The Mother Witch tugs him down a torchlit hallway deeper into the cave. She leans in close, acting like they are old and dear friends reunited at long last. Sheev can't decide if this is the local custom for hospitality he's receiving or if this siren in a red dress is exceptionally forward. But either way, he goes with it. She smells nice. Like spicy cloves mixed with the fresh forest air.
"Now that I know who you are," she pats his arm tucked firmly into hers, "you must tell me why you have come."
That's his cue to deploy his cover story. "Our Senate is sending emissaries on outreach missions to all unaffiliated systems. My Lady—"
"Lilith. Call me Lilith," she purrs.
"Yes, of course, Lilith," he dutifully amends. Back to his cover story. This witch is about to get played, like the rest of the galaxy. Sheev begins his deception ominously in his most confiding tone. "There are tensions rising within the Republic . . ."
"Oh?"
"I'm afraid that our vast and far-flung union has become increasingly frayed of late." He adopts his concerned statesman demeanor to lament the state of affairs that he himself has carefully stoked. "A growing number of systems are threatening to break away if their demands for economic reforms are not met. Trade disputes and tax allocations are becoming frequent flashpoints." He shakes his head in mock frustration.
"You mean greed is at issue?" The witch shoots him a knowing look.
"Well, yes." Avarice makes people easy to manipulate. That's why it's his Master's favorite tool. "The Senate is working hard to find compromise measures acceptable to all sides. We are in an appeasement stance currently."
"To what end, my Lord? Where is this brewing conflict heading?"
He states it plainly: "War."
The witch falls silent for a long moment. Then, she asks, "Is it inevitable?"
He certainly hopes so. Civil war is what he and Plagueis have been scheming for decades now. But he can't admit to that. "War might still be averted, I hope. But in the meantime, purely as a precaution, the Senate wants to open dialogue with unaffiliated systems such as Dathomir."
"You don't want us siding with the malcontents, is that it?"
"Yes. They call themselves Separatists."
The witch nods and digests what he has revealed. "So . . . the mighty Galactic Republic needs our help?"
"We are extending an offer of friendship. So that in the event of war, we might be allies. It would be a mutually beneficial arrangement, I assure you."
She dismisses the overture. "We want no part in your internal disputes, Senator. And," the Mother Witch stops walking and fixes him with some serious side eye, "my people will not be pawns of the Sith in their quest to rule the galaxy."
Damn, she's sharp. Sly Lilith Talzin continues to see right through him in a way no Jedi ever has. But it's more intriguing than threatening. He kind of likes this woman. And he's seen enough of her power to know that he wouldn't want her for an enemy.
So, he chooses to ignore that last rather pointed remark. He keeps pushing for a deal, hoping to get some leverage over the witches. "We would provide arms and bolster your defenses."
"We have no need of weaponry and I don't want your soldiers here."
He keeps bargaining. "We could provide technology to improve life for your people."
"That won't be necessary."
Oh, come on. He's seen how quaintly primitive these witches live. "I'm talking about farming equipment, medical droids, and water treatment facilities, not tanks. It could be strictly non-military in nature."
"We refuse, Senator."
"Why?" he challenges, feeling puzzled that she so blithely rejects modern life.
"Does your technology make you happier?" she poses. "Does it bring your people closer together? Does it increase your understanding of the Force?"
"It makes things easier, quicker, and more efficient," he replies.
"Only superficially. In my experience, technology tends to create as many problems as it solves. We witches prefer to live in close harmony with nature as the Force intended. Technology will only impede that goal."
He disagrees, but doesn't press further. Sheev has no wish to anger the Mother Witch. Besides, this bullshit about a diplomatic mission is only a pretext for his real purpose for being here anyhow. If Lilith wants her people to live off the grid as peasants, that's fine. He doesn't care. It's not like this out-of-the-way world has strategic value anyway. The only reason he's even mildly interested in Dathomir is because it's full of Force users who are theoretically a potential threat.
He's careful to keep his good guy posturing going. "Have I offended you? I have no wish to offend you." Sheev starts angling now for what he really wants: information. "I would very much like to learn more about your people. It would help me to better understand your perspective. Your ways are very different from my own."
"We intrigue you?" she preens, looking mollified.
"Very much so."
"The feeling is mutual. For you, Sheeeev, intrigue me greatly."
He smiles.
She smiles.
And now, he is back in her good graces. Again, Lilith slips an arm through his arm and begins to lead him forward. "Why," she muses happily, "has the thread of destiny brought you here to me? Whatever might it portend?"
Murder. It portends murder. But that's not an acceptable answer, so he replies benignly, "Good things, I'm sure."
She chuckles deep in her throat. "I can't wait to find out."
Not to be outdone, he immediately replies, "Nor can I."
The winding cave passageway they're walking through empties into a large, oval shaped chamber with a ceiling so high it disappears into darkness. The room is softly lit and sparsely furnished. The main focal point is a large, shallow bowl on a pedestal surrounded by smoking urns that release a pungent haze of incense. Is that an altar? The setup is rustic in styling, but it nonetheless reminds Sheev of the elaborate ritual chambers he's seen nestled in the heart of ancient Sith temples. The mental feel of this place is oddly similar. He's never been here before, and yet he finds it mysteriously familiar.
Lilith says nothing. She lets him look his fill.
Shadows flicker on the walls as the mounted torch flames dance. They release a sharp smell of sulfur that wrinkles his nose. It's fire mixed with brimstone, and that feels Darkly vengeful. Here the stone cave is wet with seeping moisture. The walls literally weep. It makes the air feel cool and clammy against his skin. Every so often, water drips onto one of the wall torches. It makes a slow hissing sound that sends a shiver down his spine. Up overhead, veiled amid the gloom, unseen creatures rustle. He detects the flap of wings. Could that be a bird? Maybe a bat? Perhaps a large insect? What unknown things bear silent witness from above to the rites the Mother Witch performs in this sacred space?
Damn, this place is fucking spooky. Sheev decides that the Witches of Dathomir have the edge on the Sith tombs of Exogol where dramatic atmospherics are concerned. And that's saying something.
Lilith directs him into a recessed alcove he didn't notice initially in the dimness. With a flick of her wrist, unlit torches on the wall burst into flame to light their way. He soon finds himself nestled inside a cozy nook with plush chairs and inviting couches. Evidently, the witches like to hang out here in their sepulchral headquarters.
"Sit and drink water with me," Lilith coos as she tugs him down beside her. "Enough talk of war and the Republic. Let us talk as friends."
"As you wish."
Sheev seats himself and accepts the glass she pours for him from a waiting ewer.
"Fruit?"
"Yes, thank you." He selects a tidbit from the plate she offers. But, wary for drugs and poison, he waits to watch her pop one in her mouth before he does the same. Like he waits for her to sip from her cup before he tastes from his own.
Lilith pretends not to notice his hesitation.
"Nothing refreshes the mind and body like cold water," she comments. "It awakens the senses."
That may be true, but what's awakening his senses now isn't water, it's power. Sheev closes his eyes as he inhales and savors the concentration of invisible energy that assaults his mind. "The Force is strong with this place . . ." Strong and Dark. It feels intense and thrilling. "What is this place?"
"It is our lair. We gather here at times. Mostly, I meditate here and use the cauldron for spells."
"Dark spells . . ."
"No. Just spells. The Darkness you sense is your own. The Force contains nothing but what you take with you."
That's teaching he hasn't heard from his Sith Master. Sheev looks to her quizzically.
The witch continues. "Power is best understood as a mirror, not a magnifying glass. Use it to discover truth, and then confront your role in that truth. For all is as the Force wills."
Sheev has no idea what that speech means, but it sounds pretty.
Lilith follows up with a carefully spoken observation, "Friend," she ventures gently, "you are unbalanced."
Damn right, he is unbalanced. He is Dark, so Dark, and that's how he wants it.
The Mother Witch must perceive that he is unconcerned, for she immediately moves off the point. "What can I tell you about Dathomir?"
Plenty. But he'll start with what intrigues him most: her strange power. "I have never seen the Force look . . . well, green before."
"Our word for the Force is ichor." She pronounces the word Eeee-kooor, rolling the r. To demonstrate, she gestures and a trail of green mist appears on command, tracing the path of her fingertips in the air. The ephemeral yellow-green pollen-like shimmer dissipates after a few seconds, dissolving harmlessly back into the cosmos. Blink and you'll miss it.
Sheev gawks at this casual display of talent. This woman literally exudes Force energy from her touch. It's not the punishing lightning that is the rage of a Sith made manifest. It appears to be her living Force active in her environment. It's so potent that it is visible to the naked eye.
Fuuuuuck. That's amazing.
"Ichor is our birthright handed down from our goddess founder. She was born of the Force herself. Through her, each and every Sister and Brother is endowed with a residual spark of the divine."
That's quaint storybook mythology which comports with what the Sith have long known about the hereditary nature of power. But it's also something of a truism. Sheev pushes back to see what she'll say. "All living things are made from the Force."
"Not like she was."
"This goddess—she was a favorite of the Force?" That's how the Sith understand their greatest heroes. They believe that those gifted with great power are both instruments of fate as well as actors in their own right. The Force controls their actions at times, even as it obeys their commands. Thus the Force's favorites—its demigod pet champions—tend to have outsized importance in history.
The witch summarily rejects that notion. "The Force loves us all. It has no favorites." Lilith slants a smirk his direction. "Think you're special, do you?"
Absolutely, but he treats that question as rhetorical. Sheev probes, "How do you explain our innate differences in power?"
"Such a Sith you are, Sheeeeev," she chuckles deep in her throat, "to view life exclusively through the prism of power." She calls him Sith and says the word like a hiss. It's kind of sexy. It makes the word sound appropriately aggressive. And she's not calling him a Dark Jedi any longer, thankfully.
Sheev states the Dark Side perspective on the matter: "Some are more powerful than others. Naturally, the most powerful rule." Glancing over the rim of his cup, he observes, "You are very powerful."
He means it as a high compliment, but she seems to think the point is not relevant. "I do not rule by subjugation. To become Mother Witch is not a contest of power."
"How were you chosen?"
"The Coven determines the candidates and then the Force decides."
Ah, so she is a favorite of the Force, whether she admits to it or not . . . He thought as much.
"So . . . the most powerful one wins?"
"Not necessarily. The Force in its wisdom chooses the Sister we need for the challenges it knows lie ahead." She explains, "Some Mothers have had great foresight and skill with ichor. Others were inspiring and charismatic leaders. Some were distinguished mostly for their kindness and compassion. A few were cunning and appropriately cruel."
His ears perk up at 'cruel.' "Which are you?" Please say cruel. Because that will make this creepy witch bitch hotter.
But alas, her answer is blandly equivocal. "I hope to be a bit of all of those Mothers. But the nature of my legacy is for history to decide. If I am kind, it will be because times are easy. But if I am heartless, it will be because my choices are limited. It is my duty to ensure the survival and prosperity of the Sisters and Brothers. Whatever else happens," Lilith stares him down now with naked intensity that compels his attention, "the Coven must endure."
She lets that pronouncement reverberate in silence. And now again, Sheev sees the flash of green ichor in her eyes. He recognizes it for a warning.
Sith that he is, Sheev appreciates the underlying ruthlessness she just revealed. The witches keep becoming more interesting. They're clearly not Jedi, but they are far from being Sith. Just what are they exactly?
He starts asking questions under the guise of making conversation. "Have you been Mother Witch long?"
"Yes. One grows into these roles over time. It is not a process to rush."
"Indeed." He agrees, but he's ready to ascend to Sith Master status. But first, he has to assassinate Plagueis, which will be no easy task.
"Mastering Darkness is the work of a lifetime," he quotes an old Sith maxim to keep the Force talk going.
The comment earns him a shrug. "This fiction you and the Jedi create—that there are sides to the Force—it is illusory. You deceive yourselves."
"Do we?" he challenges lightly.
She nods and adds, "You limit yourselves as well."
Huh. That's a point he has never considered. He has always understood the Jedi tradition to be the antithesis of the Sith approach. The Light Side is supposed to weaken a Dark prince, not augment him. That's what Plagueis says, at least.
Everything he knows about the Force comes from Plagueis. And that's why it feels bizarre yet refreshing to speak of the Force to someone other than his Master. Back in the Republic, his talents must be continually suppressed lest he be exposed as a secret Sith. That makes this candid conversation with this strange woman feel freeing. It's so . . . welcome. He didn't know how much he needed this.
So far, Lilith has told him how wrong he is, but she too seems to be enjoying their repartee. "I like our exchange of ideas," she tells him plainly. "Will you stay a few days with us? Be my honored guest, Lord Sidious. I wish us to become close friends." She reaches to place an alabaster hand on his thigh and licks her lips. "Close friends," she whispers in case that leer wasn't clear enough.
It's hospitality he will not refuse since it will help him complete his mission and besides, she's fascinating. "Such a generous offer. I humbly accept." He's not foolish enough to play hard to get.
"Good," she beams. Removing her hand, she pulls back. She's being coy because her next words are very forward. "I will reject what the Senate offers me, but I will not reject you, Lord Sidious." Then, she lowers her eyes demurely.
Holy shit. This woman is a real piece of work. She's out to seduce him. It's so unexpected, and yet exciting.
"More fruit?" She again offers him the plate of snacks.
"Yes, thank you. It's delicious." He will gladly take all of the forbidden fruit this heretic witch offers him.
And why shouldn't he? It's not like he's cheating. Cresta's basically dumped him, and that's after years of living separate lives on separate worlds. She's saying she wants a divorce again even though she knows that's not an option. Divorcing her would be tantamount to admitting that his Master is right about her—which he isn't—and even if he were, Sheev would never admit it. Besides, he loves Cresta as much as he hates her. And you don't divorce a faithful wife you love.
But, in the meantime until they reconcile, there is Lilith Talzin, the comely Mother Witch of Dathomir who is clearly down to fuck and full of creepy green Force magic.
Encouraged by his hostess' unguarded tongue and open manner, Sheev takes the conversation in a new direction. Lilith knows of the Sith, and she claims to know a Sith when she meets one. She even purports to have had a Sith visitor before. That all begs the question of whether she's met his Master Darth Plagueis.
Sheev fishes around, "Tell me, what Sith Lords have you met?" trying to make the topic seem like offhand conversation when in fact he's dying to know her answer.
She doesn't reply with a name. "There was a Dark Jeddai through here about ten standard years ago."
"Oh? Who was he? What was his name?"
"Tyranus. Lord Tyranus."
Sheev's eyes narrow. Since the days of Lord Bane, there has been a single Master and a single Apprentice for each generation of Dark tutelage. Only two Sith Lords exist at any given time. The Apprentice either completes his training, kills his teacher, and ascends to the rank of Master, or he dies trying. In which case, the Master selects a new Apprentice and the process begins anew. There may be Dark Side adepts who serve the Master in the form of acolytes or assassins. And there are Sith cultists who are servant laymen of the Shadow Force. But those lesser men are not Apprentices, and they do not receive the same attention. And since he himself has been the Apprentice of Darth Plagueis for well over twenty years now, he knows for a fact that there was no Darth Tyranus a decade ago.
Watching her closely, alert to lies, Sheev refutes her tale. "There is no Lord Tyranus."
Lilith raises an eyebrow at him. "So certain you are . . .?"
Hell, yes. "There is no Lord Tyranus."
"Not yet, perhaps," she blithely muses, enjoying his fluster, "but in time, there will be . . ." She repeats her words again slowly, with relish. "There wiiiiiillll be . . ."
She clearly thinks she knows something he does not. Sheev parrots her prior challenge. "So certain you are?"
She looks him in the eye and confirms, "I am certain."
Fuck. Well, that's food for thought, if it's true. But it feels true and it sounds true. Fuck. What the Hell else does this weird gal know? For despite her open manner, Sheev suspects she knows far more than she's letting on.
And now, Lilith throws out an intriguing possibility. "Perhaps my former guest will someday be your Apprentice."
He likes the sound of that since it implies that he will kill his Master. Sheev is somewhat mollified. Especially when Lilith purrs out, "Master Sid-eeeee-us." She's stroking his ego and they both know it, but it works.
"Why did this Lord Tyranus come to Dathomir?" he probes.
"He came in peace seeking knowledge." She is amused and sardonic as she adds, "Like you, Lord Sidious." It's gentle teasing with an undercurrent of flirting. The witch is a coquette, he is learning.
He presses forward and flirts a little himself. It's all in the delivery, really. His question is straightforward as he continues his lowkey interrogation of his hostess. "What knowledge did you give him?"
Lilith leans forward to confide in a husky voice, "Carnal knowledge."
Oh. Sheev has no immediate rejoinder to that answer. But his face must reveal his surprise at her ribaldry. He's no prude, but neither is he so overt. He's a powerful man who lives a life of deceit, and in maturity that makes him cautious. He's also not a ladies' man. That's his Master's schtick.
Lilith erupts into throaty laughter. Throwing back her head to cackle heartily at his reaction. It's a very witchy cackle.
Heh heh. He makes an attempt to join in. Like the joke's not on him.
"Lord Tyranus did me a great favor, and in return I showed him a few skills." She makes 'skills' sound like advanced sex kink, not Force knowledge. "We parted friends."
"I see."
"I liked him."
"Where is he now?"
"I have no idea." She flashes a saucy smirk, shrugs her shoulders, and downs a large gulp of her water with gusto. It's his first inkling that the Mother Witch is a fickle woman of large appetites.
"I have never met a witch before."
"Few have." She is smug about that fact.
Frankly, he doesn't understand her attitude. He's angling for Dark glory—namely, to rule the galaxy. For what is the point of power if it has no uses? If it languishes here on the edge of the galaxy in stone age subsistence? He might be a secret Sith now, but he's far from anonymous. And one day, when the Jedi are gone and the Republic falls, he will achieve the status he needs to live openly as Darth Sidious. Everyone will know him, respect him, and fear him as Emperor Palpatine. Especially if he ever manages to build the Death Star super weapon his Master conceived of.
How can the witches be content to remain here anonymously? He doesn't get it. And then, it occurs to him: "Do you hide here?"
"Hide from who?"
"From the Jedi."
"No."
"You don't fear them?"
"No. Should I? Do you?"
"No!" Hell no.
"I don't fear them either."
"But aren't you a threat to them?"
"In what way?"
"They seek to control the Force. To restrict the Force." That's the Light Side's angle: they hoard power, limit power, and deny power. It's because deep down they fear the power within them.
Lilith scoffs. "Such fools . . ."
"Indeed. But they consider all Force users other than themselves to be an existential threat."
Lilith is unbothered. "The Jedi know we are here. They've known all along. They wisely leave us alone."
Now again, Sheev detects the streak of ruthlessness in her.
But the strategy makes sense. He reasons aloud, "The Jedi tolerate you because you keep to yourselves. You don't threaten them. Not like we do." The Sith are most definitely an existential threat to the Jedi Order.
"Lord Sidious, we witches have been around since long before the Jedi and the Sith, and we will be around long after you're all gone. We understand the true nature of the Force."
"Does that matter? No one cares. You have no influence," he counters.
"Eternal things do not need ambition." Lilith shrugs. It's a little maddening.
He raises an eyebrow at her in cool silence.
In return, she doubles down on her contention. "Truth does not need a pithy communication strategy. Nor does it need conquest to prove its appeal. We endure. We win."
Not if he has anything to say about it. The winners in the battle for the galaxy will be the Sith.
She disagrees. "Strive away, Daaaaarrrrrth Sid-eeee-us," she coos in that singsong voice of hers. "But leave us out of your plans." Looking him the eye, she tells him firmly, "We want no part in the revenge of the Sith."
Is she asking for detente? Sheev is noncommittal. He changes the topic. "Where are the men? I only saw women on my way here."
"The Brothers are in their village. It's not far from us."
"The sexes live apart?"
"Yes. The Brothers have their place, and we have ours. They are warriors for the Coven, and they perform much of the manual labor. Men are better suited for that sort of thing. They need physical outlets."
"Who's in charge?" Is there a Father Witch to govern the Brothers, like Lilith rules the Sisters?
She laughs off the question. "They are men. They are always competing for dominance. Who's in charge over there depends on what month it is."
"Who's in charge now? Who's your counterpart?" he presses.
"I have no counterpart. I am Mother. All in the Coven answer to me."
"I see." She is the girl boss of her kind, like he suspected.
"You seem tired, Lord Sidious. Anxious as well."
Is she calling him weak? "I'm fine."
"You are unbalanced." She says it again, this time with less censure and more compassion. "What troubles you?" She invites him kindly to open up.
And wait—is this some kind of therapy session? Because Sith Lords don't unburden themselves, especially to potential rival Force users. But yeah, he is troubled. Isn't every guy his age restless? He's an overworked and undersexed middle-aged man who feels stalled in his career and stuck in a rut of dysfunction with a wife who has never fully embraced his ambitions. Things aren't exactly bad, but they aren't good either. For while he has achieved a lot, he still feels unfulfilled. Moreover, he worries he will be stuck permanently in this status because that's the job of the Apprentice: to do the work while the Master reaps the glory.
"What troubles you? How can I help you?" the mysterious witch coaxes again.
Sheev blurts out, "Kill my Master."
That's the solution to all his problems: power. He wants out from under the thumb of Darth Plagueis, who drags out the lead-up to the war unnecessarily. Who made worrisome modifications to the clone project after it was underway. Who swans around Coruscant to constant media praise and universal admiration that is as irritating as it is useful. His Master is the glib asshole whose long-ago meddling ruined his relationship with Cresta back when it was first getting started. Plagueis is overbearing and overly cautious, and Sheev hates him. It's about business, but it's also personal. Fuck it—it's everything! He hates everything about Hego Damask aka Darth Plagueis. The only solution is to kill him. It will be sweet revenge, Dark justice, and the final step to complete his Sith training.
Lilith must sense his spiraling Dark thoughts. "I feel the hate flowing through you."
"Yes." He won't deny it.
"You long to kill him."
"Yes."
"What's stopping you?"
"He's very powerful."
"Scared of him?"
Sheev nods. "With good reason." Plagueis is a fucking beast of Force power, a GOAT Sith Lord. He is Him when it comes to the Dark Side. Every damn superlative applies and is yet somehow inadequate to capture the prowess of that fucking Muun. It's intimidating . . . and demoralizing.
"Who is this formidable foe?"
Feeling reckless, Sheev betrays his Master's identity. "Darth Plagueis the Wise. He's taught me everything I know. That means it will be hard to surprise him."
Plagueis sent him here to kill the witch's kid. The logical play now is to betray Plagueis' mission to Lilith in exchange for her help teaching him a way to kill his Master. But Sheev will only do that if he thinks the witch has secrets that are useful. He will only take a stand against his Master if it gains him something. And if he thinks he can trust her not to betray him . . . So for now, he keeps his options open.
Lilith stands to her feet and exits the alcove. "Come," she beckons with a elegant, curved finger.
Sheev follows her back into the main sanctuary as she stalks to the central cauldron. Is she about to conjure something? Will she concoct some storybook witches' brew from eye of newt, snake venom, and a dead frog? Sheev knows nothing of actual witches, just the silly fairytale versions that feature ugly old crones who cast hexes, dance in the moonlight, and worship the occult. But he's trying to keep an open mind about this provincial sect. Because if anyone can teach him something completely outside the Sith tradition that his Master won't see coming, it will be this woman.
The Mother Witch is still holding her half-drunk cup of water. She splashes the remaining contents into the large, shallow basin. As soon as the water hits the cauldron, it instantly turns to steam. That steam morphs into a foggy green haze of Force that hovers above the receptacle. It's a swirl of unfocused power, full of intriguing possibilities.
Wow. Curious Sheev ventures closer for a better look.
"Your Master . . . this Darth Plagueis . . . think of him."
"What?"
"Picture him in your mind."
Okay. Here goes. Sheev recalls his last conversation with his Master. It didn't go well.
"Very good," Lilith intones.
And now, the green mist starts to pulsate and rearrange itself. It blazes out a temporary kaleidoscope of shifting shapes and colors before it coalesces into a discernible image. The picture is sharp, too. Like looking at a live newsfeed from a camera bot. Suddenly, Sheev finds himself staring directly at his Master standing at a lectern conducting a press conference.
"That's him? That's Darth Plagueis the Wise?" Lilith is unimpressed. "He's a bureaucrat?" she asks with disdain.
Sheev nods. "He's Magister of the Intergalactic Banking Clan."
"That explains why he's a Muun." Lilith correctly identifies Hego Damask's alien species. Muuns are extremely tall, rather thin humanoids with distinctive craggy and elongated features and grey-pink skin.
Her comment gets Sheev's attention. Does Lilith Talzin know far more about the galaxy's power elite than her rustication suggests? How has she ever seen a Muun before?
His Master—who is oblivious to their eavesdropping—appears to be taking questions from reporters. Look at him, completely at ease while on display and under public interrogation. Plagueis has a hand in one pocket and his shoulders are loose as he glibly answers questions about currency and monetary policy like he's the beloved star player on a sports team that just won a championship. The dude just exudes confidence and charisma. Who else could make dry talk of economics sound so engaging? Plagueis has mastered the art of being simultaneously authoritative and appealing. That's no small feat. By comparison, Sheev knows he is perceived as prosy and dull.
But wait—how can the witch do this? She plucked a thought from his mind and used it to correctly identify his Master on Coruscant lightyears away . . . And she can somehow watch Plagueis in real-time going about the business of his day? How is that even possible? Sheev stares dumbfounded at the wormhole in the Force the witch has so effortlessly opened.
Lilith is studying the Muun. "What makes him so powerful?"
That's easy. "He's brilliant. No one synthesizes information the way he does. He's got an analytical mind that understands the most complicated problems in simple ways."
"And?"
"He rich. He's the richest man in the galaxy."
"Rich in credits?" Lilith squints at him.
"Yes." Is there any other kind of rich?
"What else?"
"He's loaded with Force."
"So many blessings he has . . ." Lilith muses softly. "And yet he is greedy for more . . ."
Of course. Sheev announces, "A Sith can never have enough power and influence."
"Yes, and therein lies their weakness," she remarks dryly. "So unbalanced," she shakes her head. Then, with a flick of her finger, the window into events in a faraway conference room on Coruscant disappears. The space above the cauldron is vacant once more. "That one," Lilith Talzin decides grimly, "bears watching."
She doesn't like his Master. Good. Things on Dathomir could get very interesting, Sheev hopes. This stupid mission could end up mattering far more than either he or Plagueis ever suspected. For this mission isn't about some witch kid. It's about the future of the Sith—namely, who will rule the coming new Sith Empire. It will be himself, Sheev plots.