel Ka frowned. She had the feeling that Jacen was forcing his emotions; that he was merely trying to be concerned while secretly relishing his uncle’s mistake. And who could blame him? Master Skywalker had accused Jacen of some fairly terrible things lately—such as collaborating with a Sith and staging an illegal coup—so it would only be natural to gloat when his denouncer did something even worse.
After a moment, she said, “Perhaps you’re right, Jacen. That would explain why Master Sebatyne turned me away when I tried to call on your uncle.”
“Luke wouldn’t see you?” Jacen was incredulous. “Then matters are worse than I thought. He can’t be up to his duties.”
“That is more than understandable.” While it saddened Tenel Ka to think of Master Skywalker’s pain—and Ben’s—she shared Jacen’s alarm. Now was a disastrous time for the Alliance to be without its Jedi. “But Master Skywalker is not the only member of the Jedi Council. You can still ask for their help.”
“I can try,” Jacen countered. “But I’ve already reached out to individual Masters.”
“And?”
“They’re all against me.” Jacen spoke matter-of-factly, merely reporting the truth as he saw it. “They think I’m trying to take advantage of the situation. Until I have Luke’s support, I can talk myself breathless. The Jedi are not going to cooperate.”
Tenel Ka felt a sudden deflation as she realized just how correct Jacen was. It only made sense for the Masters to close ranks at a time like this, and the growing gulf of suspicion and ill will between Master Skywalker and Jacen was hardly a secret. Of course they would be suspicious of any attempt to press the Jedi into service—especially while their leader remained incapacitated.
“I see.” Tenel Ka rose and stood staring into the flame tube. “Perhaps if I talked to the Council—”
“And convince them you’re part of my plan?” Jacen stood behind her. “The Council is blinded by their suspicions. They refuse to see that I’m only doing what is best for the Alliance. Anything you say will be viewed as repayment for my help against Lady AlGray and the Corellians.”
Tenel Ka nodded. “You’re right, of course.” The true nature of their relationship remained a closely guarded secret, and only they knew that Jacen was the father of her daughter. But he had saved her throne, and Jedi Masters were not fools. Even if they believed she was sincere, they would suspect her judgment of being influenced by gratitude. She shook her head in despair and turned to Jacen. “What are you going to do?”
“We’ve given Admiral Bwua’tu command of the First and Sixth fleets, so maybe he can do something brilliant to stop the Corellians and Bothans before they reach Kuat.” Jacen tightened his lips, then said, “But honestly, our best hope is still the Wookiees—and that’s almost no hope at all.”
Tenel Ka nodded. “The briefing holo mentioned that they have rebuffed all attempts to hurry things.”
“They have.” He looked away for a long time, then finally met her gaze again. “If we can’t stop the Confederation, what happens to you?”
Tenel Ka answered immediately, for it was a question to which she had been giving much thought lately. “I’ll continue to hold my throne until the rebels consolidate their victory and turn their attention to Hapes. I’ll put up a hard fight at first, to see if I can force a peace negotiation—but I won’t subject my people to an invasion I have no hope of stopping.”
“I know you’ll do the best thing for Hapes,” Jacen said, sounding slightly amused. “I was asking about you and Allana.”
“About us?” Tenel Ka was surprised by the question, for the answer was as obvious as it was painful. “You must know the answer to that already.”
The color drained from Jacen’s face. “What about hiding? I could ask the Fallanassi to take you in.”
Tenel Ka smiled sadly. “That will work for a time, Jacen—perhaps even until the Confederation grows tired of looking for us. But no invader can rule Hapes without Hapan blood on the throne, and whoever Confederation installs as their puppet won’t tire. The pretender will be too frightened of me or Allana trying to return, and she’ll keep looking until we’re dead.”
Jacen’s shoulders slumped, and he dropped back onto the couch and cradled his head. “Then we have no choice.”
“About what?” Tenel Ka asked, alarmed by the desperation in his voice. “Jacen, if you are considering using something like Alpha Red—”
“We don’t have anything like that—at least nothing that wouldn’t kill us, too.” He took his head out of his hands and looked up. “What I mean, Tenel Ka, is that you have to give me the Home Fleet.”
Tenel Ka felt her jaw drop. “Jacen, you know what will happen—”
“It will take even Hapan nobles time to organize a rebellion,” he said. “And the Alliance only needs your fleet until the Wookiees commit.”
Tenel Ka shook her head. “Jacen, I can’t risk a rebellion.”
“You can—and you must.” He rose and took her by the arm. “You said yourself that any pretender to your throne would never stop looking for you.”
“I don’t matter,” Tenel Ka said. Jacen was squeezing her arm so hard it hurt, but she didn’t want to appear frightened or angry by trying to pull free. “I won’t put my subjects through another civil war.”
“I don’t care about your subjects. I care about you and Allana.” Jacen pulled her closer. “And I won’t take chances with your lives.”
“The decision isn’t yours to make.” Tenel Ka wondered how much of the conversation Jacen had planned before coming here—if he had deliberately linked her fate and Allana’s to the Alliance’s in a bid to talk her out of her last fleet. “I must look after my subjects first, my family second.”
“Then look after your subjects,” he insisted. “The Confederation isn’t interested in a unity government. What do you think they’ll do with the galaxy if they win the war?”
Jacen had thought this conversation out in advance, Tenel Ka realized, and it made her heart sink to see just how carefully. The Confederation would redraw the galactic map, probably with the Hutts or the Corellians claiming control of Hapes. She glared down at Jacen’s hand and did not look away until he removed it.
“I’m not wrong about this,” he said, stepping back. “The Confederation will do what barbarians always do—divide the spoils.”
Tenel Ka nodded, but moved away from the seating area and stood looking at the wall. He would sense her feelings through the Force, but at least she would not debase her throne by allowing him to see tears in the eyes of the Queen Mother.
“You’re right, of course.”
“I’m sorry, Tenel Ka,” Jacen said, starting toward her. “But if you don’t give me the fleet, what do you think the Corellians are going to do to the Consortium? Or the Hutts?”
Tenel Ka held her hand out behind her, signaling him to stay away. Jacen was right—she had no choice but to give him the fleet. But she had been queen long enough to know that even when there was no choice, there was opportunity.
“I will give you the fleet, Jacen.”
Jacen stopped two steps behind her. “Thank you, Tenel Ka,” he said, having the good grace to sound grateful. “You’re saving the—”
“Not yet, Jacen,” Tenel Ka interrupted. “There is one condition.”
“Very well,” he said. “I’m hardly in a position to bargain.”
“That’s right—you aren’t.” Tenel Ka blinked her eyes dry, then drew herself up and turned to face Jacen. “You must make peace with Master Skywalker.”
A shadow fell over Jacen’s face. “There’s no need to worry about the Jedi,” he said. “They won’t be interfering anymore—you can be sure of that.”
“I am not worried about interference,” Tenel Ka said. “You need their cooperation.”
Jacen took a step back, as though he had been pushed. “I’m not sure I can make that happen. It takes two to make peace, and Luke—”
“Peace, Jacen. That is my condition.” Tenel Ka took him by the arm and started him toward the door. “And may I suggest you start by addressing your uncle as Master Skywalker?”
FIVE STORIES BELOW lay the Morning Court of the new Jedi Temple, a large circular atrium carpeted in living sturdimoss and surrounded by curving walls of mirrored transparisteel. This morning the roof membrane was retracted, and the enclosure was packed with Alliance dignitaries dressed in somber shades of gray and black. On the far side of the crowd, several rows of Jedi Knights in white robes kneeled before a large pyre. Atop the pyre lay a lithe female body wrapped in white gauze, hands folded across her chest, red hair cascading over the logs beneath her.
The distance was too great to observe the dead woman’s face, but Leia knew that no matter how well the mortician had plied his art, there would be lingering hints of outrage and anxiety, of hostility and fear. Mara Jade Skywalker would have died angry, and she would have died worrying about Ben and Luke.
Han stopped beside Leia and peered through the transparisteel wall. “I don’t like it. How come she didn’t return to the Force?”
“That doesn’t always happen,” Leia explained. “Tresina Lobi didn’t return to the Force.”
“Because her body was evidence. She wanted Luke to see her wounds, so he’d know Lumiya was after Ben.”
“I’m not sure it works that way.” As Leia spoke, Saba Sebatyne and a group of brown-robed Jedi Masters emerged from a door on the far side of the Morning Court.
“But it might,” Han insisted. “Maybe Mara’s trying to tell us—”
“Han,” Leia interrupted. “I’m sure the Masters have already considered that possibility, and it looks like we’re running late.”
She pointed across the courtyard to Saba and the other Masters, who were escorting Luke and Ben toward the head of the funeral pyre. Both Skywalkers wore gray robes with raised hoods, but father and son could not have looked more dissimilar. With squared shoulders and the heavy gait of a soldier, Ben managed to seem both angry and in control, as though his mother’s funeral had brought his adolescent energies into perilous focus. In contrast, Luke had stooped shoulders and an erratic gait that made him look as though it required all his strength just to be there.
Leia reached out in the Force to let him know they had arrived, but Luke’s presence was so drawn in on itself that it was almost undetectable—and it shrank even more when she tried to touch him.
A terrible ache filled Leia’s chest. “We should have been here, Han. Maybe he would have held up better if I had—”
“We’re here now.” Han took her elbow. “And being here when it happened wouldn’t have changed anything. It’s hard to comfort someone from a cell inside a secret GAG detention center.”
Leia chuffed out her breath, then said, “I know.”
She allowed Han to guide her down the corridor, both irked and saddened to be reminded of the detention warrant their own son had issued against them. Jacen had turned so terribly dark that she often found herself wondering why she had failed to see it coming—why she still couldn’t name the thing that had changed him. Had it been his captivity among the Yuuzhan Vong? Or had he lost his way during his five-year sojourn among the stars?
It hardly mattered. Leia had not recognized the moment when she could have reached out to save him. Her son had simply slipped into darkness one day when she wasn’t looking, and now, she feared, it was already too late to pull him back.
They rounded a bend in the corridor and came to a turbolift station. Han touched a pad requesting descent to the courtyard level. Nothing happened.
Han struck the pad again, this time with a bent knuckle, and the status light still refused to turn green. He sighed in exasperation.
“Great.” He started down the corridor to look for another lift. “You’re giving the eulogy, and we can’t even get a—”
“Wait.” Leia grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Her spine was tingling with danger sense. “I think we’re being watched.”
“Of course we’re being watched.” Han hitched a thumb at the Morning Court, more or less aiming at the dignitaries on the near side of the enclosure. “Have you seen who’s out there? Every apprentice in the Temple must be monitoring security holos.”
“Which is why I am surprised you and Princess Leia decided to come, Captain Solo.” The voice was crisp, deep, and behind them. “But I should have known by now not to doubt the colonel. He said you would come.”
Leia turned to find a shaved-head lieutenant leading a small squad of black-uniformed soldiers around the bend. It took a moment to recognize who they were, for she couldn’t believe even Jacen would set a trap for his own parents at his aunt’s funeral. Yet here Leia was, looking at half a dozen GAG troopers who clearly thought they were going to arrest her and Han.
Han scowled. “How’d you get in here? This is Jedi territory.”
“And the Jedi serve the Alliance.” The lieutenant stopped five meters away, his troopers spreading across the corridor behind him, and glowered in Leia’s direction. “At least they’re supposed to.”
“You’re making a big mistake, Lieutenant,” Leia said, putting some ice into her voice. She and Han had taken elaborate precautions to avoid detection outside the Temple, but sending troopers inside was an inconceivable affront, one that Luke would never tolerate—were he not consumed by grief. “The Jedi Council won’t view this intrusion lightly. You might save your career by leaving now.”
“The Jedi Council will do what the colonel tells them to—just as I do.” The lieutenant snapped a finger, and the troopers leveled a line of T-21 repeating blasters at the Solos. “Now come along quietly. We don’t want to disturb Master Skywalker’s funeral any more than you do. It would be disrespectful.”
“Yes, it would.” Leia put the strength of the Force behind her words, at the same time waving two fingers to keep the captain from focusing on the suggestive timbre of her voice. “That’s why my son gave us safe passage.”
The lieutenant furrowed his brow, then said, “There must be a mistake.” He motioned his squad to lower their weapons. “The colonel gave them safe passage.”
The troopers continued to aim at the Solos, and the corporal beside him snapped, “Sirrr! She’s doing that Jedi thing to you.”
The lieutenant’s gaze flickered away for a second, then returned clear and focused. “Try that again and we open fire,” he warned. “I’m not weak-minded, you know.”
“No?” Han asked. “Then how come you’re taking orders from my son?”
The lieutenant’s face reddened. “Colonel Solo is a great patriot, perhaps even the savior of the . . . arrrgggh!”
His voice broke into a scream of alarm as Leia Force-hurled him into the troopers behind him, knocking half the squad off its feet and sending the rest stumbling for balance. She snatched her lightsaber off her belt and started down the corridor in the opposite direction.
Han was already three steps ahead, tugging his blaster pistol from its holster with one hand and reaching back for her with the other.
“There’s got to be another lift up ahead. If we hurry, we can still get you there in time to deliver the—”
“Are you crazy?” Leia was touched by his devotion, but the last thing she wanted to do was cause a firefight at Mara’s funeral—as appropriate as that might seem. “We can’t go out there.”
“We have to,” Han said. “Why do you think Jacen is trying to catch us now, instead of after the service? If he was going to grab us, wouldn’t it have been easier when we were all broken up and not paying attention?”
Leia nearly stopped running. “He doesn’t want us to see Luke!”
“That’s my bet,” Han said. “He must be afraid we’ll buck up the competition or something.”
Han’s suggestion made perfect sense. Immediately following Jacen’s coup, several Masters on the Jedi Council had publicly condemned the act—condemnations that had no doubt cost Jacen and Admiral Niathal some crucial early support. But since Mara’s death, the entire Council had remained silent, too occupied with Jedi concerns to intrude on Alliance politics, and that silence could only come as a welcome relief to the new Chiefs of State.
Before Leia could agree with Han aloud, they rounded a bend and found a line of black-uniformed figures stretched across the corridor. There was barely time to recognize them as a second squad of GAG troopers before three poopfs sounded and the air was suddenly blurred by flying webs.
Leia waved a hand, using the Force to sweep two of the shock nets into the wall. The third sailed past along the far side of the corridor, crackling with energy and trailing tart whiffs of adhesive.
Han dropped to his belly and began to lay suppression fire, and a trooper collapsed in stun-bolt-induced spasms. Leia extended her hand and, when the next poopf sounded from the firing line, used the Force to hurl the shock net back toward the trooper. He tumbled over backward, gurgling and convulsing as the charged mesh tightened.
Boots began to pound down the corridor behind them, the first squad of troopers rushing to close the trap.
“This time, Jacen’s gone too far,” Han growled, still firing down the corridor at the second squad. “We’re gonna have to do something about that kid.”
“Let’s get out of this first, okay?”
“Good idea. What’s your plan?”
Leia didn’t really have one, but she ignited her lightsaber and charged anyway. “Follow me!”
The four troopers remaining in the second squad threw their net launchers aside and pulled their blaster rifles, but Leia was on them before they could open fire. She took one man out with a roundhouse kick to the head and sent another cartwheeling into the wall with a spinning crescent—then found herself looking down the barrel of an E-11 blaster rifle. When she raised her gaze, it was to see a young recruit only two or three years older than her son Anakin had been when he died.
The boy’s pupils widened, and Leia knew he was going to blast her. She brought her lightsaber up beneath his arms, slashing them off at the elbows, then spun away feeling sick and sad. This was not right, fighting on the day of Mara’s funeral, drawing blood inside the Jedi Temple, maiming her own son’s troopers.
The second squad’s last trooper was already on the floor in convulsions, his utilities still crackling with residual energy from Han’s stun bolts. Outside in the Morning Court, Leia glimpsed a few Masters frowning in their direction, no doubt sensing through the Force what the enclosure’s mirrored transparisteel prevented the rest of the audience from seeing. Luke seemed oblivious to the disturbance, but Ben’s attention was fixed on the Masters, and Leia knew he, too, would soon feel what was happening.
Han ran up beside her and slipped a concussion grenade off the utility belt of the screaming boy whose arms Leia had just amputated, then grabbed her by the elbow.
“Not your fault,” he said, steering her down the corridor. “That’s on Jacen.”
Leia started to say that it didn’t matter whose fault it was, but her reply was cut short as the first squad of troopers caught up and loosed a flurry of blaster bolts. She spun around and began to back down the corridor after Han, batting screaming dashes of color back toward their attackers. Unfortunately, the lieutenant and his men had learned from the mistakes of the other squad and were hugging the inner curve of the corridor, using the transparisteel wall for cover and taking care never to present a clean target.
A bolt ricocheted off the wall above their heads and left a smoking furrow in the transparisteel.
“Hey, those bolts are full power!” Han complained. He thumbed the activator switch on the grenade he had taken, then turned to face the troopers. “All right, if you want to play dirty—”
Leia caught his arm. “No, Han. We can’t do that—not here, not today.”
She thumbed the switch back to its inert position, then took the grenade from Han’s hand and tossed it at their pursuers, using the Force to guide it into their midst.
The blasterfire fell instantly silent. Cries of grenade! and cover! filled the corridor as the lieutenant and his troopers hurled themselves out of sight.
Leia took Han’s hand and sprinted down the corridor to the next intersection. When she turned away from the Morning Court, Han looked over and stopped running.
“Wrong way!” He tugged her in the opposite direction, back toward the funeral. “You’re never going to make it in time—”
“I know, Han.” Leia remained where she was, using the Force to anchor herself to the floor. “But our presence has already caused too much of a disturbance. We can’t turn Mara’s funeral into a blaster battle.”
“We’re not the ones to blame!” Han objected. “Jacen sent the goons.”
“And what does that change?” Leia asked. “If we go out there, they’ll still follow and try to arrest us, and then where will we be?”
Han’s face fell as he contemplated the alternatives—surrender nicely and be hauled off to a GAG prison, or start a firefight in the middle of Mara’s funeral. Either way, they would not be doing Luke—or Ben—any good. He stopped pulling.
“Nowhere,” he said. “Looks like Jacen wins again.”
“For today,” Leia said. She started down the corridor in her original direction, pulling Han after her toward the Temple exit. “But you’re right, Han. It’s time for us to do something about that kid.”
SABA SEBATYNE HAD been living among humans for well over a standard decade, and still there was so much she did not know about them. She didn’t understand why Master skywalker seemed so lost right now, why he had stopped talking to his friends and turned all his attention inward. Surely he knew Mara wouldn’t want that? That she would expect him to stay focused and guide the Jedi through this time of crisis?
But he just stood staring at the funeral pyre, as though he couldn’t quite believe it was his mate up there, as though he expected her to awaken at any moment and climb down to stand beside him. Perhaps he was only trying to understand why Mara had failed to return her body to the Force, wondering—like so many other Masters—whether it still held some clue to the killer’s identity that had been missed during the autopsy. Or he could be worried that something in Mara’s past had interfered, that she had done something as the Emperor’s Hand so terrible that the Force could not take her back.
Saba only knew that she did not know; that Master skywalker had been wounded in some way she could never understand and had lost himself. And she feared that if he did not return to himself soon, something terrible would happen. She could feel that much in the Force.
Saba felt the weight of someone’s attention and turned to find Corran Horn’s green eyes fixed on her back. He was standing about three meters away, discussing something with Kyp and Kenth Hamner while Cilghal, Kyle Katarn, and the rest of the Masters remained with Master Skywalker and Ben. When he noticed Saba looking, he gave a little head-jerk, summoning her over.
Saba nodded, but glanced back to make certain the dignitaries filling the courtyard weren’t growing too impatient with the delay. Tenel Ka was in the front row, kneeling in meditation alongside Tesar, Lowbacca, Tahiri, and most of the other Jedi Knights—except Jaina and Zekk, who had been ordered to continue their pursuit of Alema Rar. In chairs behind the Jedi Knights, Admiral Niathal and her entire High Command sat bolt upright, too disciplined to fidget no matter how late the ceremony was running. Behind them sat most of the Senate and the secretaries of every major department, putting their time to good use by chatting with one another in solemn whispers. The only person of note whom Saba did not see was the man who should have been in the vacant chair to Admiral Niathal’s right, the co-leader of the coup government—Jacen Solo.
Satisfied that the distinguished audience members were not on the verge of departing, Saba excused herself to Ben and a barely cognizant Master Skywalker, then joined Corran and the others. Kyp Durron still wore his dark brown hair long and shaggy, but at least he was cleanly shaven for the occasion. Kenth Hamner, who looked old enough to be Kyp’s father, appeared as carefully groomed and dignified as ever.
“What?” Saba demanded. “Can you not see how all this waiting is affecting Master Skywalker? When are we going to start?”
Corran and Kyp shot each other a nervous glance, then Kenth said, “We’ll start as soon as you are ready, Master Sebatyne.”
Saba flicked her tongue between her lips, trying to figure out why they would be waiting on her. “This one?”
“That’s right,” Corran said. He cast a glance over her shoulder toward Ben and Master Skywalker, then lowered his voice to a barely audible whisper. “You felt that disturbance on the upper access level a few moments ago?”
“Yes,” Saba replied. “What was it? A newz crew trying to sneak holoz of the funeral?”
“Not exactly,” Kyp said, also speaking softly. “It was a GAG squad.”
Saba’s jaw fell. “A GAG squad? Inside the Temple?”
“I’m afraid so,” Kenth replied. “They tried to arrest the Solos.”
Saba thumped her tail against the slatstones, pondering, then finally shook her head in bewilderment. “Only a squad? That is not enough.”
“Not even close,” Kyp agreed. “But we’ll talk about that later. The pursuit has already moved outside the Temple, and we have other things to worry about right now.”
Saba nodded. “Of course. This one will inform Master Skywalker.”
As she started to turn away, Corran reached for her arm—then seemed to remember what could happen when one grabbed a Barabel and quickly drew his hand back. Saba sissed in relief—she would have been embarrassed to find herself biting his wrist in front of so many dignitaries—and cocked her brow.
“Do you think it’s wise to involve Master Skywalker?” Corran asked. “He has enough on his mind right now.”
“This one thinkz he does not have enough on his mind,” Saba replied. “Mara would not want him turned inward like this.”
“No, but she would understand,” Kenth said. “Humans need to grieve, Saba. We need to let him have this funeral.”
“It’s the only way he’ll get better,” Corran added.
Saba riffled her scales and looked away. There was that word again, grieve. She did not understand what good it was—why humans found it so necessary to swim in sorrow when their loved ones died. Was it not enough to hold them in one’s heart, to honor their memories in how one lived one’s own days? It was as though humans could not trust their minds to keep lost ones alive; as though they believed that a person was gone just because her life had come to an end.
Saba returned her gaze to Corran and the others. “We cannot let the intrusion go unpunished,” she said. “Jacen is already swinging us like a tail.”
“We won’t,” Kyp assured her. “We’ll do something right after the funeral.”
Saba nodded. “Good. But somehow this one does not think you told her about the intrusion just to ask her not to tell Master Skywalker.”
Corran shook his head. “Not really,” he said. “You see, Princess Leia was supposed to give the eulogy.”
“Ah. Now this one understands why Jacen didn’t come.”
“Jacen didn’t know,” Kenth said. “But that’s not really the problem.”
“Of course not.” Saba had seen enough human funerals to know there was always a speech, that it was an important part of drawing out the tears that the service was to unleash. She glanced at the crowd of dignitaries, then back to Master Skywalker and Ben. “Now how are we to give Master Skywalker his grieving?”
Corran and Kenth exchanged glances, then Kenth said, “We were hoping you would speak.”
“This one?” Saba began to siss—then recalled that humans did not like humor at their funerals and bit her tongue. “You are serious?”
Kenth nodded. “You were Mara’s friend,” he said. “If anyone understands what she meant to Luke and the rest of us, it’s you.”
“But this one is not even human,” Saba said. “She doesn’t understand grieving.”
“That’s okay,” Kyp said. He locked gazes with her in a silent challenge. “We’ll understand if you’re afraid. I can always fill in instead.”
“This one is not afraid!” Saba knew he was manipulating her, but she also knew he was right—refusing would not be worthy of Mara’s memory. “She just doesn’t know what to say.”
Kyp nodded sympathetically. “So does that mean you want me to do it?”
“No!” The last thing Mara would have wanted was Kyp speaking at her funeral. While he had been fairly supportive of Master Skywalker’s leadership of late, there had been a time when that was not so—and Mara had been a woman with a long memory. “This one will do it.” She turned to Kenth. “What does she say?”
“Just speak from your heart.” Kenth gave her a gentle Force nudge toward the speaker’s lectern. “You’ll do fine.”
Saba swallowed hard, then returned to Master Skywalker’s side and spoke into his ear. “Leia and Han were delayed,” she said. “This one will start.”
Luke’s gaze rose to the top of the pyre and locked on Mara’s face, and he said nothing. The shadows beneath his hood were almost deep enough to hide the red bags beneath his eyes, but even drawn in on himself, his Force aura beamed anguish.
Ben leaned out from behind Luke and nodded. “That’s good,” he said. “Mom would like that.”
A stream of warmth flooded Saba’s heart, and her anxiety about speaking in front of so many dignitaries vanished. She turned toward the audience and straightened her robes, then stepped up to the lectern. A silver hovermike rose to float before her throat, but she deactivated it with a flick of her talon and returned it to its charging socket. When she spoke about Mara, she would not need a voice projector to make herself heard.
The courtyard quickly fell silent. Saba took a moment to make eye contact with Tenel Ka, Admiral Niathal, and many of the other dignitaries in the audience. Then, using the Force to carry her voice to the farthest edges of the courtyard, she began.
“We have come to this sacred place to say farewell to our dear friend, to a fierce warrior and a noble dispenser of justice. Mara Jade Skywalker was one of the brightest starz of the Jedi Order, and we will miss her.”
Saba shifted her gaze to the Jedi Knights kneeling in the front row of the audience. “Her light has been taken from the galaxy, but it has not been extinguished. It lives on in us, in the times we shared the hunt, in the lessons she taught us as a Master.” She turned and spoke directly to Master Skywalker and Ben. “It lives in the love and counsel she gave as a mate, in the sacrifices she made as a mother. As long as our hearts beat, her light lives inside us.”
Master Skywalker finally tore his gaze from the pyre. Though his expression was not exactly peaceful, there was at least a hint of gratitude in his eyes, and she could tell that her words were reaching him. It was harder to tell whether she was being any comfort to Ben. His attention was fixed on the slatstones beneath his feet, his brow furrowed in concentration, his Force aura swirling with pain and confusion and a rage that Mara would have found very frightening.
As Saba contemplated what she might say to quell that rage, a low murmur arose from the audience, starting from the back of the courtyard and rippling slowly forward, growing louder and more animated as it drew closer. Saba turned back to the listeners, wondering if her words could be generating that much excitement, and found the entire audience craning their necks to look back toward the entrance.
Striding up the central aisle was a black-clad figure in knee-high boots, with a long shimmersilk cloak rippling from his broad shoulders. His face was somber and his eyes sunken in shadow, his bearing brusque. Once it grew reasonably apparent that every eye in the audience was on him, he raised a black-gloved hand in a gesture that was half apology and half greeting.
“Excuse my tardiness,” Jacen Solo said. “I was detained by urgent matters of state. I’m sure everyone understands.”
A general drone of agreement rose from the audience, though Jacen could feel Saba’s ire through the Force. He pretended not to notice her indignation and continued down the aisle, taking care to keep his presence hidden from the Force so no one would sense how nervous he felt. The Masters still had no idea he was Mara’s killer, but he was all too aware how easily the slightest slip on his part could change that.