The jungle city of Carannia, Serenno was a painful reminder of Kalee, except that the colors here were much more flushed and vibrant. Though she spotted a few Twi'leks and Chiss, the primary human population bustled about, conducting business. The city was quiet, peaceful, and happier than Kalee would probably ever be.
Ronderu thought this was how a leader should govern his people.
Arna breathed in the fresh air. "Serenno's an independent system—one of those secessionist places. That's why we're investigating."
"Might not want to say that so loudly here," she observed coolly. "The people seem to like him."
A metallic voice spoke from behind them. "Excuse me, visitors. Arna Gray?"
"Yes," Arna said. "Count Dooku's droid?"
Ronderu turned around. The droid was a bland protocol unit, silver-hued, and yet she got the impression that the count was watching them even through its eyes. "And you have a lady friend!"
"A business partner," Arna corrected, passing their bags to its hands. "Does the count want me to park my ship nearer home?"
"No need," the droid replied, gesturing to a speeder nearby. "I will take you there."
The keep of Serenno stood amidst many trees and plants, an enormous silver rocket amidst a brush of endless forest but swaggering firm and almost cruel from its place. A jade-colored window stood at the top of the area, and a desk and chair silhouette winked at the foreigners from inside.
She was jarred out of her thoughts by the figure of an old man strolling gracefully from the doors, meeting them along the path. He was at least seventy, yet he did not hobble as he moved. His salt-and-pepper beard shifted with his smile. "Welcome to my abode, young Gray. It has been too long."
"Perhaps," Arna said, steeliness in his voice. "Forgive me, Count. You didn't mention the grandeur of your keep."
"Words cannot describe the pride I have for my citizens, yet they do not speak of the beauty of this place nearly as periodically as they should," the count chuckled. "Who will accompany us this evening?"
"Ru san Jinn," Ronderu piped in before Arna could do it for her.
"Ru san Jinn," Dooku repeated, his hands working to open the door. "I seem to recall the Mandalorians boasting of their Kaleesh prisoner. The khagan would not be pleased if he knew."
It would have been strange that a Republic-dweller and former Jedi would understand the Kaleesh governmental structure, except that he had helped organize it. He had formed the Dynastic Republic of Kalee, making him a living legend. She smiled softly; she had met one of the heroes from old tales.
They followed him to a moderately large bedroom, where Arna rested their luggage against the wall. He cleared his throat. "I'm going to head back to the spaceport and see if the ship could use some fuel."
"You didn't check up on it earlier?" Ronderu asked, crossing her arms indignantly.
"I didn't think to do it," Arna said. "I apologize, Count. I will be back shortly."
"Not to worry," the man said with the wave of an aging hand, and Arna left the room. A pit settled in Ronderu's stomach; she desperately wished she could run away. Something in Dooku's dark eyes suddenly made her nervous….
"You don't talk much," Dooku said, sitting across from her.
"I don't have to," she said in a chilly tone. "Basic isn't my first language anyway."
"The Kaleesh fellowshipped with the Republic not so long ago, Jinn," he said with a small smile. "I should wonder if you were not cultured enough to have a formal education."
"I didn't go to school," she said. "I learned it from dealing with offworlders."
Why is he asking about my education? Who cares?
Are Kaleesh expected to know Basic? No, that could not be; Qymaen and everyone she knew never learned Basic or had difficulty speaking it.
Does he know who I am?
"Offworlders. So you're a mercenary."
"Was," she corrected automatically. "I won't do any jobs for you now."
"But being a mercenary generates many an intriguing tale."
"I didn't like the title much."
"What made you depart from that world?"
"The knowledge that the authorities would have me lashed for some of the things I was doing." In a way, this was not a lie, but it was not the most significant reason. The prize for that went to Qymaen.
"Then what you were partaking in must have been against tradition," he said, leaning forward, his fox-face challenging to read.
"Would you like people prodding at you about why you left the Jedi Order?"
The dark eyes widened. "So Arna has told you." A heavy sigh. "I have my reasons for staying silent, as do you."
He knows.
How? How? Unless he was the murderer she was looking for. Unless he was the rich man who had paid for the bounty hunter on Mandalore to kill her.
He rose from the chair. "I apologize for my early departure, Miss Jinn, but I am a very occupied man. We will confer again at supper when Master Gray returns."
Dryness parched her lips, and she nodded to the count's back. Now I have two tasks. Find out if he's trying to warmonger….and if he's the one behind my supposed death.
Arna returned an hour later, and she stumbled to his arms, wrapping him in an embrace. He tilted his head. "Are you okay?"
"I'm so…." she swallowed. "So glad to see you."
"I'm glad to see you too. What's wrong? You're anxious."
She sighed, closed the door, and locked the bolt. "Come to bed. I'll explain everything there."
His cheeks ignited with pinkish-red, and he shifted on his feet. With a sigh, he walked toward her. "Never change, Ru."
"What?" She led him to the comforter. "Remember how I thought someone was trying to kill me?" He nodded, a frown coming to his face. "Dooku knows who I am—who I was, I mean."
His face went pale. "Did he try to kill you while I was gone?"
"No," she said, edging away from him on the mattress. "He….he hinted that he knows who I was on Kalee. Can you name one person who knew me in the Galactic Republic?"
"Serenno isn't part of the Republic."
"All the more reason for him not to have heard of me," she pointed out.
"Does he have contacts on Kalee?"
"He fought with Qymaen's third-mother in the Kaleesh-Bitthævrian war sixty years ago," she said. "I doubt that's of any help, though—I never knew her."
"He never visited after Bitthævria?"
"Never. Not even when she passed away."
Arna frowned. "I don't know if that counts as evidence on its own, but you must be on your guard. I'll sneak into his office during dinner while you entertain the Count."
"No. You stay, and I'll go to the office."
"I'm a trained swordsman."
"As am I, but I have the advantage of not being an idiot at the wrong time." The real reason she longed to go down was secret—she burned with curiosity. Why target me? Why go after a freedom fighter from a remote planet?
"They want you because you're powerful," Arna said. "I've seen memories of what you can do."
"But what would they have to gain from killing me?"
"If it was staged to appear as an accident," Arna said, "they could pick both of you off one by one—you and the khagan."
"I will not believe it's true until I see proof." She stood and paced the room. I may have less time to return home than I thought.
Arna rose and caught her by the hand, and her body relaxed against his touch. "We'll get to the bottom of this. We'll have Republic troops here without delay if these rumors are true."
She buried the gnawing sense of urgency in her gut. If he touched a hair on Qymaen's head, vengeance would be hers. Revenge was now as much a part of her as he was.
Khetsuu carried Saikhan's limp body back to Kaleela and privately cremated her in front of the hall. His clothes, blistered with ash and covered in her blood, stuck to his thinning body as he glared motionless into the blaze where she slept. Tears dripped down his face as he stood alone with her.
That's five now. Five that I've loved and lost.
He washed, pressed balm to his wrists, neck, and cheeks, then dressed for the night. Swooping up his daughter, who was standing against the wall for support, he drank in her screams of laughter.
I still love. I am not fury.
The terror over his brutality paralyzed him, so he almost dropped Rón. I'll move on. I'll love the others more fervently than before. I can undo my mistakes.
He caught a sob from the inner room and set his daughter down, kissing her briefly on the cheek. "I'll be right out."
She nodded shyly, still unable to form words well enough to say Okay. Khetsuu rushed into the bedroom where Shia was holding the form of a dead woman.
He backed up; his mouth might as well be stuffed with cotton. Tikhél lay limp on the ground, her eyes blank and her body stiff.
Shia's voice was grave. "The others are ill. They're fading quickly."
But her voice could have been coming from far away, from the other side of life, or perhaps from so far away that he did not register the words.
She doesn't know about Saikhan and the others yet.
His knees buckled, and he caught the closet door just before falling. Unable to speak—for his throat was constricted. Tikhél. Oh, Tikhél.
"Queru died earlier today." Her voice was soft. Has she forgiven me for my affairs?
And why didn't she tell me when I was grieving Saikhan?
"Qymaen?" she asked as he went to the door. "Why don't you speak?"
Khetsuu rushed out of the house with Rón, violent trembling descending over him. His voice was insistent. "Rón, you must run away."
But his daughter blinked enormous, slit-pupil eyes at him with silent sadness. What am I thinking? She's only a year old. She won't understand.
He couldn't take her anywhere where she'd be safe from the illness that had seized Tikhél and Queru, which would soon capture Shia and the others in its snake-like bond. And off-world, she would get hunted down by the Huk system and killed even more brutally.
She brushed his cheek with a meaty hand. Her mouth formed a single word. "Ah….pah?"
Khetsuu gripped her shoulders. "Rón…." Her eyes stared deeply into his own, and she kissed him on both cheeks, giving a silent grin.
The image of Amidala flashed through his mind. She was willing to help us.
I may end up sacrificing my sweet Rón in cold blood for my own pride.
"I lost your namesake," he murmured, encasing her in his arms. "I won't lose you too. I'll figure something out."
"Don't touch me," he growled at Shia, pacing around their bedroom. "Not now."
"Why?" she asked. "I know you're in pain. But—"
"They are all dead," he said severely. "Nine women in two weeks."
"Let me heal you," Shia said, reaching out to catch him in an embrace again, but he pulled away. "You have been alone for too long. Come, love me."
"I don't care. Leave me alone."
"I will not," she said, resting her hands across her rounding belly. "You refused to do something about the famines or the trafficking. At least don't push me away too."
"You should have thought of that before you married me."
Shia was silent, and he turned to the wall. "All those men are dead. And I liked it. I was stronger—more powerful than can be perceived."
Shia's half-human face twisted in confusion, and he continued speaking as if the words came from someone else. His tone grew deeper. Darker. Icier. "And now I will submit to no one. I will not accept help—not from the Republic. I will break the necks of all those heathens in the Galactic Senate and eliminate every last Yam in this God-forsaken galaxy!"
Shia gripped her stomach and backed up. "Qymaen, stop!"
His voice came out laced with naked fury. "If I hear my first name used again, the speaker shall instantly be killed."
She gazed at him in horror. "I'm going," Khetsuu said. "I'm getting us out of this situation myself."
He'd lost them. He'd lost them all. Nine wives and twenty-eight children died because of the illness that had claimed their sweet bodies. He would not lose Shia, Rón, or the little life growing within his wife.
He grew heavy against her, his knees buckling all at once. Gripping her close to him, he took shuddering breaths with his eyes free of tears, but gods, how he longed to sob in her arms—but he submitted to no one and nothing, not even the truth that he had to grieve them openly. And for the first time since they had married, she refused to return the embrace.
Ronderu walked up the stairs after she and Arna had departed for dinner, her arms crossed over her bosom to hide the misshapen lumps from the com-link and drive. Faintness touched her as her respirator struggled to keep up with her quick pace.
The count exited a room below her to join Arna, his white hair flashing in the light of the chandeliers. Good luck, Jedi.
After she had recovered, she reached a pair of humble wooden doors that seemed unassuming amidst the grandeur of the rest of the keep. Yet Ronderu was no fool; whatever lay beyond that door was dangerous.
She tried the door. Locked. What did she have around her? Her hair was down and unadorned with anything useful; all she had on her clothes were a few metal pins that kept her bodice from splitting down the middle. Her feet were bare, and she wore no jewelry.
She sighed. One must be modest; one must be wise. She leaned down. Her hands worked to tear off a fold of the thin satin that made up her train. She braided it into several strips. Pulling off her glove, she made two slits in the center of her bodice, then tied the braid through the holes. It may not comply with Kaleesh standards of modesty, but it was better than going topless altogether.
She unbuttoned the metal pins that held her bodice together and slipped them out from the fabric while catching a glimpse of the ugly violet mark that ran along her breastbone. She twisted the pins into one long point she could hold like a pencil, pulled her overcoat tighter around her now-lowered neckline, and went to work on the lock.
The door did not require a technical override; it was vintage, carved out of wood, and resembling the door on the Kaleela lodge. Ronderu had not picked locks since before she'd met Qymaen; it had been eleven years since she'd last heard the pleasant click of the metal as it gave her access to what she wanted.
Her hands worked the pick into the lock, and she closed her eyes, imagining where all the bolts and tumblers were. After a few moments, it clicked. She inhaled, stepped forward, and opened the door.
The darkness was no match for her eyes, and the room was typical for this sort of keep: a simple marble floor, an old redwood desk, and some antiques hanging on the walls. She caught a mumuu hide, some valuables she couldn't name—perhaps from the Chiss people among the Serennese—and….
A karabbac mask, nailed to the wall, with crimson swirls crusting off of the old bone.
Now she had confirmation, at least in her mind: Dooku was behind her two assassination attempts. Through a lackey, he must have intentionally separated Qymaen from her and caused her to become overrun by the Yam'rii.
But why? Why go after me?
She stepped forward, used her pick to unscrew the mask, and blew the dust off her beloved veil. "My old darling," she murmured, stroking the bone with affection. "How I've missed you." She pulled off her veil and fit the mask over her face, so it concealed everything but her eyes.
When the mask touched her skin, memories burned into her head. Memories of flipping and dancing around Yam'rii, crashing with tempestuous fury against their hides; the tired cheering of the kolkpravis as they brought home another victory; the wild, warlike scent of Qymaen's clothes as they held one another.
She shuddered and allowed herself to sink against the wall for a time, lost in memory. The smell of sweat and the thick, powerful influence of pheromones still rested within the crevices of the bone.
Closing her eyes, she thought back to the endless singing of the bard-soldiers in the kolkpravis as they trekked far from home. The flag of Kalee snapped in her mind with the delicate tang of her soaps from back home, still fresh in the mask.
Qymaen would take off her mask the next time she would forsake it.
After a while, she walked up to the desk. The flat screen inlaid to the wooden desk was not password-protected. A strange notion, but someone like Dooku probably didn't get many visitors in this lonely keep.
Many scrambled Basic codes blazed in her vision, most of which were mixed piles of gibberish or used such advanced language that they were impossible for her to decrypt. If she chose the wrong one, would Dooku know?
No, she told herself. He's not expecting people to barge in.
She chose the first one, the most recent—accessed the same day that she'd entered this room. Abruptly, an audio message came through.
Dooku: "You have neglected your responsibilities, my dear."
A woman's voice, speaking with a heavy Kaleesh accent: "I have done no such thing." (The sound of her voice was muffled, and it was impossible to tell who the speaker was; Ronderu could only deduce the gender.) "I am a mother now, just as you promised me."
Dooku: "You have not succeeded in the elimination of Kummar."
The woman: "Nonsense. There is nothing but silly rumors about her being alive or reincarnated. But Khetsuu's worked himself into a frenzy over it."
Dooku: "How did he stumble upon this information?"
The woman: "One of my sister-wives. She came home on the wildest day, claimed that Kummar had swooped in and rescued her from cannibals."
Dooku: "I have honored my end of the commitment. I regret to say differently for you."
The woman: (Her voice shook.) "He is lonely and almost completely off the edge. Yet I will honor my end of the deal we made. Do you know where Kummar is?"
Dooku: "She is on Mandalore."
The woman: "But I cannot leave Kalee, and Khetsuu will need concrete proof that she is dead before he believes it."
Dooku: "He appears convinced to me. My concern is to eliminate her as a threat before she finds him and tampers with him further. He is perfect for my plan as he is now."
The woman: "This will not involve harming him, will it?"
Dooku: "He will live and be strong. Isn't that what I promised you?" (But it was so obviously a lie that the woman must have an empty head.)
The woman: "Of course. But why not kill her yourself?"
Dooku: "That would end our agreement, my dear. I doubt you want that."
(A sigh.) The woman: "Very well. Why has she not returned to Kalee yet?"
Dooku: "She was allowed temporary stay—some sort of health issue from surviving Jenuwaa."
The woman: "And when will she return? I have a busy life. Surely you know that."
Dooku: "I am aware, my dear. She will return in six months at the latest."
The woman: "I may not live that long. I'm starting to starve and waste away because of Khetsuu's pride."
Dooku: "Not to worry. Soon you and your children will be well-fed."
The woman: "Must I do more for you?" (Her voice was ragged.) "Living with the guilt of murder is enough to bear."
Dooku: "Consider my assistance an additional benefit, young one."
Ronderu switched off the monitor and hunkered down in the chair. She ran her hands through her hair, closed her eyes, and relayed the information she'd just learned to herself.
Dooku is planning a war. And he wants Qymaen and me out of the way for it.
Whom could the traitor be? The temple had closed in on the Kaleesh at Jenuwaa, separating them, and only someone's hand could trigger those traps. It was a perfect way to disguise a murder.
But who could be so jealous she would do such a thing? And how in the galaxy did Qymaen put up with it after it had happened?
If it was staged as an accident….
But how would a Kaleesh citizen conspire with the Yam'rii?
Perhaps someone led me away from Qymaen on purpose. A woman on the battlefield who survived.
But try as she might, she could not recall a single woman who could have lured her away from Qymaen. The memory of the battle fizzed grayly in her mind, but she only recalled being cornered before she fell underwater.
She sighed and clenched her fists. A mystery, to be sure, but she and Arna would uncover it later. Her first order of business was to download this conversation. Shakily pulling out the drive from her bodice, she pressed it into one of the ports on the desk.
She clicked away from the conversation file, wondering vaguely why he recorded his calls. Her rationale for doing so was recalling any slips of the tongue her clients had. It would be the perfect material to use against them if convenient.
Another file caught her eye. She opened it, her mouth pressing on itself, so her sharp teeth cut against the interior. Blood left a bitter tang in her mouth as she viewed it.
Ronderu was barely in adulthood, and she grew up relatively ignorant of galactic war machines. Still, even she had heard of the ancient Krath war droids used during the period of the Old Republic. Their four-limbed, 360-degree physique made attacking them complicated and costly for anyone who did not wield a lightsaber.
This creature, while not precisely Krath-like, bore much resemblance to one of these ancient metal beasts. From what she could see, the only notable differences were the heights, materials, and face of this new terror. The droid plans appeared only to be missing an AI and a fuel tank, neither of which would be challenging to supply.
Duranium was plated across the whole body, with two cruelly-taloned hands and enormous clawed feet. The plans listed it to be two meters in height. And as she turned her eyes upon the face….
Her eyes crushed themselves shut as she tried to get the image of that horrid mask out of her head. She pressed the Download button. Surely it couldn't be a leader—commanding a whole army was a job for sentient minds, and droids only used algorithms in their thinking patterns, not heuristics.
But certain droids were excellent assassins. If Dooku was planning an assault on Khagan Khetsuu, the creature before her was the perfect one to carry it out. Her hands trembled at the idea of her sweet Qymaen, pinned cold and helpless amidst the droid's talons, as he wondered why she had to perish and leave him alone….
What is something that the Kaleesh have that the Separatists would want?
Her eyes widened. Warriors. A whole race of warriors who will serve a strong leader.
A tear rolled down her cheek against her will. I'm coming, Qymaen. I'm coming back to save you and love you.
A tremor caressed her spine. She stood. There's someone in this room.
She pulled out her com-link and sputtered. "Arna. I've been found out." But fuzz droned from the other side.
"That won't be necessary," a deep, accented voice intoned from the left side of the room.
Her eyes narrowed, and she bit back a curse. "Greetings, Count."
"I presume you and your accomplice attempt to steal from me," he said calmly. "Relinquish the drive, and your life will be spared."
She ripped the hard drive out, unsure if the droid's plans had been downloaded or not. "That's a lie," she growled, tucking it into her bodice and dropping the com. She sent out a thought message with all the force she could muster. Arna! I've been found out! "I saw everything, including when you convinced one of my friends to betray me."
Her hands went to the mottled white cylinders tucked beneath her jacket, and she pulled them out, igniting them. The light blinded her momentarily, and she adopted her warrior's tone. "You should have thought long and hard before you tried to kill me. I'll be a corpse before you lay a hand on him."
"More deceptions," Dooku said, taking out a curved hilt from his belt. "Both of us know you would snap like a mere branch if you lost him. Unfortunately, Sheelal is in the way as of now. But that will not be the case for much longer."
He activated the blade. Sweat dripped from her neck down her bare back. Remember your training.
Dooku's a former Jedi Master. It won't matter.
Her blades blocked his first strike in a perfect cross. The force pushed her arms back into strange angles, and a cry escaped her lips. She pulled an offensive strike. Red blocked her, bringing her cybernetic hand to the ground. The stench of sabers against marble choked her nostrils.
She was weak, a complete failure next to Dooku. She could not fight with her cybernetics; she wheezed as her regulator fought desperately to relieve her of exertion. Her best bet was not to fight anymore.
It was to run.
She pulled her blade away, but Dooku wasn't finished with her. As she tried to run, an invisible hand pressed against her stomach. She was thrust back near him.
Violent redness slashed upon her organic wrist, cutting her hand from the arm. A ghastly scream tore at her throat, blood spattering across her mask as she lost hold and fell to the ground. Clutching her arm to her chest, Ronderu longed to breathe, but a hand clamped itself over her mouth.
A green light bore through the room door, and Arna barged in, his saber ablaze. "You traitor," he snarled at Dooku. "Let her live."
Dooku chuckled regally. "Report this to your Republic. I lose nothing."
"He's….he's right, Arna," Ronderu choked out. Ice spread across her face. "I saw….everything. He is the murderer we're looking for. He's looking to….to assassinate…."
Arna ignited his lightsaber and charged the old man. With a massive effort, Ronderu crawled across the floor, gripping the drive between her metallic fingers and holding her stump to her chest. Blood dripped hotly down her breastbone, pooling at the bottom of her bodice, and desperate breaths escaped her mouth.
She went to the stained-transparisteel window, looking down at the great expanse below. The words she'd said to Qymaen so long ago when he'd been scared of falling to his death came to the front of her mind.
Don't worry. If you fall from here, the tree will catch you.
Her head and metal hand slammed against the window. Tiny shards of glass bounced off her scales, and she sent a message to Arna. Jump after me. You're not strong enough.
Colors exploded in her vision. Her hands went limp. "Ru," his voice called to her, gripping her hand. "Ru, stay with me. It'll be okay. We'll get you fixed up."
She couldn't speak. Several people lifted her and brought her into a shuttle. She was placed in a frigate. A tube was forced over her mouth.
"Step out, Master Jedi," a voice said. "This requires surgery. Her regulator broke when she landed."
"I won't leave her," Arna cried as they pushed him away. "I swore I would protect her."
You're my debtor, Ronderu thought drowsily. Not my friend. Those words might have been valid then, but now….
"Keep him….keep him here," she gasped. "Let him stay."
As the medic took her stump and bandaged it, he chuckled. "Your chest will be bare for the replacement, miss."
She began to drift off. "Let….let him…." she murmured before her brain sputtered unconscious.
She willed swollen eyes to work. Her voice came out in a whisper. "Arna…." She was in an unfamiliar room. "Arna, I need Arna…."
His soft hand touched her jaw, and she turned. "Did you….deliver the drive to the Council?"
"I'm sorry, Ru," he said quietly, running a hand over her forehead. "The drive was destroyed when you fell."
Drive...destroyed.
But she could not put those words together. The image of Qymaen's body crushed beneath the droid pulsed in her vision….his sobbing as he screamed for her to save him….
"There's still another way to get the information needed. Do you have a photographic memory?"
"Not photographic, but…." she sighed. "I've been dreaming about the droid for over a decade."
"I need you to recount all the information from before, just as you recall it."
She looked down at what had been her organic hand. She flexed the four-fingered metallic blackness, shuddered, and spoke.
"Dooku had a conversation with someone from back on Kalee…." she swallowed. "About my murder once I returned."
Arna's brows shot up. "Who was it?"
She sighed. "I don't know. Someone who was around during Jenuwaa. It's one of Qymaen's wives. Dooku also…." Nausea welled in her stomach. "He said that he had a purpose for Qymaen. The only good explanation is that he plans to kill Qymaen and send this thing to Kalee to rule in his stead as a dictator."
"Why would that be true?" Arna asked gently.
"Qymaen won't join their side," she declared. "He doesn't like the Republic much, but he'd never betray me for the Separatists."
"You also said he would never marry anyone but you, yet here we are."
A tremor rang through her gut. "This is different. And what alternative do you propose? That droid is connected to Kalee. I've seen it in my dreams."
He sighed. "So, Dooku's planning an uprising. He's planning on using the Kaleesh to accomplish this. He wants you and your fiancé dead. Do I understand correctly?"
"Yes," she said, surprisingly quiet. This was the truth about what had been planned for her and Qymaen this whole time. She clenched her fists, wincing at the electricity coursing through her bad hand. "I have to leave soon. I have to go back to Kalee to warn him."
"At the cost of your own life from this jealous wife of his," Arna pointed out. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you risk yourself."
"Sometimes you have to put your duty before your feelings," she said. "Isn't that what you told me once?"
"This has nothing to do with attachment," he said coolly.
"Arna, only one of us can live anyway." Her throat closed with tears. "He's more prominent and too important to die. If he dies, Kalee's freedom dies with him." A pause. "You don't want to let me go, do you?"
"We must protect all life."
"Then why are you excluding his? Come back with me if you must. But I will not leave him to die."
"I'm afraid I can't take you back to Kalee until your time is up."
She scowled. "You always have Jedi business," she whispered spitefully. "Always, anytime I bring up the man I swore myself to. And if you think that trapping me in this miserable pit of corruption will make me inclined to stay longer, you are sorely mistaken, Master Jedi."
Arna ignored her, picking up a file folder. "I'm going to report to the Council," he said, his voice crystallizing. "When I return, we shall see if you will get your wish. I'll be legally obligated to let you go if your account checks out."
"Fine then," she said, simmering in rage as he departed, her teeth grinding. "Go and deliver your report."
Khetsuu crossed the room to rest a hand on Shia's sleeping face. She'd contracted an illness that the doctors hadn't been able to cure, just as the other amas had. Her time was running out.
He sighed. "Shia, can you hear me?"
Her green eyes opened, and she clutched his hand tightly. He spoke through the dryness of his mouth. "Rón is gone. She disappeared."
Shia sighed as if her voice's last hint of hope had evaporated. Khetsuu dipped his head. Rónderu jai Kepenia—Ronderu the Smaller. Gone. The desperate state of Kalee would force starving people to resort to cannibalism.
I couldn't even save a little toddler. My child. Gone. His throat clogged. And all because of what happened with Saikhan. If Shia hadn't been at home tending to the dying women….and if Rón hadn't wandered off….and if I wasn't such a fool….
She turned his face toward hers. "Come, my love," she whispered, wiping his tears away with her soft fingertips. "Soon, all will be bright."
And he collapsed into her warm arms as their child kicked against his stomach. Three months left. And through anything Shia might go through—death or otherwise—he had a duty to her child.
A knock on the door sounded the following day. Khetsuu dressed in his robes and opened the door, finding one of his pages. "Your Grace," she said, breathless. "We found Rón. Or rather—the visitor did. Please, you have to meet him!"
Shia was at the door now too. "The visitor?"
But Khetsuu gripped her hand. "Shia, we must go. If they found her, we are indebted to them."
She lowered her gaze momentarily, then met his eyes again. "Yes, of course. You're right. We must go!"
The three of them raced down to the lower level of the house. Khetsuu jammed the hangar door open and gasped. A tall male Muun stood in the doorway. His long, slender finger was gripped by the chubby hand of Rónderu jai Baina as she wobbled on tiny feet next to him.
Khetsuu raced across the hangar, picking up his daughter and holding her tightly against his chest. His firstborn daughter….the light of his existence….
Sinking to the floor, he trembled. "What happened, Rón?" he asked, cradling her to his body.
"Scary people," she said, her voice almost incomprehensible amidst the toddler's babble.
"Yes, well," the Muun said, speaking with such a nasally voice that Khetsuu wrinkled his nose. "We decided to make a grand entrance."
"Thank you," he said, stuttering a bit. "I suppose I should introduce myself as Khagan Qymaen jai Khetsuu. This is my wife, Shia."
The Muun held out his hand. "We know. We have heard of Kalee's plight and have a solution."
"You?" he laughed. "Who do you think you are?"
He grinned, the pointed teeth under his lips glistening. "I am San Hill of the Intergalactic Banking Clan. We have compassion for Kalee and offer you a way out of this mess that the Grand Republic has forced you into."
Khetsuu passed Rón to Shia, who nodded intently and smiled. He turned back to San Hill.
Salvation.
True….salvation.
"I'm listening."
Trigger warning: Suicide contemplated.
His head spun as he walked up to the balcony of his home that evening, looking out over the lights of his people. He had to be alone; the Banking Clan's conversation had left him too much to think about.
"We will help you," San Hill had said, "for a price. You must become a collection agent for us—scaring the planets that hold debt into paying it."
Khetsuu screwed his eyes shut. The Banking Clan had shown him their wealth. They could repair Kalee. They would….if he accepted this shameful task of being a glorified leg-breaker, fighting people who would rather keep their possessions than die.
But the promises of renewed conflict were tantalizing as well.
He looked over the edge. I could just put myself out of this misery. The image of the Lig sword pressed to his ribs caused him to salivate. All he had to do was jump.
It's selfish to abandon my people now, his nobler part pointed out.
Yes, but I'll forsake my dignity if I accept the task.
The night wind whispered against his face as his eyes filled with tears that he wasn't allowed to show anyone. To choose between two dishonorable paths was unbearable.
Taking a piece of paper and a pen, he scrawled a message and stuffed the paper into his pocket. They would find it on his dead body in the morning.
Shia,
I love you. Goodbye.
His weeping became more insistent, so he had to cover his nose and mouth to hide it. He refused to gaze back at what he was leaving behind. Soon Shia and Rón would join him at Abesmi, killed in the famines.
Three…. He gazed toward the ground, several meters below. If he dove facefirst, he would break his neck and die quickly. He would know how Kaleesh died, having sent his soldiers to be butchered; how he killed the men who hurt Saikhan.
Two…. He pictured the Khaganate choosing a khagan better than him—a murderous adulterer—to lead their people.
"Ah….pah?" a tiny voice called from the door.
Khetsuu forced himself to regain his balance as he leaned back from the balcony. Rón stood in the doorway, toddling on tiny feet toward him.
His lungs stopped working as she threw herself at him. She smothered his neck and cheeks with tiny kisses. Kisses from a child who thought her appa was the best person in the world.
Oh, if only she knew how he was being destroyed.
Shia rushed out. "What has gotten into you?" she sobbed, rushing into his arms. "What were you trying to do?"
His head hurt. I tried to run from my family. I wanted to abandon them despite my promise not to fail.
He pulled her into an embrace. "I will accept it. I will become their agent." Only if I never have to let you go again will I not lose you the way I lost Ronderu.
Arna entered Ronderu's room the next day after she'd dressed in her old uniform. "The Council wants you."
"Why?"
"You can ask them," he said, jamming her hands into a pair of cuffs. "Come on."
"Pouting won't get you your way," she said primly as they slowly walked down the hallway to enter the elevator.
If I only have a little time left, she thought—as much to Arna as it was to her—now may not be the best time to hold grudges.
The Republic has not done anything special to me before. All they bring me is pain.
The elevator door opened, and she stepped into the ornate circle of the Council chambers. A bald human with smooth brown skin leaned forward and spoke. "Greetings, ambassador."
"Your greetings are meaningless to me," she spat. "Probe my mind for the information you need, and let me return to my people."
Murmurs echoed amidst the Council members. The man spoke blithely. "Do you know who I am?"
"I know enough."
"That is not a viable answer. I am Master Windu, Jedi Master of the High Council."
"Flashy."
"Gray, you are dismissed," Windu said, gesturing to Arna. He shoved his hands in his robe and left the room swiftly, and Ronderu was left at the mercy of twelve masters who held prejudice against her people and home.
After recounting what she knew, the Jedi passed many gazes to each other as if communicating silently through the Force. After a while, a Togruta woman with a red-and-white face spoke. "What makes you think Count Dooku wishes your friend's death?"
Ronderu clenched her fists, shivering. "I've had dreams of the Krath droid I described," she said. "It sat on the throne of Kalee, and the khagan wasn't there. Dooku said he would deal with Qymaen soon and had plans for the droid. Burkhadaar, can't you see it? They will come for him soon!"
"You are not Force-sensitive," a Nautolan man pointed out. "Your dreams may not mean anything."
"I'm able to sense the Force." Her voice was smooth. "Jocasta Nu herself tested me. I just can't wield it—don't the Jedi know of people like that?"
"What do you think of this, Master Yoda?" the Togruta said, addressing the short green alien in the middle of the circle.
"Experience reliable premonitions, do you?" the withered Grand Master inquired, his sleepy green eyes fixed on her.
Ronderu pressed her lips together. "I used to get visions of things I had to do to survive when I was young. When I did them, I lived." But at a cost, her mind added.
As the Jedi Masters spoke, she contemplated the implications of Separatist control on Kalee. The Republic may have made a terrible mistake by turning Kalee against them. Would our people rally around a dictator like the Krath warrior? A society of warriors against the Republic….
Or would they revolt because he killed their khagan?
But if Qymaen's death was staged as an accident, like Jenuwaa was for me….they may not know better.
Her hands clenched. "Masters."
All eyes turned to her. "I must ask for permission to return to my homeland. I have a good relationship with the khagan—" this was fudging the truth, but the difference between had and have was only two letters— "and can warn him. Surely you understand that they cannot be allowed to rally around someone like Dooku."
"We cannot allow you to return," Windu said. "You have brought back no reliable evidence."
No reliable evidence.
She scowled. "Or maybe you don't want to look at the evidence. This is the same mistake you made with Kalee—only this time, it may involve radicalizing a people who will butcher themselves on Republic knives!"
The Grand Master grunted. "Too late, it is."
A beep sounded in the center of the room. With a sour look, Master Windu allowed the hologram to materialize. Arna Gray stood in the center of the room as a translucent image, speaking in a cold voice. "Council, Ord Mantell is under attack."
"No." Ronderu's lips moved silently. She did not even dare to speak. Already she tasted the bloodshed, the screaming, sobbing from the one committing these attacks….
In her name.
Master Windu frowned. "What sort of attack?"
"Of political nature, it appears," Arna said, tapping a pad—apparently checking the HoloNet for updates. "Targeted against the bank—a sentient shooter and eight droids of some sort."
"Calm, you must remain," the Grand Master said to Ronderu, but the words came from far away. She was yanked underwater, drowning—her respirator working to prompt waterlogged lungs to breathe, her pacer urging a cold heart to beat.
Arna's eyes betrayed a triumphant spark. "The shooter has been identified as a Kaleesh male in his twenties. He claims to be the khagan of Kalee, and to act under the authority of the Intergalactic Banking Clan."
"He attacked innocents," she murmured. "He….he actually…."
She would not believe it. She would not. It couldn't be Qymaen, who would never provoke the Republic of his own accord. Qymaen longed for peace for every moment she'd known him—who would sooner impale himself than harm innocent people.
"Jinn," Windu called sharply. "Focus."
Her voice shook. "I can still reason with him. Why did he attack? And what the hell is the Intergalactic Banking Clan?"
"A corporation, the Banking Clan is," Yoda said, gentleness in his gravelly tone. "Collect overdue debts, they often do."
A breathless laugh forced its way from her lips. "A collections agent? My Qymaen? Fighting those who would rather surrender than die?"
"That is the least of our concerns," the Togruta said, bringing a crimson hand to her chin. "What perplexes me is why they only use force now. Usually, economic sanctions are enough for their clients to comply."
Windu stood. "We will discuss this later. You'll be taken to the lower levels until your escort arrives."
The elevator door opened, and two temple guards entered, carrying her out of the room by the elbows. Clearly, the Council would not listen to her since she hadn't been trained in their arts. No matter how angry her Jedi friend was at her….she had to persuade him to sneak her back to Kalee.
The door to her cell was unlocked after a time, and Arna walked in. "Ru…."
"I know," she said. "You don't love me."
He rolled his eyes and ran his fingers through his hair. "We always seem to run into each other, don't we?" He sat next to her. "It's been three days since the attack."
He pulled her against his shoulder, and she leaned against the fabric of his robe, trembling silently. "I'm….so sorry."
"Is Qymaen in custody?" she asked. "Or is he…." She could not bring herself to say the word. If he'd perished in the attack….or if an overzealous officer prodded him too hard….
"He's alive and back on Scipio. Ord Mantell can't prosecute the Banking Clan or Kalee for anything he's done since any deaths were technically collateral damage."
A long silence between them. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier," he said. "I didn't know you would take it personally."
"I don't take anything personally. You're a Jedi. I'm a khaneme. We learn to set aside love for duties all the time."
He sighed. "You're trying to sweet-talk me, aren't you?"
"I'm trying to make amends because I need your help."
He leaned close to her, pressing his lips to her ear. "You want me to sneak you off Republic-controlled space."
She nodded. "This isn't just about his assassination anymore. It's about stopping another attack on innocent people."
I know my Qymaen. He must have a reason for what he did—maybe he did it out of desperation. Maybe the Banking Clan promised him something. He's not cold-blooded.
He can't be.
Another long silence. The Jedi spoke. "I understand. I'll help you."
"What will you tell the authorities?"
"That you are absolved of your debt and can return freely. Isn't that what you wanted?"
"But I still have six more months, don't I?"
He sighed. "Come with me. I haven't been honest with you."
He dragged her outside the limits of the Jedi Temple to his ship and settled her in the cockpit. "You were freed," he said, "the day we went to Coruscant."
She bit her tongue to keep from screaming. What more could she expect from these lying pawns of the Republic? What more? "You had better have a good reason for this," she growled. "So which was it? My body or my power?"
"Excuse me?"
She crossed her arms. "You kept me for longer for no reason. Tell me which you wanted more."
His cheek was hollow; he was biting his mouth. "You are my only friend. We spurn love for individuals. We aren't allowed to stay attached to anyone. But I thought…."
Ronderu clenched her fists. "Spit it out, Arna."
He winced. "I….I thought I could get you to love me."
"But why?" she asked, almost inaudibly. "Why do you want me to love you if you don't return it?"
"Ronderu."
The name on his lips, with his Mandalorian accent, was the equivalent of her watching another woman kiss Qymaen on the lips. It was adultery.
"I do love you."
He walked toward her. "I've loved you since you started opening up to me, although I don't understand you. I…." he sighed. "I thought that if somehow your lover was out of the picture, I could marry you in secret."
Oh, gods. No. Not this. That had been the meaning of his kisses. He wasn't doing it out of respect for her culture. He wanted to woo her, even after discovering how much she loved Qymaen.
Her face contorted, and he continued. "I wouldn't care about your cybernetics or barrenness—we could keep it a secret. I just want you. You would be cared for, protected….not chasing after someone who's losing his mind as we speak."
His face was close to hers now, his arms blocking her on either side from escaping. "Please, Ru….don't risk your life for him. Whoever he was, he's gone now. He's nothing more than a terrorist."
She pressed her lips together and scowled. "If you think I'm ready to give up on him, you're a terrible mind-reader. Proposal denied."
He put a hand on her shoulder as she turned her back on him. "Ru, I….I'm sorry. I grew up around those who spurn love. I thought—"
Tears raced down her cheeks. "I'll always be your friend, but deception ruined any chance you had with me. You can't claim to be a member of the religion of truth when you lied about something...so serious."
But she did not admit the most significant reason: she was only loyal to one man. One man who, in her eyes, was perfect for her. The fire to her water was what made her trustworthy. No matter what he did, she would always love him, and only him.
"I'll forgive you someday, but take me home and get the hell away from me." Her respirator worked two more cycles before she responded. "We must hold off on talking to each other for a while," she said as gently as she could. "At least until your feelings leave."
"Because you love him," he said coldly. As he entered the ship's cockpit, she reflected with pity on the thorns that must be poking his heart. But she was not sorry for him. Not anymore.
Did you know…
● The fact that Count Dooku is called Count because he's the ruler of Serenno is not nearly as well-known as it should be.
● Yes, this is another theory of mine: that Ronderu's death was not a mere coincidence. It checks out with Dooku's previous involvement with Kalee and Qymaen's family (he was a friend of his third-mother's).
● My favorite aspect of Grievous in Legends is how he cared for his children. Labyrinth of Evil (my favorite Legends novel ever) details how he would return to Kalee after his battles just to be with them again.
Tell me what you think…
● Whom do you think is communicating with Dooku?
● Which negative character arc of Grievous' do you prefer: the fear of loss or the fear of the Jedi?
● Did Arna truly love Ronderu or was he just looking for a mate?