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I-Five put a pewter-shaded hand on his shoulder. “I think perhaps you should wait until Rhinann has had a chance to ascertain what’s bothering her.”

Jax felt a twinge of remorse. He’d been so wrapped up in their discovery that he hadn’t given thought to Dejah’s apparent discomfort with it. He should have gone after her, he supposed, but this … he gave the light sculpture another appraising glance. This could be the perfect solution to his current quandary.

He wondered how the Elomin was faring in his attempt to comfort the Zeltron. He’d thought Rhinann completely immune to Dejah’s gentle emotional tugging and prodding. Apparently he’d been wrong.

“Dejah, are you unwell?” Rhinann stood on the threshold of the Zeltron’s room and peered in at her.

She had gone immediately to sit in a false window seat, staring at a projected image of her late lover’s equally deceased homeworld, Caamas. The Empire had seen fit to all but extinguish the elegant and gentle Caamasi, Rhinann recalled. Only a handful of those living on the planet, and emigrants to other worlds, had survived the scourge.

“Hiding,” she said softly. “Ves was hiding from me, Rhinann. He had surrounded himself with objects behind which he could hide from me emotionally—withhold himself from me—whenever he wished.”

“Perhaps he didn’t realize that,” Rhinann said. He felt excruciatingly uncomfortable—the only species that found speaking about emotions more anathema than Elomin were Givin.

She shook her head. “No, he knew it. He must have known it, to have used it so carefully that I never suspected. If it were a random effect, he would have disappeared emotionally at random moments, not … merely when he wanted to. Not merely how he wanted to.” She seemed to struggle for a moment with the idea, then added, “I thought I was party to his private thoughts and feelings, the direct reflection of his soul. But he was only allowing me to catch a muted echo.”

“Oh, surely he wouldn’t be so cruel.”

“He wasn’t being cruel.” She looked up at him with wide, tear-filled eyes. “He was just being private, independent. It’s too much to expect a non-Zeltron to be as—as public as we are. He just wanted to keep some of himself … for himself. And so he died, surrounded by his barrier of light. It has always bothered me that I didn’t feel even a touch of fear or pain from him that day, and now I understand why. Even the day his world died …” She put a hand up to her mouth.

“I doubt you would have wanted to feel that, my dear,” said Rhinann, trying to go for an avuncular impression. “Your kind are not known for their tolerance of negative emotions.”

“No, and right now I’m feeling … betrayed. I know I shouldn’t. I know it was just his way of retaining a sense of privacy, but …”

“Consider your friend’s kindness in sparing you the full brunt of his grief,” Rhinann suggested. “Perhaps that will assuage your feelings of betrayal.”

She smiled wryly and wiped her nose on the sleeve of her garment—a gesture that Rhinann found strangely charming, given his usual distaste for such things.

“Count my blessings, Rhinann?” she murmured. “An odd sentiment, coming from you.”

Yes, it was, rather. He caught himself, realizing what was happening. In her agitated state, Dejah Duare was undoubtedly pumping more pheromones into the atmosphere than she usually did, so much so that some of them were creeping past his natural immunity. He shook himself. He must not be distracted from his goal.

“My dear,” he said, retaining the endearment because he thought it useful, “can you be thinking that Jax Pavan also might use this technology to hide from you, as you put it?”

She blinked up at him, eyes sparkling with tears. “It—it … Now that you mention it, yes, he certainly could. He has the Force to hide behind, of course.” Her mouth turned up at the corners and her eyes shed bereavement as if it were a transient film, to be flicked away with a wink. “But that’s entirely different. The Force, even used to filter or block, has such interesting