As a Keshiri, Adari was so much less than Seelah—and yet so much more. She wasn’t touched by the Force, but she had a nimble mind, grappling with things far beyond her people’s obvious limitations. And she had the will of a Sith, if not the beliefs. Only twice had he seen her strength fail her—most important, the first time, when she had agreed to keep Devore’s death a secret. That had made so many things possible—for both of them.
Stepping before him, Adari regarded Korsin with her dark, probing eyes, full of mystery and intelligence. He took her hand and smiled. Forget Seelah.
Twenty-five years. He’d saved his people.
This was a good day.
You can read my mind. Don’t you know how uncom-fortable this is for me? Don’t you care?
Adari pulled her hand free from Korsin’s and managed a smile. Seelah’s “greeting” had only given her a mild shiver. But Yaru Korsin always looked at her like a cart he was about to buy at half price.
She tried to step back and continue down the receiving line, but Korsin pulled at her arm. “This is your day, too, Adari. Stand with us.”
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gaze, unsure if Korsin’s body would be enough to block it. But at least this was a discomfort she’d learned to cope with on a daily basis. Public spectacles, like this one, she’d never get used to.
And they had all gone so well for her, whatever her age or status. Right here on this site, she had stood accused as a heretic. And then, days later, she’d stood fêted as a hero—no matter that she had just brought a plague upon her people in the form of the Sith.
Now that the old plaza was buried under this new edifice, she was here again, looking out across a sea of ignorance. The Keshiri blithely celebrated their own enslavement, ignoring their countless brothers and sis-ters who had died since the Sith arrival. Many had per-ished in the lake-town disaster—but many more lives had been lost at hard labor, attempting to please their guests from above. The Sith had twisted the Keshiri faith so none of that mattered. Every vain hope the masses ever had was invested in the Sith.
Even Adari wasn’t immune. She thought back to her poor son Finn—bloodied and smashed. He’d insisted on joining the work crews on reaching his teen years.
No child of the Daughter of the Skyborn needed to work, but Zhari Vaal’s youngest had rebelled exactly on schedule, haring off to a work crew.
A scaffold, hurriedly erected, had given way. Adari had failed that day, too, flying her broken child to the temple and Korsin’s feet. Korsin had immediately come to Finn’s side, working his Sith magic; for a moment, Adari had found herself hoping that Korsin could actually return life to her son. But of course, he couldn’t.
She already knew they weren’t gods.
Korsin had earned a fight with Seelah that day—healing was herdomain—but Adari hadn’t given a thought to consulting her medics. The Sith doctors had been interested in the Keshiri only long enough to learn mill_9780345519412_2p_all_r1.qxp:8p insert template 2/25/10 1:27 PM
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that their diseases posed them no threat—and that they could bear the Sith no children. Maybe that was why Seelah tolerated Adari’s companionship with Korsin.
But that friendship was never the same after that day.
Adari had enjoyed learning from Korsin, but Finn’s death had woken her conscience. She’d meant one thing to her people. Thereafter, she’d mean something else—as the leader of the Keshiri underground resistance movement, made up of others who had come to their senses.
And now, after a dozen years, they were finally ready to act.
From the south, a thunderous rumble sounded. The Sessal Spire had been feeling its volcanic youth lately.
Safely remote, it nonetheless disrupted the perfect formation of uvak-fliers hovering over the procession.
Adari looked up at them—and then hard at Korsin, hair now slate gray. She’d learned to hide her thoughts from him by maintaining a steady, emotionless manner.
She needed that now, more than ever.
She managed a smile. Korsin had called to her for deliverance, years before. Soon, she would deliver her own kind.
I’m not the bargain you think I am. Neither is Kesh.
Seelah watched as the flight of uvak landed on the clearing below. Theirs had been a sloppy approach; not enough to ruin the day, but enough to call attention where it didn’t belong.
It principally did notbelong on the lead rider, now dismounting and stepping toward the staircase. For her twentieth birthday, Yaru Korsin had made his whelp of a daughter head of something that didn’t exist: the Skyborn Rangers. It was little more than a club of Sith hobby riders, useful only for public displays like this.
Nida Korsin had just shown it wasn’t even much good at that.
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That Nida was also herdaughter was a detail of genealogy. The child’s outfit was an abomination against fashion. Seelah imagined the uvak-leather vest and chaps were supposed to make her look rugged and active, but stepping up to the receiving line, little Nida simply looked comical. Seelah recognized her own eyes and cheekbones in the girl, though not much else; short-cropped hair and colored face paints made waste of whatever natural beauty Nida may have inherited.
The girl would never have made it through one of Seelah’s infamous inspections.
“She’s the child of the Grand Lord,” Seelah rasped to Korsin as their daughter stepped past. “What must the Keshirithink?”
“Since when do you care about that?”
Nida shuffled off the stage with barely a nod from Korsin. It was time for the real show.
Shrieks came from the crowd—first of surprise, then of joy. From locations within the multitude, two dozen costumed merrymakers in ceremonial Keshiri masks leapt high into the air, tearing their cloaks free as they did. Landing on ground cleared of bystanders by firm Force pushes, the black-clad acrobats stood revealed as the Sabers, the Tribe’s new honor detail. Crimson lightsabers danced as they performed intricate exercises.
The final flourish resulted in an explosion of delight from the Keshiri, followed by an announcement from Gloyd: “High Lord Jariad, of the line of Korsin!”
The lead Saber strode robustly up the central staircase to the dais, stealing Keshiri breaths with every res-olute step. Ebon hair and beard perfectly coiffed, Jariad made every pause a pose for history. The wild child of Devore Korsin and Seelah had come of age.
Lightsaber still ignited, Jariad stood before Yaru Korsin. Nephew and stepson, Jariad was nearly a third of a meter taller—a fact not lost on anyone watching.
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An icy look passed between them. Suddenly Jariad knelt, holding the lightsaber centimeters above the back of his own tanned neck. “I live and die at your command, Grand Lord Korsin.”
“Rise, High Lord Korsin.”
Seelah watched with relief as her son rose to a warm embrace. The crowd cooed. For all his title and family connection, Jariad was not Yaru Korsin’s heir to power any more than Seelah was; Korsin had long kept his succession plans private. The seven High Lords he had appointed were mere advisers. But if Jariad was a public favorite, Seelah knew, Sith and Keshiri alike would recognize his claim—one way or another. She was pleased: Jariad had acted just as she had advised. Yaru Korsin’s moment was due, but this was no place for it.