Terin: Thank you. /blushes/ I hope you stick around, and enjoy the rest of the story :)

Jaina-Elessar: I sent the first part of the planning for Phoenix…there's still some more; it takes a bit to organize everything :P I'm glad you enjoy Sanar/Jaina—they're my favourite in this fic, and second only to Sanar/Devnos overall…not to mention, Jaina/Sanarextremely important to the overall trilogy, so…yeah, it's a really good thing you like them /laughs/ Onyx doesn't know about the depth of Jaina's feelings for Zekk…he thinks she wants him back as her friend, but Zekk's insecurities got carried over, so he isn't even sure of that, yet. But he does figure a few things out in this chapter… Thanks. :D

I apologize ahead of time for any formatting errors...I tried, but QuickEdit hates my guts, and my posts, tooespecially the italics.

Chapter Ten: Traitor

(Jaina's POV)

The silence was tense, making my skin crawl and tighten as sweat crawled down my spine. My jaw hung agape; "totally blindsided" didn't begin to describe me at that moment. He couldn't actually be so dense as to think I'd even go for something like that, could he? "What!" My exclamation broke the tense silence that had sprung up between us

"Join the Empire and you will get the medical care you want," Onyx repeated, his smug smirk growing.

"Like Sith I will!"

"Your turning would be a bonus," he admitted, "but we will discuss that later. All I want now is a 'yes' or 'no'."

I spat at the ground between us and wished it could have been his face. "Get lost in the under levels of Coruscant."

"Perhaps I'll consider it when you give me your answer."

When I continued to glare at him, he stepped closer to me. "I'm offering you the chance to stop running, Jaina," he said softly and I stiffened reflexively. His tone was wrong…it was not Onyx's normal voice. "If you join the Empire, there will be no need for you to worry about being caught and tortured for information. You would receive the best of medical care, a home where you wish – "

"Until you tire of me and decide to force my hand," I added harshly.

He ignored me. "Why, with your piloting and leadership skills, you could be a colonel in the Imperial military if you wished! You don't have to be pulled down by your Jedi 'friends'."

My eyes narrowed at his dismissal of my loved ones. "My friends—"

"If your friends were going to rescue you from my wicked, dastardly clutches, then they would have done so by now." His sarcasm was not appreciated.

I winced in almost physical pain. The remark cut, probably more than Onyx had meant for it to when he spoke. I had accepted that it would be ludicrous for anyone to attempt to rescue me but couldn't they have at least tried – the way I would have, had our positions been reversed? "I will not serve a Sith," I snapped.

"If you join the Empire—"

"You're starting to sound like a recruiting poster, Onyx," I sneered, leaning back against the bed. "You'll have to do better than this if you want me to join your side."

"You swear loyalty and obedience to the Empire and its laws," Onyx continued in the same, soft voice. "Not Emperor Brakiss."

"Ah, but see, he makes and changes the laws when he wishes. I would still have to serve him, and I refuse to!"

He considered me for a moment before speaking again, stepping closer and crouching in front of me. "You are an enemy slave now, Jaina, and would continue to be so when you joined the Empire. The difference is that an Imperial slave has some rights. You belong to me—"

He stroked my cheek tenderly and I tensed in preparation for a fight but he went no further, confusing me. Was he really trying to persuade me? With no threats, no bullying? Was it really Onyx?

"Lord Brakiss has no control over you; that right is reversed for me alone." His gaze locked with mine, unspoken truth lurking within his eyes. /Do you understand what I am saying, Jaina? I can protect you – Brakiss gave me your life, and I can return it to you if you will only let me./

I swallowed. Stang him for pretending to care! He's Onyx, I reminded myself fiercely. Not Zekk. Onyx thinks you're dangerous—he's trying to neutralize you. He's trying to break down your defences.

It was working.

The realization was a blow and I had to fight to keep out of panic mode. It's just a game of dejarik. What's my next move! I can't be out of strategies! I will not lose! Quickly running out of ideas, I gave into the childish desire to see him rock on his heels, and so pushed his chest, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. "I'm not an idiot Onyx—you serve Darkness and would have me do the same."

"You would have followed me once."

I sat back, stunned. Onyx had never—never!—brought up my connection with Zekk before unless it was to condemn me. Why now?

He had me cornered.

I willed my gaze to become cold. "I would have followed Zekk because I trusted and respected him. Zekk understood compassion, whereas you are ruthless. I feel nothing but disgust and hatred for you." Shavit, am I shaking!

He knew he had me cornered; I could see victory in his eyes.

"Say yes, Jaya." I winced as I felt part of my will dissolve under the sway of his voice. The way he said my name…. Shavit. I am so dead. Can't I say anything? "We can discuss possible rights—I have a great deal of power, Jaina." His voice was hypnotizing, so like Zekk's…I was losing sight of why I shouldn't give in.

"I will not betray my loved ones." Or would I? My head was spinning. I was out of moves. This can't be happening! Chewie taught me how to play dejarik! I don't just run out of ideas!

"It is not treason, not really," he continued compellingly. "It saves your life—you cannot help them if you are a fugitive yourself. Join me and gain the power, the security, you need."

Jacen, I reminded myself desperately. Surely I could not betray my own brother – my twin!

Jacen's dead, a voice remarked coldly. He cannot be betrayed where he is. That voice was that of hard calculation—the part of me that had already given in for the sake of the privileges that could be received. Take one step back and two forward. You can't lose.

But Tenel Ka and the children. Aarylia—your apprentice, Solo! Do you want to betray her? And Dad—what about him? What would Mother say?

Your mother abandoned you. She left you to save yourself.

She must have had her reasons! No matter what, she would not want you to give in.

So? Who cares what she wants? the hard tactician in me demanded callously. She doesn't care about what you want. She never did, did she?

It's treason to agree!

You could help them. You can't do that now.

"Jaina?" I turned to him, my body beginning to shake slightly with the impact of what was happening. Onyx was changing in front of my very eyes, and I could see Zekk peeking out, could see the softening in his eyes. His eyes…oh Force…they were Zekk's eyes. Was it really Zekk asking me to join him? Or was it Onyx? I couldn't remember which was which. They were beginning to blend before my eyes. The lines were smudging, right when I needed them most. Gone was the black and white of before – Zekk, good; Onyx, bad. Empire, wrong; New Republic, right.

The NewRepublic is dead. It is irrelevant to your decision. Dammit, is it Zekk or Onyx asking me to join him! I can't tell!

"Jaina? Please, just say yes." My mind came undone then. It was—I couldn't be wrong. I could see his eyes, the two tone emerald eyes that I loved. His features were softer, tenderness, friendship and more radiating from his aura. It was Zekk. It had to be.

I took a shuddering breath and, before I could tear the offer apart once more, I put my trust in Zekk and my hand in his. "Yes. I will." Sweet Force, Solo, what are you doing! You can still take it ba— I stopped listening to the little voice. "Yes," I said more firmly. "I will join the Empire."

The man before me smiled softly, and I returned it with a small smile of my own. Zekk had never led me the wrong way before and my trust in him was complete. But what if it is to Onyx and not Zekk that I speak?

I shook my head. I can't doubt—it's too late for that.

He—Onyx, Zekk, or whoever he was now—slipped one arm around my shoulders, the other under my knees, and picked me up effortlessly. At my curious look, he pulled me closer, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke. "Much as I trust your word, there are those who need it on record."

I took a deep breath and nodded, letting him take me to a nearby office.

There is no more time for doubts…it must be Zekk…it must.

(End of Jaina's POV)

(Onyx's POV)

I should have felt the sweet taste of triumph when Jaina agreed. For years I had wanted to bring her to my side, and making her a citizen—well, slave, but that would be remedied as soon as Brakiss was out of the way—of the Empire was just the first step. It wouldn't be long now. I should have been picking out titles for her.

Frustratingly enough, I wasn't.

I watched as she swore allegiance to the Empire; watched as she agreed to terms that she had once spat on, and realized that this victory was empty.

Why?

It couldn't have been because of her initial rejection of my offer; I had expected it, hadn't I? No, it couldn't be that; nor was the harsh bartering I had done to achieve this triumph battering against my conscience. So what…?

It came to me in a flash: her eyes.

Yes…there had been something in those sienna orbs that I was not used to seeing. What had it been? In all the time that she had been my captive I had never seen—that expression coming from her. I had seen anger, certainly; defiance, always; pride, often; but never…

Emperor's black bones, what was it that I saw in her eyes!

Jaina must have felt the Force ripple with my anger because she looked up at me from her chair, her eyes shuttered. The Empire official cuffed her shoulder sharply, drawing her attention back to him, gesturing severely at the papers and datapads before her. The tension in her shoulders was contagious, and I wondered vaguely if I had ever seen her relaxed.

That's it!

Her eyes had been calm when she agreed – she had been tranquil about her decision. What had clinched her loyalty? What had allowed to her to concur and have no regrets? What!

I was no fool; the idea that she had changed her opinion of the Empire – a government that had kidnapped and enslaved her – was absurd. No, it wasn't that…but what was? What did she owe allegiance to above even her own family, who had fought against the Empire most of their lives? What did she abide by enough to agree to something so…so…treasonous? Had she really thought that she could aid her friends by joining the Empire? Was she that gullible?

No.

Without realizing it, I began to pace, my black cape swirling around my legs. I was not the Darkest Knight—a Sith Lord in everything but name—for nothing. I had survived the deceit, backstabbing and ulterior motives of the Imperial court. I had learned to twist people's minds so that they believed they were doing what they wanted, even when they were my puppets. Surely, figuring out the mind of a simple Jedi would not be hard?

No, Lord Onyx. She is too powerful. She could—and would—escape you too easily.

Brakiss' words came back to me with all the subtlety of a flash of lightning, increasing my confusion. Jaina could have escaped me – could have slipped out of my hands—but she hadn't. Why?

Unless…did she have her own reasons for staying? I shook my head in confusion. What did she think could she possibly accomplish?

"Someone once told me that you can see who someone really is in their sleep. I wanted to see who you were."

"And what, pray tell, were you hoping to find?"

"What do you think?"

Zekk.

Zekk!

If I hadn't been so flabbergasted by my revelation I might have laughed. So, the almighty, all defiant Jaina Solo has a weakness, does she? It was just too ironically perfect. Zekk had taken what scraps of worthiness he had and made me—all to please Jaina, the very person for whom she was willing to commit treason.

"Look to your past, my friend. Your answers are there."

She's a fool indeed if she thinks Zekk's going to come back, I thought, my restless pacing coming to an abrupt stop. However, if she wanted to believe she could, she was quite welcome to try. I nearly laughed out loud, the vitality of triumph finally coming as I turned back to Jaina and the Imperial officer. Oh, yes, Miss Solo, you can attempt to bring back your Zekk, but in the meantime…

My body froze quite suddenly, my limbs refusing to move.

Drowning…suffocation…enduring black coldness…he must not win…

She is running – running…push out of the way; a scream and a flash of a red lightsaber…blood—so dazed…Brakiss! NO!

Brown hair spills out on the floor, her body lying in a heap…brown, lifeless eyes…treason…

I gasped and tried to push the images away but my arms felt as if they were weighted down by great boulders.

Drowning…is there nothing that can be used to pull myself out? The ground, slipping underneath my feet…cold, sliding up my spine, freezing all thought, numbing my mind…brown eyes…a warm hand in mine…pulling me out—no, pushing me in! What are you doing? What have I done to deserve this? Why do you pull him out and leave me here? Save me…please…

The visions left as quickly as they had appeared, and the only proof that anything had occurred was found in lingering numbness of my limbs…

(End of Onyx's POV)

"Who did I kill?"

Sanar froze, her back to Kyp, in stunned silence.

(Her mother, crumpling to the ground, a huddled, wretched mass of tears…)

She felt him place a blue hand on her shoulder—a silky, cool sensation. "Who did you know on Carida?" She trembled.

(Her brother had heard the commotion and came running out. "Mother? Mother! What happened?" He turned to her, anxious and almost frantic. "Sanar, what happened?")

How could she find Kyp's voice so soothing? How could she draw comfort and strength from his Force-touch? After everything he had done!

"Sanar?"

She clamped down on her iron control. She had not cried in years, and she was not going to start now. Moving jerkily, she banged the lid onto the soup pot, the harsh clatter shaking her bones.

(Her mother looked up with dead eyes. At first, Sanar thought she was going to answer Devnos' questions, but when Caesarea opened her mouth only a keening wail of utter despair and anguish escaped.)

An edge of worry crept into Kyp's voice. "Sanar? Sanar! Who—was—it?"

Her breathing quickened. So many memories… No! She would not remember! How dare he try to make her! Didn't he know how painful it all was! How dare he push! Who had given him the right?

(Her mother was babbling, even as she melted in a pool of tears. "Jarran…oh, my Jarran…why, why!")

Kyp's voice softened still more, hypnotizing her. "Sanar? Who was it?"

The beginnings of a sob escaped, and Sanar clapped a hand over her mouth, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to push back the waterfall that wanted to fall from her eyes.

(Her blood ran cold. Jarran? But that would mean… NO! She couldn't breathe, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Her lungs had shrunk, and her heart beat too fast, too frantic, to adjust. Jarran…but that means… No, no, no! She has to mean someone else—she has to!)

She gave up trying to hold them back, and the tears cascaded down her cheeks. It might have been her imagination but she thought she felt an airy hand brush at her tears.

(Her brother pulled her mother into a half-hug. Spotting a piece of white paper, he plucked it from the inconsolable woman's fingers. He read it once; then twice; then another time, before looking up at Sanar. He opened his mouth to speak but his voice cracked on her name.

Before he could speak further, she ran, her hands over her ears. It can't be true…Mama was just—babbling! Oh, Mujir, it can't…no…it can't be true…no…she meant another Jarran…yes…another Jarran…)

The pot was hissing and when she took the lid off and dumped some vegetables in, boiling water sprayed up, burning the skin on her arm. Distantly she wondered at her ability to care about such a little thing as her flesh when she was on the verge of an emotional collapse.

"I'm sorry, Sanar."

(She ran, ran as fast as she could, as far as she could, trying to escape the truth. It could not be…it just couldn't! He had promised he would be back! He would never lie to her!)

Her hand—which had been rubbing her burn lightly—tightened. "'I'm sorry'?" she whispered, blinking rapidly, turning to regard him, her dark eyes wide with horrified astonishment. "After all you've done, after all you've destroyed, you think 'I'm sorry' can even begin to make up for it?"

He flinched, as if her words had hit him like a cat-of-tails to the face. "Of course not, but…"

"No," she bit out, some of her fire returning. "Nothing you can do can ever make up for what you did. Nothing," she repeated bitterly.

"At least let me know what I took from you, Sanar," Durron pleaded. "I'm the one who should be carrying the brunt of it, not you."

She sniffled and couldn't help but notice how…pathetic he looked at that moment, shoulders drooped and face twisted in misery and remorse. "That was a little over the top, don't you think?" she asked, forcing a tight laugh to avoid shedding more hateful tears.

He shrugged pitifully and they fell into silence, one with tears tracing down her cheeks, and the other wondering if watching the other's pain—pain he had caused—was his own private torture chamber in Hell.

The silence was broken by the timer, and Sanar turned back to the oven and turned it off, placing the pot on another burner. Turning back to Kyp, she found him gone. Her pride and strength vanishing abruptly, she crumpled to the floor and released a cry:

"Daddy…"

Jaina would never be able to remember her first few hours as an official Imperial. Of course, she always remembered with clinical clarity the time before she signed her name on the dotted line that made her an Imperial slave. She could remember every thundering thump of her heart as she tore through her decision, looking for the logic.

The problem was, she had found after what seemed years of searching, there was too much practicality in her answer to Onyx's proposition.

She had always felt a certain resentment toward reasonable decisions that twisted her gut. It had to be a trait she received from her father; it couldn't be from her mother.

Jaina could recall the exact texture of Onyx's—or Zekk's?—tunic from when he had pulled her to him. She doubted she would ever forget the colour of the carpet in the room she had officially betrayed her government, her family, and her friends. The pen she had used to sign the documents was old and hadn't worked at first, and she could remember every scratchy, faded line it had made when she tried to make it work.

But as soon as pen left paper and the document was filed away, her memories became foggy. Images of a man that looked at her with disdain, the face of the woman who had jabbed a needle in Jaina's arm… Zekk—or Onyx—hadn't left her side, she knew, but that was the only thing her mind clung to. She thought maybe the shark of a man Onyx—or Zekk—had taken her to was a doctor, because she was fairly certain he had talked about a surgery.

Her presence of mind returned when she—sitting in her new hover chair—and Onyx (or Zekk) returned to Onyx's quarters. The first thing she noticed was the aroma of soup. Not long after that, the Force told her someone had begun to break from grief. Her brow creased and her mouth tugged into a frown as she tried to figure out who was so distraught that she might be able to sense it. Her dark-haired companion noticed her consternation.

"Jedi Solo? Is something wrong?" Her eyes flicked upward when she recognized how he had addressed her. Onyx stepped ahead of her, jade eyes sweeping the main room for trouble, his hand on the hilt of the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

A door opened to the side and both the Jedi Knight and Sith apprentice looked over, one tensing, the other's eyes widening in surprise. "I kept the soup at a simmer," Sanar said impassively, not acknowledging her tear-read eyes. "When you're ready to eat, you can." Her goal accomplished, the dancer headed toward Onyx's quarters, spine as straight as a metal pole.

Onyx dismissed Sanar, but Jaina's eyes followed the other woman. The distress she could feel through the Force undoubtedly came from Sanar, but what could possibly upset a girl while she made soup?

Even as she wondered, her answer came and she silently cursed. Kriffing Sith; Durron, what did you do? Sighing, she worked the controls until her hover chair manoeuvred across the room to the door to Onyx's quarters. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Onyx heading into the kitchen. Would he notice her absence? Disgusted, she shook her head. Who gave a frelling bantha if he did?

She knocked on the door quietly, hoping for free entry but not expecting it. "Sanar?"

There was no answer, as she had expected, and she palmed the door open to reveal the dim chamber. She progressed across the room to Sanar's slumped form by the window. The only sound in the room was the women's breathing and the light sound of traffic in the distance. "I didn't answer because I don't want to see you," Sanar finally spoke.

"I know. I thought I should be here anyway."

Sanar shifted so that she could see Jaina. Her own face—minus several years—stared back at her. "I do not wish to have company." She turned away once more and watched the evening traffic blindly.

"What did he do?" The question was resigned, weary, unlike what Sanar had always before heard from Solo. When Sanar didn't answer, Solo sighed. "Look, I know he did something, and you know I know it. You may as well 'fess up so we can get this bonding thing over with."

"What's in it for you?" Sanar asked bitterly, her eyes closing. "Brownie points with Onyx?"

Jaina tsked her disappointment, and Sanar could almost see the younger girl roll her eyes. "As if I want them." She paused, then, "Sanar, I don't want Onyx, alright? I never have. You can have him for all I care. Why you would want him I haven't a clue, but I figure that's your own business. We're not competitors."

It was Sanar's turn to roll her eyes. "Right, and the Lord Emperor is not Emperor Palpatine."

Solo muttered something that sounded like, "Exactly," but Sanar couldn't be sure.

The two lapsed into silence before Onyx called Jaina through their bond. Groaning, the Jedi Knight glanced at the door, then said, "Don't let him belittle you, Sanar. He's the bad guy, the one you're not supposed to listen to."

When the dancer turned to Solo, a retort on her lips, the Jedi raised a hand to ward off Sanar's protests. "Maybe you can't see that, Sanar, but I assure you, he'll kill you when he has what he wants if you don't stand up to him." Twin brandy eyes met for a moment, then Jaina spun her chair around and left Sanar alone once more.

Jaina kept her eyes tightly shut even when Onyx positioned her body so that she would be comfortable throughout the night, while keeping her spine straight. She waited until she heard the swish of his cape, then the hiss of the door closing, before she opened her eyes. She stared straight ahead of her, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the room, aided by the moonlight that was filtering in. Tears began to sting her eyes, but she pushed them back. She would not cry; not until she was back in her father's arms, not until she escaped. It was, the girl in the bed thought, better this way. If she cried her grief would catch up with her and she would never stop. When it was safe, she would allow the tears to slip through. When the war was over she would grieve.

Onyx thought he had won; he thought he had beaten her. A low, dangerous laugh escaped her. Onyx should have guarded his thoughts, should have kept up the appearance of being Zekk. She smiled bitterly.

Onyx, she thought, you should have checked my signature.

"Jana Salo" fell asleep with a smirk on her lips.

Onyx entered his bedchamber cautiously. Finding the slave (Sanar, he could almost hear Jaina correct him) with his eyes, he stalked through the room, shucking his shirt as he moved. He sat on the edge of his bed, watching Sanar, who, at the moment, was facing away from him. "Sanar." It was a command and a question; commanding her to come to him, questioning what had happened between her and Jaina.

"Please, Lord Onyx, I'm very tired tonight."

His mouth twisted into a scowl. Who did she think she was, all of a sudden? What had Jaina told her? "As am I," he told her sharply. "Come here."

She turned around to face him, but pulled away when he reached for her. "Please."

Angered, he used the Force to throw her against the wall. For a moment she seemed pinned there, then she slid down, shoulders slumped and head lowered. She did not move from her limp rag-doll position, and Onyx felt his blood boil. Couldn't she at least fight back? He growled. She looked too much like Jaina; he had expected her to act like Jaina as well. He had made that mistake a few too many times.

Walking over, he jerked Sanar's head up by the hair. He had time only to see the hurt in her eyes before his fist connected with her face, and then again.

He did not see the angry blue form that stood watching in the corner.

Long lost words whisper slowly to me
Still can't find what keeps me here
When all this time I've been so hollow inside
I know you're still there

Watching me wanting me
I can feel you pull me down
Fearing you loving you
I won't let you pull me down

Hunting you I can smell you – alive
Your heart pounding in my head

Watching me wanting me
I can feel you pull me down
Saving me raping me
Watching me

Haunted, by Evanescence

Sanar awoke on the floor the next morning, various areas of her body—especially her face—throbbing, and her legs freezing. Pushing herself up gingerly, she looked over to the large bed to her left. Onyx was still asleep, the red sheets arranged haphazardly over him. She stood, then winced in pain as the sudden movement caused pain to shoot up her ankle. Gritting her teeth, she deliberately placed more pressure on the sore ankle, and then headed across the room to the 'fresher.

When the door swished open, Onyx stirred and she thought she heard him mutter (caress) a name. Unable to face Onyx so soon after he had betrayed her trust (for fear of what she might to do him, or because of her pride, she didn't know), she ducked into the 'fresher quickly and locked the door behind her. Resting her head against the door, she waited to hear and feel Onyx pounding on the door, ready to do what she might have to do to protect herself. Stay away from me, Onyx. I don't know what I'll do if I am pushed again… The pounding did not come and for a moment she let herself believe that maybe—maybe—she would not have to relieve the nightmare of Horaire—

Pounding fists against the door, shaking the wood until her head throbbed. The punishment for xafuzinxsh—the crime of disobeying a male—is death…"Sullied whore! How dare you defy me! I grow tired of these games, you cheap niftyax—"

—all over again. Her eyes closed for a moment before she pushed herself away from the door. She was shaking, she realized dumbly, as she walked to the mirror. Her reflection begged for mercy, her strength nearly spent. She had thought she had left this behind on Na'Lein'yhpaon – the exhaustion, the terror, the prejudice… She had thought Onyx had saved her, but knowing what she did now…seeing yet another kryntath react this way… Would it have been better if Onyx had never stopped Wyplan's rage? Horaire's brand burned on the back of her neck, reinforcing what she knew: She could not escape Pucijir's Order. The farther she ran, the faster it spread, ruthlessly chasing her, trying to catch her in its spidery web of prejudice and hatred and suffering…

Devnos told you it would be like this – he toldyou Onyx was not what you thought him to be.

Oh, yes, how her dear, older brother would gloat if he only knew that she knew he was right. Devnos had always hated Lord Onyx; when Sanar had defied him and his power-hungry plans, he had been angry enough to claim yfthen over her. Even though she had known how far he had fallen, hearing her own brother—her childhood protector—use the cruel power given to men on Na'Lein'yhpaon ,just because he wanted the power of Lord Onyx, had been one of the most horrible moments of her life. Hearing the stark betrayal pour out of his mouth… Feeling everything within her turn to ice and fire at the same time, caught between a cultivated-from-a-young-age brother-worship and her own heart…

Devnos would never know how close he had come to breaking her then, by becoming no better than Rafintair himself. How could there be hope for any of them when one so sensitive and kind as her brother had become a monster? How could her brother, who had shared his stories and art with only her, who had always gone out of his way to make her feel special and protected, have changed so drastically because of power?

Men like to conquer; it is not our place to deny them, her mother had said softly when Sanar had run to her for help. It is our job as women to cultivate their hearts and minds; our job to pray for them and bring purity and beauty to their lives, thereby—we pray—atoning for our sins. Sanar had never had any illusions about her poor mother's fragility – she had never been the same since her beloved Jarran's death. The blow of losing the one she had always leaned on had been enough to send Caesarea to the brink of insanity.

Women on Na'Lein'yhpaon were expected to be like Sanar's mother—weak without men, their only purpose in life to bring into the galaxy more sons. But Sanar refused to be like her mother; she would not be trampled into the dust by males. She had always been her father's daughter, rather than mother's. She had always given her everything to help those she loved. Even as alone as she now was, Sanar would continue to live that way—but at what price to her soul? She rarely thought of it; in fact, she avoided the horror that was being wreaked upon her soul at all costs. But how long could she avoid the bill of what she had paid?

Clayra had needed her, had needed her intelligence and protection—and Sanar had harboured her, even at the severe price of her innocence. Her mother had had to be sheltered from the cruelty of their world, and Sanar had done so, barely knowing at the time that she sacrificed her freedom and dignity. Gantik had needed to be loved, and for him she had sold her heart, only to have it trampled.

Many looked at her and saw only her profession, only the way she "loved" a Sith apprentice, as if that meant anything, as if they were looking past everything and into her core. She was the product of others' weaknesses, others' need for protection, and others' ignorance of the galaxy's horror. The bruises on her face could never compare to the raw wounds on her soul—if she still had one left. After all she had done, she could not be sure she was not stone.

She leaned in toward the mirror, her fingers resting lightly on it as a tear slipped from her eye and down her bruised cheek. "Is it worth it?" she whispered to her reflection helplessly. Finding no answer, her head dropped and the muscles in her arms tightened, as if she was bracing herself against an inevitable impact that would either kill or save her.

Onyx woke early that morning, a light bounce to his step, belying the nightmares that had plagued him throughout the night. Shielding himself from Brakiss but leaving himself completely open to the new Imperial in the room next to him, he made his way to the kitchen. Today marked Jaina's first full day as a sworn Imperial; he would make sure she didn't regret it the way some did. He had seen Brakiss lose too much because of a bitter and rebellious ex-mistress to make the mistake of pushing too fast. If he had anything to do with it, Jaina would see a good deal of the Empire's positive aspects before she saw any more of the negative.

Surprising himself, he hummed a few bars under his breath. Shaking his head self-mockingly at the contented tune, he nevertheless relished the small rebellion against Brakiss. It was pleasing, like a high from a drug, but perhaps more dangerous. Brakiss would not hesitate to eliminate him, if he could.

It had not always been this way, with Brakiss trying to destroy Onyx and vice versa. Once, Onyx had seen Brakiss as a father replacement, but then the Master Sith had tossed the benevolent philanthropist disguise to the side. It had started with small things—things Onyx could have ignored, had they not escalated.

It had begun only with one or two of Onyx's most trusted trainees being sent into the most dangerous situations. Onyx had been naïve at the time, and instead of being suspicious, had been proud that Brakiss recognized his affinity for training Dark warriors. It was only in hindsight that he recognized Brakiss' motives.

As Onyx's lust for power began to grow, his list of allies had grown steadily shorter and he became more wary. Then…Peckhum.

One dark, cold day Onyx received a transmission from Brakiss saying there was an assassin in one of the private courtyards—Onyx's own, in fact. The assassin, his master said, was a sly traitor and would not stop until Brakiss was dead. Onyx, still very loyal to his emperor despite his lust for power, was angered enough to go after the "assassin" himself.

Upon reaching the courtyard Onyx instantly spotted a clandestine figure, hood covering his face. Without waiting for the man to give an excuse—this was obviously the one his master had told him of—Onyx drew his blaster and fired. The assassin went down, and Onyx stalked over, determined to find the identity of the would-be assassin.

When he drew back the hood, Zekk was struck with horror; it was Peckhum that lay before him, not just any Rebel. The old spacer's face was greying quickly, his eyes wide and pained. Seeing Zekk, he tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. "Zekk?" he muttered, his eyes beginning to lose their focus.

Peckhum did not wait for an answer; perhaps he had known he would not get one. "I wanted to see you," he told the man that had shot him. The old man fumbled in his pocket distractedly, seeming certain that he spoke to the boy he had known, rather than a Sith apprentice.

Believing Peckhum was reaching for his gun in a last-ditch effort to finish off whatever sick joke the Rebels had thought up now, Onyx's hand fell his lightsaber. The dying man faltered a moment, then pulled his hand out of the folds of his cloak to reveal a holo device. Seeing Onyx's confusion Peckhum smiled wanly. "She—she still hasn't—given up on—you…Zekk."

Onyx frowned but took the holo and thumbed it on, angling away from the so-called assassin. A blue-ish image of Jaina and Zekk stared back at him. Zekk, Onyx noticed, remembered it, though he seemed faintly surprised about something. Onyx studied the holo a moment, feeling part of him soften. Attempting to push aside the unexpected emotions that were flooding him, he turned back to Peckhum, a question on his lips, only to find the spacer had become one with the Force while Onyx was turned away.

A harsh wind began suddenly and seemed to release the dark-haired man from his stupor. Moving almost frantically, he searched Peckhum for a blaster, a knife, a vibro-blade—anything that the elderly man could have used with malicious intent.

He had found only another holo of Zekk, from when Peckhum had first met the nine-year-old boy.

It was the first time Onyx cried, even if it was only because Zekk's grief was powerful enough to blur Onyx's mind and send him to his knees. Zekk wept for Peckhum, and the corruption of the galaxy, and for himself.

Onyx did not know how long he stayed there, sobbing in a crumpled heap before Peckhum's corpse. When Zekk's grief became more controlled, it was dark out, mirroring Onyx's mood. Peckhum had not been an assassin or a traitor—if anything, Brakiss was the traitor. For as long as he had known the Sith Master Onyx had served him loyally. He had thought of Brakiss as his role model—his father, even. He had believed that—considering how Brakiss seemed only too happy to treat Onyx like a son—the affection and devotion was mutual. If it had ever been real, though, it had disappeared sometime when neither Onyx nor Zekk had been paying attention. Peckhum's death was proof enough of that.

As he stood and began to walk to his quarters, he tried to unravel Brakiss. What had, or would have, Peckhum's death accomplished? What had Brakiss been thinking when he left the message for Onyx? Had it been a test of loyalty? If so, then why? Had he not proved his allegiance to Brakiss time and time again? Or was it to see if he was loyal to something else; the Dark side, perhaps?

Onyx sighed. Even now, after these past years, he did not know why Brakiss had done what he had. Perhaps it didn't matter; perhaps the only thing that mattered was that, after Peckhum's death, not even Onyx's once-loyalty to Brakiss could stem his desire to have his master's power. As time passed, any true affection disappeared into the abyss of an all-consuming hatred. Unconsciously, his right hand began to clench in a fist, imagining it was Brakiss' neck…

"Lord Onyx?"

The voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned to see Sanar standing by the kitchen table. She looked worn and he could see her bruises even through the make-up she had tried to cover it with; he felt a flicker of guilt, but pushed it away. She should not have defied him the way she had. Angry that a dancer—a slave—could make him feel guilty, he snarled, "What?"

Her eyes were weary, as if she had been through this scene many times and knew every line, every action, off by heart. Then again, he realized, considering where she had been when he first saw her, and taking in what he had heard, she probably had. "There is a holo-message for you," she told him, with a subtle edge to her voice. She gestured to the blinking red light on the nearby console. "I thought—"

"You thought," he mocked bitterly. He watched with some surprise as her face hardened, chin lifting imperceptibly, the fires of pride and defiance in her eyes; and this was after only two conversations with Jaina! Obviously Jaina is more eloquent and influential than I thought. Going to the holo-messenger console, he reached out to play the message, then paused, his eyes sliding toward Sanar. "Why are you still here?"

Her chin raised another notch. "The Empire does not begrudge even a slave food—my lord." The end she tacked on, almost as if it was an afterthought, he noticed with a frown. Turning on her heel, she stalked over to the kitchen cupboards and began to search for some rations.

He waited a moment, but when she did not appear to be in any hurry to leave, he gave a disgruntled "hmph" and thumbed the activation switch to retrieve the message. When Brakiss' image appeared, any remnants of Onyx's good mood vanished. Seeing the smug glint in his "master's" eye, the Darkest Knight had to wonder if Brakiss had known what his message would do to his apprentice. Probably; Brakiss had always loved irritating people without doing something wrong.

Scowling, Onyx turned the volume up. "Lord Onyx," the Emperor's voice—altered to sound like Palpatine's—began mildly. "I heard of Jedi Solo's agreement to ally with the Empire; well done. She has begun her path down the Dark side, and it will not be long before she turns."

Brakiss paused for a moment and Onyx allowed himself a small laugh at the Sith master's expense. Brakiss spoke as if Jaina would go along with anyone's agenda other than her own. Fool—he was far too trusting. If Jaina allied with anyone it would be with Onyx; he would see to that. Brakiss should not have entrusted Jaina to one of his most silently destructive adversaries.

The gloating Sith apprentice did not notice Sanar's stare.

Seemingly oblivious, the "Palpatine" figure continued. "However, until we can trust her, we will continue with our plans to neutralize the potential threat she presents. I expect you to be at the lab to have her outfitted with a Force suppressor at the pre-arranged time." The kindly façade dropped a moment as the image scowled at where he had expected Onyx to be. "If you fail me in this, Lord Onyx, Citizen Solo will experience the brunt of my wrath; you know of what I speak." Brakiss let the threat hang between them for a moment before he donned the pleasant mask once again. "I am sure that won't be necessary. I will see you at 0900 tomorrow, Lord Onyx." The image flickered once, then faded.

Onyx cursed vehemently, causing Sanar to jolt out of her own thoughts; still he did not notice her. Take his wrath out on Jaina…. Onyx's hand curled into a fist. Yes, he knew exactly what Brakiss spoke of, and he would not stand for Jaina to undergo such a thing. He had seen what Brakiss did to his girls when he was tired of them; it was horrendous. Onyx had only heard rumours of what Brakiss did when he was angry—not to mention the shrieks of agony that echoed through the Force for months before they were silenced horribly.

Onyx had killed girls who displeased or angered him, yes, but he gave them a mercifully quick death. Brakiss broke their minds and their spirits. Death was synonymous with compassion when Brakiss was done, and the Emperor did not know mercy.

If Brakiss so much as looked at Jaina, he would find out just how cruel and unmerciful Zekk and Onyx, united, could be…

Jaina woke drowsily when the blanket was pulled away from her. Shivering as the cold air hit her—who in the blazes opened the window?—she tried to curl into a ball but her legs would not respond. Propping herself up on her elbow, she blinked blearily at the blanket-thief. "Sanar?" she mumbled as she brought her left hand up to shade her eyes. Peering a little more closely at her mirror image, she frowned. "What happened to your face? It looks like you applied your—" she yawned "—your eye shadow with a sponge." Sanar's hand went to her face self-consciously. Jedi are far too observant in the morning. Instead of answering the Jedi, the dancer eyed Jaina critically. "Well, you're a skinny thing; who was your trainer?"

The younger woman blinked owlishly as she began to wake up more. "My…trainer?" she repeated in confusion.

Sanar rolled her eyes in impatience. "Your owner, then; or are you independent?"

Jaina gave Sanar an odd look, finally realizing what the other was getting at. "You've never heard of me? Or at least the last name 'Solo'?" At Sanar's blank look, Jaina sighed. "I am—was," she corrected with a grimace, "a Rebel colonel, and a Jedi Knight."

"So Onyx just saw you at the slave market and decided he wanted you?" Sanar asked sceptically.

Jaina began to rub her hands up and down her arms, trying to get warm as she wondered how much she should tell the other woman. "My parents are Han and Leia Solo; I'm their only remaining—" her breath hitched in her throat but she pushed on, "—their only remaining child. The Empire wishes to use me against them." She paused, then, "Brakiss isn't exactly known for his TLC of prisoners—especially when the prisoners are female." Well, it was close enough; the Empire did want to use her against the Rebellion—was Jaina to blame if Sanar thought it was by way of blackmail?

Sanar nodded, accepting the answer even if it had not been what she wanted. "So he's after you because of your family." She quirked an eyebrow, letting Solo know just how absurd her reply had been.

Jaina felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Why would he be after anything else?"

Sanar smirked, but her eyes were friendlier. "Well, he's not after your looks, that's for sure."

Jaina laughed out loud, startling Sanar. "So, Imperials do have a sense of humour," she managed, looking at the other woman with a little more approval, and a teasing glint in her eyes.

Sanar opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by Onyx's entrance. "Sleep well, Jaya?" he asked, smiling at the young woman on the bed. His grin, Jaina noticed, was a little forced. Her eyes flicked over to Sanar, then back to Onyx. The air was stale with tension; any amity that had begun to take hold was gone now. It was as if Sanar had suddenly realized who she had been civil to.

But the tension was not just between the two women; the tension between Sanar and Onyx was so thick Jaina could have cut it with a knife. Jaina mulled over this for a moment, then the found the answer in Sanar's bruised skin. He beat her. The thought brought an unexpected fury. How dare Onyx hit Sanar! Why would he? Had Sanar displeased him? How could she, when there was almost nothing more irresistible to a man than a woman that was in love with him? Why, it was nearly as irresistible as…

…As a woman that didn't. Jaina's blood turned to lava and her hands tightened into fists. If this had anything to do with her, Jaina would tear his throat out and personally hand feed him to the vultures of the Imperial court. She glared wrathfully at Onyx, picturing the ways she could punish him, Zekk or no.

Upon imagining a roasted swine with the head of Onyx and an apple in its mouth, she stopped abruptly, realizing just what was going through her head.

Why did she care? She had known how Onyx treated his slaves for some time now; she had been beaten herself, hadn't she? Her hand smoothed over her hip, feeling the scars that were slowly disappearing. Sanar had probably gotten away easily; she was walking, wasn't she? Onyx had doubtless only knocked Sanar around once or twice; there wasn't anything to be concerned about. It's nothing, she assured herself, not allowing her eyes to see Sanar's abrasions.

As she distanced herself from that dangerous territory, she realized Onyx was awaiting an answer from her. "Pardon?"

He watched her a moment before asking, "Did you sleep well?"

She sent a fake smile his way, letting some of her bitterness bleed through. "As well as one can when they're paralysed from the waist-down."

Onyx's smile disappeared and Jaina's followed a half-second later. "Your first surgery is in two hours; your second is in one week, four days. You won't be off your feet for long."

Jaina fell back onto her bed, closing her eyes with a sigh. "And my therapy starts…?"

She seemed weary, not that Onyx blamed her; therapy would be difficult and painful. "Tomorrow, at ten hundred hours."

"Without the Force." Her voice was so quiet that Onyx almost didn't hear her.

"The Lord Emperor—"

"Brakiss," she muttered impudently, but her tone was more drained than venomous.

Sanar looked alarmed but Brakiss' threat had angered Onyx enough that he had no wish to stop Jaina from saying the truth. "The Emperor commands that you wear the Force suppressor until the Empire can trust you."

She guffawed and opened her eyes, staring at the by-then very familiar ceiling. "Trust me? I know as well as you do that I won't get the Force back until I fall to the Dark side, and then the most idiotic mistake Brakiss could make is trusting me."

/Let Brakiss believe what he wants, Jaina. If he can't foresee his own death, why broadcast a warning?/ Onyx's eyes flicked over to Sanar pointedly.

Her eyes narrowed into slits and she sat upright. /You want me to kill him/

Onyx regarded her carefully for a moment before cautiously answering, /I know better than to underestimate you, Jedi Knight Jaina Solo. I wouldn't dream of believing myself powerful enough to stop you, should you try to gain power./ He stopped there, deciding it was all she needed to know for now.

/And what's to stop me from killing you, too?/ she retorted.

His lips curled into a small smile. Zekk will, he thought, but instead said, /I trust you, Jaya/

Her face smoothed into an emotionless expression a spy would envy. /You shouldn't. I may be a Jedi, Onyx, and believe in peace, but I can be more dangerous than you can imagine/

/I have a very good imagination, Jedi Solo. I urge you not to underestimate me/

Sanar tamped down her frustration, knowing that the other two were communicating through their bond. What I wouldn't give to listen in… she thought, watching the range of expressions on Solo's face. Disgust, surprise, and something Sanar couldn't identify. Regret, maybe? But, no, it was too soft for that. The emotion was gone as quickly as it came, making Sanar wonder if she had imagined it.

The Force was quiet; Solo and Onyx appeared to have come to a stalemate. "Lord Onyx?" Sanar began, her pain from last night's beating becoming more acute. When he turned to her, expression irritated, she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated like she had been with Horaire. "It's 0830, my lord." She couldn't hold back her anger and bitterness when she spoke the title, but did not care if he took her insult. Let him; she didn't give a frelling bantha anymore. "The Lord Emperor would not be…impressed…if you were late." The words were for Onyx, but there was a warning for Solo. Why she felt the need to caution the Jedi, she didn't know. Perhaps it was because no one deserved Brakiss' wrath, no matter what they had done, but she didn't think so.

An image of Horaire, dead, suddenly appeared in her mind and she shuddered.

Or, perhaps, I don't want her death on my conscience too…

The doctor's hands were rough when he shoved the Force-suppressing collar around her neck and sealed it with a snap. Jaina doubted she would have been feeling this amount of pain if the doctor was even a little sympathetic to a Rebel. Sithin' Imperials, she thought, more out of trepidation than real spite. Her energy for hating stupid and/or petty people was on 'empty'. She had bigger fish to fry—namely Onyx and Brakiss.

"The collar will greatly mute the slave's Force abilities, but nothing short of Ysalamiri can completely block it." When Onyx didn't reply, the stern medic hurried on. "This is the control panel," he explained to Onyx with a bow. "The slave will be unable to use it." Seeing Jaina looking at the control panel with thinly-disguised disgust, the Imperial added harshly, "It is set to self-destruct if she is foolish enough to try."

Onyx accepted the panel, but Death's Own Hand snatched it from him. "I'll take that, Lord Onyx," Brakiss rasped. Turning his holo-programmed yellow eyes on Jaina, the Emperor grinned maliciously and deliberately pressed the activation button.

The sudden loss of the Force almost sent Jaina flying amongst the stars, but Onyx placed a firm hand on her shoulder and she was able to steady herself. She swallowed back a sob and felt Onyx squeeze her shoulder gently, perhaps in comfort. For once, his touch didn't bother her. At least with Onyx she knew what to expect.

"The Lord Emperor would not be…impressed…if you were late,"Sanar had warned her; Jaina couldn't fight Brakiss to his face—not if she wanted to live, that was.

Onyx and Brakiss were arguing, but Jaina blocked it out and squeezed her eyes shut; this, then, was her new life—Forceless and helpless. I'm gonna have to talk with whoever planned this vacation.

Sanar wouldn't meet Jaina's eyes when Onyx and Jaina exited the med-bay. Instead, the older girl trailed behind them, her eyes never moving from the back of Jaina's hoverchair. When Onyx opened the door to the surgery ward, Jaina glanced back. Sanar gave a small shrug, and an even smaller smile, and then sat down on a nearby bench until Onyx and Jaina were ready to leave again.

Jaina wasn't sure why Onyx had dragged Sanar along, but she figured it was some unconscious attempt on Onyx's part to unsettle both of them. More mind games—as if we weren't all loony already, she thought pessimistically.

The surgeon was more indifferent than the medic had been, and Jaina had the feeling that when he looked at her, he saw only a thing that needed to be fixed, like a temperamental hyperdrive unit. Onyx took a seat in the formal waiting room and watched through veiled eyes as she was injected with chloroform.

As the drugs began to work on her mind, Onyx blurred, and she had a sudden, insane desire for Onyx to hold her hand during the surgery. Unconscious and without the Force, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Onyx and Zekk and…

Sith…this was going to…hurt, wasn't…it…

And…

She wished that…

Her head lolled to the side, and the surgeon's aide rolled her into the operating room.

Sanar's eyes flicked up to the clock that hung on the otherwise bare wall across from her. Half-past eleven hundred hours; Solo and Onyx would be out soon. Sanar stood and stretched, trying to work out the stiffness that had begun to enter her body from sitting so still for two hours.

Sanar froze suddenly as a cold, hard presence made itself known through the Force. "I didn't expect you to be here," she said without turning, stalling for time.

"Nor I, you," her brother snarled, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her 'round. "What are you—" Devnos stopped, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the tiny mark on her forehead. "You are wearing the brand of slavery. Niftyax!" he cursed. "How could you?"

She flinched and pulled out of his grasp. "At least I'm honest about my slavery," she retorted venomously; she would not let him see her fear. "Where's your leash?"

His fist tightened, and she knew he was fighting the urge to slap her.

He shook her so hard she could hardly breathe…on her tongue she tasted blood…but the worst part was knowing that it was Devnos, her big brother, who hurt her… How had it come to this?

"Who is this?" Onyx's voice demanded unexpectedly, breaking into Sanar's memories. She turned, shaking a little, to see the Sith glaring at her brother. Solo was nowhere in sight. "Klis," Onyx said, voice threatening to freeze the entire corridor, if not all of the Imperial Palace.

The muscle in her brother's cheek twitched. "Lord Onyx," he gritted out. Under Onyx's continued, disgusted scowl, Sanar's brother gave a jerky bow, and retreated down the hall. Only when he had disappeared completely from view did Sanar release the breath she had been holding.

She was aware of Onyx's stare, which had been turned upon her the moment her brother left, but she did not explain. She was tired, so tired. She hadn't expected—hadn't wanted—her brother to be here.

There was a short whirr in the hallway, breaking the silence. Sanar turned at a soft tug on her shirt, and Solo's weary, confused eyes met hers. Surgery hadn't been good to the Jedi, who looked as if she had one foot through Death's door, and Sanar had seen Hoth natives with better complexions. Just the effort to reach up and pull on Sanar's top seemed to have exhausted Solo's muscles. Or, at least, Sanar corrected upon seeing a grimace of pain fly over Solo's face, as if it had torn up a good portion of the Jedi's spine. Instinctively, she pulled her shields in tighter, trying to avoid feeling the waves of pain that Solo could no longer avoid emitting because of the Force-suppressor.

Looking up at Onyx, who was regarding Solo like a mother hen and appearing about as torn as a self-serving Sith could, Sanar decided that it was going to be a long day.

Miko Reglia had decided that he was a pathetic excuse for a human being, let alone for a Jedi Knight, quite a while ago, but it was especially clear to him when the Emperor told him that he should put his excess energy to good use. Meaning, of course, that Brakiss thought he should go on a Jedi-killing spree.

Later, in his quarters, Miko had shown his furniture just how impressed he was, and so his rooms currently looked as if they had survived a bomb. He decided he liked the charred décor—the blackened portrait of Brakiss was an especially nice touch.

Miko couldn't decide if his Jedi Master—that is, his master before he had turned—would have been amused or disgusted. On the one hand, he might have found the now catsup-covered scroll listing Miko's "Imperial Rights" almost hilarious. On the other, he might have punished Miko for wasting good food on such a worthless parchment. Kyp Durron had been unpredictable like that.

It had been some time since his former master's death—and just as long since Miko had returned to the Light and become a spy for the Rebellion. That wasn't to say it had been easy—he was still fighting back his inner demons, and half the time he wasn't sure he could beat them. There were times when his anger attacked him like a beast, devouring him, overwhelming him until it was all he could do to keep from screaming. There were moments when he wondered if the New Republic was a lost cause, and if he should turn his back on the Jedi, on his former friends, on all he had been raised to believe. There were times when he still believed Brakiss was right in what he said and did; seconds that he thought about feeding the Rebels the wrong information.

This was not one of those times. No, Brakiss deserved—needed—to be overthrown. It was that simple; he had become completely ruthless, even insane. Brakiss was becoming more and more like Palpatine; Miko wouldn't let the transformation continue.

Brushing some dust off his chair, Miko sat down and pulled a datapad out of his robe pocket. A Force scan told him that no one was watching, but he activated the electronic scrambler on his desk anyway. No one could find out that Miko had the ears of Generals Wedge Antilles and Han Solo—at least, not until after the Rebel attack…

Please R&R:)

-Tjz