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I wonder if the Emperor knew Cuis would never reveal he was his Hand. I wonder if my Master values that kind of devotion, or just expects it.

Vader went back to the dais to watch the clones continue their lightsaber training. They ran through parry and riposte, redoublement and remise, red blades shimmering. The cavernous hall echoed with the hum of lightsabers and the clack of armor plates, a combination that Vader found oddly disturbing. Their instructor was yet another of Palpatine’s many Hands—an assassin called Sheyvan, who had a taste for vibroblades as well as the more conventional lightsaber skills.

Vader paced up and down the hall, watching the sparring pairs with a careful eye. Hands often thought they were the only personal assassin in Palpatine’s service, and most were unhappy if they found they were not. Sheyvan looked as if he was in that majority. His occasional glance at Palpatine was more accusing than adoring.

“Men need to believe they’re unique,” said Palpatine quietly. He always lowered his voice to make people listen carefully to him. “And women, too. We all like to think we are special and irreplaceable. It is a great motivator.”

Sometimes Vader suspected Palpatine could read more than his emotions. “You made me feel I alone could help you defeat the Jedi Council, Master.”

“And that was true, was it not?”

Vader had wondered just once—and no more—how his life might have unfolded had he not been seduced by Palpatine’s assurance that he was the only member of the Jedi Council whom he could trust. It was true, yes. But if he had resisted, Padmé would still have died. At least now he had the power and position to remake the galaxy as he wished—orderly. He used it. He used it more every day.

“Not only do all men wish to be special,” said Vader. “They also wish to know there is someone they can trust.”

Palpatine’s yellow eyes betrayed no reaction, just as he didn’t seem troubled by Sheyvan’s discomfort. The disappointment of those around him was of no consequence to him until they ceased to serve their purpose, and then they were discarded.

You will not discard me, Master.

“One day, I may form a legion of Dark Jedi,” said Palpatine, as if the idea had just struck him. “They have great potential. This Cuis would be honored to see what’s become of him.”

It was as if he had never known Cuis. Vader had never mentioned that he knew Palpatine had sent Sa Cuis to kill him. He wouldn’t name you, my Master. Not even when I offered to spare his life. That’s what I want in my troops. Loyalty.

Vader hadn’t taken the assassination attempt personally. It was part of his training. The path toward Sith mastery had to be hard because the power it yielded was not for the weak or lazy. Vader understood that. He still knew he would oust his own master one day. Palpatine knew, too, and seemed not to mind.

Lekauf—loyal, intelligent, with no special powers beyond the capacity for hard work—hovered at his elbow, radiating anxiety. Clones had been created from him, too, but he was very much alive to see them. He had even trained them. Now they were being evaluated, and they had passed inspection in all core skills except hand-to-hand combat.

“You still seem worried,” said Vader.

“No, sir…”

Lekauf had spent six months on this miserable, barren ball of rock training his clones. If they passed muster, he could finally return to Coruscant. It was clear what his fears were.

“You haven’t seen your wife and children for six months, and you worry that if your clones don’t perform well, you’ll be here for another six,” said Vader.

Lekauf swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes, sir. I do.”

His courageous honesty was one of the qualities that made him both a good clone donor and a good instructor. Vader’s memories of missing someone dear—the memories that he had learned to wrap and lock away, almost without pain now—echoed in response.

And I trusted you, too, Padmé. I’m practiced at handling betrayal now.

“You’ll see your family soon,” said Vader.

Lekauf looked toward the gymnasium doors. He was