Chapter 29: Canto Di Sirene
—Part One—
Syrennè had felt and heard everything; the whole volatile exchange. From Kenobi's poor attempt at compassion, to the carefully controlled pain and rage she'd felt simmering within Vader.
Her master had returned today of all days, as if he were some gift sent from the Force itself. Today was her life-day. Today—she'd finally turned sixteen. Today, JainaTrevashan—the weak and frightened little girl; the pathetic excuse for a Jedi padawan; the timid and scared youngling who had once hidden inside a freighter's cargo-hold to escape Coruscant—was no more. The little girl was dead. Snuffed out from existence like the very Light that had plagued her. Now, she was simply: Syrennè, Sith apprentice to Darth Vader. And after two long and lonely weeks, her Master had finally come home. And what's more... it seemed his beloved wife had abandoned him. Left him behind with their two children, to abscond with Senator Organa and his rebellion.
As callous as it sounded, Syrennè knew now was her best chance to get close to him. Her master was vulnerable. His thoughts and emotions so unstable; they bordered hysteria. She'd felt his instability the whole time she'd cautiously followed him up the staircase toward his suite. But when her master had staggered at the top of the stairs, leaned wearily on the door and grabbed for his head, she'd known something was wrong. So, instead of disturbing him, she'd gone back to his comm-room and waited.
That was just over two hours ago. And Syrennè was done waiting.
She turned to face the mirror to do one final check over her appearance. She'd slaved day and night over her new Sith robes, wanting to fashion together something a little more reflective of her new station. The outfit wasn't as finished as she would've liked, but it was the best she could do with the limited resources available in the palace.
Her new black brocade-corset was the stand-out piece of her outfit. It was an ancient Sith battle vest made of reinforced black leather and armorplast. It was low-cut around the chest—showing off a good percentage of her cleavage— boned and plated down her core, and tastefully decorated with an assortment of metal buckles and chains. She and Malgus had discovered it whilst exploring the cave, hidden in an opened unmarked tomb, nestled amongst a pile of discarded artifacts and dusty old talismans.
Like Vader's old Jedi lightsaber, the corset had called to her, whispered promises of power. And, just like the lightsaber, when she'd lifted it from the crumbling sarcophagus, visions had assaulted her mind. Visions of two robed figures; both of them female. One, a middle-aged pale-skinned human, with yellow blonde-hair and black markings around her eyes. The other, a younger Ikotchi, with two down-turned cranial horns and an exotic kind of beauty that left one speechless.
In the vision, the two women had been talking. It had been impossible to make out the exact details of their conversation, but their relationship had been clear. The blonde human had been the Sith master, and the horned Ikotchi; her apprentice. The Master had been cautioning the apprentice, reprimanding her, reminding her of her place. And the Ikotchi, not appearing to appreciate her master's scolding, had seemed to be preparing for something. Exactly what the Ikotchi had been preparing for, had soon become obvious. And when the blonde wearing the corset turned away, the Ikotchi had lunged forward, ignited her red lightsaber and stabbed her Master in the back—Killing her.
The vision had left Syrennè's mind spinning. Wondering. Would she ever want to kill Vader?
At first, she'd thought the answer simple. Yes. Of course, she would. She was a Sith. And it was the way of the Sith for the apprentice to kill the master once they had learned all they could from them.
But then she'd thought on it longer, actually toyed with the idea. And soon realised, that no, she could never kill Vader. Not now, possibly not ever. Not with knowing exactly who he was inside the suit. Not with how close she was, and how badly she wanted more.
Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to think back on her days at the Jedi temple. More specifically, to the quieter days and nights she'd spent curled up inside her domicile, admiring the poster of Anakin Skywalker she'd had hung above her cot. Remembered the way his wavy golden hair had drifted on the breeze. The way his fierce crystal-blue eyes had sparkled like polished Corusca gems. And his smile; the charming yet mysterious smile that always hinted at danger.
So much power... so much charisma...—she'd often thought wistfully, watching from the shadows as he and Kenobi had stridden through the temple halls after returning home from one of their many battles. Some nights she'd laid awake for hours just staring at his poster... dreaming of him, occasionally even searching the Force in the hopes of touching his presence.
Her mouth went dry, as the deep sonorous echo of his now augmented voice replayed inside her memory. "A Sith takes what they want, Syrennè," he'd told her. "Crushing all who dare oppose them. Do you understand?"
Oh, I understand, my Master, she thought darkly, licking her lips. I understand completely.
A gravelly voice startled her from the daydream. "You should wait," said the voice.
Syrennè focused again on the mirror, saw the ethereal form of Darth Malgus looming behind her shoulder.
"You will appear desperate," Darth Malgus warned, frowning. "Desperation is a sign of weakness."
She fixed her gaze on the spectre, squeezed her hands into fists. "I'm not desperate, Malgus! A Sith takes what they want," she said, reciting her master's teaching. "And what I want, is my Master."
Malgus held her gaze, his burning stare as unyielding as always. "Your thoughts betray you, young acolyte. Your master will see through you. I recommend getting those rampant desires of yours under control... before you approach him."
"If he will see through me, then why bother?" she argued.
"It permits you time to assess the situation," Malgus explained, his voice tight with irritation. "Go in blind, and you risk triggering his anger."
But Syrennè was no longer listening. She wanted to look perfect for her master. Wanted to show him how much she had grown, that she was no longer the innocent little Jedi girl he believed her to be. She smoothed the stray strands of her hair down over her shoulders. Raised the cowl of her black robe high over her head. Then, turning around, smirked at the ethereal Sith. "Well, Malgus... how do I look?"
The Sith sceptically appraised her, looked her up and down from boot to hood. "The resemblance is uncanny," he said finally. "Though, I fear the unnecessary exposure of flesh around that skirt would be impractical during battle."
Syrennè turned back to the mirror, looked to her skirt. Well... to the two ankle-length panels hung front and back from her belt which served for a skirt. Unlike Malgus, she liked the way her legs were exposed either side. Liked the way the side-splits showed off her black knee-high combat boots underneath. Plus, as an added bonus, the absence of fabric around her hips meant less restriction, and better freedom of movement.
Feeling satisfied with her appearance, and more than ready to confront her master, she turned away from the mirror and went to leave. "Thank you for your input, Malgus... but the skirt stays."
Then, reaching the door, she glanced back over her shoulder and added, "Oh... and if I ever do actually get to leave this place, and join my Master in battle, I will keep what you said in mind."
"Well, Fett?"
The translucent blue image of Boba Fett flickered above Vader's wrist, the armoured clone bounty hunter finally answering his call.
Fett glanced over his shoulder. "The package is secured," he said, returning to Vader. "The upper level of the palace is locked down. She isn't going anywhere."
Finally. It's about time something went my way, mused Vader. "Good," he said, then tapped at his comm. "I am transmitting the coordinates to you now."
"Got it," said Fett. There was a moment's silence while he accessed the file. "Wait. Yavin 4?" the bounty hunter asked. "Planetary coordinates? Is that some kind of military base? I thought I was contacting the Senator."
Vader growled, clenched his fist. Just thinking of Padmé with Organa made his blood simmer to almost boiling. "There's been a change of plans."
"A change of plans? How do I know he's going to be there?" Fett demanded. "What if the Senator isn't on the base when I call?"
"He is there—I assure you."
The bounty hunter grunted, glanced again over his shoulder, presumably checking the Viceroy's wife couldn't overhear him. "Alright, alright. I get the Senator, then what?" he asked, sounding contrite. "Assuming this is more than just a social call."
"Tell him you wish to organise an exchange," Vader explained. "His wife... for Senator Amidala."
Fett baulked at this new arrangement. "Whoa, hold on. That meddlesome woman from Naboo? Two high profile senators now? She wasn't part of the deal. I want double."
Vader waved him off. "Credits are of no concern to me, Fett. Only results. You want triple? You shall have it—Providing... you succeed."
"Triple?" the bounty hunter echoed, then whistled incredulously. "You must really want that Senator."
You have no idea, Vaderthought irritably. "Well, Fett. Do we have a deal?"
"Give me five days," replied Fett, "and I'll get you your Senator."
"Amidala is of great value to me. I want her... Unharmed," Vader warned. His heart thumped hard; once, and then twice. As if pounding harder might remind him of its pitiful existence. Joining his heart, a quiet voice whispered in the back of his mind.
What if she fights back and gets hurt? What if she loses the baby? Vader considered this. Yes. Stunning her could cause harm to their baby. And, yes; he knew she wouldn't go down without a fight. No. She chose this. She chose this the instant she betrayed me. Vader gritted his teeth. Blocked out the pesky, annoying voice. Forced down its concerns.
Boba Fett was resourceful, if anyone could find a way, he could. But even so... it never hurt to be cautious...
"I mean it, Fett," Vader growled, jabbing his finger at the bounty hunter, making sure to leave no room for question. "No stun cuffs. No tasers. No sedatives of any kind. Do I make myself clear?"
If the bounty hunter was bothered by his aggressive tone, he didn't show it. As usual, Boba Fett simply nodded. "As you wish."
And with that, the holo fizzed out into nothingness, leaving Vader alone with his thoughts once more. He closed his eyes behind the mask, feeling the whump of another skull-crushing thump from his never-ending headache. By all rights it should've passed by now. Even the most brutal of mental attacks from his Master had only left him like this for a few hours.
For some reason, this one was persistent. He just couldn't shake it. Couldn't even ignore it by drawing on the Force. In-fact, if anything, using the Force seemed to make it stronger. Like whatever was causing the headache resented his attempts at silencing it. It was bad now. So bad, tiny flashes of light blurred his vision; hundreds of annoying, irritating, blinding little specks that darted and floated across anything he tried to focus on.
He'd long since grown tired of it. In actual fact, he'd grown tired of everything. The constant pain. The confusion. Never being good enough for anyone. Not having someone he could rely on and trust. The agony of simple existence was torture. What with the suit, and the prosthetics, the ceaseless stinging burn in his lungs with each and every breath the respirator forced down his throat.
But it was nothing compared to the loneliness. The knowing, that even though he hadn't killed her, even though she was still alive, his wife no longer loved him. Not in the same way she once had. He'd seen it in her eyes. A distance, a separation. Like an altered version of her politician's look designed especially for him.
And he hated it.
Sure, she may have said that she loved him, even believed it on occasion. But it wasn't the same. It would never be the same. How could it be? Even when his master had offered to publicly acknowledge their marriage, to hold a grand ceremony where they could renew their vows in front of the whole galaxy, she had refused.
Was Padmé embarrassed of him as his master had said? Was she that ungrateful for everything he had sacrificed in the fight to save her? And what of the twins? Had she abandoned them too, because she could no longer look at them? Because they reminded her too much of him? Reminded her of everything he had done in the past?
And at that moment, lightning exploded inside Vader's mind. Crippling. Searing. Stabbing. Like tiny bolts of electricity were striking the neurons in his brain and turning them to ash. He gasped and braced himself on the desk, too weak to combat it. Like the dyad attempt all over again, his master wreaking havoc inside his mind and tearing it to shreds. Except, this time, he had no shields left to stop him. No defences left to repel his attack. He hadn't even had the chance to properly recuperate.
"Stop resisting me!" Sidious hissed to him across their bond.
Vader clenched his jaw, snarled back. "I'm not... resisting you. How can I? I have nothing left... to fight you with."
"You dare lie to me, apprentice? When you know I see through you. Even now, you shield yourself!"
Vader heard it then. A tiny, pleading cry piercing through the blackened veil of pain. The cry loud and desperate, coming from his and Padmé's bedroom.
"Dada, no! Please, Dada!"
Luke!
No, he had to stop him. Had to stop his son from trying to protect him before it was too late. Pushing away from the desk, Vader staggered the short distance to his bedroom and paused inside the doorway, fought to regain his strength.
Luke was calling to him, crying and fighting to climb out the cot.
"Luke..." Vader choked. "Quiet... my son."
Tears streaming down his face, Luke shook his head, yanked on the crib railing and wailed even louder. "No, Dada — no let go. No, Dada — wait!"
But he couldn't hold on. His master hissed again along their bond, even as another violent explosion erupted inside his head. The explosion took his eyesight. Stole his breath. Forced him to his knees. Then, too tired to keep fighting, he fell forward, dropped to the floor, splayed out before his son in the cot.
• • •
"Master?" a distant voice called out to him from the shadows.
Vader groaned, tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't open.
"Master, can you hear me?"
The voice sounded familiar, but he couldn't place it.
Out of nowhere, a warm, soothing sensation suddenly swept over his entire body. It felt like he was floating, weightless inside a bacta tank; the healing gel tending to his injuries. He relaxed, drifted deeper into the sensation.
"Dada," came another voice—a child's voice. One he recognised in an instant.
"Luke..." Vader whispered, felt a sharp sting like razorblades had sliced up his throat.
His son. His son was with him. He wanted to see his son. Gathering his strength, he moved to push up, then stopped when someone squeezed his left hand. In seconds the warm floating sensation returned, and he relaxed back to the floor.
"Master... what happened?" the other voice asked again. "Are you alright?"
Vader groaned and turned his head, saw the knees of someone knelt alongside him. Cursing inwardly, he let his eyes fall closed again. "I'm fine. Leave me be."
"No, Master. I can't leave you like this."
He growled, frustrated with her insistence. "You can—and you will."
The girl's hand came to rest upon his shoulder. Upon contact, a familiar face flashed inside his memory. A young girl, a Jedi. With a long blonde braid, and piercing blue eyes that saw deep into his soul. Jaina was her name, he remembered her offering herself, asking for him to take her as his own. And soon after, he had. He'd taken her for his apprentice and named her Darth Syrennè.
"Let me help you... please," Syrennè pleaded softly, and hidden within her words, the faintest whisper of the Force urged him to agree.
With a great deal of effort, Vader pushed from the floor and slumped into a sitting position against the wall. He shook off the fatigue, looked to his apprentice. "Were you... attempting to use the Force to persuade me?"
Syrennè blushed and smiled sheepishly. "That depends on whether it worked." She waited a few minutes for him to reply, then glanced up and studied him from the corners of her eyes. "Well, Master... did it work?"
Luke crawled over his knee to climb in his lap, and Vader put his arm around him and pulled him close. He combed Luke's hair with his fingers, tenderly caressed the golden strands away from his face.
"That was bold of you, Syrennè," Vader said finally. Not wanting to look at the girl, he instead focused all his attention on his son. There was something off about her. An odd, pulling sensation subtly tugging at the edge of his awareness. And her lewd manner of dress made him feel... uncomfortable. He cleared his throat, shifted a little. "But... No, it didn't work."
"Oh...," muttered Syrennè, sounding disappointed. She went quiet and begun fiddling with her robe.
Vader welcomed the quiet. He took the opportunity to close his eyes and focus while he still could. Drifting into the Force, he slipped into a light meditation and set-about at strengthening his Force-bond with his son while he slept.
"Master?"
His moment of peace shattered like broken glass. Irritated, Vader broke from his meditation and grunted. "Yes?"
"What happened to you before?" asked Syrennè.
Vader ground his teeth, sick and tired of constantly being asked about things that happened between him and his Master. It was none of their business. Certainly, none of Syrennè's. "That... is none of your concern. And you would do well to forget it."
Only, he knew she wouldn't forget it. Nobody ever seemed to forget his brief moments of weakness when they just so happened to be around to witness them. And they were happening so frequently now, so much so he was starting to get concerned.
A gentle snoring sounded from his lap and he looked down. His son had made himself quite comfortable down there. So comfortable, he had gone back to sleep.
"Luke certainly seems happy to have you home," Syrennè commented, watching his son.
"Indeed...," Vader muttered. Now he had to work out how to get off the kriffing floor without waking his son. He didn't want to disturb Luke, he was so peaceful and content, and the pleasant feelings trickling between them through the Force were helping to soothe his own present worry and discomfort. Then a stray thought came to mind, and he snorted. "I am... unaccustomed to being wanted."
Syrennè stared at him then, her eyes glittering curiously. She opened her mouth and closed it again, as if going to say something and changing her mind. She looked down, went back to fiddling with her robe. "I know what you mean...," she muttered. "When you agreed to take me on as your apprentice, it was the best day of my life. Until then, no one had ever wanted to train me. You were right, you know, in what you said earlier. Jocasta Nu never wanted me."
Vader looked to Luke, uncomfortable with the direction their conversation had taken. He never intended to say the comment aloud, and now, it seemed the situation had turned into some impromptu bonding session. He supposed he should say something comforting to the girl, offer some flattering comment to put her mind at ease. As a Jedi, he would've done—but those days were long gone.
"I have to put my son to bed," he said, going to stand.
And Syrennè moved so fast, he instinctively reached for his lightsaber. She stood over his leg, leaned forward and offered her hand.
"Here. Let me help you."
He looked to her hand, forced himself to ignore the two ivory mounds of flesh hovering above his face she'd managed to squeeze inside that leather corset. It reminded him of some of Padmé's outfits. He'd often wondered how she'd ever gotten into them.
"Master, please?"
Aroused by the thought, he bit down hard on his lip. Remembered how the japoor snippet he'd given Padmé as a child had taken up permanent residence between her cleavage. Movement stirred at his groin at the thought, and he felt the suit grow tight around his hips. He growled, closed his eyes, focused instead on the rasp and hiss of his mechanical breathing.
Then Syrennè grabbed his hand—his lefthand—the one that was still flesh and blood.
Wait. What was this? A flurry of dream-like images flashed before his eyes. Syrennè; stark naked and lying beneath him. His heavy hands on her body. Her seductive blue eyes glazed and pleading as he pushed her to the wall. Her wanting gasps, her clawing nails, her yearning screams begging for more. Were these visions coming from the Force, or from her? It was hard to tell.
He squeezed Syrennè's hand—wanting to crush it, wanting to punish her. All the while, the images kept coming. He was choking her now, his hand wrapped tight around her throat, holding her steady as he drove himself deeper.
Part of him fantasised about taking Padmé this way. To just let go and show her the part he kept hidden. He'd come close a few times—dangerously close—but restrained himself out of fear of losing her. Padmé was his love, his life, he'd never consciously do something to upset her...
But, then again... she'd left him. She'd hurt him. And sometimes the restraint was frustrating.
No—What was he thinking? He didn't want this. He didn't want the girl that way. Syrennè was his apprentice; a means to an end; a tool he could use then dispose of when he no longer had use of her. But the images kept coming, and he couldn't focus enough to stop them—the visions of him so brutally ravaging the young girl staining his memory.
"Master..." Syrennè whispered. "Is... is everything alright?"
The concern in the girl's voice pulled him to the present. He opened his eyes, saw his apprentice watching, her expression tight with concern. He staggered, tried to focus and find his bearings. Luke was curled against his chest, his son's weight sending him off balance. At least he was still asleep. Now, he just needed to put him down with his sister, so he could disappear somewhere and find some place quiet to clear his head.
If only his bacta tank had arrived.
This was... unexpected. Obi-wan rubbed his eyes and focused again on the cell. Or rather on the two Jedi padawans huddled together inside of it. He hadn't expected this. Hadn't expected Vader to actually follow through with his commitment to deliver other Jedi survivors. Part of him hadn't believed he could, not after his massacre in the Temple.
But here they were. Two padawans. One; a fair skinned human boy. And the other, a red-skinned Lethan Twi'lek girl. Both in their teens, both terrified, their combined fear so tangible he could literally feel it.
His first instinct was to go to them, to see if they were hurt or injured in any way. But he hesitated. Vader had locked them in here for a reason, and seeing they were still alive, Obi-wan didn't want to do anything that might jeopardise their chances of survival.
Then again, the troopers didn't seem concerned with how close he was to the cell. He turned, watched Commander Appo. The Commander was stood beside a computer console, conversing with two other troopers who had been guarding the cell when he and Appo had arrived. Their discussion seemed to centre around some other group of troopers who had supposedly joined forces here on Dromund Kaas. Apparently, Jedi weren't the only additions Vader had made to his arsenal, now he was accumulating troopers as well. Perhaps Anakin was more serious about taking down Palpatine than he'd first thought.
"Commander?" Obi-wan called to the trooper.
Appo turned from his companions. "Yes, General?"
"Can I go in to them?"
The trooper shrugged. "Do whatever you want," Appo said nonchalantly. Then, he reached for the command console and deactivated the ray-shield. "Lord Vader said, they're your problem now."
"My problem?"Obi-wan repeated, curious. "Did he say anything else; about what I'm supposed to do with them, or where they would be staying?"
Appo shook his head. "No. Like I said, they're your problem now. My men were only to stay here and keep watch until you arrived."
"I see...," Obi-wan muttered. He looked back to the cell, considered the two padawans. So, Anakin was distancing himself from the Jedi? For what purpose, he wondered. Could it be he was feeling guilty about his actions? No, Obi‐wan told himself, dismissing the thought. As promising as that sounded, he doubted it was the reason behind Anakin's aversion to the padawans. It was more likely due to Padmé's absence, he certainly seemed upset enough about it.
"Look, General...," Appo called, interrupting his thoughts, and Obi-wan glanced back to the trooper. "If you won't be needing us, me and the boys will head back to barracks. Have to take every opportunity we can to rest. You never know what's waiting around the corner."
Obi-wan nodded. "Yes... yes of course, Commander. You go. I'm sure I can manage things from here."
Appo nodded, and the troopers turned for the door. Obi-wan watched them leave, still thoroughly confused by the situation. Was he meant to just leave the padawans here? Or was there somewhere else in the palace he could relocate them to?
The crypt wasn't particularly welcoming. It had this stale, oppressive feel to it, and it stank of death and decay. Shackles and chains hung from the stone walls, and the dim flickering torchlights were barely bright enough to illuminate the floor. It was more like some Sith torture chamber or tomb than anything else, and he shivered, caught himself wondering how many Jedi had met their fate in here over the years.
"Master?"
Startled, Obi-wan spun around. The boy in the cell was staring at him.
"Master Kenobi? Is... is that you?"
Obi-wan made for the cell, stopped by the young boy and knelt alongside him. It was no surprise the padawan recognised him; his and Anakin's identities had been so heavily publicised during the war that their faces had been plastered all over the HoloNet. But like many others who had once lived inside the Jedi Temple, this boy was unknown to him.
"Yes, young one," Obi-wan confirmed, putting his hand on the padawan's shoulder. "It's me."
The boy's fear soon gave way to confusion as he looked between Obi-wan and the twi'lek out cold in his lap. "Where are we?" the boy asked. "What are you doing here? Where's Vader? Have you come to rescue us?"
"Calm yourself, young one," Obi-wan said gently, and the boy shuddered and looked to him; his green eyes filling with panic once more. "Take a deep breath... try to relax."
The boy took several slow and steady breaths, seemed to try his best, but failed to curb the anxiety Obi-wan sensed. "It's alright, you're safe," he said, and this time he used the Force to emphasise his words, calmed the boy a little. "Now, tell me your name."
"Zekiel," whispered the boy. "I'm Zekiel... and this" —he called to the twi'lek, tried to shake her awake— "Riishi. Riishi, wake-up. Riishi, it's Master Kenobi—he's come to rescue us."
The twi'lek groaned, slowly lifted her head. She pushed from Zekiel's shoulder, gazed around the cell rubbing her scarlet lekku. "Master... Who?" she asked groggily.
"Master Kenobi," Zekiel repeated. "He's here to rescue us."
The twi'lek's two dazed yellow-green eyes finally found Obi-wan, and he nodded to the girl. "Hello there."
Riishi looked around again, still clearly struggling to focus. "Where are we?" she asked.
Obi-wan rose to his feet. "We can worry about that later. Are either of you hurt?"
The two padawans each shook their heads.
"Good. Now, I need both of you to wait here until I return. Can you do that?"
Zekiel's mouth fell open in horror. "You can't just leave us! What if Vader comes back?"
"No harm will come to you, I promise," Obi-wan assured them, turning to exit the cell. He still needed to call Padmé to find out what was going on before things got worse. Regardless what happened to these padawans, they were alive, and matters here on Dromund Kaas were his first priority. "But I have a very important call I need to make first. One that cannot wait."
"But what about Master Koth?" Riishi cried as he went to leave. "Are you going to save him too?"
What? Obi-wan stopped in the doorway, looked back to the twi'lek. "Master Koth?" he asked, confused. "As in Eeth Koth; the former Zabrak Jedi council member?"
Both padawans nodded.
Not good. Not good at all. Anakin had always held a powerful distaste toward Eeth Koth, ever since Qui-gon had fallen to Darth Maul. To hear he'd come across him now as a Sith didn't exactly fill him with confidence. "Where is he? When did you last see him?"
The boy and twi'lek exchanged looks. The twi'lek lowered her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. "The last time we saw him, he was about to fight Vader on Kashyyyk," Zekiel explained. "The next thing we knew, we were on Vader's star destroyer, with no sign of Tileeni or Master Koth anywhere."
"Who is Tileeni?" Obi-wan asked.
Zekiel met his gaze. "Another youngling. She was travelling with us."
Oh, Force no. Please... Not another youngling.
"Vader wouldn't tell us anything," added Riishi, the twi'lek's tears coming hard and fast now. "Every time we asked, he just got angry and said something horrible."
Obi-wan straightened, stroked his beard. That certainly sounded like something Anakin would do, especially if he was feeling out of control. He'd seen that behaviour enough times throughout the years to know. "I will find out what happened to them. After I make this call," he assured them, and again he went to leave. "Until then, the two of you are to stay here and await my return. Do not leave this cell."
"Yes, Master," the two padawans agreed.
Obi-wan left the cell, stopped just outside and pulled his com-unit from his belt. He didn't hold much hope for finding Eeth Koth; not with knowing how Anakin felt toward the former master. But today had been the day for surprises, so who knows, maybe he would get lucky. Time would only tell. Right now, he needed to contact Padmé, try to convince her to come back before all hell broke loose.
Needing privacy, Obi-wan gave a quick check of the control desk—where Commander Appo and the troopers had previously been talking— to make sure he was still alone. Then, seeing no-one there, he keyed for Padmé's frequency into his comm, turned left and started down the long passage.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
My apologies for the delays in the chapters being released. I haven't abandoned the story, there's just a lot of plot points converging all at once and it's proving challenging to align them into the correct order. I think I have most of the timeline kinks worked out now, so hopefully the next few chapters should be out more frequently.
Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy the chapter. We're approaching the climax now, not too much longer.
Next up: Padmé and the aftermath of her decision, another surprise for Obi-wan, some Sith Master and Apprentice bonding... and we gear up for the showdown.
Anyway, thank you for reading. And as always, MTFBWY.