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Of course—Jaina.

Jag stepped to the rail and, without answering, gazed across the vast plaza toward the silvery pinnacle of the Jedi Temple. He could not look on it without feeling a pang of longing and sorrow. After his exile from the Chiss Ascendancy, Jaina and the Solos had become the closest thing he had to a family, and he still found it difficult to accept that they were no longer a part of his life. How Jaina could break off their engagement over a matter of duty and conscience, he simply could not accept—and the effort of trying invariably left him feeling sad, lost, and alone.

After a moment, Jag said, “You should consider replacing your intelligence officer. Jedi Solo and I are no longer engaged.” He turned and looked her straight in the eye. “She broke it off shortly after the assassination attempt at Pangalactus.”

Daala made a point of holding his gaze. The attack at the famous theme restaurant had occurred weeks before, yet Imperial Intelligence remained unable to offer more than conjecture as to who was behind the assault. To Jag, that meant the party responsible had been a very competent plotter, and that placed Daala at the top of the suspect list.

When Jag did not look away, Daala finally dropped her eyes and said, “I hope you don’t believe I was behind that.”

“No, Jaina had her own reasons for ending things,” Jag said, deliberately misconstruing her meaning. “Besides, when it comes to matters of the heart, she would hardly be inclined to take your advice.”

Daala’s mouth tightened almost unnoticeably. “I doubt it,” she allowed. “But I’m sure you realize I was referring to the attempt on your life.”

“What makes you sure the attempt was on my life?” Jag pressed. He knew better than to think Daala would ever let slip something incriminating, but he wanted her to know he remained suspicious. “Those YVHs were spraying more fire the Solos’ way than mine.”

“Who knows what they were firing at?” Daala offered a dismissive wave. “I certainly don’t.”

“Meaning you’re not the one who sent them.”

“Yes.” Daala’s voice grew hard and icy. “Meaning I had nothing to do with that attack—no matter who the target was.”

“Then I’d be very interested to know who did,” Jag pressed.

“So would I.” Daala turned away from the railing and gestured toward a table, where her waiters had placed some pastries and a carafe of caf. “Wynn thinks it was part of a conspiracy to undermine my government by making me look like a monster.”

“You’re saying that the assassination attempt at Pangalactus was all about you?” Jag followed her to the table and pulled a chair out for Daala. “That’s rather self-centered, even for you.”

“I only wish you were right, Head of State Fel,” Daala said, accepting the jab with a tight smile. “But I’ve been hearing some unpleasant rumors about a pro-Jedi bill being circulated by Senator Wuul. So I must admit that I’m starting to see a pattern.”

“Then I suggest you stop engaging in that sort of behavior,” Jag replied. He went to his own chair and sat. “You’re making it rather easy for them to paint you in a bad light, don’t you think?”

An angry glint finally came to Daala’s eyes. “If you’re referring to the situation on Blaudu Sextus—”

“And elsewhere,” Jag interrupted.

“And elsewhere,” Daala allowed, “I’m merely trying to keep order.”

Jag took a napkin and placed it in his lap. “At least you’ve shown me the courtesy of not pretending that the Mandalorians were there under someone else’s orders. Thank you.”

“You’re obviously someone who knows how to keep a secret,” Daala replied. “And to be frank, I need your help.”

“To put down the slaves?” Jag’s thoughts started to race through his mind at lightspeed. Daala had to know he would never agree to such a thing, not unless she had something to offer him—or to threaten him with. “I’m sorry, but the Empire isn’t in the habit of lending its military out for those sorts of things.”

Daala allowed her face to harden with anger. “There is more happening here than a simple slave revolt. The entire galactic rim is about to erupt in violence and