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The moving figures were all protocol droids, and gaily painted, one red, one forest green, one gold. The machine tender was a pastel blue.

And it was all suffused with dark side energy.

“This,” Jacen said, “is insane.”

“Not really.” Brisha walked toward the building with him. “Darth Vectivus enjoyed the architecture of Naboo and incorporated some of its building materials into his home away from home. Other architectural elements are from other worlds.”

“But it’s not very Sithly. The Sith citadel at Ziost—”

“I’ve been there. Very gloomy place. Unnecessarily so.” They reached the steps up to the main doors, and, as they began climbing, those doors swung open for them. Beyond was a marble-lined hallway; waist-high columns along its walls supported busts of men and women, mostly human, some of other species.

“All right,” Jacen said, “no more delays. The truth.” He reached the top of the stairs and moved into the hallway. He felt a little off-balance—the dissonance between the energies he felt and the cheerful surroundings bothered him.

“The truth is, I trained to be a Sith. I was trained by your grandfather, Darth Vader.” She did not seem in the least ashamed by this revelation.

Jacen drew to a stop at the first of the busts. It showed a serene-looking woman, her hair in a layered style that reached high. “But you don’t talk like a galaxy-conquering psychopath.”

“Vader wasn’t a galaxy-conquering psychopath. He was a sad man whose one love in life had died, and whose one anchor to the world of the living was, yes, a galaxy-conquering madman. Palpatine. The bust, by the way, is of Vectivus’s mother. She wasn’t Sith, she wasn’t Jedi.”

Jacen shot Brisha an irritable look and gestured for her to keep going.

“All right. My true name is Shira Brie.”

Jacen blinked at her. “But you’re better known as Lumiya.” In his mind he called up holographic images he’d been shown of the famous monster, the woman whose lower face was always concealed behind a tight-fitting veil, who always wore a triangular headdress, who carried a unique weapon—a lightwhip, as destructive as a lightsaber but pliant and with a greater reach. There was no place for this woman to carry one in the jumpsuit she now wore, but he did not deceive himself that she was unarmed.

“Yes.”

“Under which name you tried to kill several members of my family.”

“Decades ago. Yes.” Now she did look abashed, regretful. “Don’t judge me too soon, Jacen. My history is very much like your aunt Mara’s…except she received some lucky breaks I didn’t. I took longer to straighten out my life.”

“Tell me about it.”

“I was raised on Coruscant, tapped for Imperial service, and, when Luke Skywalker became a hero of the Rebels, I joined them.”

“To kill him.”

“No, to do worse—to discredit him. A ruined hero is much more devastating than a dead one.” Her gaze slid off to one side, and Jacen sensed that she was reliving events that had transpired before he was born. “I actually developed quite an attachment for your uncle. Once he was ruined as a Rebel, I planned to draw him over to the Imperial side. But during a starfighter battle, he relied on the Force instead of transponder data to differentiate friend from foe, and shot me down.”

“I’d heard that.”

“I lived, but it cost me. Cost me more than half of my body, in fact. My limbs, some of my organs…” She looked down at herself. “Cybernetic replacements.” When Jacen didn’t answer, she continued, “And that’s when Darth Vader took special interest in me. Perhaps because of our similarities. He could feel the Force potential in me, and it didn’t take a master psychologist to pick up on my desire for revenge.”

“Which you did attempt.”

“Again and again, after my Sith training on Ziost. Yes.”

“You seem singularly unapologetic.”

“I don’t have anything to apologize to you for. Bring me into the presence of Luke Skywalker or Leia Organa, and, well, things will be different. Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

“Is there anything to it