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“Ah, good old Jagged Fel. How is old Durasteel-For-A-Spine anyway?” Han asked.

“He’s certainly got his hands full with the Moffs,” Jaina said.

“I should have reduced the number of Moffs he has to worry about when I had the chance,” her father said.

Shortly after Jacen’s death, Han, Luke, and several Jedi Masters had confronted the Moffs about their role in Allana’s supposed murder. Han, his heart full of grief and fury at the death of his son, even though brutal and bitter necessity had forced him to acknowledge that it had to be done, had placed the business end of a blaster to the head of the Moff who clearly had been tapped to take the fall. The Jedi present hadn’t stopped him from pulling the trigger. It was Han himself who made the decision to stand down, as the Masters had known he would.

Now, as Han referenced the incident, his wife and daughter both knew he didn’t mean the words he spoke. Oh, he definitely wished he meant it, of that Leia was certain, but that was an entirely different thing.

“He says it’s like babysitting evil intelligent children who take every advantage when the parent is away,” Jaina continued.

Despite herself, Leia let out a snort of amusement. “How very apt,” she said.

“Fortunately,” Jaina continued, “at least for the moment, they are also behaving like children. There seems to be enough snarling and sniping among themselves—and the mandatory inclusion of females didn’t help that, for sure—that Jag hasn’t had too many outward difficulties. But it’s a strain.” She shook her head. “This conflict between the GA and the Jedi …”

The turbolift had reached its destination, one of the small cafeterias, and settled to a stop. Jaina leaned forward and touched a pad to prevent it from opening immediately in order to finish the conversation. She looked earnestly up at her parents.

“Mom, Dad … it’s not helping anything. Not the Jedi who are having these … these problems, not the Imperial Remnant or the GA, not the public, not anyone or anything.”

“Certainly not young love,” Leia said wryly.

Jaina flushed slightly. “Well … okay, I admit, it isn’t really conducive to romance. But Jag and I are adults, and we know our duties. Neither of us begrudges the time and effort and diligence they demand. But the extra strain of dodging first observers and then reporters, the finger-pointing … well, it certainly doesn’t help.”

Han slipped an arm around Leia’s narrow waist and squeezed. “I don’t know about that. I kinda miss the moments when your mother and I had to steal time together.” He winked at his wife.

Jaina rolled her eyes and let the doors open as her parents kissed. An apprentice, a human boy about age five carrying a tray heaped with a disproportionate ratio of sweets to vegetables, gaped at them. Apparently Jaina did not want her romance to be a topic of conversation, but didn’t care if her parents’ was.

Leia didn’t much care, either, and patted the blushing boy’s fair head as they stepped out.

“Where’s the caf dispenser?” Han demanded. “And sterns, I’m starving.”

“Men.” Leia sighed.

KESH

TWO YEARS EARLIER

THE WINDOWS OF VESTARA’S CHAMBER WERE OPEN, ALLOWING A SOFT, cool breeze fragrant with the heady scent of dalsa flowers in bloom to waft congenially about the room. Vases containing other varieties of cut flowers were perched on pieces of furniture. Paintings from the finest artists around the world, both Keshiri and human, adorned the walls. Everything in the room bespoke beauty, calmness, and contentment.

Everything except Vestara herself.

She fidgeted on the chair, drawing a soft rebuke from her attendant, Muura.

“If my lady wishes to appear beautiful, then she must be patient,” Muura said in the soft, lilting accent of her people. Even after millennia spent with humans among them, the Keshiri had not quite lost the rhythm of their native tongue. Vestara liked hearing it, although the vast majority of humans and the Keshiri themselves regarded it as a liability. Vestara thought it was soft