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“Upon receiving the message, the Council sent a team led by Master Tho’natu out to Ambria. I was one of the Jedi chosen to accompany him. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived at the camp, Caleb was dead.”

“How?” Serra asked, her voice low and devoid of all emotion.

“The Dark Lord learned about the message. Driven mad by Caleb’s betrayal, his injuries, and the corruption of the dark side, he butchered the healer, hewing him limb from limb.

“By the time we arrived, the Dark Lord had gone completely insane. He was still lurking around the camp and he rushed out to attack us, one man against an army of Jedi. Master Tho’natu was forced to cut him down to protect his own life.”

Serra’s father had been right. He had known the black-armored man would return. He had sensed the danger, and he had sent his daughter away. He had saved her life, at the cost of his own. And in so doing, he had helped destroy the man Serra feared more than any other.

A flood of emotions swept through her. Relief. Guilt. Sorrow. Shame. But drowning them all out was a fierce, primal anger. More than anything she wanted revenge. She wanted to strike out at the monster who had terrorized her as a child and then, years later, killed her father. Yet that was impossible. The Jedi had stolen that from her.

“What was he like?” Lucia asked. “The last Sith, I mean.”

“He was a tragic, pathetic figure,” Obba answered. “Thin. Frail. You could see the madness in him when he charged us. His eyes were as dark and wild as his hair.”

No, Serra thought. That’s not right. “He had hair?” The black-armored man’s head was shaved.

“Yes. Hair like an animal’s. Long. Unkempt. Matted with blood.”

An unthinkable suspicion was worming its way into Serra’s brain.

“Was he a big man?” she demanded, straining to keep the urgency from her voice. “Tall, I mean?”

The Ithorian shook his head. “No, not overly so. Not for a human.”

The dark-armored man was a giant. At least as tall as you, Master Obba.

Oblivious to Serra’s inner turmoil, the Ithorian continued his tale. “The lightsabers of the fallen Jedi were found in Caleb’s camp; the Dark Lord had kept them as trophies. Master Tho’natu brought them back, along with the healer’s remains, so they could be laid to rest in a place of honor.

“This monument represents one of the greatest triumphs of the Jedi Order, but also one of its grimmest chapters. The Sith are no more, but only at the cost of many lives that will be sorely missed. This was the price we had to pay to rid the galaxy of the Sith forever.”

Serra’s mind was churning, trying to put all the pieces together. She needed time to think, to figure it out. But she couldn’t do that here—not with her father’s name staring up at her from the stone. She needed to leave before she said or did something that would expose her secret and reveal her true identity.

“You have given us a lot to think about, Master Obba,” Serra said stiffly. “I will be sure to relay all of this to the king.”

Master Obba cleared his throat apologetically. “I have every confidence you will do so, but I would still like to send one of my own people to investigate and see if the talismans are still there.”

When Serra hesitated before answering, Lucia came to her rescue.

“What would be the point of that? I mean, if you’re right about Set Harth being the killer, wouldn’t he be long gone by now? He’s not going to hang around after he gets his hands on those talismans, right?”

“You are probably correct,” the Jedi admitted after considering her words.

“Then I see no reason for the Jedi to follow up on this matter,” Serra said, collecting herself enough to seize the opportunity Lucia’s quick thinking had provided her. “Given the delicate political situation on Doan, it would probably be best for all concerned if the investigations were conducted by the local authorities.”

She could see the Ithorian wasn’t pleased with the arrangement, but he had been backed into a corner. Caught in the web of galactic politics, he was now helpless to take action without turning