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“I hope so. Did you know the little girl would be there?”

Uncomfortable, Lecersen cleared his throat before answering. “No. She wasn’t on the reservation list. Too young to be counted, I suppose. I’m rather glad she survived.”

Treen’s expression grew thoughtful. “I’m not so sure. Had the Solos’ daughter been killed …” She turned to Lecersen with a pout. “Had she died, I think Han Solo might have removed Daala for us.”

JAG REMAINED STONE-FACED AS HIS DIPLOMATIC AIRSPEEDER DROPPED Han, Leia, Allana, and the droids off at the small, anonymous apartment that the Solos used for a safehouse. When they were gone, as Jaina curled up next to him on the passenger seat, he spoke for the first time since offering his apologies to the Solos. “When Han told me that Daala knew of tonight’s dinner, I should have canceled right then. Or rescheduled for a secure environment.”

She lay her head against his shoulder, trying to soothe him. She knew it might be a lost cause. Like her father, Jag tended to brood. For days. “You couldn’t have guessed. Your security had everything checked out. The attacker had foreknowledge, false identification, intelligence sources …”

Jag nodded. “It was someone highly placed. Either in Daala’s government, or among the Moffs.”

“Or both,” Jaina said.

Jag looked over at her. “You think they’re working together?”

“I think they could be,” she said. “Maybe Daala has arranged better terms with Lecersen or one of the others.”

Jag looked out the side window, watching the lights of the skytowers drift by, and considered. “Perhaps,” he said. “But I’m the one who wants the Empire brought fully into the Alliance, not the moffs.”

“True, but who’s to say that’s what Daala wants?” Jaina asked. “Or maybe you weren’t even a real target. Did you notice how surprised your attacker seemed when the Why-Vees crashed through the wall?”

He shook his head. “When they burst in, I was looking at them, not him. He was already dead, he just didn’t know it. Surprised?”

“Yes. It was weird.”

“This isn’t a criticism, just a question. Your Jedi abilities—did you feel anything before it started, any intimation of danger?”

It was her turn to shake her head. “One living attacker, who’d already settled all doubts in his mind, who’d achieved a meditation-like state of calm … it’s not unusual not to detect such a person, especially in a busy public setting, where emotions can run high. I did feel his surprise, though. And that tells me a lot.”

“Yes, but what, exactly? I’m not sure we know.” He looked back out the window for a few seconds, then abruptly sighed, shook his head, and looked back to Jaina. “Well, you do know what we have to do now, don’t you?”

Jaina furrowed her brow, trying to think of what detail they should be running down, what puzzle they should be trying to solve.

Finally, she gave up and shook her head. “No. What?”

“We have to eat,” Jag said. “I’m still starved.”

NEAR BRIGHT SUN HILL, DATHOMIR

They sat in the darkness, Ben, Luke, and Dyon, surrounded by rain forest foliage and the sounds of nocturnal predators and prey.

They were the predators. They intended for Nightsisters in general and Vestara in particular to be their prey.

Dyon’s face was briefly illuminated as he consulted his datapad. He snapped it shut again. “Still there.” His voice, a whisper, barely carried to Ben’s ears.

Ben glanced at his father. Luke was half in a meditative state, but nodded agreement. He could still feel Halliava’s presence, just as Dyon could still track the woman electronically—for a little while longer, at least.

It had taken some doing. Luke, Ben, and Dyon, the Jedi contingent, had hit on a plan. Vestara seemed too clever, too sophisticated in the ways of civilized and high-tech worlds, to fall prey to it, but Halliava might not be. Dyon had set his comlink on continuous location broadcast and, at a moment while Luke chatted with Halliava and Ben made sure that Vestara was nowhere within viewing distance, contrived to