The fist descended and sent Vestara flying, completely out of the grotto and onto the rubble pile that High Lord Taalon had Force-blasted from the entrance earlier. She tumbled across the stones backward, tucking her chin to prevent her skull from cracking against the stones but otherwise leaving herself unprotected. Three somersaults later, she slammed into a chunk of broken pillar and finally came to a rest, her head spinning and her body aching. Her barely healed shoulder had begun to throb again, and a line of stinging dampness confirmed that her old abdomen wound had reopened.

Two pairs of boots began to crunch toward her from the grotto mouth. Vestara struggled to her feet and stood at attention. This was the third time she had been punched, and she knew High Lord Taalon would not want to kneel down when he inspected his work. Her tunic and trousers were torn in a dozen places, exhibiting an impressive array of cuts and already darkening bruises. She had a split lip, a bloody nose, and two black eyes, but so far nothing that seemed likely to cause permanent disfigurement.

Despite her fear that High Lord Taalon would find it necessary to change that, Vestara would not have dreamed of begging for mercy. The fight against Luke Skywalker had left her father in far worse condition than she was, with a pair of blaster burns and an amputated forearm. Even Taalon was having trouble breathing because of some cracked ribs, and his cheek was as swollen and black as a guama fruit. Most alarming, his fall into the Pool of Knowledge had done something to his eyes. The pupils had grown so large that meeting his gaze was like staring down a pair of wells, and if Vestara looked long enough, it seemed to her that she saw two dim stars twinkling in the bottom.

The two men circled Vestara twice, appraising every detail of her injuries, and finally stopped in front of her. Taalon sent a chill down her spine by looking her up and down for several more moments, then turned to her father.

“What do you think, Saber Khai? Have we done enough?”

Khai’s expression grew hard and thoughtful, but there was an almost imperceptible arch to his brows that suggested how painful the question was for him to answer. The last thing he would want was to see Vestara seriously injured, and yet he had to know, as she did, that asking for too little might easily get her killed.

After a moment, Khai shook his head. “It’s certainly clear she’s been beaten, but will that fool the Jedi? We need something disfiguring—a broken nose, perhaps, or a burst eyeball.”

Vestara tried not to show her fear as Taalon studied her face and contemplated her father’s suggestion. The nose could be repaired by any competent surgeon, but the eye would be a handicap forever. To the discerning taste of the Keshiri, even the best prosthetic would be evident and considered a blemish worse than the scar at the corner of her mouth.

Instead of raising his hand to strike, though, Taalon shook his head. “Skywalker is clever. A serious injury, he would view as an effort to win sympathy and reinforce Vestara’s story.”

Khai nodded. “Yet this will be enough to play the boy’s sympathy,” he observed. “He’s still very naïve.”

“Indeed. We also avoid the question of how a mere apprentice managed to escape from us without injury.” Taalon grabbed Vestara beneath the jaw and turned her head to inspect his handiwork more closely. “Has the Skywalker boy fallen in love with you?”

Vestara felt the heat rising to her cheeks, but she answered honestly. “I’m not sure it’s love yet,” she replied. “But I do know he entertains fantasies of turning me to the light side.”

Taalon’s brow cocked. “Does he?” He glanced over at Khai. “How would you feel about a Jedi daughter, Saber Khai?”

Khai’s smile was quick and cynical. “Nothing would make me prouder, High Lord … as long as she remains Sith on the inside.”

“Yes, that would be necessary,” Taalon confirmed. He continued to hold Vestara by the jaw. “And you, child? What are your feelings about the Skywalker boy?”

Vestara let her eyes drop, then admitted, “I’m not sure, my lord.” She did not even consider trying to lie; any attempt was doomed to fail, and it would only make Taalon suspicious of her motives. “I think I may be falling in love with him, but …”

She let the sentence trail off, not sure what else she had intended to add.

“But?” Her father’s voice was stern. “You’re not sure?”

Knowing better than to take the opening her father was trying to make for her, Vestara glanced up and shook her head. “No. I just don’t want to.”

To her surprise, this drew a sympathetic smile from Taalon. “But you must, my dear,” he said. “If young Skywalker senses that you are falling in love with him, then he will fall in love with you.”

Vestara’s eyes grew wide. “You wouldn’t forbid it?”

“Forbid young love?” A snort of amusement escaped Taalon’s broken nose, sending a spray of blood down Vestara’s ripped tunic. “My dear, there are some things even a High Lord cannot forbid. All I demand is that you use what you feel—just as you would use your anger or your pain. Can you do that?”

Vestara nodded, eager and relieved. “Of course.”

“Good.” Taalon continued to hold her by the jaw, bending down and moving in close. “You understand what we require?”

Vestara nodded. “I’m to learn the identity of the Jedi queen,” she said. “The one you saw in the Pool of Knowledge.”

“No!” Taalon squeezed her chin so hard that Vestara feared he intended to break her jaw after all. “You are to learn everything about her—not just her identity.”

“Yyy-ee-sss.” Vestara could barely squeeze out her reply. “I understand.”

“I doubt that.” Taalon continued to squeeze, the black emptiness of his gaze drawing Vestara in, making her feel dizzy and hollow inside, as though she were falling, tumbling down into the dark wells of his eyes. “This is an important assignment, Vestara—more important than slaying the Skywalkers, or discovering the truth of what became of Abeloth. It may be the most important assignment I have ever given any Sith.”

“My lord, I’m honored,” Vestara said, feeling truly flattered. “May I know why?”

Taalon glanced back toward the grotto. “Because I have seen it, my child.” He finally released Vestara’s chin, but she continued to feel trapped, lost in the abyssal darkness of his gaze. “Destiny has but one throne, and if a Jedi queen claims it, the Sith cannot.”

A heaviness came to the jungle air, and the flattery of a moment earlier became a burden Vestara felt ill prepared to carry. She knew she was strong in the Force, but the Skywalkers were mighty, and even Ben was a battle-tempered warrior whose experience went far beyond hers. The only advantages she could claim were her charm and her treachery, and she was not fool enough to believe they would make her the equal of Luke Skywalker or his son.

When Vestara’s astonishment kept her silent longer than was proper, her father stepped in to cover. “So our goal must be to discover this queen’s identity?” he asked. “And kill her before she can assume the throne?”

“Let us not limit ourselves, Saber Khai,” Taalon said. “It may be that even the Jedi do not know their queen’s identity yet. Perhaps she has not even been born.”

“My lord Taalon,” said Khai, “if the queen has not yet been born, how do we know there is anything for Vestara to learn? Or that the Jedi know any more than we do?”

“Because of when they attacked,” Vestara said, recalling how quickly the fight had erupted after High Lord Taalon saw the image of the Jedi on the throne. “Ben tried to get me to pretend we hadn’t found the grotto. Then, once we were inside, his father attacked the instant High Lord Taalon saw their queen.”

“Precisely.” Taalon stepped away and turned to peer into the fungus jungle. “The Jedi know something about this queen … and I know Vestara. She will discover what that is.”