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You’re not just doing it for Des, Lucia told herself, turning her attention to the color-coded needles resting on the cart.

Serra’s hatred would only fester and grow. She’d become more and more twisted each time she returned to inflict pain on her helpless victim. The loss of her husband had pushed her to the edge of madness, and this would take her over the brink.

She had watched as the princess had administered the various drugs, pumping them directly into Des’s system through the thick artery in his neck. She didn’t fully understand what the compounds were or what they did, but she had seen enough to gain some understanding of each one’s effects.

The black needle induced the spasms Serra had used to torture her victim; the yellow caused the convulsions to end. The green seemed to force Des back into his stupor. But the red needle—the one her mistress had given him at the start of the interrogation—had seemed to wake him up. It had to be some kind of stimulant or antidote, something to offset the drugs that kept him helpless and nonresponsive.

Glancing over her shoulder to make sure nobody in the guard room just outside was watching, she picked up one of the red hypodermics.

There were too many mercs for her to fight her way out—trying to win Des his freedom that way would only get them both killed. But she didn’t have to break Des out to save him. He had always been capable of looking after himself, even before he gained the mystical powers of a Sith Lord. She knew he was more than capable of escaping on his own if she just gave him a little help.

She gently pushed the tip of the needle into his thigh, hoping the drugs would enter his system more slowly and less violently than when Serra had plunged them into his neck. She knew it was possible she might accidentally overdose him, but even if Des died it was better than leaving him alive to be tortured over and over again.

Placing the needle back on the cart, she turned and quickly left the room. She didn’t have time to wait around and watch the effects. She needed to find the princess. If the drug worked as she suspected, he’d quickly regain his faculties. And once he was able to call upon the terrible power of the dark side, no cell in the galaxy would be capable of holding him.

She made her way back into the guard room. The mercenaries had returned to their card game, oblivious of what she had done. Serra and the Huntress were nowhere in sight.

“Where did the princess go?” she demanded.

There was a long silence before one of the mercenaries grudgingly looked up from the hand and answered, “She didn’t say. She just left.”

“And you let her go off alone?” Lucia demanded angrily.

“That Iktotchi was with her so we just …,” the man answered, his voice trailing off under her withering glare.

She realized they were mere hired guns. They didn’t care for anything but the credits they’d been promised.

“Lock the cell door,” Lucia spat out. “If anything goes wrong, hit the alarm.” That should give me enough of a warning to get the princess out of here in time.

Two of the soldiers reluctantly got up and moved to obey her orders as Lucia climbed the staircase to the hall above.

She didn’t care that when Des broke free he’d slaughter the guards. These men and women weren’t her friends or colleagues. She knew they’d kill her without a second thought if the price was right. They were mercenaries; their lives meant nothing to her.

But she still cared about Serra. Despite what she had done, she was still loyal to her mistress. She was still sworn to protect her life. When Des broke free, she knew he’d come looking for the princess. When the alarms went off warning of the prisoner’s escape, Lucia wanted to be there to help Serra get away to safety.

And if he catches us before we get away, she silently tried to reassure herself, maybe he’ll remember me. Maybe I can convince him to let Serra live.

First, however, she had to find her.

18

Doan’s scarred and ugly terrain rolled beneath