Jessa rolled over against the soft cushion of her small bed, yawning wildly as she thought over what had managed to wake her. The quiet of her rooms was heady enough, at least, for her tiredness to have lasted far longer. She blinked wearily as she looked around, examining the shadows of her personal space. Everything was quiet, dark. Nothing moved, nothing was out of place. But she knew, all the same. She knew someone was coming, coming closer.

There was the briefest shift, there against the curve of the wall nearby the inner doorway that lead into the closets where her clothing and effects were stored. The bathing refresher, with its big tub that she enjoyed splashing inside of was located right next to the closets. She'd normally pad through the doors after her baths, her small pale-skinned body dripping wetly against the wood-paneled floors. Sometimes Jaesa would chase after her, yelling about her dressing, insistent the clothes be fresh, clean and railing at her when Jessa pulled on something outrageous and miscolored, instead. Just to needle at the apprentice's sense of proper style. The space was comforting in its sheer familiarity.

She hummed softly, briefly, calling quietly towards the creature standing silently present against the wall. Broonmark warbled only vaguely, just enough to assure her of his attention, that he was careful in his guardianship at the moment and aware of her unease. The Talz had long since learned to respect the senses of his Sith clan. Even Jessa, youngling though she was, had a wickedly keen perception, sharper perhaps than that of her own mother. And that Sith was one even other Sith feared greatly, Broonmark thought, satisfied.

Jessa snuffled a small sound, crawling out from her blankets to stand alongside her bed. She carefully settled the small Muzzlian Quill her aunt's Mandalorian husband had gifted her with the year before, there against the plush pillow. He'd smiled when her mother frowned at the thing, asking what it was. Torian had gestured with one armored hand, "It's a toy. You train her well. Let her play, too." They'd argued for some time over what constituted toys and playing, with Lusiel insisting she provided Jessa with numerous toys. Even if the things were meant to be training utensils, just as much. The soft trinket glimmered, now, in the pale night illumination, as Jessa reached up and under the cushion for the tool Vette always left there. Curtains hung straight and silent along the archway that divided her sleeping area from the nursery nearby, and that's where she stepped, easing closer to the nearest stretch of fabric. She inhaled slowly to calm herself so she could reach out towards whatever was offending her sensibilities. Her Da had been the one who instructed her relaxation exercises, not her mother, and those were the techniques she relied upon as she stepped up to the curtain to peek into the next room.

Her mother had only smiled when she asked why he was the one to teach her, rather than a Sith. "Your father's mind is an impressive one, Jessa. He thinks fast and deep, discerning nuances to any given situation that most of us would quite easily and simply bypass. His ability to strategize, to plot a course in mere moments, is greatly impressive. And he does it all with distinct coolness, rigid order, and incredible discipline. He's trained his mind to work precisely, in coordinated detail. And that's only part of the strength I want him to share with you."

She breathed slowly, now, as she regarded the space through the archway, slowly sliding her gaze along the crisp cream-colored walls that gleamed so white in the shadows of the nighttime light. The table where she took her lessons was in the center of the room, with papers and books all stacked in neat rows alongside the right length of the table's edge. She'd been studying small-team battle tactics with Captain Pierce earlier in the day and he'd grumbled sourly when she went about tidying the materials. He said, "No need to be that much like your sire, my lord. Think outside the box, outside the standard rulebook. Sometimes. Please." She'd only giggled at him, giving him the bright-eyed twinkle of a stare that always reminded him of her mother. Even if she did look at him out of eyes eerily similar to Quinn's.

Her painting easel was still set up in one corner of the room, with the bright colors she was working into the canvas only vaguely discernible as splotches of grays and blacks against the spread of white shadow. Her Da didn't understand her delight in such pursuits, called it "a silly pastime". But her mother just smiled and passed her varied paint sets at every opportunity. When he'd argued over the indulgence, Lusiel had jerked her chin up, glaring, "She's no droid, Quinn. She feels the colors. There's power in that. Leave her be." He'd nodded stiffly, disapproving as he looked back at her, tight-lipped. Her mother told her once, "Your father's the only one who truly challenges me. I like it. Unfortunately, he knows that." Jessa hadn't understood the appeal, until she made it a point to watch those around her, the way so many of them toadied to her, pretended they liked and cared about her, even as she sensed the truth. That the only thing they truly liked, was whatever favor or respect they might earn from one of her parents, not anything really of her.

Not that everyone went about kissing her tiny feet, either. She subtly pushed back one of the tendrils of hair that had fallen loosely from the braids Vette had tucked against her head before settling her against the sheets of her bed earlier that night. The twi'lek was only loosely regarded as a slave in the household. That was the title she used when asked, anyway. But those closest to her mother never, ever referred to her with that term. Vette told her once, "Better that, than to end up like my sister did. Dried up, used up, tired and sad. No, Jessa. I'm happy with my place. And I like your mother." Vette, at least, never once flattered or gushed over Jessa. She even scolded Jessa on occasion, insisting, "You don't earn loyalty by being a self-serving little witch, Jessa. Watch your mother. You'll see."

There was a soft rustle, as something inside the room moved, hidden behind a stealth shield strengthened by real Force ability. Not that it mattered. It was Broonmark who'd exposed Jessa's ability to see through attempts at concealment, time and time again. He'd insisted, "A real Sith, like her mother. She'll be a great warrior." Jessa canted her small head, considering, breathing softly as she sent her force senses winging through the space. Looking, listening. Until … there. Not a test, then. Not someone sent by her Da or by Pierce, maybe. Because the soft sighs she sensed were vivid with bitter, ugly intent. She breathed softly, inhaling slowly as she listened to the thoughts, knew this was a killer approaching, a killer slowly edging through the rooms, looking for her. Dark, angry thoughts. Bitter feelings, resentment and greed, aspirations towards self-serving advancement. Someone looking for a place, a title of authority, and determined to use her own head as proof for the right to earn it. Trying to impress some Sith lord who hated her mother, apparently.

Jessa felt her heartbeat increasing, the thud of her blood moving through her veins as she considered the threat. She could almost hear her Da's voice, like he was right there with her, teaching her tactical motions over the nearby table all over again. "There are those who will strike at you. Not for anything you've done. But for the blood that runs through your veins. They will try to take you from us, Jessa. You must not let them succeed."

Jessa frowned, tensing as she slowly pulled her small body back against the wall behind the curtain, inhaling softly as she waited. Broonmark shuffled, easing to his tall, very impressive height there behind his own stealth shield. Both of them watched, waiting, patient as the assassin eased through the archway into Jessa's sleeping space. Jessa froze, quiet and silent against the wall. She watched. The killer stopped, startled, staring at the empty bed, its covers folded back neatly against the cushions while her favorite toy lay against the pillow. Jessa could make out the quiver in the assassin's force-strong stealth barrier, the ripple as shocked dismay filled the killer's senses. The killer's thoughts were a blazing cacophony of angry rage, filling Jessa's perception until her head began to slowly pound with pained distress.

That was the moment the doors banged wide and hard against the walls, loudly dragging attention away from Jessa's sleeping space, startling the killer into breaking the stealth concealing her, too. Jessa smiled softly as she became aware of her Da's signature presence, his incredibly focused hate for the assassin stalking her. The assassin spun to face him standing there, his eyes burning brightly as he stood framed in the entrance to Jessa's rooms. He'd been miles away, working to refine Lusiel's holdings in the nearby city. But he stood there, all the same, still covered in the sweat and grime of the journey he'd made to reach his daughter. His gaze snapped as he regarded the intruder. "I will break you in half for this," he vowed coolly. His target laughed at first, the sound snide and proud, and feminine.

"Ironic, is it not? Lord Grathan's wife tried protecting her son, too. You will fail as badly as she did."

"In fact, I've already beaten you. You simply haven't realized it yet."

That's when Broonmark moved, flying from the position Quinn had insisted he maintain until he arrived. The Talz hit solidly against the woman's back, warbling a triumphant cry when she stumbled forward, falling hard onto her knees there in the archway. She snarled, trying to twist around to face her furred opponent. But Broonmark moved faster, reaching a single long arm towards the back of her head, grabbing at the nape of her neck so that he could grip the thick tumble of her blonde hair. He leaned back from the blade the woman tried to thrust towards his softly furred, white belly.

But it was Jessa who leaped forward to jab at the woman with the honed dagger Vette had carefully tucked up under her pillow when preparing her for sleep. As usual, to boot. Her pretty blue eyes were as sharp as the weapon she slid smoothly into the soft flesh against the killer's side, piercing the woman's lung in one simple move. Just as Jessa had practiced under Pierce's critical tutelage. The assassin gasped loudly, crying out in pain and shock as she endured the mortal wound, dropping her blade as she reached desperately towards her side. Quinn yelled out, "Don't let her bleed out, Broonmark!"

Then Jessa jumped, the way her mother had taught her, laughing as they force-jumped through paces in the training rooms below. Now, Jessa used her own practiced strengths, jumping up to springboard off the assassin's head through the archway towards her father. Quinn reached out, smoothly plucking his child from the air before tucking her up against his chest. He loosed only the smallest oof as he caught her, just her name, "Jessa." Then he spun her around, placing her firmly against the solid length of his back and putting his own lean frame between her and the killer she'd managed to destroy in one simple motion.

The assassin was heaving, trying desperately to drag air into her chest. Broonmark snarled down at her, reaching out to slap against her wound so that she could breath again. For a short while, of course. He looked over towards the Sith's mate, looked for direction. Quinn was glaring at the woman, his eyes glittering coldly, watching as she wobbled under Broonmark's steely grip against the bright yellow hair at the top of her head. The woman could only barely breathe, "How … she knew I was there … how did she know? She's only ... child. Five years old ... how?" She lifted her blonde head, glaring up towards the Imperial. "The Wrath ... she killed my brother, killed Ralesk! I'll make her pay!" But the room was filling with Quinn's soldiers so rapidly, the sound of angry bootfalls a great blare of noise in the confined space. She twitched against Broonmark's hold, whimpering.

Jessa pressed her face into the small of her father's back, sighing tiredly as she endured the pulse of the woman's growing terror. She reached out to grab at Quinn's hand, felt his grip slide against her fingers as he held onto her. Pierce's directive calls rang out above the ever-increasing clamor, "Secure the bitch! Damn you, all of you! I'll have the hide off the idiot that let her get this damn close! I swear it!" He stepped closer suddenly, laying a single large hand against the small curve of Jessa's shoulder as he went to slide around Quinn.

Jessa heard him whisper to her father as he went, "Damn it to the Hells, you were right again. Still hate you."

Quinn shrugged, holding his daughter's small hand warmly, "And I still don't care."

The woman gurgled suddenly. "What will happen to me? You ... will you leave me to die from this piddling wound? Is that it?"

"And what, I wonder, would be the fun in that?"

The woman huffed in a broken breath, snapping her attention to the doorway just as Lusiel stepped inside the rooms, the slender figure of her blue twi'lek slave padding along behind her. She tried shaking her head and grimaced in pain when Broonmark tightened his grip in her hair. Her thoughts were scattered, as she wondered when her careful, methodical plan had gone so terribly wrong. Her timing had been precise, though. The Wrath was far from the planet, busy with dealings on some distant world. And her husband wouldn't be at the compound, he'd be conducting business at one of the retailers who's shop was miles distant. The one who'd accepted the exhorbitant number of credits for the chance at luring the man away, to boot. The child would have been tenderly vulnerable. An easy target. Sneak past the guards left behind, take the girl's head ... it should have proven an easy bit of effort. Instead, it was the damn five year-old who'd thrust a dagger into her lung. And everyone who should've been far away ... wasn't.

Then she dropped her gaze down Lusiel's frame, to the swell of belly where the palm of her hand was resting. She snarled, "Another heir, another brat. That's why they said you weren't here ..."

Lusiel sneered, her pretty lips pulling into a sharp mew of disgust against her pale chin. "They say exactly what they're directed to say, of course."

Jessa whispered tiredly against the swelling quiet in the room. All of the soldiers stood carefully, quietly waiting for direction and glaring at the assassin who'd tried striking against their Lord's heir. Jessa's soft voice was vividly loud against the silence. "She was going to take my head off, I saw it in her mind. She called it a gift for some Sith Lord. Who's Grathan? Why does he want to have my head as a present?"

Quinn drew in a deep breath, as Lusiel became very, very still. Her eyes were rich brown pools of rage as she stared over towards the assassin. The woman lifted her chin, resentful, cruel, "Because, you damn brat. Your mother killed Grathan's son, back when her master still directed her. She owes Lord Grathan the debt and he means to collect." She slanted a glance at the child peeking around her father's hip towards her. "How does it make you feel, knowing your mother cut down that boy?"

Jessa frowned at her, "My mother does nothing without reason."

Lusiel raised a single palm of her hand, "Enough." Lusiel leaned her head to the side, to better observe the blood sliding in a steady stream through the palm of Broonmark's clawed hand against the woman's ribs. The woman was breathing shallowly, trying to keep from showing the sharp pains that splintered through her torso. But Lusiel noticed, regardless. A soft smile ghosted across her lips as she straightened to her full straight height. Even then her dark head, with its ebony wash of thick hair, reached to just as high as her husband's shoulder. Their daughter peeked out from the small, thin space between them as they stood there, glaring towards her. "Well, you managed to find my daughter. She's impressive, is she not? Grathan's son was never able to even touch me, while my tiny daughter's killed you. How amusing."

The assassin glared, her blues eyes flashing with rage. "You killed my brother, killed Ralesk! You murdered him!"

Lusiel frowned, confused. Vette chanted, "Ralesk! Remember him? He's the one who bragged he was Grathan's chief assassin, that he destroyed Grathan's enemies for him. There in the spaceport when we first took charge of the Black Wing! Remember, my lord?" The woman grunted, enraged as she realized Lusiel didn't even recall her brother's death, didn't even think of it until her blasted slave reminded her. She pulled and yanked against the Talz, trying to reach angry fingers towards the Wrath. She yelled, "I'll kill your brat, kill them ... both!" Broonmark chirruped, snapping her head back so sharply it seemed her neck would break. But she only cried out a pained yelp as she wiggled there on the floor.

Lusiel shook her head, disgusted. "Grathan wants a head you said. We should give him one. Broonmark? Pieces. Slowly, mind you. I want it to hurt. And Pierce? See that it's sent to the appropriate party, after."

Broonmark chirped happily. Pierce stood stiffly proud, not hesitating as he barked roughly, "Yes, my lord. I'll see to it." He slowly released his hard fists against the clenching hold he'd held them in as he listened to the killer promise a mean death to the child he honored. Grunts and grumbles sounded from the crowd of soldiers in the room, men and women he'd chosen carefully, precisely. Only those most loyal to the Sith they served stood there in that space. All of them were filled with anger at the thought of the girl child they watched playing - force-leaping through the hallways, hiding in stealth the way her uncle taught her just to sneak her little Squill toy onto the shoulders of the various guards watching over her, and waving her tiny practice sword in pantomimed seriousness at pretend targets - they all fumed at the merest thought of her being harmed, let alone slaughtered and mutilated.

"I'm already dying, damn you! Just ... leave it!" She was trembling as she knelt there, facing them with her blue eyes wide and panicked. Jessa could feel her terror shivering there in the heavy air of the room. Several soldiers stepped clear of her as she lost control of her bladder in a sudden sodden mess there on the floor. Lusiel sniffed in disgust, clutching Jessa closer to her side as Quinn grunted questioningly towards her. She nodded slowly, watching as he loosed Jessa's hand to step closer to the woman, leaning over just slightly to snarl down at her.

"In half, as I told you. You shouldn't have thought, for even a moment, to lift a single hand to my child, my wife's child!" He spun on his heel, turning his back in the firmest disregard as he approached his family again. He lifted his hand, waited as Jessa slid her small fingers back into his grasp. He ignored the woman utterly, ignored her begging calls as the Talz dragged her from the rooms. Quinn only reached down to lift his daughter up to hold her against him, before looking aside into his wife's dark eyes. Lusiel sighed, suddenly weary as the assassin took to screaming shrilly as they dragged her down the hall.

Quinn grunted, reaching out to pull Lusiel closer, until she was huddled up against his lean, muscled frame. She rested her forehead against Quinn's collarbone, rasping, "You did it. You saved her ... Gods, I love you, Quinn." He pressed his lips against the top of Lusiel's head, tightening his hold on their daughter as she fell asleep against his chest, there between them. He didn't say anything, didn't speak. He only worked to methodically close all the doors in his mind that were blasted wide open during his terrified rush to reach their little girl. He walked his tiny family through the doors, heading towards the quarters he shared with Lusiel. It would be days of careful work before he'd feel the security was proper for Jessa to sleep apart from them again. For now, he walked along, planning the message he'd give to Grathan in the package they'd send him. A very satisfying exercise, actually, as Jessa burbled softly in her sleep.