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And Vestara had been the most precious of all the things that had belonged to Gavar Khai.

Discipline was something every Sith child tasted almost upon emerging from the womb. It was the duty of the parents to mold their children well, otherwise they would be unprepared to claim their proper roles in society. Beatings were the norm, but they were seldom motivated by anger. They were part of the way that Sith parents guided and taught their children. Khai had not looked forward to such aspects of discipline, preferring to explore other methods such as meditation, sparring till exhaustion, and withholding approval.

He had found, to his pleasure, that he had never needed to lay a hand on Vestara in reprimand. She was seemingly born to excel, and had her own drive and ambition such that she did not need his to “encourage” her. Khai, of course, had goals and ambitions for himself.

He had greater ones for his daughter. Or at least, he’d had.

His reverie was broken by the sound of the comm beeping, indicating a message from the surface.

“Message from Grand Lord Vol, Saber Khai,” said his second in command, Tola Annax, adding quietly under her breath, “Very prompt, very prompt indeed.”

“I expected as much, once he received my message,” Khai said. “I will speak with him.”

A hologram of the wizened Grand Lord appeared. It had been some time since Khai had seen the leader of the Lost Tribe. Had Vol always seemed so fragile, so … old? Age was to be respected, for to live to an old age meant a Sith had done something very right indeed. But there was such a thing as too old, and those who were too old needed to be put down. Idly, keeping his thoughts well shielded, Khai wondered if the renowned Grand Lord was getting to that point. He saw his white-haired Keshiri second in command staring openly at the hologram; doubtless Annax, with her near obsession for determining weakness, was thinking the same thing.

“Saber Gavar Khai,” said Vol, and his voice certainly sounded strong. “I had expected to speak to Abeloth herself.”

“She is on Ship at the moment. Do not worry, you will see her when she arrives on Kesh,” Khai said smoothly. “She is anxious to create a good first impression.”

“I take it that since you are the one speaking to me, she has selected you to replace the late High Lord Taalon in our … interactions with her.”

“It has not been said specifically, no, but yes, Abeloth has turned to me since Lord Taalon’s death.”

“Good, good. Please then assure Abeloth that as she is anxious to create a good first impression, after our people have worked so closely and sacrificed so much for her, we are also desirous that our first meeting go well. To that end, we will need time to prepare for such an august visitor. Say, three days. A parade, showcasing the glory that is the Lost Tribe, and then a masquerade.”

Khai knew a trap when he saw one. As did Annax—who quickly busied herself with her controls so as not to look too obvious as she listened in—and the rest of his crew. As traps went, this was blatant. Vol was testing Khai’s loyalties. To force Abeloth to wait three full days before being received was to tell her her place. To keep her waiting, as one might a Tyro summoned for interrogation about his studies. Yet Vol would deny such, simply saying that he wanted to make sure everything was just right for their esteemed guest. And with the Sith’s love of ceremony and showcasing, the statement had the dubious merit of perhaps even being true.

Vol was waiting for Khai’s reaction. He was trying to figure out where the Saber’s loyalties lay.

And Khai himself suddenly realized, with a sickly jolt, that he himself didn’t know.

Abeloth had doubtless sensed the conversation and was monitoring Khai’s presence in the Force. For all he knew about Ship, she also had the ability to monitor the conversation itself. He addressed himself calmly to the man who ostensibly ruled the Lost Tribe of the Sith.

“Abeloth will be disappointed to hear that preparations will take so long,” he said, keeping his voice