She was going to set them free – she didn't intend to kill them – she wanted him to use lightning –
Quinlan, wavering between confusion and fright, tried to ask why.
Maybe he did, but he didn't hear himself. When Zenaya lifted her hand, a clash of intense flames and cutting ice shocked through him, drowning out his hearing and sight as his muscles seized.
The next instant, everything stopped, then seemed to skip and fade, leaving him with nothing but dull, bone-deep aches that vanished even as he straightened.
I don't want to use it! Quinlan shivered, breathing quickly as Zenaya stepped away from him. The sudden shock of agony had cleared his mind from one web of confusion only to replace it with another. He was almost sure that she wanted him to use lightning, but why? What did she really want him to do?
I don't want to use it –! His own words kept ringing in his head, and he swallowed against the strange, bitter taste of smoke that lingered in his throat. I don't want to use it –
"I did not demand that you use it on Hunter," Zenaya chided, delicately raising an eyebrow at him. "I have promised to release you, after all . . . Perhaps it will be unnecessary, though. Perhaps you can free yourself."
Quinlan clenched and unclenched his fingers against the lingering burn. He wished he knew what she wanted.
The woman's black eyes met his, a swirl of reddish-purple brightening them for an instant. "You do not understand how to use lightning yet. . . Why not?"
He only looked at her without answering. He knew how. Zenaya's master had hated so strongly in the vision that his greatest desire in that moment had been to cause excruciating pain to his own apprentice, and his will had been completely focused.
Zenaya's gaze flickered over Quinlan's face. "Is it that you cannot summon in yourself the level of hate Ghant possessed?" she asked softly, moving closer. "It can take some time to learn how to hate . . . but you should not have to learn, Quinlan. You have hated before."
As if by her demand, Quinlan's memory jerked back to the thing he'd tried for years to forget: the gang leader, struggling on the ground as Quinlan fired four times into his chest and stomach . . . the burned grass drenched with a spray of blood . . . his own sudden, horrified realization and how fast he had shot the man through the head, as though by killing him quickly now he could erase what he'd done . . . the words he'd whispered to himself, all during the cold, silent flight back to Coruscant, in a frantic attempt to subdue his conscience: But he deserved it . . . he deserved it . . .
"Zenaya!" Hunter's shout cut through the memory of his own muttered words.
The Jedi blinked free of his thoughts, then looked up hesitantly.
The sergeant was on his knees, one hand braced against the floor as he glared up at Zenaya, who had turned to watch him.
"Do you have a death wish?" Hunter snapped at her.
Quinlan didn't understand his question. Maybe Hunter was trying to distract Zenaya. . . maybe he'd been hoping Quinlan would get angry, like he had with the leviathan, and blast Zenaya through a few walls.
If only. His best attempts so far had hardly made her blink. But maybe he hadn't really tried. Was she really keeping him from reaching the Force? He had chosen to use the dark . . . so why couldn't he call on it as powerfully as Zenaya?
Quinlan clenched his fingers and breathed slowly, trying to think deliberately through the situation. Maybe he didn't really want to use it. He'd been tricking himself for days, after all, ever since they entered Trayus for the first time. Nothing in the galaxy had scared him more than the idea of Falling, but he'd been lying to himself, only hoping that he was unwilling to use the dark.
So maybe now, when he thought he'd freely chosen the dark, he hadn't actually chosen it . . .? No. The moment he'd made the decision, the power in the Force around him had become more obvious and accessible.
Even now, though, it was impeded by something that muted his attempts to reach it.
Zenaya was speaking to Hunter. "Do not imagine that I am unaware of the risks."
Hunter answered, but Quinlan barely heard his words through the sudden flare of disoriented hope. He was a risk to Zenaya? She had indicated that he and Hunter could escape, but would she risk his killing her? Why come back to life only to die?
Quinlan turned his head and stared at her, feeling cold all over as his instincts caught up with him. That was why he didn't want to use the lightning – not because of the dark, but because she wanted him to use it, which meant that she had some ulterior motive. Everything she'd done so far had another motive layered on top of it. She'd shown him a vision through Ghant's eyes to teach him a Sith power. There was no reason that she could want him to have such a dangerous ability unless it would gain her something, and – what could possibly be gained by his attacking her with lightning?
He didn't want to find out.
Still, her words kept running through his head.
'Do not imagine that I am unaware of the risks'. . . ? Zenaya's power had been completely overwhelmed by that of her master, but she had become stronger than he, in the end, and Quinlan was nowhere near even Ghant's level of power.
'You have hated before'. Yes, he had. And yet . . .
While in the vision, the Jedi had understood how to use the lightning, but a strange pity for Zenaya kept him from fully entering Ghant's mindset. And something told him he wouldn't be able to use the lightning against her without hating her.
Never again, he'd sworn to himself a month after his return to the Jedi Temple following that mission. I'll never kill out of hatred again. . . I'll never act out of hatred again.
At the time, the desire to never again commit such an awful act had been so fervent that he'd been convinced he would never be capable of doing it again.
But when Zenaya escaped Trayus, he'd been so furious that he'd destroyed the leviathan with an unnatural level of Force-strength. It was easy. So why couldn't he do it now? Because the leviathan had not been a Force-user? Because Zenaya truly was powerful enough to block his strongest attempts?
. . . Or did he only think he'd been using the dark to its fullest extent? Did he have to be under the influence of a strong emotion before he could actually access the twisted power all around him?
Was he – was . . .
Quinlan jerked all over, then went limp against his chains in sudden exhaustion. The days-long weariness that had been clinging to him was making his thoughts leap from point to point with almost frantic speed. His mind couldn't settle on anything, instead spinning and glitching until he shifted, unable to keep still beneath the growing fear and nausea.
The worst part was the feeling of helplessness, and the confusion of not knowing what she really wanted him to do, or why. She hadn't told him whether to use the first form of lightning or the second. . . He hadn't even known there was more than one form, until she hit him with them. The first had been nothing but pain – severe, but so short-lived that he hadn't even had time to truly feel it. The second had been electricity. . . true lightning, he suddenly realized, a long-forgotten memory of some phrase he'd read returning to mind.
There were two kinds. Of course. Zenaya wouldn't have survived a quarter of an hour beneath an onslaught of continuous true lightning.
Surely Zenaya didn't want him to kill her –?
A sudden sensation of amusement from Zenaya interrupted his thoughts, and Quinlan looked up in alarm. The Sith woman was facing him, eyes half-closed as though she were listening to a distant voice as she tilted her head towards Hunter.
The sergeant was on his hands and knees, head hanging in apparent exhaustion, but the expression on his face was determined. He was planning something. . .
And there was no way Zenaya would not see it coming.
Hunter's gaze was focused on the lightsaber that hung from Zenaya's belt, opposite to her lightwhip. Only one lightsaber – there should be two, but the padawan's saber that Quinlan had brought with him was nowhere in reach of his senses. For the first time, the Jedi really noticed that Hunter's pack was gone, as well as the others' weapons, which had been scattered around the room following their brief, unsuccessful attack on Zenaya.
Hunter looked up and met his gaze. The sharp look in his eyes, followed by the slightest head-tilt towards Zenaya, was a clear order: distract her.
Quinlan shook his head, trying to warn him that she was expecting an attack, but Hunter had already looked away.
A flash of simultaneous fear and adrenaline made Quinlan wake a little from the half-doze his mind seemed to have been in for some time. Straightening, he drew on the Force to sharpen his mind and perception. Anything he or Hunter tried against Zenaya would most likely fail . . . but the only other option was to wait passively for her to act.
Zenaya continued to stand between them, eyes still vaguely unfocused as her awareness resting on both of them equally. A few seconds passed; still, she neither moved nor spoke.
With a silent intake of breath, Hunter glanced at the Jedi again, as though asking if he were ready.
Quinlan lowered his chin in an inobtrusive nod and grasped at the Force. The dark responded immediately, despite his bound hands, and he sent a probing Force-push at Zenaya.
A mere look from her redirected it into the wall, and Zenaya half-turned, watching Hunter but speaking to Quinlan. "You have noticed that you cannot fully reach the Force, have you not?"
Instead of answering, Quinlan clenched one fist, levitating a group of stone shards from the ground.
The sharp pieces of the statue hovered in the air behind Zenaya, just at the level of her head – but the instant he flung them at her, she dispelled the attempt with a flick of her fingers.
She still wouldn't turn fully to face him, though, even when she spoke. "And you have not yet discerned why . . ."
"I assumed it was you," he said through a dry throat.
"You assumed." She let out a faint hum of disappointment, then moved closer, reaching towards his chest.
Quinlan jerked back and came up against the wall as she slipped her hand inside his tunic to withdraw the yellow crystal.
"This," she said, lifting it between two fingers. "This crystal still limits you."
Behind her, Hunter started to kneel carefully upright, gaze fixed warily on Zenaya.
. . . Limits, or protects? Quinlan wondered. For some reason, he heard the thought in his old master's voice. It sounded like something Tholme would have said.
Whether the crystal limited or protected him, though, the effect was the same – it kept him from killing Zenaya.
"It's dead," he said, mostly to keep Zenaya's attention on him and not on Hunter, who had just wavered.
"It is drained. And yet, it remains a partial shield against the dark." Closing her hand tightly around it, she shut her eyes meditatively. "Bastila Shan – a Jedi, a Sith, and then, unfortunately, a Jedi again. Had it not been for Lord Revan, she would have been renowned."
Behind her, Hunter shifted his weight, getting cautiously to one knee.
Something barely present but fog-like seemed to blink suddenly out of existence, and for the first time since the Core, Quinlan felt the open, unhindered presence of howling darkness. For the first time since the ritual, he was fully awake and alert, the long-lasting confusion and exhaustion banished for as long as he continued to draw on the dark. Now he could act.
Zenaya opened her fingers again, and the kyber fell heavily to the ground, not a glint of its former color remaining. "A strong presence indeed, though ultimately futile," she said coolly. "I cannot channel the dark through it or make it bleed, not without significant meditation . . . but it will no longer serve to shield you, and neither will the other kyber."
In a quick motion that made Hunter freeze in place, Zenaya drew and ignited Quinlan's lightsaber. The blade flared red. For the instant that it burned, the previously familiar hum was gone, its tone now harsher and lower in pitch.
Then, replacing the hilt on her belt, she turned towards Hunter.
Instantly, Quinlan wrenched forward with a clatter of chains, using the Force to drag her attention towards himself. "Enough with the games, Zenaya," he spat.
She paused for a moment, then turned and faced him directly, hands clasped in front of her. "Patience . . . " she chided.
"Patience?" Quinlan said mockingly, half his focus on the thrumming surge of the Force all around him. He had to keep her talking. "You've spent thousands of years here, Zenaya. I'd have thought you'd be in a hurry to leave."
"What for?" She stopped speaking, as though listening for something, then continued. "A day more or less will make little difference. The Sith are in hiding. The galaxy, in the throes of a strange war. I must learn my way through it. Patience is an invaluable skill, Quinlan – one that I have perfected, insofar as that is possible."
Quinlan was hardly listening. Out of his peripheral vision, he'd just seen Hunter nearly lose his balance again. What was taking him so long?
Maybe the fact that he's been kneeling still for five or six hours.
The dark side hovered around him, waiting for his command, and Zenaya was distracted by her own thoughts for the moment – but she might turn around at any second.
In an attempt to help Hunter, Quinlan reached out with the dark. His efforts were clumsy and unrefined, though, the sudden power too much to handle. He stopped, afraid of throwing Hunter off-balance, and let himself adjust to the strength of the Force, then tried again.
Zenaya reached out, paralyzing his hands completely despite his new strength. She had noticed what he was doing – but maybe not what the sergeant was doing.
When she spoke, her tone was one of disinterested instruction. "Many Sith died because they miscalculated the abilities of their enemies and prisoners," she said. "A fellow apprentice was killed because he allowed himself to be goaded into attacking his victim. Had he waited, and reserved his anger until the prisoner was properly bound, he could have employed it then. But his death was not entirely pointless. It taught me that patience and self-control are essential to success."
"I'll be sure to keep that in mind next time I'm about to sacrifice someone," Quinlan retorted sarcastically, hardly noticing what he said. Hunter, get up –!
"Hmm." The Sith woman lowered her gaze with a secretive smile, as though she disbelieved him. . . as though she knew something about Quinlan that he didn't.
Before he could speak, she looked up and gestured slightly, dismissing the previous topic of conversation. She had been diverted, but now she was focused again. . . And some of that focus rested on the sergeant, who was on his feet, straightening without a sound.
"What do you want, Zenaya?" Quinlan demanded sharply, hurling a mental attack against the paralysis that kept him from moving his hands. "Just tell me!"
"So that you can refuse? No." Zenaya looked at him silently for a moment before speaking again. "You know what I intend for you to do."
I do . . . ? A fearful, half-formed flicker of understanding crossed Quinlan's mind. He took a breath, wanting to answer but not sure what to say.
Then, with the speed of a snake, Hunter attacked. Quinlan hardly saw him move as he dove across the short distance between himself and the Sith woman and grabbed for her lightsaber.
The sergeant's fingers had just brushed the hilt when Zenaya jerked her hand to the right, throwing him back several meters.
Hunter slammed violently onto his side, nearly cracking his head against the floor.
"Patience," Zenaya repeated, smoothing her skirt down at the sides as she regarded him. Her focus drifted purposefully from Quinlan's hands, allowing him to move again.
Hunter flipped onto his back, bracing himself on his elbows as he glared at her, angry fear only too obvious in his expression – until he looked uncertainly away.
"You were not truly prepared for your attempt," she told him, lowering her chin. "And more importantly, the Jedi was not prepared for his."
She moved closer to him. With a sudden effort, Quinlan grabbed at the lightsaber in the Force with one hand and sent a blast of energy at the side of her head with the other.
Zenaya deflected both attacks with scarcely a glance, then reached out, freezing him in place yet again. "Such futile attempts are hardly worth your energy," she reprimanded. "They are certainly not worth mine."
Then what do you want?! he shouted in his mind, hurling himself against her overwhelming control. The panic he'd been able to suppress while able to move was growing fast now that he was helpless again. How was her level of control even possible?
Instead of answering, she extended her other hand towards Hunter. Sparks flickered on her fingertips.
No –! No! Quinlan struggled against her forbidding thoughts, fighting to speak.
"Hatred can move anyone, with time," Zenaya said. "However, we do not have unlimited time."
Hunter stayed where he was, realization and fear glinting in his eyes as he stared at the thin purple filaments that arced between her fingers.
Zenaya observed Hunter for several long seconds. Then a faint, cold smile touched her lips, and she shot Quinlan a brief glance. "Fortunately, Jedi, there is something that moves you far more easily than hatred. Pity."
"Don't!" The swelling panic let Quinlan speak at last, the words forcing their way through his throat. "Zenaya, you'll kill him!"
"Will I?" Zenaya mused. "I suppose that will depend on you. I have given you the necessary knowledge."
Extending her arm, she tensed her fingers. Streaks and bolts of white-violet light flared and burst, lending a sharp, angry flavor to the Force as Hunter shouted and collapsed.
Quinlan reacted. A single, powerfully focused attack shattered the paralysis, wrenched the lightsaber from Zenaya's belt, and ignited it.
But the second he flung it towards her, a cool pressure against his mind froze the attack, leaving the crimson blade of the saber humming centimeters from her neck.
He straightened his fingers above the cuffs, willing the blade to move itself closer, but couldn't make it respond.
Zenaya sent him a reproving look and lowered her hand, leaving Hunter struggling to get to his hands and knees. "You will have to do better than that, Jedi."
She replaced the lightsaber on her belt, then gestured Quinlan was slammed back against the wall, the breath knocked out of him.
Coughing against the sudden lack of oxygen, he caught his balance and straightened, meeting her gaze automatically. Zenaya raised both eyebrows in a silent question and held her right hand out again. Hunter hadn't even made it to his knees when the lightning hurled him back to the floor.
With a snarl, Quinlan clenched his fists, summoning tendrils of dark energy to wrap around her throat in a violent stranglehold that would have brought even someone like Wrecker to his knees in seconds. The Sith woman grimaced slightly, but didn't attempt to break the hold. She only kept it from tightening further.
Jagged arcs of lightning snapped and seared against the floor and walls, and a sense of overwhelming agony from Hunter burned in Quinlan's mind. He gritted his teeth and tightened his mental grip, intent on taking the Sith down. He had to ignore what she was doing for a few seconds . . . just a few seconds . . .
But those few seconds passed, and nothing changed. Zenaya should be unconscious by now – she certainly wasn't breathing – but her eyes were fully alert as she gazed back at him.
A strangled scream tore into his focus, and Quinlan faltered and looked down at Hunter, who was writhing and jerking beneath the tangle of violet light.
That moment of distraction was all Zenaya needed. Not a second later, Quinlan flung a shield around his thoughts, but it was already too late. She was in his mind, ripping through the remnants of the chokehold as though they were cobwebs. Before he could repel her, she had withdrawn of her own accord.
"Failure again," she said, voice taut for only an instant before reverting back to its usual calm iciness. She glanced slowly down at Hunter, who was curled on his side and panting for breath. "Perhaps you are right. Perhaps I will end by killing him after all."
"No!" Quinlan straightened. His heart slammed against his sternum, sending angry energy jolting through his limbs.
She gestured gracefully, turning one hand palm-up in a questioning gesture while the other, pointed at Hunter, tensed. "Then stop me."
He tried. The Force surged and obeyed as Quinlan clamped it around her throat, but then it slipped away like he had tried to clutch water in his fingers.
Zenaya tilted her head in clear disappointment and closed her eyes. Lightning streaked into existence, and Hunter arched violently backwards with a sharp cry.
Abandoning his attempt to throttle her, Quinlan hurled two powerful bursts of energy against her. They dissipated on impact.
Furious, he raised his voice over Hunter's and yelled, "ZENAYA!"
Her eyes remained tranquilly closed. "Stop me, Quinlan Vos," she answered in a soft voice.
Breathless with anger and terror, Quinlan snatched at everything around him and hurled it at Zenaya's head. The lightsaber, the dagger, the splinters of stone – but the dark obeyed her far more readily than it obeyed him. Everything he threw swerved aside at the last instant. The dagger came closest, passing within a centimeter of her face, and finally Zenaya opened her eyes . . . but the lightning continued.
With a furious shout, Quinlan flung the blade again. This time, she stepped aside and shoved him flat against the wall with a flick of her left hand, while lightning continued to leap from her right. A second passed – another –
He broke free of her control just as Hunter let out a horrible, high-pitched scream, his voice and Force-presence frantic with agony.
Quinlan twisted to face him, using the Force to construct a shield between Hunter and Zenaya, but the lightning burned through it within a second. She would continue to counteract everything he did. . . so Quinlan closed his eyes and commanded the raging power surrounding him to stop the Sith woman. He didn't attempt to guide it – he let it guide him. His hands and instincts moved almost of their own accord. Before he even realized what was happening, he had dragged the dark energy emanating from Zenaya into himself.
Sharp, icy flames slashed at his arms and hands and the inside of his head, filling him with a rush of astonishing strength that abruptly muted the fierce pain. With a quick breath, Quinlan opened his eyes and met Zenaya's gaze directly. Her eyes gleamed with surprise, faint wariness – and approval.
Bolts of splintering light arced between their hands as he continued to drag the Force towards himself. She didn't let up, but the power that coursed through him dulled the pain to almost nothing as he gathered the dark side, preparing for another attack.
She continued to watch him, so he kept his eyes fixed unblinkingly on hers, even when the lightning reached upward, searing paths of light into his vision. The longer she continued to send lightning at him, the more he would have to send back at her – and one of them would receive the full power of that attack. . . But she refused to stop summoning it, despite knowing she was giving him more and more power, and he refused to release it.
Then Zenaya's still expression shifted, and a sudden flash of thought in Vythia's familiar voice leaped straight into Quinlan's mind. There were no words – just her voice and intent. She was waiting –
As if she had also heard Vythia, Zenaya's focus faltered. Instantly, Quinlan reversed the lightning he was drawing into himself and hurled it outwards in a single, searing bolt that landed against her chest and arced outwards in all directions.
Zenaya did not attempt to block it. With a glint of pleasure in her black gaze, she thrust both hands into the vicious surge of amplified energy even as it enveloped her in a web of violet anguish.
Keeping her hands in the center of the attack, Zenaya shifted her attention to the sergeant, who was lying motionless a few meters away. Too late, Quinlan recognized her intention. He tried to take back the control he'd given the dark side, and she twisted her hands, redirecting the lightning even as she blocked him from recalling it.
Hunter choked, writhing and shouting beneath the crackling onslaught for several seconds before spasming so violently that he nearly sat up. Then he flung himself down hard in a desperate attempt to escape before twisting onto his back with another scream that cut off just before the lightning did.
A piercing stillness fell.
For a long moment, Quinlan could only stare down at Hunter in silent horror. The sergeant lay unmoving, one arm twisted beneath his back, legs bent sideways, head flung back and up, eyes half-open and face bloodless.
The Sith woman hummed thoughtfully and stepped forward, stooping to touch his forehead with one finger. Straightening, she clasped her hands in front of her as she turned to observe Quinlan. "I was mistaken," she said. "I did not have to kill him after all."
She did not say 'but you did', but Quinlan heard those words all the same.
He didn't believe them . . . the lightning hadn't killed Zenaya, or himself. Why would it kill Hunter? It wasn't true lightning – it was a feeling only, not electricity –
Pain can kill, though.
Quinlan wrenched his gaze away from Hunter, hating his own cowardice. He could reach out, try to sense his Force-presence . . . but he wouldn't. He was too afraid of finding no presence there. Cold sweat prickled down his collarbone and back as he stared numbly at the floor. He hadn't summoned the lightning, but he may as well have.
Zenaya's pale shadow moved away from him. She didn't say anything. The room was too quiet and still. He could hear every sound – the material of her skirt rustling against the stone as she seated herself on the floor, the faint clinking of chains and his own too-harsh breathing as he trembled, and silence from Hunter. The silence was the loudest.
Quinlan's breath hitched, and he twisted his fingers, wrapping them around the cold links of metal above the cuffs. The chains numbed his hands a little, but not the fear and pain and hopelessness.
Zenaya was kneeling now, sitting back on her heels with both hands resting on her knees. Her expression was serene.
Hunter still hadn't moved or made a sound. Quinlan looked back at Zenaya, trying to hold back the sudden stinging in his eyes.
"Why suffer?" Zenaya asked him, her voice a mere murmur in the dead stillness of the room. "Use it, Jedi. Turn it into something that will serve you instead of eating away at your heart."
Sickened by how calm she looked and sounded, Quinlan turned his head sharply to the side.
"What prevents you from using true lightning of your own accord?" she asked after a moment. "You understand how to – you could not have used my own attack against me without understanding."
Quinlan stared at the pale white of the torch flames and didn't answer.
"You freely use the Dark. . . You allowed it to use you. Your refusal is not a matter of Jedi scruples." She got to her feet. "Is it that, despite my actions, you somehow lack motivation to kill me?"
He gritted his teeth hard to keep his control from snapping – he had every motivation to kill her – but he knew she had no intention of letting herself be killed. He wouldn't give her whatever it was she really wanted.
"Ah . . . you wish to kill me some other way." She moved closer. "I should warn you that I will not allow that. Why not take the choice I am giving you?"
When he still refused to answer, she laughed softly and touched his cheek with cool fingertips. "Perhaps you forget that there are three other of your companions outside the palace."
He jerked around to face her, and the Sith woman stepped back as he stared at her, unable to speak.
"But that will only become necessary if Hunter dies," she went on, searching his face. "Do not test me much longer, Jedi."
Despite how Vythia wanted Quinlan to use true lightning on the Sith woman, she understood why he refused. He wasn't foolish enough to attempt killing her that way when Zenaya wanted him to. He knew she would not have returned to life only so that she could be killed.
Carefully, Vythia locked the knowledge away in case Zenaya decided to search her mind for answers yet again. She had already rifled most of her memory for information about the current galaxy, the Jedi, the Sith, the planets Zenaya had known – even those which no longer existed – and those that Vythia had visited in person. The Sith woman had even searched for things that Vythia took for granted, like the ability to speak and read Basic, and then taken that knowledge for herself.
Vythia had let her, only pretending to resist; in reality, she was studying her enemy just as closely as Zenaya studied her – only Vythia learned in preparation for destroying her. The plan she had, though, depended on Quinlan, and he was almost useless at the moment. She would have used Hunter, because his hands were not chained, but he was still senseless . . . who knew for how long. Even when he woke up he might not have the ability to act.
No, she had to use Quinlan, but how could she let him know her plan? She couldn't talk to him without Zenaya's instant knowledge. . . the Sith woman had almost caught her when she communicated through the lightning that leaped between their hands.
But maybe it is better for him not to know after all, she thought. He would hesitate.
Quinlan had shown that particular trait too many times. Vythia wasn't sure what to make of the Jedi's sympathetic nature. It was admirable in one sense, and yet it kept him from his goals to such an extent that during the two weeks she had known him, she had wondered several times why the Jedi Council had ever assigned him as a Shadow. . .
When Vythia realized she'd lost her line of thought, she jerked herself back to the present. Her mind was wandering again. It had happened more and more often in the past few hours – too often – to the point where she did not actually see or feel everything that went on before her eyes.
Vythia dragged her attention back to the room in front of her. Zenaya was taunting the Jedi, asking if he lacked motivation to kill her . . . and Hunter still hadn't woken up or even moved. He would eventually, though – he would be made to. Zenaya intended to keep using him against Quinlan until the Jedi gave in.
That would likely take some time, and Vythia could not delay her actions for too long. The longer it went on, the less capable they would be. Hunter would get weaker, Quinlan more and more unstable in the Force, and Vythia –
She had no doubts as to her own resolve. It would last. But one could never trust the body to fully comply with the will. Self-preservation was a powerful instinct, and Vythia did not want to underestimate it; she would only have one chance.
She would have to catch Quinlan off-guard, presenting him with the opportunity to kill Zenaya in the hopes that he would take it. For her to do that, the circumstances had to be correct.
Forcing her mind to be cold and analytical, Vythia tried to think through the steps she would take, if and when the opportunity arose. Quinlan or Hunter would have to be free to move and capable of movement – and in reach of a weapon. In Quinlan's case, that would not be as difficult. Zenaya would have to be distracted; her focus could be drawn by the necessity of blocking Force-attacks. . . And Vythia would have to give him a clear signal that now was the moment to kill Zenaya.
Going for her neck would be by far the easiest, but he had tried that and failed several times . . . and Zenaya was protecting herself constantly against further attempts at strangulation.
But when Vythia imagined herself reaching up to unclasp the cortosis vest she wore, which had protected her so far, a blinding fear muted her thoughts.
An indeterminate amount of time passed . . . perhaps seconds, perhaps minutes.
When she finally regained her awareness, it was to find herself kneeling a few meters away from Hunter, who had finally woken and was leaning sideways against the wall, his knees drawn up. Zenaya must have been speaking to him, because Hunter was glaring at her, eyes dark with pain and fear.
Vythia's senses must not be correctly aligned, because although she felt Zenaya's amusement and heard Quinlan shouting in the background, she couldn't make out his words. It sounded as though he were begging.
That will get you nowhere, Quinlan, Vythia thought, with a twinge of pity. At the same moment, a sudden resolve to carry through with her plan dampened the fluttering panic that had been beating against her soul. She had been convinced that sympathy was a weakness – and yet here, it was strengthening her failing courage.
The realization was so sudden and strange that it made her withdraw abruptly in an attempt to hide it from Zenaya's constantly hovering awareness. Anger and humiliation and fear at her own imprisonment were no longer the only things driving her decision to kill the Sith woman. During the hours she'd spent observing her former teammates since their capture, especially since Wrecker and Crosshair and Tech were supposedly killed near the Marauder, a sense of compassion had eaten quietly at her – and now, it had made its way to the surface.
It was . . . foreign. Vythia did not enjoy causing others pain – she never had; but she'd stood by many times, unbothered as the Prince's men beat and interrogated enemy agents unlucky enough to have been caught. The same would have happened to Vythia herself if she was ever captured by the crimelords who lived in a constant state of war with the Prince.
Perhaps that was why it had been so easy to ignore.
Vythia felt her mouth move, and shivered internally at the realization that her body was speaking while she had no idea what was being said. Again, her mind had been wandering. Burying her previous line of thought, she returned to the surface of her awareness and waited. There could be no more distractions.
Hunter had recovered consciousness slowly while Zenaya knelt nearby and Quinlan watched, fear and relief warring against each other.
No sooner had Hunter opened his eyes than Zenaya turned to Quinlan and spoke softly. "Still alive, as I said. But I shall continue as before until you comply."
No. The fear won. Not again, please . . .
But the Sith woman had ignored Quinlan's desperate, useless demands. Of course she had – what had he even been thinking, begging her not to continue when he was the one who could make her stop?
But something changed when she'd raised her hand to begin. As Hunter cringed back against the wall, Zenaya's eyes flickered, and she'd murmured something Quinlan couldn't make out.
That had been several minutes ago. Ever since then, she'd done nothing but stand between her prisoners, motionless as a statue, her dark gaze turned inward.
Vythia. Quinlan had felt a surge of hope as he remembered that sudden realization he'd had, when he'd understood that Vythia was waiting to attack. She's fighting Zenaya. . . or hiding from her.
Whatever she was doing, Zenaya was distracted for the moment. Quinlan snatched at the lightsaber, but the Sith woman blocked him without effort. She was protecting herself through the Force even while focusing on Vythia.
Then Quinlan had tried to check on Hunter, but he couldn't even catch the sergeant's gaze. Hunter was sitting, leaning sideways against the wall, face pale with wary apprehension as he watched Zenaya. Quinlan didn't dare speak; he had no idea what Vythia was doing, if anything, but he didn't want to catch Zenaya's attention. Instead, he tried to draw Hunter's awareness with the Force. Once again, the attempt slid away.
Frustrated at every turn, Quinlan wrenched against his chains. The sharp pull in his wrists brought him up short, but he jerked at them again before stopping abruptly. Zenaya was preventing him from touching Hunter, and herself, and her weapons, through the Force. . . but she wasn't preventing him from channeling Force-energy directly through his own chains.
Despite their delicate appearance, the gold-coated links would be incredibly hard to shatter. They were made of cortosis, just like most of the room. The explosives hadn't even touched them.
Quinlan wrapped the Force around them, feeling for their weakest points. Either the links embedded in the ceiling, or those connected directly to the cuffs, or one in between . . .? But there were no weak points. Every link along the entire length of the chains seemed to be exactly as strong as the next.
Letting his weight hang from his wrists, Quinlan focused on the links connected to his cuffs. Slowly, the dark energy seeped into the metal, invisibly weakening it. It took every ounce of energy and attention he had to make even a small amount of progress.
Only a minute had passed when a sudden shift in the Force warned him that Zenaya was coming back to herself. Quinlan straightened quickly, releasing the Force only just in time.
Zenaya blinked and tilted her head to one side, almost like she was searching for something. Whatever it was, she must not have found it; her previous calm demeanor returned in an instant.
Without speaking, she turned back to her prisoners as though she had never been interrupted.
A flicker of violet hovered over her palm, and Hunter stumbled to his feet with a gasp, catching himself against the wall with one hand.
Quinlan shivered. The lightning looked different, this time. A few sparks flew out of her hand to land on the floor, where they winked out abruptly.
The realization that she had summoned true lightning made Quinlan's heart almost stop. She would kill Hunter if she used that – and she knew it. And if Quinlan used it, here, that sudden power unrestrained . . . he would kill Hunter.
Zenaya approached, and Hunter backed away unsteadily, hands half-raised as though that would somehow protect him. "No!"
"Ask Quinlan Vos, not I," she told him indifferently. "If he stops me with this –" A bolt struck the ceiling, and the sharp smell of ozone permeated the room. "– you will be permitted to leave."
For an instant the Jedi stood motionless, a sharp ache in his chest. Then Zenaya swept both hands outward. With a savage shout, Quinlan lunged, channeling his own fury and fear directly into his cuffs even as he dragged her attack towards himself.
The cuffs shattered half an instant before the lightning caught him in the chest, hurling him backwards against the wall.
He hardly felt the impact. Twisting mid-air, he landed on his feet in time to duck a second blast of lightning. The ability to move and fight back – really fight back – was intoxicating. For a wild moment, he felt like laughing, but he sobered quickly when he saw Zenaya drawing her lightwhip.
The Sith woman – who still looked calm, despite having an edge to her movements that hadn't been there before – paralyzed him.
But even as he felt himself become motionless, something made her waver and lose focus. She stumbled, a strange look crossing her face; for the first time, Quinlan felt both Zenaya's and Vythia's Force-presences simultaneously as they surged and clashed.
Once again, he let the dark take over. The instant Zenaya was at the forefront, it guided him to reach forward with both hands, latching the dark side in a paralyzing hold around her body. She was frozen in place – and, because she was dominating Vythia, the Sith woman could not move. . .
But Vythia could.
Only an instant later, Zenaya realized what was happening and turned her strength against him.
Quinlan dropped to one knee, panting against the heavy weight of compulsion that rested on him as he continued to hold the paralysis in place. "Vythia!" he gritted out, looking up with an effort. "Vythia –"
The Nautolan woman reached up slowly, her shaking fingers fumbling at the closure on her vest. She unclasped it, and then, for what seemed like forever, she hesitated –
Oh, he thought numbly, suddenly understanding her intentions.
"Hunter!" he gasped, through the swelling dark that clutched at his limbs. "Hunter, get the –!"
A snap of pain in his mind stopped him, but Hunter was already moving. The sergeant stumbled towards her just as Vythia, with a cry of fright, jerked open her vest, leaving herself unprotected except for the blaster-proof material of the black shirt. It would not stop a lightsaber.
