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“We’re returning to Eclipse tomorrow morning with Master Skywalker.”

She folded her arms and nodded acknowledgement. “So this is good-bye.”

“You’re not coming?”

“Not for a while.”

He simply stood there, awaiting some word of explanation. Inspiration struck, and Jaina seized it at once. “Kyp asked me to be his apprentice.” She swept both arms out wide, inviting inspection of her borrowed robes. “I’m thinking about maybe taking it for a test flight.”

Zekk regarded her silently. “Then you’re right—this is good-bye.”

He turned abruptly and strode away.

Jaina dropped her arms to her sides and managed a wry smile. “Well, that was rude.”

“Get used to it,” Kyp said softly. “Once word of this little evasion of yours gets around—and that should take about fifteen nanoseconds—you’ll find that rogue Jedi live in a world of temperature extremes. Things are either very hot or very cold.”

The incredulous stares leveled in her direction put her back up. “Evasion? Are you so sure I wasn’t serious?”

“No, I’m not,” he countered, “but then, neither are you. When you make up your mind, let me know. In the meanwhile, good luck with your friends,” he said, nodding toward the several young Jedi storming toward them. “When they’re finished with you, help yourself to the landspeeder. I won’t be returning to the city.”

Then he, too, slipped away into the night, leaving Jaina alone to face the approaching firestorm.

The next morning Tenel Ka started her day with a twenty-kilometer run followed by an hour of weapons training under the critical eye of her father’s sword-master. The old man watched intently as she went through her routines.

Finally he nodded. “The sword and javelin are as good as ever. The feet, better. You will have to avoid battles that require you to use spear or staff.”

Tenel Ka accepted this advice with a nod, even as she noted that it was of limited practical value. In many ways, Hapes was an archaic culture. The physical disciplines she had learned with traditional masters had kept her in good trim, but they were of little use in fighting the sort of battles that lay before her.

Still clad in a lightweight leather garment fashioned from Dathomir lizard skin, Tenel Ka made her way to her mother’s room, as she did each morning. Teneniel Djo often seemed cheered by this reminder of her homeworld.

As Tenel Ka entered her mother’s chamber, anticipation skittered over her like insects. She could never know just what she would find.

As usual, her mother sat at the window, staring out into the palace gardens. Her rich red-brown hair had faded to a dull and indeterminate shade, and she was far too thin. She looked disturbingly like a winter-starved bird, too dazed by cold and wind to take flight. But she looked up as Tenel Ka entered, and her brown eyes turned wistful at the sight of her daughter’s lizard-skin garments.

“That was a bright green once,” she observed. “It is faded, and wearing thin. When did you last have new leathers made? A year, almost two,” she mused, answering her own question. “The Yuuzhan Vong have held Dathomir for at least that long.”

Tenel Ka pulled a chair up close to her mother’s. She seemed unusually alert this morning; indeed, her eyes studied her daughter’s face with concern.

“You are troubled. The Yuuzhan Vong?”

“Nothing these days is entirely unrelated to the invaders.”

“They will come, of course,” Teneniel Djo said matter-of-factly. “You must prepare.”

She suppressed a sigh. “Mother—”

The queen reached over and patted her knee, cutting short the familiar protest. “I know your heart. You have never wanted to rule, and I would not wish it upon you. I chose a man, not a crown. Soon I will have neither. Isolder will find my successor.”

“You are getting stronger,” Tenel Ka said stoutly.

The queen smiled faintly. “I do not expect to die anytime soon. But neither can I rule.”

She turned to the window and pointed out past the branches of a tzimernut tree. “There, in the mists. Hidden shipyards prepare, rebuilding the fleet lost at Fondor.”

Tenel Ka stared at her mother, uncertain