This is the second update today, so make sure you didn't miss ch. 45 - it was a pretty important one ;)

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Chapter Forty-Six: Vengeance's Compensation

-x-x-x-x-x-

They took Miko from her. Krista woke up for that part. After a few croaks and grunts, she even managed to speak. "No. Don'…" She took a deep lungful of air. "Don't take—"

One blurry shape stayed to work on Miko. Far away came indistinct sounds that must have been words—Krista was pretty sure they were words, even if she couldn't understand them.

"Please…jus'…leave 'im alone."

The faceless person came closer, and even leaned over Krista. A cooking pan shield hung over Krista's chin. Not exactly the Holy Brother's style, she thought. MR fighter, maybe? Her head hurt.

Oh. And Miko was a guy. Well. "He'z wid us," she said as carefully as she could. The faceless part of this person was slowly resolving into a woman's eyes, nose and mouth. "Help 'im? Red hair," she clarified fuzzily. "Please, I…"

Brisk fingers felt her shoulder. A muffled noise—it sounded vaguely like, "Where hurt?"

"Sh-shoulder," Krista yelped when a hand reached the wound. "A-and…head. Concussion." Everything started to turn black again. Krista struggled to remember Miko's healing thing. Pain reliever? "Whad abou'…Miko?"

She didn't remember anything else after that.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Braun had taken a serious blow to his lower torso during the battle. Instead of leaving him to a very painful death, however, his attacker had managed to just miss both Braun's stomach and other vital organs.

Apparently, the universe had decided the widower should survive his wife's justice. Several months ago, Braun might have thrown himself headlong to his own death. He might not have even tried to dodge the Holy Brother's sword, and Braun Yd would have died in the Holy of Holies. Instead, he had a trip to whatever medical care could be provided for a man during the Resistance's victory. He might have asked about the famous Jedi healing magic, except he seriously doubted Kyp Durron could be moved from Sanar's side. Braun wouldn't even ask him, not after Veras.

Amazing, really, how adrift he felt only a few hours after such a pivotal conflict. Only a day ago, his entire being had been focused on this fight. There were still more battles to be fought, if he was inclined to stay. The Prize had crashed over a year ago, but eventually he would get passage off the planet. He assumed that the GFFA would be told of the revolution, and about the role played by one of one of their more infamous Jedi. Intel and Krista's brothers had to be chomping at the bit after so long.

Braun would escape this planet before it could take anything else from him. But what then? He had built his life around his wife and their future. At most, he could return to his family. But how long before it reminded him of what he should have had with Veras?

He had survived. What the kriff was he supposed to do next?

-x-x-x-x-x-

Had he been anything less than a well-trained Jedi, Kyp suspected he would have been exhausted at (approximately) four in the morning. He could see Sanar's eyes starting to droop. He would have to let go of her soon—she needed the sleep, and much though he'd love to stay with her, the MR needed all the help they could get. The wounded littered the halls of their headquarters, with a count of at least a thousand. More were waiting to be transported from where they had fallen.

Thanks to brave, stupid Sanar, the war had been won. Thanks to the Holy Brothers, Pucijir's Order had ended the way it had begun: with too many deaths. Anyone able would have to put off sleep—and celebration—until the rest either died or survived.

Finally, Sanar's eyes began to droop too long, and soon they were closed more often than not. He could have tried to teach her a Jedi tiredness-suppression trick—if she would let him, which he quite doubted. The horror he had felt when Sanar picked up the Sildar lingered with him still, though. Sleep might do her some good. If the Sildar had indeed temporarily accepted her, then it must have drained her energy levels. The more rest she got, the better.

"Why don't you go back to your room for a while," he suggested. "Get some sleep. You look exhausted."

"You really need know how to flatter a girl," she mumbled. "Which way's my room?" She looked around blearily.

The fact that she had agreed so quickly told Kyp exactly how much she needed the sleep. "Do you need me to carry you?" he asked, amused.

She snorted, and seemed to shake off some of her exhaustion. "Yeah, I'm not quite that far gone." Her eyes changed suddenly, and he couldn't have named the emotion in them if his life had depended on it. "You know I—" She smiled almost self-deprecatingly. She swept her hair back—a simple step to allow her to regroup. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were soft. "Thanks, for…" Her smile lengthened; she leaned in and gently kissed him. "But I love you anyway. Despite Prophecy. I just…I just thought I should tell you that."

She turned to leave, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity. Surrounded though they were by Prophecy's aftermath, he pulled her tight to him so that he could kiss her properly. When they separated, he cupped her face in his hands. "I love you so much. And your room is that way." He nodded to the corridor to their left. "So have a good sleep." And because he was just so, so, so very glad she was still here, he stole one last kiss. "We'll figure out what happened in the morning."

"Yeah, right." She smiled for him. "Of course, technically, it is the—"

"Right, remind me of how tired I should be," he grumbled to her back. In the morning, gods—if this one thing, just this one thing in his life could work out…

Kyp Durron still found himself clinging to hope, even after all these years.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Everywhere, the dead and the dying. Dejah felt sick. They had won—but at such cost that she had to wonder if it was worth it. If this planet was worth fighting for anymore. Her gaze moved restlessly from corpse, to groaning fighter, to pools of blood, to anything that wouldn't remind her of the price they had paid. If there was any mercy on this world, she thought, she wouldn't see someone she knew. She prayed—to Mujir, to the Kavishka's Force, to anything that might listen—that she wouldn't recognize anyone.

There was no mercy in the world, though, and none of them—not the mother goddess, or the Force, or anything—listened to her pleas. Dejah's gaze caught on familiar blond hair. No one native to Na'Lein'yhpaon had hair of that colour. The blond curls, fanning out around Krista Harif's head, were mixed with blood. Another rock joined the growing collection in her stomach. She barely managed to swallow. Did Miko know yet? Had he seen Krista slumped against a wall, or even on the floor of the battleground where she had fallen? Had he watched as the blood slipped free of her shoulder, or that head wound? Mujir, say you spared him that.

Morbidly, Dejah's feet brought her to Krista's side. She crouched next to the girl, noticing that at least Krista's wounds weren't fatal. She didn't think they were fatal—head wounds were tricky, of course, and the Resistance's immediate medical care wouldn't be much better than what the body itself offered. With tentative fingers, she pushed Krista's hair behind her ears. Sticky with blood and sweat, the strands clung a little to Krista's cheekbones. "Poor girl," she murmured. She felt quite old, compared to this silly, happy girl. "This wasn't your fight."

As if hearing her, Krista groaned painfully. A moment later, she opened her blue eyes. They were unfocused, and moved erratically. "M—Miko?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's Dejah." She paused. "I don't know where Miko is."

Krista tried to focus on her face, but shortly gave up. "'Jah…" Surprising the fighter, the blonde burst into tears. "He's dead—Miko's…he saved my life, and… They took him from me…."

Dejah's eyes squeezed shut as she fought back the tears. Miko dead. And for Krista to have seen it—!

"Why d—did they have to take…" Despite her struggle to stay awake, Krista was clearly losing all sense of reality. Consciousness, Dejah expected, would soon follow the blonde's ability to focus. "I just wanted…"

Dejah gritted her teeth, then angrily swiped away her tears. "Who took him?"

Krista's hand fluttered vaguely to the side. "Them…ours? Cooking shields. Tried…tell them he's with us, but I don't…" She frowned tentatively. "Think I hit my head. Hurts." Her hand went to her head, but Dejah stopped the movement.

"Don't touch it. You definitely hit it."

"Miko's…Miko's dead," Krista moaned.

"No, no," the fighter soothed. Krista would not last if she thought that…that Miko… No. Krista needed something to hold onto, or she would drown. The blonde should recover from her wounds, but with proper medical care still hours—days?—away, Dejah refused to take any chances. "Of course not. Miko is too strong to die yet. We won. Just as soon as you're better, we will find him."

Krista's eyes began to droop closed again. "Promise?"

Dejah squeezed Krista's hand in hers. "I promise. Just hang in there."

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jaina had stopped crying an hour ago. Her sleep remained uneasy; she fought and whimpered, but wouldn't wake. Zekk stopped trying to bring her back. In the hours since Sanar's latest catastrophe (and that wasn't fair, but Jaina and Zekk had problems aplenty without this), Jaina had become increasingly exhausted. Only once, she had mumbled something about "fighting" and "the River"—reason enough for Zekk to channel as much of his energy into their badly battered bond as he could. Jaina had been hard put to explain her death, and the events between it and her resurrection, but the terminology, at least, he had been able to understand.

Something horrible had happened to Sanar, apparently severing her bond to Jaina in the process. Death was finally calling to the girl who had cheated It.

With this (not to mention his latest mess) weighing on his mind, Zekk was by Jaina's bed, willing her to keep fighting, when a knock sounded at the door. He ignored it at first, assuming (or hoping) that it would be one of the Intel operatives come to warn him—again—about the giant risk he was taking in leaving Galactic Federation territory. Not many of them liked him; and although Jaina's reception had been chilly amongst the others, Zekk's latest behaviour had lost him some hard-earned respect as well. A warning knock at the door told him exactly how risky going to NLY was. As long as Yarex kept piloting them towards Coruscant and Zekk's ship, the Second Chance, he didn't feel like dealing with anyone.

When the interloper began to knock even louder, he sighed and went to the door. Jaina needed peace. He could face a diatribe if it kept Death at bay.

(He and Jaina weren't over yet. They couldn't be. They couldn't.)

He palmed open the door, frowning at the hiss. "Jaina's trying to sleep. Please don't—" He looked at the person in the door, and stumbled. "Perdita."

Perdita's eyes flicked into the dim room, then back to Zekk. "I apologize. Why don't we step outside, then?"

Zekk glanced back at Jaina. When she flinched, and swatted an invisible foe with her left hand, he imagined he could see where her engagement ring should be. "I don't think we have anything to talk about," he told Perdita.

Perdita rolled her eyes and dragged him into the hallway. "Yeah, see, I think we do. We kissed."

Zekk shut the door behind him. When he turned back to Perdita, his expression was angry. "You kissed me, and then I ran to try to do damage control with Jaina."

"So that wasn't your tongue in my mouth?" she demanded archly. "If you're choosing Solo, that's one thing, Zekk. But if you try to pretend that the past year has been just a misunderstanding, and you've been Jaina Solo's perfect, faithful fiancé this whole time—"

"I'm choosing Jaina," he interrupted.

Perdita flinched, just a little. "Even though she gave back her ring?" she asked. Her voice was only a little strained.

He frowned. "How did you—" He cut himself off. "Never mind. Yes. Even though she gave back her ring. I have to try."

Perdita swallowed. So did I, her eyes accused him. "How is the Jedi princess?" she asked. Despite the nickname, her voice held no real malice.

"Don't pretend to care."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't stereotype me as the hateful other woman, Zekk. Solo and I understand each other."

It was Zekk's turn to flinch, but he nodded. "She's—" He released a shuddering sigh, and rubbed his face wearily. "She might be dying."

"But—what?" Perdita looked completely lost. She tried to recover. "Didn't she already do that, though? I'm sure she'll be…fine."

"I'm not," he snapped. "The woman who brought her back last time is—something's happened to her. The bond that first tied Jaina to life is now gone. Jaina might—"

"She's sleeping?" Perdita asked. "Is that wise?"

"She couldn't stay awake," he explained. "Not that she's resting—she's fighting even in her dreams."

"Weren't you there, too?" she asked, before shaking her head. "Right." She paused. "Are you choosing her because she needs you, or—"

"I'm with Jaina because I love her." He winced, remembering Jaina's expression when she had asked if he loved Perdita.

"Even if she survives, and even if she forgives and marries you, she won't understand you. Not really."

"I think last night disproved your theory—both about Jaina's understanding, and your own." His voice was harsher than he had intended; the sudden glossiness of Perdita's eyes told him as much. It hadn't been his best day, and it hadn't been a good day for anyone, period. Everyone was tired and irritable.

"I think you should go," he said quietly. "Anything that needs saying can be brought up when Jaina and I get back."

"Someone should remind you how badly it'll go, you leaving the GFFA. Our next conversation might be in a prison."

He kept his gaze level. "Consider your warning noted."

Her face softened with concern. "Zekk—"

"Jaina might be dying. Sanar Klis is likely to tar and feather me once she finds out about the past few months, but she's my friend, too, and she's in serious trouble. I'll deal with the consequences. I'm needed on NLY."

Perdita sighed, and he could almost see the fight draining her. "Goodbye, Zekk." Before he could react, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then she was gone.

They were never going to talk about it. Zekk stared after her for a moment, then returned to Jaina's bedside.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jaina…

…dreamed. She dreamed of her sister, of pain and death and Prophecy. She dreamed of blood, Vengeance, and prices paid. She dreamed of secrets, plots, and strangers.

…struggled. She struggled to keep her sister with her. She struggled to keep her mind together.

…fought. She fought the River's current, fought to find purchase as Death called her soul. She fought to keep hold on those she cared for, to not lose any of herself as (if) she survived.

…searched. She searched for her sister, best friend, other half. She searched, even as her soul bled and cried, even as the emptiness howled, even as she felt their cut bond curl in on itself in grief.

…tried. She tried to sleep-but-not-die, tried to fight, tried to find her sister. Death called her name, and yet Jaina thought Sanar might not be dead. But what had happened? Jaina tried to understand.

Jaina Solo slept, but there was no rest when she closed her eyes.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Kyp found his former apprentice in a hallway far from any attempt at medical care. The few others around Miko were on death's doorstep. At first, Kyp wouldn't have said even that much for Miko. Even at second look, Miko was worse off than the hopeless causes around him. He had at least one foot in the River, probably both, and he was quite possibly drifting toward the shore. Kyp doubted that even the Sanar of five years ago, and with the Force's blessing, could have brought Miko Reglia back.

Kyp remembered how tightly he had held Sanar after midnight; for Krista's sake, he had to do something. If Miko's wound was any indication, the man had somehow even managed to slow his bleeding before he lost consciousness. Miko wasn't dead yet.

Unfortunately, Kyp feared that "yet" was the operative word in this scenario.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Silence pressed down on Nichyn as they sat in the waiting room. It had been hours since he last saw Lera. Night was falling, and Jolesp's parents were whispering about taking the "kids" back to the Fig home for sleep. Before they could implement their plan, however, Hallis and Jamut Verili were called into a doctor's office.

Fifteen minutes passed, at the very least. Nichyn wanted nothing more than to have Lera curled up next to him, busily writing with her right hand. She wouldn't even have to look up and smile at him; the warmth at his side would more than suffice. In the absence, his fingers tapped an unsteady beat on the side of his chair. Next to him, Arelyk was trying to meditate. It didn't seem to be working, if the Jedi apprentice's twitching eyelids were any indication.

When Lera's parents returned, their eyes were even grimmer than before. Hallis' eyes were wet; Nichyn had been a little uncertain about her before this display of concern. She gestured for Shanya, Timmis, and the Fig adults to join them. Nichyn burned with impatience as the parents conferred quietly. He could only catch a few uncomfortably translated words—"breakdown," "hallucinations," and "catatonia." Nichyn's Basic wasn't what it could be, even after all this time, but he had an idea of what they were accusing Lera of undergoing. Mind sickness.

"She is not crazy," he interrupted their conversation. He had shot to his feet, and stomped closer to them so that he could glare properly.

Shanya looked sympathetic. "Oh, Nichyn," she murmured, and tried to comfort him. He shook away the hand she lay on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but the doctors are…"

"They think this has been building up for some time," Hallis explained. She surreptitiously wiped her eyes. "Lera has never been the…strongest girl. The divorce served as a catalyst; we handled it—"

"Horribly," he snapped, momentarily distracted by the opening. "But you're wrong about her. This has nothing to do with you. It's his fault." If Nichyn's voice had been angry before, now it turned spiteful.

"'His'?" Jamut repeated dangerously. "You knew something about this?"

"I think you had better explain what you know, Nichyn," Shanya said. He had never heard her use a sharper voice.

Nichyn suddenly understood Lera's frequent lapses into embarrassed stuttering. The adults' stares pressed down on his voice. He spoke quickly, nearly stumbling over his own words. He tried to cover everything Lera had told him, and the important things he had noticed himself. The basic timeline, and the times he had looked over to see her scrawling notes with her left hand. The prophecy, (hopefully) Vengeance's ignorance of Lera and Devnos' attempts, and Sanar's unknown fate.

"It's the 777th anniversary of Pucijir's Order today," he finished. "Prophecy must have reached its pinnacle sometime around when Lera… Prophecy must have found out."

"When did you discover this?" Shanya asked.

"I found her—two weeks ago, she was upset and—we fought," he stammered at the adults' expressions. "I thought it was dangerous, but a few days ago she said it was over; she had sent the message. She wanted to do it." His eyes drifted to the doctor's office.

Hallis swore. "Isn't that just typical of a boy," she said.

Jamut frowned at her. "Hallis…"

"Prophecy?" Lera's mother demanded, turning on Nichyn. "Vengeance? What, my little girl told you she was going to challenge them, and you decided not to tell us? The longer her condition goes untreated, the more difficult her rehabilitation. But of course you had to indulge her."

Shanya wearily shook her head. "Hallis, this won't help."

"'Indulge'—? She isn't crazy," Nichyn protested.

"Oh, no, she just has a dead stranger in her head, telling her that only she can save another stranger. Not crazy at all. Gods." Hallis' shoulders shook, despite her attempts to stifle her sobs.

Shanya placed a gentle, firm hand on Nichyn's shoulder. "We will discuss the circumstances of Lera's episode later, Hallis. Nichyn, I want you to tell me everything you know, or even suspect, and everything you noticed." She raised a placating hand when Jamut began to speak. "At the very least, it will help us to know what Lera believes. Hallis, you should tell the others about Lera's condition."

"What's going to happen to her?" Nichyn asked when the Verilis left. "When can we see her?"

Shanya's lips tightened. "You will be allowed to see her in a little while. After you've finished explaining."

"But when is she coming back home?" He needed to be there for her. He had already failed her once; he wasn't going to do it again.

Briefly, his foster-mother looked lost. "It's too soon to say anything for sure, Nichyn. She might not— We will have to wait and see.

"Now, from the very beginning…"

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was some time before Kyp could relax again; Miko should have died—and he might still. Just call me Kyp Durron: patron saint of lost causes, the Jedi Master thought. Miko was breathing again—he had stopped, not briefly, a while ago. Kyp was finally seeing some benefits to being the Kavishka: SomeThing or SomeOne was giving Kyp a little more of what he wanted, at least with Miko.

(Always good things had heralded heartbreak. Kyp prayed that this time was the exception.)

He didn't know if Miko would survive to hold Krista again, but as long as Kyp provided an anchor, Miko wasn't getting any closer to the River's shore.

Miko might even be sinking back into life. But maybe that was Kyp's imagination. Miko had been his apprentice, after all. Only the Force aside, even a Jedi Master-turned-Kavishka could indulge in hope.

-x-x-x-x-x-

(You should be dead.)

Sanar struggled to keep her eyes open, but every step drained her of energy she didn't have.

(You stole the Sildar.)

Opening the door to her room took far more time than it should have. Sanar nearly fell through the opening. Blinking around her at her surroundings, however, she realized that the room was Kyp's, rather than her own. She blinked some more. She tried to rub her eyes clear, but couldn't quite find the strength to lift her hands. A dark brown robe was thrown across the bed. Definitely Kyp's room.

There is always a price.

She frowned. Kyp? No. Dur—not Kyp, if I turn into one of those girls… Gods, she was so tired, even more tired than she had been all those years under Horaire. Was she shaking, or was that just her hands? She was beginning to feel sick, too. Stars, she wouldn't make it to another room. Kyp—Durron—would just have to deal with having her in his bed. Still, even the solution of a nearby bed didn't make her feel any better. She could feel a…rustling, almost, at the back of her mind.

There is always a price, Sanar Klis.

It twisted her insides in knots—tied them up in whispers, indistinct, but filled with foreboding that Sanar thought she should understand. The louder the noise became, the emptier she felt. Her mind felt scraped raw, and she flinched away from thought. She fumbled as she picked up Kyp's robe.

Always a price, Sanar Klis.

The robe dropped from her fingers, completely free of her own intention. She couldn't move; her thoughts fragmented into tiny, irretrievable slivers. There was—

YOU SHOULD BE DEAD.

void.

ALL MUST PAY THE PRICE.

There was—

Daddy soldiers Brin Mama Clayra Carida Daddy Daddy no Daddy Horaire Quatroc

—nothingness. Just (Horaire protect Clayra please no Rafintair Horaire the Resistance execution and salvation Onyx obsession) nothing. Those whispers were screams now, cutting out her legs beneath her—Sanar dropped against the wall as if she had never stood proud even once in her life.

Sanar…

…fell.

NonononononononnonoNONONO

(Everyone must pay a price)

please not

(even you, Sanar Klis)

JAINA—

She saw blood, and then…

please, not Jaina

…then:

(But we still need you.)

Nothing.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sanar Klis died seven hours after Prophecy's climax.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Jaina had forgotten how to breathe. Every shred of her will was bent on imitating Zekk's existence. She could not recognize their momentum towards Na'Lein'yhpaon; she could not understand the distress in her (ex-)fiancé's eyes.

Jaina—felt Sanar's death, the River calling calling Jaina Solo, the fabric of the worlds and the boundaries of Life and Death bleeding together—focused on breathing.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Nichyn was the last one allowed into Lera's room. He thought that his admittance was due more to Lera's drugged pleas than to Hallis' forgiveness. "You have two minutes," Lera's mother told him, quite sternly. He was already rushing through the door.

"Nichyn?" Lera said. Her voice was heavy and slightly slurred from the drugs.

He closed the final distance so that he could sit on the edge of her bed. His hand found hers quite naturally. The doctor must have undone the restraints some time ago; her wrists didn't look at all red. "Hey."

She smiled, or tried to—her muscles didn't cooperate very well. "You said 'hey.' Way t'go."

He nearly collapsed in relief. Lera would be alright. She would. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm…'m kinda out of it," she murmured. She sounded almost embarrassed. "They…uh, needles. Drugs? They're making me all…loopy. Think I told Zuleika to…water my books."

He scanned her face, noting the bacta patches. They had cleaned up the blood; her eyes looked completely healed. "You need sleep," he said. "You can worry about everything else after that."

Lera's face crumpled without warning. He had barely processed the switch before she began crying. "Oh, Nichyn, I felt it. I felt it, and we lost. We failed, and…Sanar's gone, and—I don't understand, I don't understand how this could…happen, we lost…"

They had all lost, Nichyn thought miserably, and he felt his own failure the most keenly. He would have given anything to see Lera spared of this.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Far too many hours passed before Kyp found Sanar again. Miko's heart continued to beat, but far from reliably. Kyp was already channelling a hefty amount of his life energy through their very neglected training bond. Kyp had hit his second and third winds, which allowed him to continue helping the Resistance. Krista, Braun, and Gantik had all been injured; they were only three of many. Kyp had never been much of a healer, but he was a Jedi, and a Kessel survivor; he was kept very busy.

Eventually, however, his exhaustion made him far more of a liability than any kind of help. He made his escape, promising himself to catch just a few winks before jumping back into the chaos.

He hadn't seen Sanar since she left to sleep, which he found at least a little odd. Even taking into account the size of MR headquarters, and the post-battle mayhem, he had expected to see her at some point if just briefly. It had been nearly a full day since Rafintair's death; she couldn't have slept that much of the time. If he wasn't so exhausted, and so tangled up in Miko's survival and others' healing, Kyp would have diverted even a little attention towards finding Sanar through the Force. As it was, he hoped to stumble across her on his way to his room. He could kiss her, touch her and be sure she was alive, and then collapse into bed. It sounded like a good plan to him.

He took a detour to glance through her room, just to make sure she was up. The bed looked mussed—Sanar wasn't exactly one to make her bed, ever, let alone after a revolution—but there was no sign of the woman herself. Well, there goes that plan. As soon as he wasn't stealing oxygen, he'd have to find her. Sleep first, though. He was officially useless.

Kyp's dragging feet pulled him to his own room, one door down and across from Sanar's. The door pushed open easily, hardly scraping along the floor at all. He had walked half way in before he noticed the woman sitting on his bed. Her ankles were daintily crossed; her hands were in her lap. At odds with her docile position, there were still flecks (more than flecks, if he was honest) of blood on her face and those carefully arranged hands.

She looked up at his entrance; she smiled very prettily. "Kyp!" she exclaimed happily. She stood; her smile grew. Her eyes were empty.

His name should have been the first clue, right from the very beginning. She had never called him by his given name before. Sanar Klis—even a Sanar Klis who loved him—could never completely disassociate him from Carida. The adoration in her face now was a mockery of her earlier confession of love. Kyp searched for Sanar Klis in the Force and found only a shadow.

(Really, "shadow" was far too strong a word. He found a heartbeat, and something he couldn't bring himself to name.)

"Oh," the woman breathed happily. "I was wondering when you would come. How are you? Give me a moment, and I'll run you a bath."

Kyp suddenly found himself suppressing the urge to tear off a face very dear to his heart. The hair, eyes, mouth, shape were all the woman he loved, but this…this was not Sanar. Vengeance had taken its compensation.

(Of course, it was never finished. There was still—)

"What are you?" He curled his fingers into fists, but otherwise did not let himself move. He was afraid he might fly across the room and—do something drastic. If there was even the smallest chance—and even if there wasn't—this was…had been…Sanar. He didn't dare relax his hands.

When she laughed, it was more like a giggle than anything. "Why, I'm Sanar," she said. "I am the one who loves you."