My Unfortunate Fate

chapter 67

Even distrust cannot mend bitter separation.

I am not happy, nor am I sad. At the moment, I am numb.

All I care about is work, this mission, and getting it over with. What we need to do is talk to the Pykes, ask about Silman and Sifo-Dyas, then leave with the information we seek and report it back to the High Council. That is all this mission is about.

But, in a way, I don't want it to be quick or easy. I am afraid to return to Coruscant, because that will require me to face my feelings. And my fears.

My mission partner has not given me a spare outfit to change into, even though we had time to do so. We had time to relocate our freighter to one of the landing pads lining the Pykes' palace, but apparently, that's more of a priority than comfort.

As we walk through the entryway of the palace, I wonder if Eyn's contact knows he's a Jedi. From the impression of their relationship, I don't think so. But on the other hand, maybe their relationship is nothing more than physical, or he is so invested in me that Zee is nothing more than an afterthought.

I do not want to wonder about these things, so I stop.

Two guards escort us into what I think is a throne room. There are many female servants—some in cages, some in shackles. Most are Twi'lek, but I count at least one Togruta. I am reminded of the Twi'lek staring at me in the bar as if I am nothing more than a decoration on display, perched on a barstool; and Ahsoka, on Kiros, determined to save her people from slavery. Unfortunately, crime lords like the Pykes have enough power to avoid scrutiny for these things.

Lom Pyke sits on his throne languidly, as if this business is a leisure for him. Pyke enforcers guard him on both sides.

"What is your offer?" Lom Pyke asks, blowing out a cloud of orange smoke from his pipe—spice.

Eyn approaches the dais first. "Two million credits for ten crates of your finest product," he negotiates.

Pyke tilts his head up. "I won't be swindled. Eight."

"Crates or credits?"

"Both," the crime lord says.

I flex my fingers, remotely handling the garter-like strap that holds my lightsaber. I undo its latch through the Force, waiting for things to degenerate. I know they will because they always do.

"We don't have that amount ready and available, I'm afraid," I say finally. In actuality, we don't have anything—only weapons and wit.

"Shall we walk?" Eyn says after a few seconds of considerate silence. "It's always best to be in a good state of mind when conducting business. Wouldn't you agree?"

Lom Pyke shrugs, and gestures for his guards to follow him down the steps of the dais. He comes down beside Eyn, and we start walking by the inmates and Twi'leks in skin-tight uniforms. I feel more vulnerable because my outfit is much too similar to theirs.

"Listen—we didn't come here for spice," Eyn reveals in a low tone. "We need information."

"Two outsiders have infiltrated my palace and lied about their intentions; should I see you out, or have you executed right now?"

The four guards raise their blasters at us. I'm not afraid at all because, if I willed it, I could simply throw those blasters to the ground with nothing more than a mind trick.

"You will give us this information," I say. I sneak my lightsaber out from under my skirt and summon it to my hand. I point it at him. "Because we are not outsiders."

Lom Pyke orders his men to stand down, then smiles faintly. "Ah, Jedi. After so long, we weren't expecting to meet one of you again."

I look down from his pale turquoise face and notice something—a necklace. The straight, silver wings of it seem familiar, and then I remember that they are. Silman's necklace.