Chapter Thirteen: Betrayal

"Were it not for the calamitous war with the Hutts that followed, there can be no doubt that the Second Battle of Ranroon would be seen as the climax of Xim's career. The coda to his years-long war with the Federation became an against-all-odds fight against enemies within his empire and without. That he survived and even triumphed was enough to make Xim more than human."
Taith Onderas, Xim and His Legacy, 548 LE

So this was what triumph felt like. Xer had forgotten but it came back to him in a rush, as intoxicating as any brew, as exhilarating as any brawl. After pulling him out of the palace's tunnels, his guards brought him to the crowded security center from which this coup was being governed. Xim, shackled and beaten, was taken elsewhere, presumably to a waiting cell.

Xer had plans for his son but he'd get to those in time. His old rulers' instincts were coming back. He knew he needed to assert authority, and that meant showing this cabal of conniving nobles and bureaucrats what he was made of.

As soon as he stepped into the security center he scanned the faces: Vardoc, Gelistar, Rossu, little Oziaf perched on a tabletop beside them, plus clusters of security personnel in Federation uniforms, most of whom looked at Xer like they didn't know who he was.

He ignored them and strode right for the three old men in the center. No time for gratitude, nor for hospitality. He asked, "What's happening in orbit? Where's Thane?"

The humans looked stunned by his impudence, but Oziaf chirped, "Admiral Thane has secured the Victor's Crown, while the Ascendant and Viceroy Jaminere have also been taken care of."

"A good start." Xer looked to Gelistar. "What about those Federation ships?"

"Standing by," the Yutuski said with annoyance. "We've told them a bomb went off inside the palace and they're to wait for further news."

"Admiral Minasc has been hailing us, but we've told her to hold position," added Rossu. "However, she's not our biggest problem."

Xer didn't like the sound of that. "What is the problem? You've got Xim."

"Yes, but Queen Indrexu and her witch are proving more, ah, problematic." Rossu twitched to the nearest console. Its screen lit up with security-cam footage of two women—one with a strange bright sword, the other with an automatic rifle—charging down corridors.

"Is this live? Why haven't you intercepted them?"

"We've tried," Rossu sighed. "The witch is… unlike anything I've ever seen."

"Indrexu is no slouch either," added Oziaf. "Your son has admirable taste, Mighty Xer."

He scowled at the T'iin T'iin. "You were right there with us. I expected you to go through that trap door too."

"I was a few steps ahead and spared the plunge. Not that I was lucky, mind you. As soon as you fell the robots went berserk trying to get to you. And then the Palace's soldiers showed up with rocket-propelled grenades. That was a narrow hallway, so things got unpleasant very fast."

"You seem to have gotten out fine."

"Minus dirt and ash here and there, I suppose." Oziaf brushed his sooty waistcoat with tiny hands, then the top of his head. "I did lose my hat, which is a terrible shame. I got it from a custom tailor on Pasmin."

Xer turned away before Oziaf could prattle on further. He intended to have the T'iin T'iin arrested and thrown into a cell, possibly next to Xim. The only question was whether to do it now or later.

Indrexu seemed like the most pressing matter. He looked to Rossu. "This is your palace, isn't it? Find her, corner her, kill her somehow. Why is this so hard?"

"She knows this place better than anyone. Her family built it." Rossu added defensively, "She hasn't shared all its secrets, even with her ministers."

A smart woman, Xer thought. He looked at the security feeds, which now showed endless empty corridors. "Where did they go? You've got this whole palace watched, haven't you?"

"Not the secret passages, ah, sir," said the woman seated at the console.

"So you've lost them?" Gelistar asked.

"They… they've disappeared between the eight and ninth spirals of the leeward tower. They have to be inside, still."

"Then get more troops over, as many as you can." Gelistar looked at Vardoc. "That means your people too. You Imperials won't hesitate to kill the queen, will they?"

"No," Vardoc assured. "Give me one moment."

The Livien moved to another console and began speaking with another officer. Xer judged that if anyone was in control of this room (other than him, of course) it was the Yutuski president, so he asked Gelistar, "Is that your plan, then? Kill Indrexu?"

"She's too dangerous to leave alive, especially if she has the witch with her," the silver-haired man scowled. "Once she's down, we can execute Xim as well."

Xer lashed out, grabbing his arm. "No. You've got him captured. He's no longer a threat."

"Xim's a threat as long as he breathes." Gelistar jerked his arm free. "I know he's your son, but don't be sentimental."

"This isn't sentimentality. That boy had me locked up for decades. Killing me would have been merciful but no, he made me rot in my private hell. And that's what's going to happen to him."

Gelistar looked him over; was it respect or fear? Xer would take either. "We can discuss this later, once we've killed Indrexu."

"There's no discussion. Xim's my son and this is my empire."

"Per agreement with Duke Vardoc, Ranroon is not your empire and neither is Yutusk." Gelistar shook his head. "Again, we'll deal with Xim later."

"Fine. Later."

Being in charge also meant picking your battles. Vardoc and Rossu were hovering over consoles, Oziaf still sat on the table, watching Xer with those black eyes. It was time to put that rat in shackles but first Xer decided to remind Gelistar—and all the rest—who really held power here.

And power, naturally, came from the end of a gun. He called, "Who can get me a line to the Victor's Crown? Anybody?"

"We can do that, sir," said one young man. "If you'll come here, please."

At least this one knew to show respect. Xer went over to the console, picked up a handset, and held it to his ear. After a moment of static a voice said, "This is the Victor's Crown."

"And this is King Xer VIII. Get me Admiral Thane."

He nearly shouted those words, drawing stunned looks from everyone in the chamber. He imagined the comm tech on the Crown was equally stunned, which was why it took almost a minute for the call to be handed off.

But once it was, there was no shock from Thane. The admiral's voice was a friendly growl. "It's an honor to have you back, my friend."

"And it's a pleasure to be back," Xer kept speaking loudly. The others would only hear half the conversation but that was enough. "They tell me you've got the Crown. Did Kadenzi not know what's best for him?"

"Sorry to say he didn't. He's resting comfortably. How are things groundside?"

"My son's also resting—less than comfortably—but they've still got to nab the queen. Seems that witch of hers is the real deal. I can hardly believe it."

"Is there anything you need? I can send down a ship full of Lancers to help."

"A ship full of Lancers? Impressive, but I don't think we need them right now. Besides, you send backup to the planet and all the Federation ships are going to start asking questions, and questions could lead to a fight. Hold position for now."

"Understood. Don't let Vardoc and those Federation types get you on a chain, my friend. This is your Empire and don't let 'em forget it."

"Believe me, I know exactly who's in charge here," Xer boasted, "and so do they. Is Admiral Krenn up there too?"

"He's on his Falchion. I'll let him know you're free right away."

"Good. Have Krenn stand by for my personal instructions."

"Will do."

"I'll call again soon." Xer closed the connection and handed the headset back to the comm tech, who took it meekly. The other technicians started turning to their consoles again but Vardoc and Rossu only looked away when Xer's gaze swept over to them. Gelistar, to his credit, didn't flinch.

The Yutuski said, "I trust the situation is well in hand?"

"I couldn't ask for a better man to be in charge up there," Xer grinned. "And now—Guards! Guards, get in here!"

Gelistar was alarmed, but he didn't stop three Ranroon soldiers stepping into the middle of the room. Xer faced the women, drew himself straight, and said, "I've got an order for you. You're going to arrest that rat Oziaf and lock him up next to Xim!"

Xer gestured dramatically to the table where Oziaf had been perched—and found it vacant.

"Where is he?" Xer asking, spinning around the room, scouring it for any hint of gray-brown fur or dangling pink tail. Nothing. To the guards he snapped, "You were at the door! Did he get by you?"

The lead one blinked and said, "No, sir. Nobody passed us."

"Then where is he?" Xer bellowed. "Where is that bloody rat?"

-{}-

The call came out of nowhere. Erakas was down by the Star Forge's engines when he was notified by scratchy audio link. It took him twenty minutes to make his way to the communi-cations center where a cluster of Federation crew were waiting, along with Hedrix and Pres'carn.

"You should see this, sir," said the man seated at the main console. He was twice Erakas's age but looked at the Jedi with a deference that was almost becoming normal. "This message came in on the Queen's encryption code, but it was on a wavelength we've never seen before. We didn't know what to do with it at first. Our sensors picked up a compressed tachyonic burst with superluminal signal velocity and had to recalibrate our instruments to even realize we were looking at a data stream, let alone decrypt it."

Erakas had no idea what that meant. It must have showed, because Hedrix clarified, "The signal was sent at faster-than-light speeds. In theory that shouldn't even be possible."

The Jedi stared at their stunned, expectant faces. "Well, what does it say?"

"Take a look." The seated man kicked away from his console, allowing Erakas to bend over the screen. It was a text message, simple and short.

Mutiny at Ranroon. Gelistar & Rossu against Indrexu & Xim. Queen & witch in mortal peril. Send help immediately.

He didn't know who Gelistar and Rossu were. Indrexu's and Xim's names rushed by. All he could think about was Essan.

"Well?" He looked around the room. "Are you sending anyone?"

"We're trying, but it's hard when we don't know what to expect," the lead tech said, wincing slightly. "We've got new ships out of the foundry but we haven't run tests on them or prepped them for flight, let alone combat. We have cargo barges, but they won't be help in a fight."

Erakas knew what that meant. He looked to Pres'carn, who said, "Tam'pres and the others are getting the shuttle prepped to fly. By the time we get to the dock we'll be ready for takeoff.'

"Then let's get going." Erakas looked back at the tech. "Keep prepping ships, send whatever you can when you can. There's no telling how this is going to go."

The tech nodded but Erakas was already jogging out of the chamber, Hedrix and Pres'carn behind him. As they hurried, Pres'carn asked, "What about your family? Will they help?"

Family. The word almost brought him to a stop. For a long time that word had been special, like a treasure box he kept Reina and Sohren inside where nothing could hurt them. The treasure box was gone and maybe the family was too.

But he knew one thing. Essan was in danger. Reina and Kroller might not give a damn about the state of the galaxy but they didn't abandon their friends.

As they continued down the Forge's monstrous winding corridor he fished his commlink from his pocket and opened a line to the Gravity Scorned. He knew they'd be waiting, and he knew what they'd say.

-{}-

The Whitewall Palace contained a maze of interior passages barely broad enough for a single woman to slip through. Cold rough stones pressed on Indrexu and Essan as the queen led them through corridors and down perilously steep stairs. Indrexu said her aim was to get out of this tower and into the lower levels of the palace, where they'd have more freedom of movement.

It sounded good, but the question remained: What then?

Indrexu hadn't given an answer. Essan hasn't asked. She could sense Indrexu's confusion and doubt. The queen had lived in this palace all her life; she'd thought herself loved by her subjects and had trusted them. Now, for all she knew, every last one of them had turned against her.

Essan had no comfort to give, and no guidance either, since the palace's interior maze was a mystery. The only thing she could do as she followed Indrexu was reach out with the Force and sense of any nearby lives, hostile or otherwise. Sometimes she picked up minds on other levels, scouring frantically for the disappeared target. Essan and Indrexu didn't seem to be in immediate danger, but danger would find them. That was certain.

She was certain the Force would warn her in advance, so she was taken by surprise when, just as they reached the stairwell into the main body of the Palace, a single small figure dropped out of the shadows and blocked their path. At first she thought it was a child; then she saw the narrow tail and thought it an oversized pest. It still shocked her into action. She pulled Indrexu back with a tug of the Force, ignited her lightsaber, and interposed herself between the queen and this newcomer.

This newcomer was neither child not pest. The furry creature stood on hind legs, only a meter high, but it wore a dirtied waistcoat and looked at Essan with black, intelligent eyes. Its whiskers twitched; its pink nose sniffed the cold damp air.

"You," Indrexu sneered. "What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you, obviously," said the rodent. "Why else would I be scampering around the miserable underside of your palace?"

Essan looked back at the queen. "Who is this?"

"Oziaf. He's Xim's..." Indrexu hesitated, then decided "Friend."

"The actual term is 'Special Plenipotentiary,'" said Oziaf, "but I'm just a humble T'iin T'iin and not too picky about titles."

That phrase, humble T'iin T'iin, the high-pitched voice, the breezy and slightly smug tone: all of them roused her memory and Essan was whisked six years and many light-years away, to a torture chamber on Abraxin where that same voice had chirped mockingly from overhead speakers in between bursts of agonizing electric shocks.

Without touching him, she grabbed Oziaf by the scruff of his furry neck and lifted him in the air. His short limbs kicked helplessly and his tail twisted beneath him.

"I see… you remember me…." Oziaf rasped. "That's unfortunate."

"For you," Essan snarled. "Majesty, we can't trust him!"

"Believe me or not, I can tell you what's happening."

Essan gave a warning look, but Indrexu asked, "Who's behind this? It's not Xim, is it?"

"Rossu. Gelistar. Vardoc, Thane, Krenn."

"Why would they all work together?"

"They see your marriage as a threat."

"I'm ending this war!"

"But not the end they wanted..." Oziaf no longer kicked the air but his tail still writhed. "They have the palace… Most of the Imperial fleet in orbit…"

"What about my ships?" asked Indrexu.

"They don't understand what's going on. Gelistar and Rossu didn't have time to turn their commanders."

"How do you know all this?" snapped Essan. She was trying to read truth or falsehood but anger clouded her judgment.

"I infiltrated their conspiracy… played along… but I never expected them to move so fast, so hard."

"They turned on him," Essan told the queen, "so he's run to us."

"Is your Force telling you that?" asked Indrexu.

The Force was telling her nothing. Frustrated, she shook her head.

Indrexu stepped up to Oziaf, still dangling in the air. She asked, "How did you find us? How did you even get in these passages?"

"I've seen Rossu's maps of the palace… the hidden passage-ways..."

"Those aren't complete."

"But this place is on the maps... We should get moving, Majesty."

He was right; they were dawdling too long in an exposed place. Essan still had no idea where they could go, what they could do. She looked to Indrexu beseechingly.

The queen made a gesture to let Oziaf go. Essan released him and the T'iin T'iin landed nimbly on four feet before rising to two.

"I know there's an emergency hangar beneath the palace," Oziaf said. "Rossu's sent guards there but I think there's a chance we can sneak past. If we do, we can rocket up to one of your ships in orbit. It's our best hope."

"You say we too much," Indrexu scowled at him. "That's very presumptuous."

"There's no reason to take him," Essan insisted. "He could be leading us into a trap."

"I assure you, I'm not," Oziaf said tiredly. "In fact, I've come to throw myself at your mercy and beg for your help."

"You can find your own escape route."

"Not that." Oziaf looked at the queen. "I need your help to rescue Xim."

Essan wanted to laugh, but Indrexu's face went hard in thought. The queen asked, "Do you know where he is?"

"The main jail under the palace, solitary wing. It's not that far from here and hopefully you know a secret passage."

When Indrexu didn't refuse him right away, Essan touched her shoulder. "You aren't considering this, are you? We don't need him and we do not need Xim. Let him rot, let them kill him. He deserves it after all he's done."

"This isn't about morality," said Oziaf, "this is about winning. Most of those Imperial captains up there have no idea what's going on. They'll never believe what you or I tell them, Majesty, but they will listen to Xim. Unless he's freed, you have no hope of retaking your throne."

Oziaf's voice was frantic but his argument was bitterly hard to refute. The Force refused to point a way but Essan's heart told her to leave Oziaf here, preferably bound or maimed so he couldn't warn the other conspirators.

Indrexu asked, "Do you know exactly where he is?"

"Cell thirty-seven. Can you get us there, quickly?"

Oziaf and Essan both watched the queen. The Jedi could feel the emotions colliding beneath Indrexu's hard expression: skepticism, anger, desperation, hope, and most of all the brutal pragmatism that every ruler fell back on in a crisis.

Indrexu said, "Yes, I know a way. We should hurry."

"Majesty!" Essan snapped, but nothing more. She looked in the queen's eyes, felt her in the Force, and knew there'd be no swaying her.

Indrexu led the way; Oziaf behind her, scampering on all fours; Essan with saber lit.

-{}-

Jaminere's greeting on the Stormrider was hardly warm, but it could have been worse. He was escorted to the bridge by six armed Ranroon soldiers who didn't actually train weapons on him, because he has two men of his own. The guards weren't enough to make him safe on this ship, but they were better than nothing.

The Stormrider's bridge was more cramped than the Ascendant's, with barely enough room to stand between consoles and jump seats. The ship's captain introduced herself as Miral and said, very bluntly, "We received an anonymous message from the planet telling us to expect you. What's happening on Ranroon and why aren't you at your ship?"

Jaminere told her what he could, which was frustratingly little. As he did he saw disbelief, then fear, then anger flit across the woman's face. When she settled into the last mode he knew he'd found an ally, however reluctant.

Within minutes, he was patched into a direct transmission with Admiral Minasc aboard the Wavebreaker. She was even less pleased with his news than Miral—and less pleased with Jaminere.

"What kind of ship were you running, Viceroy?" The old woman asked. They were communicating via handset and he couldn't see her face, but he imagined it was livid. "Over-thrown by your own captain, in your own quarters!"

He'd left out the part about his own wife setting him up. "There will be plenty time for recriminations later," he growled. "Right now we need to save Xim and Indrexu."

"I don't know anything about the situation on the ground," Minasc admitted. "In fact, I have only your word there's been a coup."

"If there weren't a coup I'd still be on my own ship."

"Have all Imperial ships been compromised?"

"No," he snapped, then walked it back. "I don't believe every captain and crew has joined the mutiny. Most of them are like you. They've been told nothing, other than to stand by. But the Ascendant has been taken over, and the Victor's Crown."

"What about Krenn and the Falchion?"

"We can't rely on him either."

"Viceroy, I'm not committing myself to fighting the entire Imperial fleet just because you've lost control."

"I don't want a fight," he said, exasperated. "Right now I'm informing you of the situation. Tell your captains if you'd like, but if this news spreads too wide—"

"Someone will start a fight. I know, Viceroy." After a heavy sigh, she asked, "What can we do for Indrexu and Xim?"

It was the most important question and the hardest to answer. If they launched assault teams for Ranroon, it would spark a brawl in orbit.

"They're not alone down there," he said. Oziaf. The Red Witch. Whatever other loyalists they still had. He prayed those were enough; they'd have to be.

Minasc said, "I am going to inform my senior captains of this development. We'll talk again soon."

"Of course."

He didn't put the handset down; the connection died and its dull electric tone buzzed in his ear. He stared at the Storm-rider's tactical screen, at the marker for the Victor's Crown. There were his wife and his son; his family; his betrayers. He ached to know what had pushed Erissa to treason. It would be so easy to find out: just a hail directed at the Crown, and all his curiosity would be satisfied. At the same time he'd betray his presence on the Stormrider and surprise was his only advantage.

But it might be worth it. He stared at that lit-up marker, thinking hard.

-{}-

Despite having the most important prisoner in the galaxy, the jail beneath the Whitewall Palace was dangerously under-manned. Had the other soldiers been pulled away to scout the palace for Indrexu? Were the mutineers simply short-handed? Or was it all a carefully arranged trap?

Indrexu couldn't discount anything as she peeked through the small barred window of solitary cell number twenty-eight. At no time since her great-grandmother's reign had any prisoner been kept in this cell, for the simple fact that it was not a cell at all; its hidden door allowed passage to the Palace's secret labyrinth. Indrexu, Oziaf, and Essan emerged from the slid-opened stone door into the chamber but did not rush through the unlocked door immediately. They'd cracked it open and peeked into the empty hallway, then relied on Essan's Force to sense that the entire block was nearly empty.

Indeed, the sole sources of life nearby came from one prisoner in cell thirty-eight and two guards keeping watch outside.

"There are other guards nearby," Essan warned as they crouched on the cell's straw floor. "I can't tell who's loyal to you or who isn't, Majesty, but if they hear a fight they'll come to investigate."

"Then we move quickly and quietly." Oziaf was sitting on his haunches. "That laser-sword speaks more softly than a rifle. Can you cloud their minds also?"

"Lightsaber," Essan corrected sourly. "I… I may be able to affect their minds and slow their reactions, but I cannot promise anything."

"You don't have to," Indrexu said. "I'll lead the way. Essan, follow behind me. Oziaf..." She looked down at the little alien, wondering how long it would take her to regret all this. "Stay in the shadows. Don't interfere."

"Understood." The T'iin T'iin's right ear twitched, whatever that meant.

They rose and pushed the door open. Indrexu stepped into the empty hall first, then Essan. Oziaf dropped to all fours and crawled slowly in their wake. Essan's eyes begged for clarity but no one talked as they walked to the right, rounded the corner, and stepped into the hallway where Xim was kept.

Indrexu couldn't believe she was risking herself to rescue the man she'd considered her nemesis two weeks ago, but the rest of her universe had been upended too. Her minister and soldiers, afraid of Xim and perhaps even more of Essan, had betrayed her. Her only hope of saving Ranroon came through Xim and the loyalty he'd command from the Imperials in orbit.

The corridor was long and dimly lit, but she could see the two soldiers standing outside Xim's cell door. Indrexu quickened her pace, stepping directly in front of Essan. As soon as the soldiers saw her, Indrexu raised both hands in the air. As she drew nearer she marked them by their figures as women, which meant they were likely her own troops. Hopefully that would buy her crucial seconds.

"Stop right there!" one soldier called, rifle still aimed.

But Indrexu kept walking, slowing to a purposeful stride. She kept her head high and said, "Do you recognize me, guard? You should."

One stayed by the door; the other edged closer. She kept her rifle trained on Indrexu and said, "I recognize you… Majesty. Are you surrendering?"

"Surrender to whom? You?"

"Who's that behind you?" The rifle twitched. "Majesty? Who is it?"

"What did they tell you? That I sold out our world for that man in the cell? That I betrayed all of you?"

"Majesty, please stop."

"Do you really think I could betray Ranroon? Those people up there, the ones you're taking orders from, they're the traitors."

"Majesty, stop!" She shifted the rifle to eye-level.

Indrexu stopped. So did Essan, five steps behind her. "Do you doubt your queen, soldier? Do you?"

"Majesty..." The soldier hesitated; her barrel dipped.

But the other guard stepped away from the door and hefted her own rifle. "Queen Indrexu, on your knees! Stop talking and get down! Now!"

Indrexu didn't kneel, and she didn't stop talking. "What right do you have to order me?"

"Get down!" the second guard shouted. "Now!"

The cry echoed down the corridor, almost camouflaging the sound of scampering feet. Almost, but not quite. Oziaf darted out of the shadows faster than any two-legged runner could manage. Both soldiers pivoted to track his pink tail as it raced past. The second guard fired a single shot in the dark.

Essan moved too. Her lightsaber sprung to life but she didn't even use the blade; she collided with the first guard boot-against-sternum and knocked her into the wall. As soon as both feet touched the ground she moved onto the second guard, cut her rifle in two with the saber, then used invisible hands to throw the woman off her feet and bash her helmeted head twice into the stone ceiling. The guard dropped and stayed still.

But the first soldier was moving again. Indrexu opened her mouth to warn but didn't have to. Essan spun on one heel and her blade-tip was instantly in front of the fallen woman's neck, lighting the underside of her face. The guard stared at the Red Witch in awe and terror.

Essan made a small motion with her hand and the guard's eyes fluttered into sleep. Then the only sounds in the corridor were two womens' breathing and the buzz of the lightsaber.

Oziaf crawled out of the shadows and reared on both legs. "That was shockingly bloodless but a little too loud. Can we free Xim now, please?"

Essan's eyes flicked to Indrexu, asking if she was really, truly sure about this. Indrexu wasn't, but she didn't see any better option. She nodded.

Essan made short work of the door: one top-to-bottom slash was enough to cut through its three locks. When it hinged open Indrexu looked inside, wondering what Xim might look like in his captivity. She'd vaguely hoped to see him beaten and cowering in one corner of his cell, dressed in rags and caked in dried blood: the mighty conqueror brought low at last.

What she got instead was defiance. Xim had been beaten, clearly: bruises swelled on his face, his shirt was torn and dirty, and his hands were shackled in front of him. But he was on his feet in the center of the cell, expectant. His eyes took in Oziaf and even Essan without surprise, but when they rested on Indrexu they went wide.

There are different things you can say when then you come to the aid of your former enemy, but unfortunately Indrexu hadn't had time to think of a good line. Instead she stared at Xim and he stared at her, and it was Oziaf who said, "They'll have heard that gunshot. We need to go."

"Go where?" Essan looked at Indrexu.

The queen gathered her thoughts. "Back to the secret passages. We can take it to the hangar, then blast out of here."

"They'll have it under guard now."

"Do you have any better ideas?" she glared at the rat.

Oziaf merely shrugged.

Xim stepped forward and held out his hands. "Free me," he said, and his voice was a thin rasp.

"You're free enough," said Essan. "Come on."

"I can fight." Xim looked at the queen. His voice cracked as he begged, "Free me."

And it was gratifying to hear him beg. He was also correct: getting to the emergency rocket in its silo would be more difficult than getting to this prison cell.

So she told Essan, "Do it. Now."

The witch balked, but a flick of her saber cut Xim's bonds. The despot clutched his metal shackles, looked to Indrexu, and said, "Thank you."

For some reason that got to her. She couldn't think of a reply so she nodded, and he nodded back, and for the first time Xim was neither nemesis nor supplicant. They were partners now.

"They're coming!" Oziaf announced. "Hurry!"

He dropped to all fours and dashed down the hall. After a second's delay, the other three followed.

-{}-

"What do you mean they're gone?" Rossu squawked into his handset. "You have the entrance locked down! They must be in a cell! I don't know, any cell! Check them all! Yes, open them all, dammit! Bring in more guards if you have to! Go!"

The minister slammed the handset onto the console and turned toward Gelistar and Vardoc. Though it was hardly necessary, he said, "Xim has escaped."

"Incompetents," Vardoc snapped. "How could they let this happen? And don't blame everything on the damned witch!"

"It's not just the witch, it's the rat," said Gelistar. "He must be guiding her, helping her."

Rossu and Gelistar both turned accusing eyes at Vardoc. He didn't know why he'd let his guard down around Oziaf, but after they'd set their plain in motion and seized Xim, he'd stupidly allowed himself to trust the T'iin T'iin, or at least predict him. Oziaf's actions made no sense; why draw them into this elaborate scheme, even help capture Xim, just to free him again?

The duke snapped, "There's no point assigning blame. Right now we have to stop them! You've got to have more soldiers!"

"We have soldiers, the question is, who we can trust to shoot their own queen?" growled Rossu.

"It has come to that, hasn't it?" Gelistar asked. "If we find any of them—Indrexu, Xim, the witch— they have to be taken out. We can't risk letting them slip away."

"No," said one firm voice. Xer, who been sulking silently at the side of the room, stepped into their circle. "Kill the rest but keep my son alive."

"That may not be possible," Rossu grated.

"It's possible and you're going to do it," the old pirate said, "or else all those ships up there—the ships that are loyal to me—will bomb Ranroon until your icebergs melt and the oceans swallow up this whole palace."

Rossu shrunk beneath his angry stare. When they'd first met on Desevro, Vardoc had taken Xer for a fat, slothful old man, probably half-senile, surely easy to control. He had no idea what had conjured this swaggering bully, but he finally under-stood what kind of man had birthed Xim's empire.

"We can give the order," Gelistar said calmly, "but where do we send our people? Spread them out too thin and it will make escape easier."

Rossu sighed. "There're only a few ways out of this Palace. Two land gates. One dock by the ocean. One emergency rocket silo at the base of the windward tower."

"You should all those guarded already," said Xer.

"We do… but I'll allocate more soldiers to each location."

"Good," said Vardoc. "But where are they most likely to go? We can send the most troops there."

Gelistar looked to Rossu; Vardoc looked to Xer. The old pirate said, "Xim's going to look for allies. So will Indrexu, if she's anything like him. They'll go for the rocket and try to launch for the Federation fleet."

"Agreed," said Vardoc. "We can't let them reach Admiral Minasc."

"Then we'll stop them at the launch silo," Rossu said, and hurried to the comm console. "I'll send a team immediately… and I have the best person to put in charge."

-{}-

Erissa Orenaia thought herself experienced in politics, but coups were something else. Everything had gone smoothly up in space: the Victor's Crown was seized, Kadenzi and her husband ousted, and barely anyone had noticed. But the heart of this operation was taking place on the ground, and from Ranroon she'd heard nothing. Even transmission to the Palace, directed toward her father, was met with silence. She began to pace the Crown's cramped command deck. Thane scolded her for it quietly, telling her she had to look strong before the crew.

And then, miraculously, a hail arrived. As soon as a comm officer announced it she asked, "From the palace?"

"No, ma'am," the ensign said. "It's from the Stormrider."

Erissa looked to Thane. The Argaian said, "Probably a curiosity call. Brush them off nicely."

Diplomacy, they'd already agreed, was her specialty, so Erissa moved over to the comm station and took a handset from the officer.

"This is Duchess Orenaia aboard the Victor's Crown," she said pleasantly. "How can we help you?"

The line buzzed for ten long seconds; then her husband's voice said: "It's me, Erissa."

She nearly dropped the handset. "What are you doing? How are you calling?"

"I'm aboard the Stormrider. Indrexu's personal ship. They say war makes strange bedfellows, but betrayal… that's some-thing else."

The last words smoldered with anger. Erissa couldn't believe this was happening. She'd trusted Sovane to put her husband under lock but somehow he'd escaped.

And if Jaminere was free, the whole mutiny could collapse.

"How?" she whispered.

"I'd never tell you that. But tell me something. Just one thing, that's all I want. Was Marco in on this too?"

She thought of their son at his station in the belly of the Crown, tending to his duties and wondering what trial he'd have to go through next to earn his father's approval. Jaminere had shouldered their son with an impossible burden and worst of all, he didn't even realize it.

She almost lied out of spite, but said, "He knows nothing."

"Good."

"You can't attack us."

"You're using our son as a hostage?" His voice dripped revulsion.

"Please, don't do this. We have Marco… and Kadenzi too. He's our captive. Thane's in command now."

"Thane," Jaminere repeated. "Well, that clarifies a few things. I assume your father put things together down on the planet."

"We had no choice. We—"

"There's always a choice." His voice was like a cold knife. "Goodbye, Erissa."

The line closed. She placed the handset on the console with a shaking fist, turned, and saw Thane in front of her.

"What was that?" he scowled. "Has something gone wrong?"

She swallowed hard. "Things have just gotten complicated."

More complicated than Thane could ever know.

-{}-

The emergency escape rocket beneath Whitewall Palace was buried at the bottom of a two-hundred-meter shaft covered on the outside by a retractable metal dome, itself painted and littered with stone to camouflage its location. That rocket had no hyperdrives, weapons, or kiirium armor. Its sole purpose was blasting free of Ranroon to reach safety in orbit.

Indrexu hoped that would be enough. She and her unlikely partners—a witch, a rat, a despot—crept silently through corridors and down long, dangerously rusted ladders until they reached the same level as the rocket silo.

They were deposited out of a stone passage and into a tangle of metal piping and cabled wires leading to the silo. Indrexu came down here only rarely but she knew the way, and as soon as she dropped from overhead onto the metal-plated deck she guided them unerringly toward their destination.

Unfortunately, they did not get far. Essan didn't have to announce the troops coming up behind them; they could hear the clatter of boots easily. The witch, who'd already ignited her lightsaber, announced that the enemy was ahead of them too, and seemed to be holding position.

They were approaching a set of armored blast doors, and Indrexu knew guards would be camped there. Essan might cut through the armor with her saber, but not without taking fire from both sides.

Indrexu stopped her charge and pointed back toward the approaching sound of boots. "We have to stop them here. Otherwise we'll be caught in a pincer."

Xim, holding one of the guards' rifles at his waist, looked to Essan. "How many are there?"

The witch frowned. "I can't tell. At least a half-dozen."

"And many more in the other direction," Oziaf added. "Majesty, I noticed that grenade at your belt."

She touched the one she'd stolen from her fallen guard at the start of this long chase. "There are blast doors around the silo. This won't break through."

"I was going to suggest we toss it in the other direction." Oziaf tilted his snout. "Let me toss it, since I don't have any weapons otherwise."

"That's not a good idea," Essan said. "Look around. All these pipes, the cables, the gases and fuel running through here. They could be toxic."

"In that case I'm sure it's a good idea," said Oziaf. "That magic of yours can move objects, it must be able to move air. Give our pursuers a gust of something truly foul."

The witch looked to Indrexu. It was clear she hated everything about this situation—from the gas-filled pipelines to their unwanted allies—but at every step Essan needed orders. The queen was flattered to think the magician obeyed her every word but she knew the real reason. For all her supernatural skills, Essan was hopelessly out of her depth, stranded in a strange part of the galaxy and pursued by endless enemies. She needed someone to decide for her, simply because she could decide nothing for herself.

Well, thought Indrexu, that's what a queen's for, isn't it?

She did her best to project confidence. "Oziaf, Essan, take the ones behind us. I'll scout ahead and see what's at the blast doors."

"I'll come with you," Xim said, and hefted the rifle in both hands.

Oziaf cast a look at Xim, Essan at Indrexu, but they obeyed and hurried back down the corridor, around a bend and out of view. Xim checked the ammunition on his weapon, slammed the clip back into the stock, and asked, "Are you sure your witch can handle this?"

"She's never let me down yet." Not really, not when it really counted.

"She's more… human than I imagined."

She looked at Xim. Xim shrugged her off. "Come on," he said, "Let's go."

They pushed ahead, rifles raised to eye-level, and stalked carefully around the next several bends in the path. Xim moved with hunched shoulders and a long stride, quickly and easily like he'd never forgotten a second of infantry training he'd received as a boy. Indrexu was no riflewoman and she found herself imitating him as he pressed ahead.

Then, suddenly, they were at the final turn. Indrexu barely had time to register what she saw (heavy sealed doors, three soldiers crouched behind cover at its sides) when the enemy began spitting fire at her. She jumped back, taking shelter of her own behind the chamber doorframe. Xim dove for the opposite side of the threshold and made it to safety even as bullets sparked and skidded across the metal floor.

He looked across the gap to give Indrexu a single affirming nod. The guards stopped shooting but remained by the sealed doors, and now they knew exactly where their targets were. But they'd made it this far, she and Xim. Incredible how she felt having him here, him of all people. At this moment she could think of only one person she'd rather fight alongside. Well, two: Essan and—

"Majesty!" Captain Venta's voice resounded. "Stand down, please!"

In the opposite direction, muffled by distance and layers of metal and rock, a grenade went off. Bullets ricocheted down a rended corridor and magical gusts of air blew a mighty, deadly wind. But that seemed far away. Indrexu was desperately hoping she'd misheard that voice. From the start she'd assumed that Venta—who'd called her at the beginning to warn her about the supposed bomb threat— had been duped by Rossu, because surely when Venta—her loyal captain, her cousin by blood— would never participate in a mutiny.

But Venta called at her again: "Please, Majesty, stop this! Surrender now!"

There could be no mistaking it. Even Venta had betrayed her. Indrexu felt so weak she nearly dropped her rifle. On the other side of the doorframe Xim was staring at her, mouthing words, she couldn't tell what. It all seemed unimportant.

The queen let her rifle fall slack at her side. She stepped slowly out from behind her cover. No one shot at her, but two gun-barrels peeked over supply crates, one on either side of the blast doors. Standing in the middle of the chamber, holding a mere service pistol, was Venta. She raised the pistol in a two-handed grip and said, almost gently, "Put the weapon down, Majesty."

Indrexu stayed where she was, still holding the rifle, not moving. She asked: "Why?"

"I'm doing my duty, Majesty."

"Your duty is to me."

"My duty is to the throne of Ranroon and House Hylei. Please, drop the weapon."

Indrexu didn't think to drop it; it simply clattered to the ground. She shuffled ahead two steps, three, four. She felt dead on her feet. Venta drew closer but kept her pistol raised.

"Place your hands on your head."

"Why?" Indrexu repeated.

"I am doing my sworn duty to protect this world. You can't sell it to Xim."

Indrexu could look the other woman in the eyes now. They were wide with anger and glinted, just a little, with grief.

"I've always respected you, Majesty," Venta said, "but I will not serve a queen who won't fight the enemy."

"There is no enemy. I ended the war." Her own voice sounded distant.

"The enemy's cowering right behind you. It's Xim, isn't it?" Venta's lip curled in a snarl. "You're protecting him."

"That's not what I'm doing..." Indrexu's voice faltered. Wasn't it? She'd been fighting with a man who'd ravaged hundreds of planets, ruined millions of lives, the kind of tyrant Ranroon's queen had always pledged to stand against.

Doubt came, and then it passed. She remembered when she'd turned over the first dead body in her tower and seen the face of her traitorous guard. Anger and indignation returned. She had to choke it down to she could speak calmly and firmly.

"I apologize for nothing," she said. "I've done everything I can for Ranroon. If that means surrendering myself to Xim, so be it. It's always been for Ranroon." She edged closer.

Venta was almost within reach. The captain didn't backstep but didn't lower her gun. Her face twisted as she said, "Don't tell me you're the same woman you've always been. I've seen the difference, Majesty."

Indrexu opened her mouth to rebut, then closed it. She had changed, in ways she'd not stopped to consider until now. Once she'd have fought to point of Ranroon's annihilation, propelled by personal pride as much as patriotism. But something had softened in her. Perhaps it was Essan, whose stoicism masked empathy and mercy so foreign to a queen (or a king, emperor, or daritha). She wasn't willing to sacrifice endless lives, not anymore. Instead she'd sacrificed herself on Xim's altar.

Venta had to understand that, if anyone could. Indrexu slowly, so slowly, reached for the barrel of the pistol. Locking eyes with the captain she said, "I've changed because Ranroon needed me to change. I fought for you all… now I'm surrendering for you."

Indrexu's fingers touched the gun, closed around its mouth.

"Majesty—"

Indrexu tugged the gun to the side. She saw Venta's finger tighten on the trigger; saw the white flash of its muzzle; heard the deafening crack. She saw the ceiling spin around her, felt shoulder-blades hit hard deck, felt the shattering of her hand and something worse spreading outward from her chest: a wave of cold pain, followed by numbness.

She couldn't lift her head, couldn't turn it. Vision darkened but she saw a riot of rifle-bursts reflected on the curved metal overhead. They sounded far away, muffled, like she was underwater. Maybe this was what drowning in cold ocean felt like: the numbness from the inside spreading out, the weightlessness, the way black encroached from the outside of her vision and seeped inward.

Someone bent over her: a silhouette. Who was it? Venta? Xim? Essan? She couldn't tell. It was all of them and none. A hand touched her face and it roused a memory of life. She was glad for that parting gift before darkness took her in overlapping waves and dragged her to its uncharted depth.

-{}-

Essan was the last one to reach the gate. Oziaf had scampered ahead in his four-legged sprint while she'd dawdled, using the Force to compel gusts of toxic gas into the faces of their pursuers. Then she'd held her breath, ignited her saber, and done a grisly dance among the fallen, maiming or cutting each to make sure they stayed down, if they weren't already dead.

Bleak deeds haunted her all the way to the blast doors, and when she got there she nearly collapsed to her knees. Oziaf stood in one corner, head bowed, tail curled inward. The bodies of three Ranroon soldiers lay splattered with blood before walls pocked by dozens of bullets.

Indrexu lay in the center in her own bloody pool. Xim knelt beside her, head in his lap. Her face looked peaceful; only a single bullet had taken her in the chest, right beside the heart. Her breast was a scarlet blossom. Essan knelt beside her and touched her still-warm hand, but could feel nothing in the Force.

Head bent over hers, Xim croaked, "Save her."

"I… I can't," Essan whimpered. "I'm sorry."

Xim grabbed Essan's hand so hard it nearly broke. She yelped and tried to pull away but he wouldn't relent.

"Do it," he said. "Bring her back."

"I can't!" Essan said. "She's already dead."

Xim released her hand. She pulled back but kept staring at him. He'd lifted his face enough to show his wet eyes.

"Then what is the point of your magic?"

Xim's face twisted in anger and she thought he might strike her, but Oziaf pleaded, "We can't stay like this."

They heard the clank of metal gears and realized the blast doors were starting to open. Essan knew there were still plenty more soldiers waiting on the other side. And, far back down the tunnel, past the destruction she'd already carved, more backup was on its way.

They couldn't stand up to that many. She couldn't. The sum of all her miracles was the queen lying dead before her, head in a despot's lap. Essan wished she'd never joined Indrexu's war; wished she'd never come to the Tion, never left the Tythan system.

The doors continued to crank open. The outer layer was peeling apart in two sections; soon the inner layer would too, and soldiers would begin firing on them through the gap.

"It's no good here," Oziaf said. "We have to fall back and come up with another plan."

"What plan?" Essan asked. "What could we possibly—"

Xim tugged her hand. She fell forward and caught herself; her free palm splashed in Indrexu's blood. Red stained the black fabric of her trousers as she looked into Xim's eyes.

"She swore an oath," he said. "So did you. Does it stand?"

She didn't know what he was talking about. Indrexu was dead, her kingdom lost. Their plan to marry Ranroon and the Empire had come to nothing. But Essan had also made a pledge: to stand at Xim's side and loan him her Force powers. It had been repugnant then; it felt vile now.

"What does it matter?" She tried to pull her hand free but he wouldn't relent.

"I will honor her pledge if you honor yours, do you under-stand?" Xim growled. "Does it stand?"

The door cranked. She could hear soldiers taking position behind the door; she could ever hear a muffled voice call for grenades.

Oziaf urged, "We have to go back the way we came! Please!"

But Xim didn't let go of her hand. He kept staring into her eyes.

So Essan breathed, "Yes. Yes, it stands."

Xim released her. He rose and hastily gathered his rifle, then a sidearm from one dead woman and ammunition-clips from another. As she stood on shaky red legs, Essan saw for the first time that a bullet had take him in the left shoulder. It was staining the whole arm red but he clutched the rifle tight in his right one.

The doors opened with a final, awful groan. The first thing to come through the gap were a trio of grenades. Essan did her best to hurl them back; she couldn't get all three through the narrow gap but she held them as close to the wall as she could. When they went off and flooded the chamber with flame, heat, and gas from ruptured fuel lines, she was already chasing Xim and Oziaf into the labyrinth, toward a destination she couldn't bear to imagine.