"What ever. I'm not going to annoy a Sith Lord by asking to make side trips. All the refugees will be coming across in the icecrawler later. If your gizmo exists, we'll send it back with Tan then." He shook his head. "And then I'm out of here!"

"That may be too late," Narsk said, entering the anteroom outside Arkadia's museum. No one was here, apart from two Wookiee Citizen Guards posted at either side of the golden portal. He checked the chrono as the guide parted. The Bequest was on, right now.

And the Jedi was witnessing it. She had to be. The guide who had escorted Kerra from the grotto had taken her up the same hallway, a corridor with no other outlets. In a third of a century, no Jedi had been allowed to see a Bequest taking place. The only possibility was that Arkadia intended to show off her catch-but the Jedi Knight would have to be executed immediately, as all the other Sith Lords watched. That was decorum, or the Sith equivalent.

What is Arkadia trying to prove?

The Bothan's fur rippled, his ears perking up. Someone was coming up the entry hallway: another of Arkadia's aides pushing Quillan, still in the hoverchair from the mercenary's ship.

Of course he'd be invited, Narsk realized. The boy had every right to attend the Bequest, even in his current state. But the teenager seemed oblivious to everything, his head tipped awkwardly onto his shoulder.

Watching the great door open to allow Quillan's chair to pass, Narsk wished again for the stealth suit. All the answers were in that room, with Arkadia. But Quillan wouldn't be paying any attention!

Where's a holorecorder when you need one?

Inside the darkened rotunda, Kerra looked from face to strange face as Vilia rattled off a list of Bactra's captive corporations, doling them out. Kerra gritted her teeth. She couldn't keep track of the names. Guy-next-to-Odion looked like an evolutionary throwback. No hair care in his his realm. Woman-on-Arkadia's-right hid behind a crimson mask barely visible beneath an ornate cowl. And one figure kept fading in and out, as if underwater. realm. Woman-on-Arkadia's-right hid behind a crimson mask barely visible beneath an ornate cowl. And one figure kept fading in and out, as if underwater.

Craning her neck to see better, Kerra slipped suddenly against the icy wall. Putting force on her injured leg, she fought to keep from making a noise as her bottom hit the ground. Above, the pieces of the branding tool tumbled from their holder. Kerra reached out with the Force to catch them, millimeters above the floor.

"What was that?" Vilia asked.

"Nothing," Arkadia said, tossing her head back and shooting Kerra an evil look. The ice queen straightened herself. "If the Bactran affair is concluded, there is something more to take up. I have custody of the twins, Quillan and Dromika."

Another sound of surprise, louder this time, went up from the circle. From Kerra's right, one of Arkadia's minions walked Quillan's hoverchair into the room. Arkadia brought the chair and its unresponsive passenger into the holocam's view, beside her.

"Is ... he well?" Vilia asked, looking with concern. "Is she well?"

"They are apart, but I have them both," Arkadia said. "They are safe."

"That's good to hear." As the old woman spoke, Kerra thought she could see Quillan perking up. There were too many images in the room for him to focus on-Kerra couldn't keep track of them all, herself. But he seemed to recognize his grandmother's voice.

"I claim their world and territories as mine," Arkadia said.

To her left, Daiman's eyebrow went up. "And the corporate interests?"

"They didn't have any."

Vilia sighed. "I see no objection to this," she said, glistening in the darkness of the room. "Just rewards, fairly won." She paused. "But the twins, themselves. What is to become of them?"

"I think it would be best if they were cared for separately," Arkadia said. "Dromika remains on Byllura, and I think she will thrive there-alone. But Quillan should have more attention. I was thinking," she said, "I was thinking that you you might provide it." might provide it."

Vilia seemed surprised. After a moment, she smiled broadly. "What a wonderful idea. Yes, that makes perfect sense," she said. "Have him delivered to me immediately. I will send coordinates of my current home on a secure channel. You have done well, Arkadia."

"Thank you, Grandmother."

Kerra looked from one to the other. She could see the resemblance now. Both in their clear, precise manner of speaking-and in their appearance. They shared the same searching, intelligent eyes.

Vilia turned again, as if admiring the flowers in her garden. "And I thank you all. It's so nice to see you again. Following your progress, watching you grow like this-it helps me keep going. Hopefully there'll be an opportunity for another bequest, soon." The old woman nodded to her brood and vanished.

And so did they.

Kerra gawked at Arkadia as the lights came back up.

"You're all a family," she said. "You fight with one another-but she can make you stop." She shook her head, mystified. "Why doesn't she make you stop? You can talk to one another like this-and you work together when she asks. Why don't you all work together all the time?"

"This meeting was ten minutes long," Arkadia said. "The span of actual actual cooperation against Bactra probably wasn't much longer than that. But Vilia does hold leverage, in all the resources from her own conquests and from her various marriages." cooperation against Bactra probably wasn't much longer than that. But Vilia does hold leverage, in all the resources from her own conquests and from her various marriages."

Vilia sat upon an enormous pile of material wealth, military power, and corporate holdings. Passing them out like presents kept everyone in line, everyone playing the game. The strongest Lords had every reason to see it through.

"No one wants to fail the Charge Matrica Charge Matrica. No one wants to fail Grandmother." Arkadia looked down at her brother, who seemed to be totally detached from reality once more. "I told you I needed something from you, Kerra. Well, this is it. I want you to carry Quillan to my grandmother."

Kerra looked at the siblings, stunned.

"And when she receives you," Arkadia said, deadly serious, "I want you to kill kill her." her."

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO.

"Kill her?" Kerra couldn't believe her ears. "She's your grandmother!" Kerra couldn't believe her ears. "She's your grandmother!"

Arkadia didn't blanch. "Yes. And she's grandmother, biologically or through adoption, to every person you saw just a moment ago. And it is because of them-because of her madness-that these sectors churn with conflict."

Kerra shook her head. It didn't make sense. But for a couple of flashes, the woman in the holographic image had seemed ... nice nice. The Jedi looked at Quillan, sleeping in his chair. Vilia had seemed genuinely concerned about the boy. And the others, too; she seemed interested in advancing all her grandchildren's lives.

"What Grandmother is concerned about is delaying delaying the day a successor will arise," Arkadia said. "It's the reason she staged the first the day a successor will arise," Arkadia said. "It's the reason she staged the first Charge Matrica Charge Matrica a generation ago. And now, this one." a generation ago. And now, this one."

Vilia Calimondra had accumulated so much in her youth that she never could have protected it all, should even a couple of her many offspring rebel. And that seemed a certainty, Arkadia said, for jealousy and hatred ran freely among Vilia's children by her three late husbands.

"Without the contest, sooner or later, she would have been forced to take sides," Arcadia said. And the side she really cares about is her own. If Vilia's children were just expanding her holdings by attacking the outsiders she suggested, like Bactra, I would have no argument. But she's been allowing-no, subtly encouraging encouraging us to attack one another. These little arbitration sessions are for show, just so she can throw some scraps of bloodied meat on the floor for us to fight over." us to attack one another. These little arbitration sessions are for show, just so she can throw some scraps of bloodied meat on the floor for us to fight over."

Dizzied, Kerra looked from one artifact on the wall to another. What Arkadia was saying squared with the history she knew, but it seemed so incredible. And one part didn't make sense. There had been a winner to the first contest. "Your father. Chagras."

"And my father died," Arkadia said. "That time of stability you remember, when Chagras lived as the sole heir? Vilia lived in constant fear of assassination from him."

"Did he give her any reason to worry?"

"Did he feel as I did, do you mean? I don't know. I only know," Arkadia continued, "that he died. Poisoned Poisoned. The weapon was a potent nerve toxin, so powerful it overcame all his abilities to heal himself through the Force. I looked for his murderer for a year, but he had so many enemies." Golden eyes focused back on Kerra. "A convenient convenient number of enemies." number of enemies."

Kerra grew animated. "You think she had her son killed?"

"Well, she certainly had her son kill kill," Arkadia said. "I'm not sure how far a jump it is in your world, but among the Sith ..."

Shaking her head, Kerra stepped from the wall and eyed the pylon. She hadn't seen any kind of communications system like it in Sith space. Without the Republic's relays, no one was around to maintain a network allowing so many so far apart to converse.

Sensing her interest, Arkadia explained that it was yet another part of the family legacy, provided by Vilia as a means of staying in touch with her grandchildren. And only she could activate it. "It's another way Vilia keeps control. I couldn't call on the others with it if I wanted to. My top technicians have been all over it. They can't figure it out."

Your top technicians were probably cooks last week, Kerra thought. "Why do you want me involved in this, anyway? If you feel like this, why don't you you do it?" do it?"

"I can't go with Quillan," Arkadia said. "Grandmother's paranoid. She has dozens of secret retreats. This is the first time I've known where she was-and I guarantee, she won't be there next week. Vilia's bodyguards constantly scan for familiar presences. I wouldn't be able to get off the ship, uninvited. I have second choices-but they are weak compared to you."

"And fail or succeed, a Jedi assassin means your hands are clean."

Arkadia paused. "Something like that. But this isn't just about me. It's about you, and the reasons you're here. You should want want to do this." She looked to the skylight, now transparent. Syned's sun was passing above. "You said Odion struck your home. Aquilaris, was it?" to do this." She looked to the skylight, now transparent. Syned's sun was passing above. "You said Odion struck your home. Aquilaris, was it?"

Kerra nodded.

"A free settlement outside our space, if I recall. In the margins. Now, Chagras sent Odion to conquer Aquilaris," Arkadia said, repeating Kerra's words from earlier. "That's true. At the time, his nephew still worked on his behalf. But Chagras was following orders, too." She stared Kerra down. "Vilia ordered the invasion of your homeworld." ordered the invasion of your homeworld."

Kerra stood her ground. Arkadia was working on her, to be sure, using logic and words to motivate her just as the twins' minions had used the Force. She wasn't going to have it. "Making this personal isn't going to make me kill your grandmother," Kerra said. She'd already foresworn her chance at revenge against Odion weeks earlier, on Chelloa.

"I think you sell yourself short," Arkadia said, stalking around the pylon like a vordebeast. "I've searched your thoughts-and I've seen your actions. Everything you've done. You're quite the guerrilla operative, for your own cause." She gestured toward sleeping Quillan. "Weren't you ready to assassinate Daiman-to attack the twins-just to ease the suffering of the common people?"

"Daiman's a warlord," Kerra said. "And killing one old woman won't solve anything. The rest of you-you're still Sith Lords."

"And we'll still squabble. But it won't be a contest. It won't be a race race."

Kerra looked to the napping teenager, then back up to the skylight. She had been looking for some way to make a real impact, something that would help all the people under Sith rule. But there were limits to what one person could do.

Or maybe not. Vilia had shown otherwise. And there had been that moment, that flash of ire during the Bequest. Kerra had seen it. Vilia was Sith, and a Sith was quite capable of the things Arkadia said.

But Arkadia was Sith, too-as was everyone at the Bequest. What kind of chaos might a sudden change unleash? Kerra had worried about a power vacuum in the Daimanate. What if killing Villa set loose something worse?

The decision was easy.

"I'm not going to do it," Kerra said. "I don't know what would happen. But I'm a Jedi. I don't work for Sith I don't work for Sith-and I won't help you, either." She gestured to the items on the walls. "Find another tool."

Arkadia shook, anger rising. Almost imperceptibly, the meter-long staff strapped to her back slipped through the air into her right hand. She touched the crystal at its center-and two brilliant shafts of crimson light extended from either end of the rod. "You were my best option," she said, raising the double-bladed lightsaber before her unarmed guest. "And you've just taken that away."

Stepping back toward the door she'd entered through, Kerra glanced toward the walls, looking for the tools that could be used as weapons. But as she did, the six other portals opened, revealing Citizen Guards carrying hefty blasters. Her options were gone, too.

Where's a torture wheel when you need one? Rusher leaned against the ice wall and tried to tune the Bothan out. The fur-face kept going on about wanting his silly stealth suit. Maybe Daiman had just wanted to get a moment's peace. Rusher leaned against the ice wall and tried to tune the Bothan out. The fur-face kept going on about wanting his silly stealth suit. Maybe Daiman had just wanted to get a moment's peace.

The more aggravating thing was the great door, tantalizingly shut just to his left. Arkadia's museum was in there, he'd been told. Rusher could only imagine what historical treasures might be inside. A real museum? In Sith space? He knew Arkadia had only summoned him here to discuss the refugees. But still, he wished the door would open, and that Arkadia would give him even a minute to look around ...

Suddenly the door did did open. Lightsaber gleaming, Arkadia strode out, followed by a small parade of warriors. In the middle of the group marched Kerra, barely visible past their armored frames. Her forearms were bound together behind her back in a single black cylinder, Rusher saw. open. Lightsaber gleaming, Arkadia strode out, followed by a small parade of warriors. In the middle of the group marched Kerra, barely visible past their armored frames. Her forearms were bound together behind her back in a single black cylinder, Rusher saw.

Catching a furtive glance from Kerra as the marchers passed, Rusher called after her. "Hey, wait!"

Arkadia interposed herself, allowing her sentries to pass with their prisoner. "I want your passengers here now, Brigadier. Are they fabricating the bushing?"

"Yes, but-"

"Then report to the main atrium," the Sith Lord said. "They'll bring the icecrawler in from the south garage bay when it's ready. Board it and bring me your refugees."

"And then we can leave?"

"Only then," Arkadia said, sternly. "I still don't need specialists in my organization." She spied the Bothan, lurking behind Rusher. "Narsk, we'll be able to do business after all. Are you up for some more fieldwork?"

Narsk nodded. "Always, Lord Arkadia."

Arkadia deactivated her dual lightsaber and gestured toward the open doorway. A human aide emerged, pushing Quillan in his hoverchair. Taking a datapad from her assistant, Arkadia ran her fingers quickly across the device. "Narsk, follow Quillan and Enbo here. I'll be along shortly to fill you in." Turning, she shoved the datapad at Rusher.

"What's this?" Rusher's eyes were still on the guards, disappearing down the long hallway.

"These coordinates will take you out of my space. Use them. Maybe the Chagrasi Remnant can use your services." Arkadia spun to follow her detachment.

"What ... what will happen to Kerra?"

Not looking back as she walked, Arkadia responded. "She'll get the same treatment due any Jedi in Sith space."

Rusher gulped. Seeing the Bothan's attention fixed on the chair-bound teenager, he inhaled and headed down the hallway after the group. Kerra was out of sight now, somewhere in that mass of mayhem. The kid had been a problem, but she didn't deserve the punishment of a Sith Lord. Few did.

"Listen, there's no need for you to go to the trouble," he said, searching for his best sales smile. "I can take her offworld with me."

Arkadia whirled angrily. "And have her charging around demolishing things here, just like she did in the Daimanate? Thank you just the same, Brigadier Brigadier." Her voice dripped venom. "She'll be drained of her intelligence about the Republic and the other Sith Lords she's seen. Then I'll destroy her personally."

Rusher's arms slumped.

From behind him, the Bothan called out. "Lord Arkadia," Narsk said. "For me to serve you, I require the return of some property from the warship. Something the Jedi stole."

"Make it happen, Brigadier," Arkadia said. "I don't care how."

Every bit of this was wrong, and Narsk knew it.

He watched as Arkadia and her coterie disappeared down the long hall. The brigadier stood up ahead, gawking. The human didn't appear to know what to make of Arkadia's actions. Well, neither did he. The Jedi had been condemned to die-but she shouldn't still be alive in the first place.

Narsk looked down at Quillan, being pushed past him by Arkadia's aide. There was no doubting what had happened in the museum. Kerra Holt had seen a Bequest, with all members of the great family present. She had to know about the Charge Matrica Charge Matrica. Narsk knew the rules, shrouded in mystery though they were: Kerra should have been executed without delay in order to protect the family's greatest secret.

That they are a family at all.