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“I told you to wait below.” Kueller’s deep voice carried on the wind.

Brakiss swallowed. He couldn’t even see Kueller.

The starlight fell across the roof, giving the dark sky a luminescence that Brakiss found eerie. He climbed the remaining stairs and stepped out of the hut. A gust of wind knocked him against the stone. He braced himself with his right hand, losing his grip on his cloak. The fastener tugged against his neck as the wind made the material flutter behind him.

“I had to know if it worked,” he said.

“You’ll know when it works.” Kueller’s voice was a live thing. It surrounded Brakiss, resonated within him, and held him at bay. Brakiss concentrated, not on the voice, but on Kueller himself.

And finally saw him, standing near the edge, overlooking the city below. Stonia, the capital of Almania, looked small and insignificant from this height. But Kueller looked like a powerful bird of prey, his cape billowing in the wind, his broad shoulders suggesting great physical strength.

Brakiss took a step forward when suddenly the wind died. The air around him froze and so did he. In that moment, he heard—felt—saw—a million voices scream in terror.

The terror rose in him, and he saw again that moment when Master Skywalker led Brakiss deep into Brakiss’s own heart, that moment when he saw himself clearly and nearly lost his mind—

A scream formed in his own throat—

And died as the other screams exploded around him, filling him, warming him, melting the ice in the wind. He felt stronger, larger, more powerful than he ever had before. Instead of fear, his heart felt an odd, twisted joy.

He looked up. Kueller had raised his arms, his head tilted back, his face uncovered for the first time in years. He had changed, his skin filled with a knowledge Brakiss wasn’t sure he wanted.

And yet …

Yet Kueller glowed, as if the pain of those million voices had fed something within him, had made him even greater than he had been before.

The wind returned, its frigid gusts knocking Brakiss against the stone. Kueller didn’t seem to feel it. He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that shook the entire tower.

Brakiss braced himself against the stone. He waited until Kueller’s arms fell to his sides before saying, “It worked.”

Kueller slipped the mask over his face. “Well enough.”

Such an understatement for such a great moment. Kueller had to remember that Brakiss was strong in the Force as well.

Kueller turned, his cape swirling around him. He almost appeared to fly. The skull-like mask that adhered to his face shone with its own internal light. “I suppose you want to return to your paltry job.”

“It’s warm on Telti.”

“It could be warm here,” Kueller said.

Brakiss shook his head almost involuntarily. He hated Almania.

“Your problem is that you do not understand the power of hate,” Kueller said, his voice soft.

“I thought you said my problem is that I serve two masters.”

Kueller smiled, the thin lips on his mask moving with his mouth. “Is it only two?”

The words hung between them. Brakiss’s entire body felt as if it were made of ice. “It worked,” he said again.

“I suppose you expect to be rewarded.”

“You promised.”

“I never promise,” Kueller said. “I imply.”

Brakiss crossed his arms over his chest. He would not get angry. Kueller wanted him to be angry. “You implied great wealth.”

“So I did,” Kueller said. “Do you deserve great wealth, Brakiss?”

Brakiss said nothing. Kueller had put him together after Yavin 4, after the disastrous debriefing that had nearly cost Brakiss the rest of his sanity. But Brakiss had long since repaid his debt. He only stayed because he had nowhere else to go.

He pushed off the wall and started down the stairs. “I’m going back to Telti,” he said, feeling defiant.

“Good,” Kueller said. “But you will give me the remote first.”

Brakiss stopped and looked at Kueller over his shoulder. Kueller had grown taller in the last hour. Taller and broader.

Or perhaps that was a trick of the darkness.

If Brakiss had faced any other mortal,