Sins of the Father/Part 15

"She's gone to her bedchambers, Master," Zaella reported. "I followed her as far as I could without being detected, but I tracked her with my mind after. I felt her doze off."

"Good," Izkara replied—not 'good work ' , Zaella noted, just 'good ' . She nodded down the corridor, where the band was in the middle of a set that could barely be heard over a raucous drinking song. "And the other Hutts?"

"Some of them were there when I passed through. A couple were just coming back in, but I don't know from where."

"She's got a good racket going—the idiots will party as long as the booze and spice are flowing and the entertainment's there, but the real players are afraid to miss something, so they're all pushing themselves to stay awake this whole time. Serves us better; they'll run themselves ragged before the auction even starts."

"It won't make them any poorer, Master."

Izkara's lekku twitched in annoyance. "It might make them do something stupid. You've seen how the two Mandalorians are avoiding Pavac?"

"I would too, with his reputation."

"Use your brain! These are Mandalorians, they're all supposed to be brothers or some such nonsense.  But these two are avoiding Pavac like the Candorian Plague.  Mandalorians love killing people on their best days, and there's bad blood there; if they get too tired or lose too much focus, maybe they'll start a firefight and remove themselves from the contest."

"There's still the Jedi," Zaella countered. "They're not going to do something that stupid just because they haven't slept."

Izkara frowned. "No, they're not—at least, Kal-Di won't. You get anything more on that Rodian who tried to kill Rican?"

Zaella shook her head. By the time rumors of the assassination attempt had reached their auditory cones, the Rodian himself had been long gone, and Izkara had judged it worse to have Zaella away indefinitely than to lose the key lead. A few mind tricks, spiked drinks, and sloppy, drunken kisses that hadn't led much of anywhere had helped her trace the Rodian's steps through the palace, but the trail had gone cold before she could narrow her list to fewer than half a dozen suspects, and most of those had made a point of surrounding themselves with others, which in turn made it harder for Zaella to pick them off and uncover what they knew.

"Damn. They won't try again now that the Jedi are spooked, and if we don't know who they are, we can't change their minds."

"Maybe somebody else will—it's Hutt Space, the Jedi can't be popular here."

Izkara gave her a pointed look. "If we had another month of this, I'd agree; by then everyone would probably have taken a shot. But Runganna's not rich enough to keep this kind of gig going much longer, and once the auction starts we're in the endgame."

"If I could get Rican away from Kal-Di, maybe I could kill her," Zaella offered.

"Let's see, Zaella, would you rather do it with your lightsaber so even those Gamorreans could figure out it was you? Or without your lightsaber, so Rican can just carve you to pieces with hers?"

Zaella gritted her teeth. "I could get the drop on her; she's looked distracted for hours. Or maybe I could poison her."

"We've already had one failed attempt on a Jedi's life; another one and they'll be untouchable, they'll be so paranoid. If anyone's going to kill Rican, it'll be me, but not yet.  For now, keep looking for clues on our kindred spirits, and see what else you can learn that might be useful—now or in the future."

"Yes Master. What are you going to do?"

"If Runganna's asleep, I'm not going to miss anything critical. I'm going to take a nap.  Wake me when our host returns."

And without a further word, Izkara turned on her heel and headed down the hall toward their room. Zaella glared at her master's back; first she shot down every suggestion Zaella made since they arrived, and now she was going to sleep and leaving Zaella behind as a sentient listening device? If Zaella hadn't known Izkara feared the Dark Lord as much as she did, she would've thought her master was deliberately setting them both up for failure just to ensure Zaella would never receive her Knighthood.

She headed back into the party, raising her hood in hopes that its shadows on her crimson face would ward off attention. She watched the beings taking advantage of Runganna's hospitality, and the handful of beings watching them, and the cluster of droids watching everyone, for what seemed like ages. Eventually, a green Twi'lek male wearing a shock collar approached her and bowed.

"May I offer you my services, my lady?" he asked, giving her a winning smile.

Zaella ran her eyes over him. Runganna had provided him only a loincloth, and everything Zaella could see—which was almost everything—was toned, lean muscle; she thought she could've punched him in the stomach and broken her hand on his abs. The oil applied to his chest made it gleam even in the dull orange light, and his lekku were thick and long, one draped down his chest and the other curled around his neck. She imagined his powerful hands holding her body to his as, for once, she got to make all the decisions and he served her any way she wanted.

Even as she enjoyed the mental image, though, memory sabotaged her, and every crusty spacer and greasy Hutt thug she had allowed to grope or paw at her for information came back to her. Only obedience to Izkara's commands and the need not to offend Runganna had prevented her from torturing the information she needed out of them and lightsabering them when she was done with them. Did this slave feel the same way? Would he be happy for the chance to forget his troubles in the arms of a beautiful Twi'lek girl for a change, or did his charming smile hide loathing for her?

''It's a slave, it doesn't get an opinion. If you want it, use it'', she told herself, and yet her voice came out a snarl. "Get away from me."

The man's surprise lasted only as long as it took for fear to kick in; he bowed and hurried away until a fat Askajian flagged him down, licking her lips lustily. Zaella felt guilty that he missed out on her and got saddled with that pile of flesh instead, but after a moment she slapped herself internally. ''It serves; that's its job. We're not the same.''

She knew it was true, but somehow the smoke and the stink of sentient sweat became too much for her, and she stormed from the room. She had left most of her belongings in the room she and Izkara had been allotted, and she had no desire to see her master again—ever, perhaps, but certainly not so soon. But Zaella wore a pouch of her most valued supplies on her belt—things she wanted close at hand, or just didn't want Izkara to find.

Once she had gotten well and truly lost in the tangled corridors of the palace, too far away to hear the music, Zaella pulled one of the vials from the pouch. Most of them were clear, allowing her to see the green ryll spice crystals inside, but a couple were opaque. She must have given Guldroq the best time he'd had in a while, for he had tossed in two vials of glitteryll without even asking for an extra lash. She hesitated with the vial in hand; she only had the two, and she didn't want to waste the good stuff if something bad was coming down the road. If they failed to get the weapon, Izkara's wrath would be terrible, and they'd almost certainly be in a fight with the winners. But on the other hand, how many chances was she going to get to escape Izkara before they returned to Ryloth?

It was now or never. Making sure to cover the end of the vial with her hand so the light didn't activate it prematurely, she held the vial to her nose and snorted.

Wandering the corridors as she waited for the glitteryll to kick in, Zaella caught the hint of a fresh, cool breeze, and followed her nose to a circular terrace. A pair of Bothans conversed with a Hiitian, and Zaella felt their alarm as all three of them looked at her. Struck by a sudden desire to appreciate this place alone, she reached for their minds in the Force. She found them more easily than usual; it seemed the simplest thing to push that alarm into fear, and nudge the fear toward panic. She giggled as all three of them took the flight of curving steps back into the palace at a run, then turned to appreciate the view.

She had seen rain before, but it had been years, and she skipped to the edge of the balcony and thrust her bare hands out into the drizzle, appreciating the way each droplet tickled her skin. She leaned out to catch some drops in her mouth and almost fell, hooking her ankle around a baluster at the last second. Laughing at the close call, she caught puddles of rain in her cupped hands instead, splashing one handful on her face and pulling back her hood to pour another over her head. She shivered as each drop tickled its way down her lekku. Her concerns about the partygoers and her ever-demanding master seemed pettier now, here with cool water on her neck and the pleasant smell of water in the air. She loved the deserts of Ryloth, the way the sun shone on the stark landscape and the bare bones of creatures long since dead, but Circumtore had a beauty all its own, with the thousand ripples of puddles in the fens and swamps around the palace.

Thinking of Ryloth's landscape reminded Zaella of the last time she'd had time to herself to enjoy it, and she danced back toward the stairs, spinning in circles on the balls of her feet so quickly that her lekku whipped around, slinging drops of water on the stone. Circumtore's lighter gravity made her spin a dervish whirl, and she laughed to herself as she plunked down dizzily on a stair, pulling her datapad and stylus out from her pouch. Looking out through the pillars on the balcony to the drizzly landscape beyond, she started sketching, tracing the curves of pools, flicking lines for the patches of ferns, and layering on the thinnest of slashes to give the feeling of rain. Even as she sketched she knew she couldn't replicate the way the breeze caressed her skin and soothed aches deeper than flesh, but she felt at peace as she worked.

But in the end, peace was a lie.

Zaella was aware of the minds throughout the palace, a mess of hedonistic indulgences overrunning each other; she didn't bother focusing on any of them, but she knew they were there. Her telepathy had strengthened as the glitteryll seeped into her system, but even without it she would have sensed the agitation and struggle coming her way, because it bore with it power barely restrained.

She whirled around a few seconds before the Zygerrian Jedi, Rican, turned the corner. Rican stopped dead, eyes widening when she saw Zaella, and her hand drifted toward her lightsaber. In a flash Zaella was on her feet, datapad clattering to the stone as she gripped the hilt of her own weapon. "Try it. Just try it, Jedi.  Give me a reason."

Rican's nostrils flared and she bared her fangs, and for a second Zaella thought she actually would try it. She spread her perceptions out over the terrace, getting a feel for the fighting ground, but the Jedi swallowed and took her hand away from her lightsaber, holding it up to show it.

Good, now run off and hide, Zaella wanted to say, but the glitteryll flowing through her blood and into her brain picked up stray thoughts like she was snatching falling leaves from the air, and instead she asked, "What's got you so riled up?"

Rican started, then narrowed her eyes. "I get twitchy when people don't take their hands off their lightsabers. Silly me."

Zaella realized she still had a death grip on her own weapon; when she pulled her fingers away, they ached where she had clamped the hilt's ridged grip. "You're lying. There's something else."

Zaella saw the way Rican's hands trembled. "It's none of your business. What are you doing out here?"

"That's none of your business." Zaella's eyes flicked to the datapad and back, but Rican was quick enough to follow the glance, and she spotted it too. Opening a hand, the Jedi pulled it into her grip with the Force. "Hey!"

Rican looked at the screen, and surprise replaced the intensity of her gaze. She looked past Zaella, out over the balcony, then back to the datapad. "Did you do this?"

"That's private!" Zaella ripped it from the other woman's hand, pulling it to herself with the Force so hard that it stung her palm when she caught it.

Rican didn't pursue it, and the surprise on her face morphed to something Zaella couldn't place. "That's really good."

Zaella stuffed the datapad into her pouch without looking at it, feeling violated in a way that no k'lor'slug in a Ryloth brothel had ever made her feel. "I didn't ask you."

Rican's face hardened again. "Fine, be that way. We'll be out of here with that weapon soon enough."

Zaella conjured up her harshest sneer. "Keep dreaming, Zygerrian. Go sell a slave or something."

She had meant it as nothing but a condescending one-off, but she found she had vastly underestimated the Jedi's reaction and overestimated her control.

Rican stormed down the stairs, snarling. "Shut your kriffing mouth, you stupid little schutta, or I'll—!"

Zaella skipped back, shocked for a single second before anger and a wild instinct for self-defense took the place of fear. The dark side demanded action, and her hand flew to her lightsaber hilt. Rican matched the movement, but just as Zaella pulled her lightsaber off her belt, the Jedi lurched to a halt and looked over her shoulder; something like pain flashed over her face. She gritted her teeth, but took her hand away from her lightsaber.

Zaella stretched out with the Force, and her eyes widened as she sensed Kal-Di coming. She had only barely returned her lightsaber to her belt when he turned the corner, his eyes narrowed in suspicion, taking in the whole scene before he walked down the stairs and asked, "Is there a problem?"

"No. No, Master," Rican said. She squeezed her eyes shut, taking deep breaths. Zaella sensed her calling on the Force; she had the oddest expression, like she was trying not to cry.

Kal-Di studied her a moment, then turned his yellow eyes on Zaella, who fought the urge to flinch away. He kept his hands in front of his body, fingers splayed and steepled together, and his expression was so neutral it was almost blank…except those eyes. They were deep, but not the kind of deep eyes she could get lost in—they were deep like quicksand, like they would drown her if she looked too long. Even her spice-heightened telepathy couldn't feed her any of what he was thinking, but she felt the light from him like a harsh spotlight, blinding and exposing.

She couldn't hold his gaze; as she looked away, she heard him say, "Go."

"Yes, Master."

Zaella waited a moment, but when she looked up he was still there, studying her. He started down the stairs, and before she knew it Zaella felt the small of her back against the stone balustrade. Kal-Di knelt and picked something up, then walked toward her; Zaella knew she should reach for her lightsaber or call on the dark side to aid her, but she was too terrified. By the time he stopped within arm's reach, she was hyperventilating, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her neck.

Kal-Di held out his hand and said softly, "You dropped this."

It was her datapad stylus.

Zaella hated herself for how her hand shook as she took it back. She wanted to put that hatred into action, to let the dark side empower her and rebuff the Jedi, but she couldn't find it in herself to try; something about him rattled her to the core. He studied her for a long moment, and part of Zaella wanted to scream at him to say something, while another part couldn't bear to hear the words that would come with that cool, piercing expression.

He turned away without speaking another word and took the steps back up into the palace without a backward glance. Zaella pulled her hood back up and hugged herself as a rainy breeze brushed her back; the pleasant cool had turned cold, and the smell of rain in the air was muggy, suffocating. She looked out over the marshes and saw only a mucky bog waiting to trap or sink the unwary. Hating the Jedi, and Izkara, and this whole, wretched world, she fled from that ruined view back into the palace.