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She tried not to guess at the meaning of the request. It could be that they were planning to accept her for apprenticeship and would therefore give her a real lightsaber of her own.

Or it could be that they were denying her entirely, rejecting her even as a Tyro.

Vestara forced herself not to swallow hard.

“Tyro Vestara Khai,” Grand Lord Vol continued. “Tell this gathering the story of the Return.”

Of all the questions she might have been expecting, that one most certainly wasn’t it. Vestara couldn’t help it—she blinked in surprise and confusion. Tell the Lords and the Masters about a belief that had been part of their history for millennia? The very cornerstone of their existence on Kesh? Was this some kind of trick, or trap?

She clamped down on the uncertainty and the fear that wanted to come along with it and instead allowed herself a small smile.

“I am certain this august body knows the story, but I obey the Grand Lord’s request,” Vestara said. She was pleased; her voice did not betray her with the slightest quiver. She straightened and clasped her hands behind her back, reciting the details of a story every single being in the room, indeed probably on the planet, knew by heart.

“When the Omen first crashed on Kesh, our forefathers were greeted warmly by the Keshiri. They were made welcome, brought safely down from the crash site on uvak-back, and treated almost as gods. The Sith soon learned why. The Keshiri believed that the arrival of the Sith was, indeed, an omen.”

Her gaze flickered to Lady Rhea. The older woman regarded her impassively. Vestara reached out, subtly, into the Force, but could glean no hint as to how her recitation was being received. She continued.

“They believed that the Sith were the predestined Protectors, who would protect the Keshiri when the feared Destructors would eventually return. The Destructors, according to ancient Keshiri myth, periodically descend on inhabited worlds to wipe out civilization and return all beings to their natural, primitive states. Research conducted in recent years does seem to confirm that such a planetwide catastrophe has been visited upon Kesh at least once, lending credence to the legend.”

Her throat was dry. Gamely, Vestara pressed on.

“The Sith felt that indeed they … we … were the ones who had been foretold, and know that it is our destiny to grow strong, to gain wisdom, and, when the time is right, to stand firm against the Return of those who would destroy Kesh.”

“Destroy Kesh,” said one of the Lords whose name Vestara couldn’t remember, “and other worlds as well. The Sith destiny is too vast to be confined to one world. Was this not taught to you, Tyro Khai?”

Ah, there was the trap. She cursed herself for not catching it sooner, it was so obvious. She was not yet able to control the blush that rose to her cheeks as she answered.

“Of course, Lord—” Ai, what was his name—Workan, that was it! “Lord Workan. But for five thousand years, we have not been—”

No. Oh, no. That wasn’t the trap. She’d walked right into the real one and mortification flooded her. Then she felt a reassuring presence, almost as gentle as that of her father. An assurance that while it was a trick, it wasn’t a trap.

Lord Workan smirked and glanced over at Lady Rhea. Vestara realized that it was she who had sent the brief brush of comfort. Lady Rhea, slender, tall, graceful as a sorumi doe, stepped forward.

“Everything we have known for over five thousand years changed yesterday beyond imagining,” Lady Rhea said in her deep, husky voice. “For the first time since the Omen crashed in the Takara Mountains, we have found a way off Kesh. A way to fulfill our destiny. This … Ship … has sought us out for that selfsame purpose.”

A little thrill went through Vestara when she heard the emphasis put on the word ship, as if it was a proper name rather than a simple noun, as she had done when thinking about the vessel.

“It is, as you have no doubt surmised,” Lady Rhea continued,