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Droma plucked the Master of staves from the semicircle and placed it in front of Han. “You,” he said. “A dark-haired man of formidable strength and intuition, but often brash and self-absorbed. Despite his years, he charges boldly into every situation, regardless of the odds, sometimes banging his head on things. And yet he is at heart a seeker of knowledge.”

“Hokey religions,” Han said under his breath, but deliberately loud enough for Droma to hear.

Grinning, Droma leaned away from him, twirling the left tip of his mustache. “Think so? Let’s see what we can see.”

Leaving the Master of staves undisturbed, he gathered the rest of the ranked and face cards, shuffled them deftly, performed a one-handed cut, and set the abridged deck on the table. Peeling a card from the top of the pack, he placed it faceup below the Master of staves.

“The Master of flasks,” Droma said. “A father figure, protector, or close friend. Loving, dedicated, loyal to a fault.” He fingered another card from the pack, placed it on top of and perpendicular to the Master of flasks, and frowned. “Crossed by the Evil One. A harmful addiction in some cases, but more often a powerful enemy.”

Han swallowed, but said nothing.

The third card—Demise—crossed Han’s card in the same way. Han felt Droma’s gaze on him.

“You lost a friend—a protector?” Droma asked.

Han put on his best sabacc face. “Go ahead, finish with your little divination.”

Droma placed a card to the left of the Master of staves. “The Idiot. The start of a journey or quest, usually down an unknown path. A sometimes unsettling plunge into the unknown.” The next card crowned the Master. “Moderation—but inverted. A craving for retribution or vengeance.”

Han nodded and snorted. “You’re good, you’re really good. You watch and you pay close attention to what people say. That way you get a sense of who someone is or what someone’s going through. Then you put it all in a nicely wrapped package”—he indicated the spread of cards—“and feed it right back. Just like your second-guessing what someone’s about to say.”

Droma made his face long in feigned astonishment. “I’m simply laying out cards.”

Han gestured in dismissal. “You arranged the cards when you shuffled. Or maybe you’re dealing seconds.”

Droma lifted his hands to his shoulders and nodded to the deck. “Draw four cards in rapid succession and line them up alongside the Master of staves.”

Han hesitated, then did so. But before Droma could speak, he jabbed his finger at the first of the quartet. “Don’t tell me what it means, just tell me what the location stands for.”

“Someone who might be affected by your actions.”

Disquiet tugged at the corners of Han’s mouth as he scrutinized the card. “The Commander of sabers,” he said quietly. “Maybe a younger version of the Master. Headstrong, clever …”

“And brave,” Droma added. “An able fighter.”

Anakin? Han asked himself. He moved his finger to the next card.

“It occupies the place of unforeseen consequence or hidden danger,” Droma supplied.

“The Queen of Air and Darkness,” Han mused, examining her depiction for clues. “Could be a person hiding something. Or a delusion, maybe.”

Droma nodded. “Something unrevealed.” He indicated the next card in the line. “How best to proceed.”

“Balance,” Han said. “Being able to stay on your feet when the going gets rough and the ground around you’s shaking.”

“Adjustment to what life dishes out,” Droma elaborated. “Persistence in the face of adversity. And spiritual power.”

Han’s finger fell on the final card. “The future?”

Droma rocked his head back and forth. “A likely outcome. In this case, what the Idiot may find.”

Han scowled and regarded the card. “The Star. But upside down—inverted.” He glanced at Droma. “Not all it could be. Less than a complete success.”

Droma smiled with his eyes and nodded. “Congratulations, Roaky. Fortune has granted you a glimpse of its innermost designs.”

TWENTY-ONE

Above a gibbous Obroa-skai, Harrar’s faceted ship hung in the shadow of the most recently arrived