It would not do for a Sith Lord to be jaunty or to wear his triumph on his face, but Celop Faro allowed a bit of spring to his step as he approached his master's throne room. True, the tidings he bore were grim, but he had them in plenty of time to stave off the danger—time enough that Lady Gasald was sure to be pleased. In the weeks since Eriadu, he and Darth Kra'all had spent most of their days together, comparing notes, murderboarding war scenarios, and moving assets on charts as they tried to make their numbers add up to the one great zero-sum: Triple Zero. Celop had shorted himself on sleep to devote extra time to monitoring his agents and hearing through his scattered ears, searching for that one perfect gem of information that would wrest from the usurper the affections of the woman he…he…
Loved?
It was a feeble word, a word of weakness, and too small besides; the Jedi had watered it down to meaninglessness with their insistence upon "love" for everything and everyone. And so many fools fancied themselves in love with Lady Gasald when they did not know her as Celop did, did not appreciate the subtle grandeur of her envisioned triumphs. Such fools merely desired her, and mistook their lust for something of real value. Celop could spend forever with her soft sighs in his ears and her warm body in his arms, but that was only the smaller part of his purer emotions. He…cherished Vedya; perhaps that was it. Like the rarest of treasures, a find of inestimable value. Incomparable. Irreplaceable.
Soon she would see he was irreplaceable too, and when she beheld that perfect symmetry, he would stand at her side as she swept the last remnants of the Republic away.
The two White Guards at the curved doors to the throne room allowed him in without a word of challenge, but he found another five arrayed across the lowest chevron step that led to the throne. Even Celop's spies aboard the Kiss of Death—a Sith charged with Intelligence would be a fool to dismiss the threat from within—had never gotten an accurate count of the White Guard's numbers, nor the name of a being who served in their ranks. Were they clones? Beings chosen to fit precise specifications? Mutated products of Sith alchemy, even, as Darth Hokhtan's bodyguards were said to be? It frustrated Celop that he did not know, and all the more that his master would not tell him.
Soon, he reminded himself. Soon she would know that he could be trusted.
He stopped before the center guard, folding his hands and gazing up into the dark visor of the helmet. The guard cocked his head sideways, then asked, "Yes, Lord Faro?"
Was that vigilance alone, or was it tinged with insolence? The helmet's vocoder made it difficult to tell. Celop opted not to make an issue of it, contenting himself with a cooled tone as he answered, "I wish to speak with my master."
Again the guard seemed to listen to words only he could hear. "On what matter, Lord Faro?"
Could that be anything but insolence? Celop let the dark side within him have a taste of the words, searching for a slight. White Guard or not, no being demeaned an anointed Sith Lord without consequence. Celop could squeeze that helmet until it buckled in; he imagined the low groan of agony through the vocoder as blood and brain matter leaked from the helmet's fractured seams…
A cool wind in the Force covered the flame of his anger, soothing it back down to a smoldering burn; no true Sith's fire ever went out. "A threat to her person which we must attend."
Tension fluttered through the White Guards and they clutched their weapons tighter. Celop allowed himself a faint sneer as he said, "Not now, obviously, or else I would be protecting her, not wasting my time with you. The threat is impending, and might be better managed than attacked with a blunt instrument. And that is what only she can decide."
He felt anger among the White Guards and offered a placid smile—let them choke on some insolence themselves. The lead guard did not answer at once, and in the end his only reply was to step aside. Celop swept past them all without another word, but as he mounted the stairs to the mezzanine gallery, he felt their eyes on his back. He almost whirled to catch them at it, but he remembered at the last moment that Vedya awaited him.
The throne, empty at the moment, sat on a dais at the rear of the central platform, beneath the banner that bore Lady Gasald's personal sigil. Off to one side was the table at which Lady Gasald convened her subordinate lords; meetings there had become frequent as they planned next steps after the triumph at Eriadu, though several Sith came and went, and usually a lord or two—including the usurper, curse him—was present by hologram so he did not miss anything. Across the mezzanine, the other satellite platform was given over to a holoprojector nearly the size of the council table. There, in the shadow of the glowing red holograms, was Vedya Gasald.
She wore blues today, from indigo the color of night between stars, to the cheerful blue of a cloudless, sunny sky. Her robes concealed rather more of her than Celop liked, though they were expertly cut to her form. What little of her snowy skin showed drank the red light of the holograms, tinting her pink as a Zeltron. The image brought Celop's mind back to the last time they had been truly alone together, the White Guards sent away, when he had brought her a feebler coup than today's…
"Lord Faro."
She had not turned to meet him, but he knelt anyway. "Master."
"Rise." When he stepped to her side, she gestured to the hologram. "Our first new destroyer, fresh from the shipyards."
Celop studied it. He knew less of warships than did Darth Kra'all or some others, but he could appreciate at once the danger of the vessel. "It appears fit for battle, Master. Bound for the fleet reclaiming Milagro?"
"Perhaps, or perhaps not, but not in this fleet regardless." She turned her head just a little—appreciating the lines of the ship from a new angle, Celop thought, but that perspective gave him a better view of the small smile that overtook her lips. "A gift for Lord Darshkére. I'm thinking of calling it the Triumphant Successor, given his ascendance from Lakalt's mire."
Celop felt his own smile turn to wood. Had she not already given the usurper enough? Was it not sufficient degradation to anoint him a Sith and christen his title with her body? To throw such a valuable war machine to the glorified rear guard of her fief… "A…a lordly gift, Master, to be sure. No doubt the Republic and so many others of your enemies would be eager to do him harm—to repay him for Eriadu, or his last master's depravities."
He had chosen the comparison to highlight what every Sith anointed for more than a month could see: the usurper was nothing more than an opportunist, his loyalty a sham cover for trading up—to say nothing of dodging the certain doom the Republic would have dealt him otherwise. Celop wondered whether he might even turn this destroyer against her given a sufficient opportunity…
"An unfortunate reality of our calling, but the dark side will favor only the strong." She turned her gleaming, dark eyes on him, her full, glistening lips curved into a pout. "I know that if your sources told you of such a threat, you would tell me at once, wouldn't you? The thought of that strong shield at my back failing…"
The idea of the usurper dying in the flames of battle—or better yet, murdered by his own ambitious apprentice; there would be some poetic justice in that—was so tempting Celop waged a ferocious internal battle to keep it off his face, but the faint tremble of disquiet in her voice gave him the victory. He desired nothing more than to soothe her fears away. "I would never allow any threat to you, my lady. In fact, it's just such a concern that has brought me here."
She raised her eyebrows, so soft and vulnerable it hurt Celop's heart. "Tell me of this threat, Lord Faro."
"Tirien Kal-Di is rallying a force of Jedi Knights to assassinate you, my lady."
"Kal-Di? You're certain?"
The sudden intensity in her voice threw him for a second, but he nodded. "Er…yes, Master, entirely."
She stared down at nothing, her expression more troubled than before, and Celop knew a moment of unease. He knew the rumors floating around about Kal-Di, of course—that he had twice challenged Darth Alecto and twice survived her, and that he had gone toe-to-toe with Vandak and come out on top—but he had never thought Kal-Di or any Jedi someone to truly worry about. Not, that was, until he saw the look in Vedya's eyes. She touched two fingers to the hollow of her neck; Celop appreciated the way her skin moved under her fingertips, but she cupped her hand for a second, as if holding something to her chest.
Then she shook her head, and her cool tone returned. "Go on."
"He has the support of some of the Jedi of House Pelagia in the Tapani sector, as well as a handful of others. They plan to come here to kill you."
"How do you know this?"
Celop would dearly have loved to claim the discovery for his own intelligence network, but Vedya's searching eyes demanded the truth. "An informant, my lady. I was approached with the entire plan."
"By whom?"
He told her, and she crossed her arms. "Interesting. And what price was demanded of us in turn?"
"That when our crusade marches on, the Tapani sector be spared. And sparing some of those involved in this operation. Not Kal-Di," he added when her eyes narrowed.
She traced one nail under her bottom lip, then turned and replaced the hologram of the usurper's undeserved gift with a tactical map of the southern galaxy. Celop had become intimately familiar with the view, as he and Kra'all spent hours each day poring over it, picking out this system or that to analyze its value and defenses. Vedya zoomed in on the Tapani sector, considering its worlds. "The shipyards of Fondor and Tallaan?"
"Useful, but not mandatory, so long as we hold Allanteen securely. They would expedite our campaign, but Allanteen can drive it alone, so long as Darth Hokhtan continues his attacks on the Perlemian and Valin Aresh remains alive for a while longer."
"Is it true he's captured Darakhan's apprentice?"
"Captured or killed." Celop shrugged. "Sith Intelligence controls the agents within the heart of the pretender's empire, and Lord Gy-Rond hasn't shared what he knows of that matter, but my spies have heard both versions. Certainly Darakhan and the boy have been parted."
"Such a tragedy," she pouted. "The bigot steals my vengeance from me."
Celop knew that Darakhan's apprentice had been on Milagro with his master's strike team two years prior—the catastrophe that had cost Darth Vaszas—and then again for the counter-invasion that had taken Halicon Karzded too. Although that reminded him… "Another of the assassins is Raven Kaivalt, my lady."
The faux sadness vanished in an instant. "And his twin sister?"
Celop shook his head. "When she wasn't included in the count, I asked. Evidently she has some philosophical objection."
"More fool her, and so much the better for us. Either is more vulnerable without the other's support. We'll kill Raven when he comes for me, then Raina when the chance presents itself."
"It will be almost impossible to reach any of them on Pelagon, Master," Celop warned. "The planet's own defenses can repel any major assault short of the war fleet, and if we sent a strike team small enough to slip through, there wouldn't be enough to touch them at the Kaivalts' fortress—not with so many Jedi there."
"I don't intend to strike them at Pelagon, Lord Faro," she said, moving away from the holoprojector and back to the mezzanine circle. "I intend to kill them all here."
"Here, Master?"
"Not aboard the Kiss of Death," she clarified. "I wish to court fate, not molest it. We'll let them reach the shipyards. You can construct profiles on all these beings?"
"Of course, Master. Some I have only descriptions, but—"
"Those descriptions will suffice when coupled with the others," she finished. "Go through our wetwork units and put together a kill team—those who have experience dealing with Jedi. I want no mistakes, and I won't sacrifice my shipyards just to kill a few Jedi."
"Of course, my lady." Seeing an opportunity, he suggested, "Although it occurs to me, Master…might this be an opportune moment to employ the White Guard?"
"The White Guard?"
"Unarmored, of course; there would be no blending in otherwise. But surely they're the most skilled fighters in our ranks apart from Sith, and—"
"My White Guard has its place, and its place is here," Vedya said with finality.
Stymied, Celop said, "Yes, Master. I'll assemble the kill team…unless you want any of them alive?"
She considered it, but shook her head. "I spoke in jest about the Padawan boy. Individual Jedi no longer matter, only the Order collectively. My star is rising, Lord Faro; the temporary pleasure of tormenting Kal-Di or Kaivalt is nothing compared to the true reward of crushing the Jedi Order entirely. Spare these few, hill the rest, and be done with it."
"Yes, Master." Though she had not said it, without any Sith on the death squad, it would be a simpler matter by far to kill all the Jedi than to attempt the trickier proposition of bringing even one in alive.
"Was there anything else, Lord Faro?"
Caught off guard by the abruptness of the question, Celop tried to regain his mental footing. Adopting a charming smile, he lowered his voice to ask, "I hope this news has…pleased you, my lady."
Vedya smiled, but Celop felt his rising eagerness shrivel. It was not her sultry, inviting smile—the one she had worn to welcome him into her charms—nor the teasing smile she employed when she wished to toss a scrap of affection to a starved minion. It did not even have the grace to be mocking, and so to invite the fury of the dark side and its attendant power. Her smile would have been pity in a being with the capacity for compassion; absent that, it was only disdain, the expression the galaxy's most beautiful woman would offer to some street urchin who professed his undying love for her.
But she had favored him before…rewarded him with a true taste of her treasures…
But how many others has she rewarded so? the dark side asked. Karzded, Vaszas…
Dead men both, he tried to tell himself, but the dark side was not sated.
And Nirrakin? He wants her. Aldelkeugh as well. And of course, who could hold her attention after her new pet, Darshkére…
"You've brought me an allegation from a betrayer, Faro, nothing more," Lady Gasald observed, unstirred. "And one who came to you, no less; you've done nothing more than carry on a conversation and come here to tell me about it."
Her words drilled through Celop's great triumph and showed its pitifully hollow core.
Especially compared to Darshkére delivering her the Jedi praxeum ship… the dark side taunted.
Lady Gasald sighed. "Still…"
The dark side that was fear silenced itself, while the dark side that was desire traced its tongue over his mental lips, imagining the many ways he could—
"You've made a start; it's not without potential," she continued, her voice silken again as that terrible, withering smile faded into a softer curve of her luscious lips. "Do as I've commanded, and as you propose, remembering your duty to aid Darth Kra'all in our preparations for war. And when the Jedi have fallen into our trap and died, bring me Kal-Di and Kaivalt's lightsabers. Then, my lord, I think I shall be well pleased…"
She traced one nail up his robes, along the side of his neck, and under his chin. "…and I shall see that you're well rewarded for your labors."
He reached for her; he could not help himself. He towered over her—he could break her, he thought, with the intensity of his wanting—but she slipped from his arms, and the Force sent him sprawling. She cooed a soft laugh that took the sting from the blow even as it inflamed his heart. "Go, Lord Faro, and bring me my Jedi."