Star Wars_ Fate of the Jedi 08_ Ascension - Christie Golden [83]
He stabbed angrily at the keyboard. What had she been doing? Sending—
Letters.
Stang.
He got as far as Dear Papa, before he whirled on Vestara. “I should kill you right here,” he snarled. “This was dated weeks ago! You’ve been spying on us this whole time, just like my dad said!”
She turned to face him. She’d been crying, even though she was trying to pretend she hadn’t, and she wasn’t even bothering to hide her presence in the Force. That presence was usually uniquely sharp, bright, and strong. Now it felt … dull. Muffled. Not frightened, or angry, as it might have been expected to feel to him had she been plotting the treachery he had just uncovered. His brow furrowed in confusion.
“You shouldn’t jump to conclusions,” she said without rancor. “You’ve found them. You’re reading them, even though I practically begged you not to. Read them all, Ben. Go ahead.”
Uncertainty washed over him. Still frowning, Ben turned back to the screen.
Dear Papa:
I hope you are feeling better, and that the hurts you have recently suffered have been well tended.
The other night, seeing Ben blindsided by reminders of his mother, seeing how her loss still affected him, and seeing how his father instinctively reached out for him, to comfort him, I was of course reminded of you.
He felt his jaw drop open and closed it immediately, slamming walls down over his own presence in the Force. Vestara was reminded of her father watching Luke comfort Ben? What was going on? What in—
And then he understood.
Ben remembered thinking that Vestara walked on a knife blade in dealing with Gavar Khai. It made his own clashes with Luke years earlier seem like unimportant spats. Even at their worst moments, Ben had never experienced the sort of fear Vestara had to face every waking moment—knowing that if you disappointed your dad, you wouldn’t get a lecture and a sigh, but a lightsaber to your gut.
She had created a fantasy relationship with the parent who would indeed later try to kill her—whom she would have to slay in order to survive.
“I’ve seen enough,” Ben said, and started to delete the letters.
“No.” Vestara was angry at him again now, and he didn’t blame her one bit. He felt … embarrassed. Ashamed, at intruding into this deeply personal moment. Vestara’s wistful yearnings for the sort of thing Ben had taken for granted all his life shamed him. He shouldn’t have pried—but how could he have known?
“You wanted to read them? Then read them. All of them.”
“I … shouldn’t. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”
She laughed, harshly. “Too late,” she said. “Read them.”
So he did.
And I wonder sometimes what I would be like if I had grown up with a father who was cold and indifferent, or determined to drive me toward a hard destiny in a more cold and ruthless world. I’m not sure I would like myself, and I’m so happy that you have always been kind and supportive.
There was a second letter, in which Vestara expressed her gratitude for her “Papa’s” protective nature. The final letter, the one he had surprised Vestara writing, was the most astounding of all. Gavar Khai, a Jedi Knight? Vestara, his loving daughter and dedicated apprentice? In the letters depicting a completely false reality was a warmth and ease he had never seen between father and daughter in real life. Quietly, he turned off the computer, rose, and turned to face her.
He had released the wrapped blankets and now she lay uncovered, curled up, facing away from him. Words crowded his throat, too many to speak all at once. Ben stood for a while, until it became awkward, then muttered, “Ah, to hell with it,” and lay down beside her. Knowing he’d get an elbow to the stomach or worse if this was the wrong thing to do, he wrapped an arm around her slender waist and curled his body protectively around hers.
She lay still, stiff in his embrace, and then he felt her shaking with silent sobs. His heart aching for her, he leaned