Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [15]
Vol was the single most powerful individual on the planet. He had also amassed more than a fair amount of wealth over the years of his rise, because he had observed early on that often wealth was an asset to obtaining power. He did not, however, accumulate it for himself. Sarasu Taalon might have lusted after beautiful objects or beings, but Vol saw such things only as stepping-stones to tightening his control and solidifying his influence. His estate was lavish and lovely, his public rooms subtly speaking of his wealth and fine taste, but his private rooms were as bare as the apprentice quarters of the Sith Temple.
He sat now in a chair that was comfortable but simple, and he was surrounded by five holograms. Of all the number of the Circle, these were the only ones he truly trusted.
Well, he amended as he settled down with a cup of something hot to warm his old bones, trusted as much as the Grand High Lord of the Lost Tribe of Sith could trust.
Workan, of course. Yur—as neutral as any being could be and still walk the dark side path. Jesko Umarn and Ysadria Kaladris—lower in rank but rising swiftly, hungry for power and recognition and wise enough to ally with the one who could give these to them. And Sammul Sharsa, an older human woman, the widow of a former Lord; she had been chosen to step into his position after his recent—and, unusually, natural—death. They had had two children, one of whom was an artisan, the other a Saber.
“So,” Vol said without preamble, sipping the steaming beverage. “Tell me your thoughts on this evening.”
They did. He listened, interrupting each as they spoke in turn only with questions for clarification.
Some of them shared his opinions. Some did not, and he respected those opinions as well. He had not risen to this position—and stayed for so long, almost unchallenged—without understanding that dissenting opinions were often the most valuable.
It was Workan who brought up Vol’s greatest concern. “I am unsure about Gavar Khai,” he said. “Per your request, I have spoken with some of his compatriots. They have expressed concern over the girl Vestara’s true loyalty, and fear that therefore Khai’s own loyalty might be compromised.”
“Few dote on a child as openly as Khai did Vestara,” said Sharsa. She, apparently, did not have undue difficulty with overly doting upon her children.
“Vestara Khai was chosen by Ship,” Yur countered. “Many more Sith than just her parents expected great things of her.”
The usage of the past tense did not escape Vol. “We will deal with the issue of Vestara Khai’s treachery or service later,” Vol said. “Abeloth and Gavar Khai’s connection with her is the pressing matter. Kaladris—you were the one who debriefed our returning Tribe members. Give one or two the duty of keeping an eye on Khai and reporting back. It may be the father, not the daughter, who is turning traitor.”
There were more discussions, and plans, and then at last it was time for sleep. Vol would never admit it, but he tired more easily the older he grew. More and more, he found himself needing to take a few moments to utilize the Force to refresh himself. If only one could completely renew an old body, he mused. But he had to settle for knowing that his age was still more an advantage than a liability.
Part of his before-bed routine was meditation. Tonight he eased himself down on a simple woven mat located in a corner of the bedchamber. On the mat was a single candle in a glass holder. Vol made the most minute of movements with his index finger, and the candle flared to life.
He concentrated on the flickering little flame and reviewed the evening, settling things in his mind so that his dreaming self could focus on gnawing on the problems. He went back over the last few days in the same manner,