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No chance of that, Johun thought. To the guard he said, “Keep an eye on them. And don’t believe anything they say.”

The envoy led him on a long, winding journey through the various levels of the Fairwind. The holding cells were located in the bottommost depths of the great ship’s hull; he was meeting Farfalla on the command deck at the top. Along the way they passed hundreds of faces Johun recognized, fellow Jedi and soldiers who had fought by his side during the campaign. Most gave a curt nod or a quick wave as they went by, too busy with their own duties to engage in any kind of conversation.

There were also many faces Johun didn’t recognize: refugees from Ruusan. Many were evacuees brought here in the mad rush to escape the thought bomb, preparing to head back down to the surface to try to rebuild their lives. Others were men and women whose homes or families had been completely destroyed by the war; for them there was nothing to go back to but the painful memories of what they had lost. Farfalla had arranged for those people who didn’t wish to return to Ruusan to be given transport back to the Core Worlds of the Republic, where they could find a fresh start away from the horrors they had witnessed.

So many people, Johun thought as he silently followed his guide. So much suffering. And it will all be for nothing if any of the Sith manage to escape.

When they reached the command deck, the envoy led him to Farfalla’s personal quarters. She knocked once on the closed door, and a voice from the other side said, “Come in.”

She placed a hand on the console and the door slid open, then she nodded at Johun. He stepped forward and into the room, and he heard the door whoosh closed behind him.

The room was larger than he had expected, and decorated in the lavish style for which Valenthyne Farfalla was famous. A brightly colored rug of crimson and gold lay spread across the floor, and the walls were hung with works that would not have seemed out of place in the finest art galleries of Alderaan. On the far side of the room was an enormous four-poster bed, the frame fashioned from the timber of a wroshyr tree—a gift from Wookiee tribal leaders on Kashyyyk. The covers and pillows were woven from shimmering silks of yellow and red, and each of the massive bedposts was emblazoned with a hand-painted mural depicting a major event from Farfalla’s life: his royal birth, his acceptance into the Jedi Order, his ascension to the rank of Master, his famous triumph over the Sith forces on Kashyyyk.

The general was sitting at an oversized desk in the corner, reviewing reports on a monitor built into the surface. “You disappoint me, young Padawan,” he said as he flicked off the screen and turned in his seat to face Johun.

“I am sorry I disobeyed you, Master Valenthyne,” he replied.

Farfalla stood up and crossed the room, his feet padding softly on the luxurious carpet. “That is the least of my concerns,” he said, placing a heavy hand on the young man’s shoulder. His eyes were dark and sunken, and his normally joyful expression was hidden under a mask of worry and fatigue.

“Irtanna,” Johun said, hanging his head in shame at the memory of how he had used the Force to trick the pilot into allowing him to join her crew.

“A Jedi does not use his powers to manipulate the minds of his friends. Even if your motives are pure, it is an abuse of your position and a betrayal of the trust others put in us.”

“I know what I did was wrong,” Johun admitted.

“And I will accept whatever punishment you feel is necessary to atone for what I did. But there is something more important that we need to talk about first.”

Farfalla gazed into Johun’s eyes, then let his hand drop. The Padawan thought he saw a flicker of disappointment cross the Master’s face as he did so.

“Yes, of course,” Farfalla said, turning and walking back to his desk. He reached down and flicked the monitor back on. “The report from those prisoners you captured.”

“You’ve seen it?” Johun asked in surprise.

“I