#tollah

———

The Pentarra clan was holding a celebration at the house, but I figured I would take Pennie away from her family, given she had spent the last several months hiding from them.

“I thought we could go to the village where your mom used to take you,” I said.

“How do you know about Bulii’kana?” Pennie asked, stunned, but quickly realized the answer.

“…Never mind,” she said.

That’s the worst thing about it, for me. It is quite impossible to escape her.

Pennie looked down at her basket of poupriiseed buns. I remembered something Fannie had said—that she had been the one who taught Pennie how to make them.

I still hadn’t told Fannie about me hanging out with her sister. I wasn’t sure if that meant I was being dishonest again. It wasn’t like I was trying to hide it from her. I just…needed to find the right time to tell her. And I needed to talk to Fannie about the whole baby thing. I hadn’t figured out how to do that yet.

Besides…Fannie and I weren’t together anymore, so I didn’t owe her tabs on what I was doing at all times. Even our friendship had gotten a little strained.

It was true that Pennie was her sister. Maybe I should have told Fannie about all of this for that reason alone. But…now that I had gotten to know Pennie, I didn’t know if telling Fannie everything would really be fair to Pen.

I was still on the fence about whether I liked calling her “Pen” or not. It felt too similar to how I’d shortened “Fannie” to “Fan,” and Fannie had been special to me.

Then again…I was beginning to think Pennie might be special to me, too.

I had always looked up to Fannie. I’d thought she was perfect. I didn’t agree with Pennie that her sister intentionally put up a false front, but Fannie did have a way of filtering her every thought and action. The resulting image was one of a woman I had always felt inferior to—something that had driven me both to devotion and despair.

But Pennie did not alter herself. Pennie was Pennie. Her messiness was all out in the open. And I didn’t have to worry about how I came across to her, since she already insulted me every chance she got. Pennie would never get on my case for poor communication, or a lack of moral fortitude, or my failure to follow through. She was too busy calling me ugly.

…Except for when she wasn’t.

I can see why my sister liked you.

I grinned again.

But then I grimaced. Because I didn’t understand why her saying that had made me smile.

Unless—

…Oh, no.

Ohhhh, no.

“Your face looks strange,” Pennie said in the speeder.

“You’ve always said that about me,” I deflected.

I dragged the intrusive thought into a dark alleyway and beat the living crap out of it…but found I couldn’t quite kill it.

———

I knelt with Pennie in front of the statue of Tollah, in the temple at Bulii’kana. Pennie took a gilded offering plate from a stack at the goddess’ feet and placed four poupriiseed buns on it, then began to pray in Twi’leki.

I looked up at the giant statue.

Too bad the Force can’t be bribed with bread, I thought.

That was the interesting thing about Pennie’s belief system. Every other religious person I knew believed in a higher power that was perfect and wise and always did the right thing. The Force that Fannie believed in always kept the universe balanced and moved it toward balance when people messed things up, and the Force that Amalia believed in was a divine being with a will and a conscious sense of morality.

Pennie’s goddess was just like her: manipulating, able to be manipulated, a lover of pleasure, and capable of holding a grudge.

I still wondered what Pennie had meant by the unforgivable act of ingratitude she claimed to have committed. Pennie seemed like a pretty ungrateful person in general.

“Ugh, the smell,” Pennie muttered suddenly, which I assumed was not a part of the prayer.

The air in the temple was quite pungent. The scent of sickly-sweet incense hung warm and heavy all around us. I had gotten used to it by now, but it seemed Pennie hadn’t. She coughed, and then she choked.

“You good?” I asked.

“Yes,” she grunted, but she looked unwell. She stopped praying, and began to draw deep breaths through her nose.

“…Pennie?”

“Don’t talk to me,” she hissed. “I am praying in my head.”

From the looks of things, she was now praying she wouldn’t puke.

Unfortunately, this prayer went unanswered. She suddenly began to retch and I caught an unfortunate glimpse of foamy bile hitting the offering plate in front of her.

“Aw, Pennie…” I muttered, half-sympathetically, half-wondering how the hell I was gonna get her out of this.

Enter the noble hoodie. I untied it from my waist, held it to form a landing pad in her lap, and let her barf into that.

I knew there wouldn’t be a lot of mass to expel. She hadn’t eaten anything all day. I kept trying to tell her that having an empty stomach probably increased her chances of upset, but she never listened to me.

The women around us awkwardly shuffled away and took their prayers with them.

Pennie dry-heaved for about a minute after she had given up all she had. When she was done, she looked at me like a puppy who’d decorated the living room in diarrhea.

“I have defiled my offering and desecrated this temple,” she whispered.

“Oh, shut up,” I said, folding my hoodie in on itself to make a nice goopy little bundle. “You’re nine months pregnant. It’s gonna happen.”

She shook her head. “I have insulted Tollah.”

“Look, Tollah’s pregnant, too!” I said, gesturing up at the rounded belly of the statue towering above us. The goddess was always depicted that way, to symbolize fertility and expectancy. “I’m sure she gets it.”

“The offering is invalid now. We cannot give this to her. It is filthy.”

“It’s just got some spit on it,” I argued. “The priests are gonna put it in the fire to send it up anyway, and all that crap’ll burn off. Here, I’ll just wipe ‘em.”

“Ben,” Pennie sneered. “Tollah can see you.”

“Then she’ll know it was all an accident, and that we’re doing our best,” I said, taking the sleeve of my hoodie and smearing the slime off the poupriiseed buns. I put them on a new plate, and slid that plate on top of the gross one. “See? All good.”

“Not all good!” Pennie snapped. “You don’t understand, Ben Solo. You don’t understand the debt I bear toward her!”

I looked at Pennie for a moment, studying the anguish on her face. Then I slowly took off my knapsack, opened it, and produced a fresh poupriiseed bun, dry and un-puked on.

“Here,” I said gently. “We’ll offer this one. I was saving it for a snack, but—”

“You dirty thief!” Pennie gasped angrily, snatching it away. “I knew I made five! You disgusting, lying cheat—you insisted there were only four!”

“Well, there would’ve been four,” I shrugged. “After I’d had my snack.”

“I despise you,” Pennie growled.

“Hey. If I hadn’t kept it separate, you would’ve ralphed on this one too. Gimme a break, sister.”

She rolled her eyes and huffed indignantly, but gingerly placed the bun on a separate plate. She bowed her head over it—well, actually she pushed it a little farther away from herself this time—and said her prayer, then rose to her feet.

“Let us depart,” she sighed.

I nodded, and got up too.

One of the priests came to collect our poupriiseed buns as we turned to go. I saw the hungry look in his eyes. The priests were supposed to burn the offerings and let the smoke ascend to Tollah…but sometimes they took a cut for themselves.

I considered warning him about the buns, but decided against it. If he lost at bun roulette, it only served him right.

Have fun, priest guy, I thought.

“Ben?” Pennie said as we emerged from the temple.

“Yeah?”

She stopped and turned to face me head-on. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

The look in her eyes was genuine. I knew she meant it.

I leaned down to brush some crustiness off her chin.

“Don’t mention it, Pen.”

Connie Pentarra knew. Connie stopped me as I was pouring my third cup of tea (they don’t have caf in that region of Ryloth, so I had to chug three cups of tea every morning just to stay stable).

“You know, Ben Solo,” she said with scathing sweetness, “if you were planning to make your way through all of my sisters, there are a couple of us you skipped over.”

I was not nearly caffeinated enough for this conversation.

“What are you talking about?” I snapped.

“Don’t be stupid. Fa’nakhra denied you, and so you went after Pen’awen. Charming.” Connie poured herself her own cup of tea. “Surely you know it is no great accomplishment to woo her. She will have just about anyone. Or…perhaps you knew that, and that is why you picked her.”

“Oh, for—I am taking care of your pregnant sister!”

“Yes, I’m sure you are taking quite good care of her!”

I sighed the kind of sigh that scrapes all the way through your throat. “What do you want, Connie?”

“I want you to stay away from my family,” she said coolly.

“Well, take better care of them and maybe I will,” I shot back. “Goodbye, Connie.”

I was much happier to be accosted by Mikal, who had shot up in height since last year and seemed even taller than he had been in the summer. His voice had begun to change, too. It was in the awkward stage now, deep and squeaky at the same time.

“Will you celebrate the festival of harvest tomorrow?” Mikal asked.

“There’s a festival tomorrow?”

“Yes,” he said. “It is the autumnal celebration thanking the goddess for her provision. Each clan celebrates its own festival.”

“I’ll think about it,” I said. “I need to check with someone first.”

“You mean Pen’awen,” Mikal supplied.

“Uh…yeah.”

So Mikal knew, too.

It occurred to me, as I was passing through the women’s quarters, that my daily commutes to Pennie’s room were pretty obvious. Men weren’t supposed to be over there. The rules weren’t concrete, but they were clear nonetheless: Women were allowed in the men’s quarters because men only had reasons to welcome them. Men weren’t allowed in the women’s quarters because women had every reason to distrust them.

I kept my head down, showed off my tray of food like an apologetic passage ticket, and tried to walk as quickly as possible without alarming anyone with a full-on run.

Darn it, Pen, didja have to take the room at the very end of the hall?

My dutifulness was rewarded in the usual way—by which I mean Pennie first complained I had taken too long, and next complained that her tea was too cold, and then complained she felt too sick to eat, and finally wrapped up with a general complaint about how horrible life was and how much she wanted to die.

I would have been a little more pissed off, if it weren’t so much like looking into a mirror.

The bright side was that Pennie’s endless grousing had largely whittled away at my desire to do the same. There was only room for one drama queen, and Pennie had already claimed the crown. “Oh, shut up and eat,” I said cheerfully.

“I cannot,” she whined. “I feel ill.”

“Then go throw up. Quit making it my problem.”

“You know I don’t want to do that,” she groaned.

Pennie, I’d learned, had a pathological fear of being sick. No one likes being sick. But Pennie abhorred it. I’d told her about fifteen times she’d probably feel better if she just threw up and got it over with.

She always refused to. I think she hated not being in control of her own body. To a person who delighted in manipulating others, losing control of oneself was unbearable.

“Fine, suit yourself,” I said. “Hey—Mikal told me about the harvest festival tomorrow. Would you like to go? It might be good for you to leave the room for once.”

“I do not think I will feel well enough,” she moaned. “Damn it all, will I ever be glad when this forsaken child departs.”

I watched her heft herself up to lean against the bedpost.

“…Have you thought about what you’ll do once the baby is born?” I asked.

“I’ll keep it alive,” she sighed. “What else?”

“Your sister thought you would surrender it, if it turned out to be a girl and not a boy.”

“I would have, at first. But now…well, all I know is that I do not want her to have it.”

“So…you’ll keep it no matter what.”

Pennie was quiet.

“…I will not allow my sister to have it,” she said at last. I pressed my lips together.

Someone had better tell Fannie, I thought. Fannie had said she’d had visions of the future…but weren’t visions sometimes tricks? Uncle Luke had told me once that not all premonitions could be trusted—especially the ones that seemed to promise you what you wanted more than anything.

“Pennie…did you want to be a mother?” I asked. “Or…did you just want Pentarra to marry you?”

“I wanted him to marry me,” she answered without hesitation. She rubbed her swollen calves as she sat on the edge of the bed.

I was shocked she would admit it so readily. If it were me, I would have been afraid of looking like a bad person.

Pennie looked up at me. I don’t know what expression I had on my face, but it must have been something that prompted a defense.

“I always knew I would be a mother someday,” she said tersely. “It’s not that I wanted to. But I always knew I would. It is the natural progression of life.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “I mean…I don’t necessarily assume I’m gonna have kids.”

“That’s because you are a man.”

“No, it’s not. I don’t think everyone’s cut out for kids. And I don’t think all women are destined to become moms.”

“Perhaps where you come from it is different,” Pennie said. “Perhaps it is even different in the cities on my planet. But here, women do not choose to bear children any more than they choose to grow breasts. I knew it would happen to me eventually. Therefore, it didn’t make much difference to me whether it happened sooner or later.”

“Will you…love your kid?”

“I will keep it alive. We shall see whether I feel any love.”

I wondered if Pennie’s mother had taken a similar approach with her children. I didn’t doubt Fashha cared for her daughters in the same way a vixen defends her kits from harm. But Pennie, now an adult, did not strike me as a child who had been loved.

I mean…I’d had it pretty rough, too. But my mom and dad had loved me. That was the one thing they’d always done right. Even though I hadn’t been an easy kid. Even though I’d had a lot of problems.

I doubted Pennie would have as much patience for her child’s weaknesses as my parents had had for mine.

“Pennie…do you think your baby will be…okay?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Well…genetically speaking…the nature of your kid’s conception puts it at a higher risk for birth defects.”

“I can only understand so much Basic, Ben.”

I tried to remember the way Pentarra had phrased it. “It’s…unnatural for members of the same family to produce children together,” I explained. “They have a higher chance of being cursed.”

I winced at the way that sounded. It was pretty ableist, and sort of eugenicist (more words that Pennie wouldn’t understand).

…Which, of course, meant it was a framework that Pennie understood perfectly.

She looked at me abruptly. “I didn’t think you believed in curses,” she sniffed.

“Well, I understand how this curse works,” I said. “When two beings come together to make a child, their stronger traits can cover up each other’s weaker ones. But if the two beings are from the same family, and have the same weak traits, then neither of them have the stronger traits to cover them up.”

Yeah, yeah. I know it wasn’t a great explanation. But, hey—I thought it wasn’t half bad, for a guy with a liberal arts degree.

In any case, it seemed to make sense to Pennie. Her face grew concerned.

“…On second thought, we should attend the festival tomorrow,” she muttered. “I must appeal to the goddess. She hates me already—I cannot miss this year’s harvest offering.”

“Why do you think the goddess hates you?” I asked.

“Is it not obvious? Just look at my life,” Pennie huffed. “I once committed an act of ingratitude she has never forgiven me for, and next she will strike my child. Excuse me.”

She padded past me to the bathing room.

An act of ingratitude? I wondered as I watched her pass.

“You have a human mate,” the taxi driver remarked to Fannie.

Fannie looked at me, and laughed. She nodded, embarrassed.

“Does everything…work the same?” he asked next.

Fannie reddened, but by now I was used to the way Rylothian men spoke—that direct, brash bluntness that meant no harm, but definitely wanted to see what one could get away with.

Well, I was no Rylothian. But I had been here a while, and two could play at that game.

“Why wouldn’t it work the same?” I asked, just as boldly. “After all, the only differences between humans and Twi’leks can be seen above the neck.”

“Ben…!” Fannie murmured.

The driver seemed amused. “I suppose you’re right,” he said. “But surely you have heard that our women are more difficult to please than yours.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant by that. Maybe I’d ask Fannie later.

Or…maybe not. I glanced at Fannie—she looked uncomfortable. I took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly as I turned back to the driver.

“Are they more complicated?” I retorted. “I hadn’t noticed any such thing. Perhaps your assessment is simply a reflection of your own skill, nerra.”

Fannie turned to me sharply, her eyes wide, but the driver guffawed. He seemed much more impressed by my audacity than offended by it.

“Hey, don’t give me that look,” I whispered to Fan. “He thought it was funny.”

“Well…I suppose so,” Fannie whispered back. “But…Ben, did you just say nerra?”

“Yeah. What? Am I…not supposed to say it, or something?”

“I—just didn’t know you knew that word.”

The man wiped a tear from his eye, and looked at me in the rearview mirror. “I had misjudged you, young human! You have the spirit of a Rylothian. What is your name?”

“Ben Solo. Yours?”

“I am Rol’meneth Jheer. Rol, for short.”

“Nice to meet you, Rol.”

I felt proud of how easily I could talk to him. All the time I’d spent bantering with Fannie’s brothers had certainly helped. Fannie looked on in quiet bewilderment…and perhaps, a bit of suspicion.

If she had had any questions for me, she kept them to herself.

“Ben Solo—you are a guest of Ruut Pentarra’s, are you not?” Rol asked. “I hear his famous banquet is tonight. The one he always holds at Tollah’s full moon.” He caught my eye inquisitively in the mirror, fishing for more information from me.

Fannie’s eyes were lowered to her lap, and she seemed to have no inclination to reply. I got the sense she did not think it appropriate for her to converse with Rol. Whether that conviction came from her culture or simply from her own sensibility, I could not tell.

“...I’ve heard of Pentarra’s banquet,” I said, and nothing more.

“Surely as his guest, you have received an invitation, no?” Rol said, unsatisfied with my response. “I would give my left arm to peek inside.”

Well. Not only had I been invited, I’d been invited to sit at Pentarra’s very own table. I was basically double-invited. (Triple-invited, if Nabohri’s invitation counted—but I didn’t think it did.)

Still, since I hadn’t mentioned my invitation to Fannie yesterday, I didn’t see how I could be honest about it now. It was easier not to get into it—and it wasn’t as if I was even planning to attend.

“Uh…no, I didn’t get an invite,” I lied.

Luckily Rol shrugged, accepted I had nothing more to say, and gave up the subject entirely. For the rest of the ride, he monologued in shocking detail about his three ex-wives: one he had left, one who’d left him, and one who’d tried to sneak out on him the same night he’d tried to sneak out on her. The drive went by quickly with such a captivating host—though at the same time, it couldn’t have been over fast enough.

Rol dropped us off at the edge of the village, where a scattering of rectangular, adobe buildings gradually condensed and became a tightly packed main street. “I wish you both many children, and a union happier than any of my own!” Rol said as he waved us off.

Fannie smiled and inclined her head, and I bowed and waved back at him. As soon as Rol had sped away, we took one look at each other and began to laugh.

“Goodness! I don’t know that I have ever been so glad for a taxi ride to end,” Fannie said, giggling.

“I know, right?” I chuckled. “We basically gave him free therapy, lettin’ him trauma-dump like that. He should lower his rates.”

“Or increase them!” Fannie exclaimed. “He is an entertainer as well as a driver…though I was entertained enough to be quite exhausted now. Nothing against Rol, of course—may the Force be with him.”

“No, of course not,” I agreed. “He was nice…if a little weird. He wished us ‘many children.’ Is that a normal thing people say here?”

“Fairly normal,” Fannie said, sounding surprised, as if she’d never thought about it before. “Yes…I suppose it is. On Ryloth, wishing someone fertility is nearly the same as wishing someone prosperity. But I suppose you’re right—it is a little presumptuous.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Only a little presumptuous?”

Fannie smiled good-naturedly. “It’s just a blessing, Ben. Don’t pay it much mind.”

“Well, as long as his blessing doesn't come to pass too soon,” I said, bumping into her on purpose, and she scrunched her face at me—I laughed and pulled her into my side. “And as for you, Fan—I hope you never try to put sandbat venom in your husband’s tea, like Rol’s first wife did.”

“Of course not,” Fannie teased. “I’ll only poison myself and tell my mother you did it—like his third.”

We laughed, and walked into town.

The village was called Bulii’kana. It was the closest settlement to the Pentarra estate, and Fashha had often taken her children here when they were young. Now that they were grown, Fannie, Connie, and Ginnie sometimes visited together.

“Do you ever come out here by yourself?” I asked.

“No,” Fannie said. “I don’t know that it would be wise to travel by myself.”

“You’ve got your lightsaber, haven’t you? I bet you could take someone out, easy.”

“Well—yes. But I would rather not have to do so.”

I could understand why she didn’t want to visit alone. As we entered the main square, people filled every inch of the walkway and pressed in on all sides, and I think I almost got pickpocketed a few times—‘cause I know it wasn’t Fannie who tried to reach into my back pants pocket.

Bulii’kana felt different from Pentarra’s estate: poorer, but freer. Drier, but brighter. Noisier, but realer. Wilder, but more alive. There were men who seemed kinder than the men in Pentarra’s house, fathers and neighbors and honest-looking merchants, and there were men who seemed to pose a much larger threat than Pentarra’s troublemaking sons—shifty-eyed scoundrels and rough-looking vagabonds with unsheathed weapons. Even then, the two were not so easy to tell apart. It was the short, friendly, smiling gentleman who asked me to flex my biceps and grabbed my wallet while my arms were in the air, and the ugly rogue with the eyepatch who chased him down and brought my wallet back to me.

The women seemed different, too. They were not dignified like Pentarra’s wives and daughters, nor were they quiet like his servants. They laughed and gossiped in the streets with lively abandon, but they seemed to have been bonded by shared suffering. There were tired young women with babies on their hips and fiery old women shouting in the selling stalls and old women with young eyes who offered to reveal your mate for life and young women with old eyes who offered to be your mate for an hour. These women had their freedom, but freedom didn’t necessarily mean money—and perhaps some of them would have preferred to feed their families instead.

The marketplace bustled with Twi’leks, animals, droids, and a few humans. A green-skinned woman called out in raspy Twi’leki over the chittering of her pen of kortokks—these ones were fat, and had weights secured to their ankles so they could not run. A customer made his purchase, and the woman’s son, who looked no older than ten, grabbed one of the kortokks and swiftly beheaded it—Fannie covered my eyes, not knowing I had seen worse while hunting with her brothers.

Prostitutes hung in the doorways, hoping to catch men’s eyes, and especially the eyes of men who looked like they had money. Some of them dressed how I expected them to dress—which is to say, not in much. Others covered their bodies completely, as if to leverage the mystery of what they looked like underneath. No matter what she wore, each one sported a crimson sash as a sign of her profession, tied loosely around her hips or draped elegantly over her shoulders or wound tight around her entire body…along with an inviting smile. I smiled back at one of them by mistake—not because I was interested, but because I foolishly thought it would be polite. The woman took my friendliness for a buyer’s interest, and began to descend seductively down the steps—my face fell, and I grabbed Fannie’s hand and ran.

We listened to a street storyteller, and Fannie translated for me (though these stories were much tamer than Rol’s). Fan made me try at least ten different Rylothian sweets—some flavored only with dried fruit, and others drenched in enough honey to make me gag. We almost trampled a couple of kids with tan skin and short lekku as they ran away laughing from their human father and Twi’lek mother—Fannie and I smiled and exchanged sheepish glances. We danced in the village square to some street music, and she taught me a dance that was much more complicated than the Alderaanian waltz I had shown her back on Naboo.

We also came across a magnificent building made of adobe like the rest of the town—but instead of a flat roof, it had tall pillars that climbed to the sky, and gold-covered domes that glinted in the sunlight. There was a sign in front of it, but it was written in Ryl.

“Do you know what this building is?” I asked Fannie.

“Yes—it is the shrine to Tollah,” Fannie said. “Let’s keep walking.”

“Wait,” I said—and when I didn’t move, she accidentally yanked against my arm as she tried to walk. “Can we go in? I’m curious.”

“You can go in, if you wish to,” she said. “I would prefer to stay outside.”

“Suit yourself,” I told her. “I’ll be back in a sec—I just wanna see.”

So I ducked under the curtain at the entrance, and went inside.

I had to blink for a few seconds to let my eyes adjust. The inside of the temple was dimly-lit, and stuffy, too. The air was warm, thick, and spicy—not so much food-spicy as perfume-spicy. Curtained booths lined each wall of the large, open room, and one large, red curtain hung from the ceiling all the way in the back.

In front of the curtain was a great golden statue, twelve feet tall, of a Twi’lek woman with four lekku instead of two—one pair on top of her head in the usual place, and one pair at the base of her skull. Her body was bare, and she was endowed with large breasts, large hips, and a large belly—as if she were pregnant.

That was the image of the goddess Tollah.

Women young and old knelt before the statue, each wearing a veil. Every veil looked different—as if it was cut and sewn by its owner. A woman came in behind me and knelt down among the others, pulling a large square piece of muslin from her satchel and draping it over her head. Hers had lace sewn around the edges…but one of the corners was coming undone.

I watched as the women placed offerings at the statue’s feet, bowed their heads, and whispered—much like Fashha always did before meals. Some of them stayed for a long time, while others stayed only a moment. When they were finished, they inclined their heads to the statue, removed their veils, and departed.

I looked to see what items they were placing down. There were offerings of coins, produce, and even plated meals.

A male Twi’lek in white linen robes presided near the statue. Every so often, he would gingerly lift some of the offerings to make room for others. I watched as he brought them behind the large curtain in the back of the temple, and wondered where he took them.

…Well, I had a guess as to where some of them went. Because after taking a plate of rolls behind the curtain, he reemerged with crumbs on his mouth.

He unceremoniously lifted the edge of his sleeve to wipe his lips, and as he raised his head he caught me staring.

I turned away and pretended that I hadn’t seen.

There were female attendants in the temple, too, dressed in strange, loose garments. Their dresses looked like big white bedsheets, with holes in the middle to put their heads through. I observed as a male Twi’lek approached one of these priestesses, placed money in her hand, and disappeared behind her into one of the curtained booths.

I frowned, perplexed. I did have one immediate assumption as to what that was all about…but it confused me. The explanation that had come to mind didn’t seem fitting for a place of worship.

“Ben!”

I turned, and saw Fannie behind me. She had only whisper-shouted, but it was disruptive enough that a few of the temple-goers turned their heads.

“Oh, hey,” I whispered back. “I thought you were going to stay outside.”

“I was,” she said. “But…I didn’t want to leave you in here alone. I was afraid that what you found inside would shock you.”

I glanced back at the full-figured statue of the naked goddess. “What…you mean that?”

A series of passionate male grunts issued from behind the curtain closest to us, and Fannie and I blushed and looked at each other.

“Or…that,” she said.

“Yeah, let’s not stick around,” I agreed.

It was only as we brushed aside the heavy curtain and exited the temple that I realized how heavily the interior had smelled of incense. I coughed and blinked in the sunlight.

“Well. That was interesting,” I remarked, wiping my runny nose on the backside of my wrist. Fannie stopped me, and thrust a handkerchief into my hand.

“Was your curiosity satisfied?” she asked as I blew my nose.

“Oh, over-satisfied,” I assured her, returning her hankie in less-than-fresh condition. “But…what was that all about? Was that a temple, or a brothel?”

Fannie folded the handkerchief into a wet little square and tucked it back into her pocket. “That is an excellent question, Ben. I have often wondered the same.”

“Were they…supposed to be doing that?”

“It is part of the normal temple activity, if that’s what you’re asking,” she answered, taking my hand as we continued down the busy street. “The priestesses are regarded as conduits of Tollah herself. Men go in to them in order to make love to Tollah, and win her favor. The priestesses wear those dresses—the tol’shanah—so that nothing of their bodies can be seen. Once behind the curtain, they reverse their garments so that all can be seen but their heads, and then it is as if the men are making love to Tollah herself.”

“Oh. So…it’s like some sort of…divine ritual.”

“Yes. Tollah is the goddess of ba’otolah—which essentially means fruitfulness in all areas of life: in harvest, in money, in children. If one causes Tollah to become pregnant, she is believed to birth good fortune for her impregnator. The more pleasure one gives to Tollah, the better luck he is supposed to have.”

“Well…I don’t know how much luck that one guy is gonna get,” I remarked. “‘Cause I only heard one person moaning back there—and it sure wasn’t the girl.”

“Ah…yes,” Fannie replied, with some embarrassment. “I have come to believe that the ritual is more for the benefit of the men than it is for Tollah, or the priestesses.”

“I think so, too.”

“You know…before Luke took me to Ossus, I dreamed of becoming a priestess for Tollah.”

“You did?”

“Yes. Obviously, that was before I was old enough to understand.”

I was glad that had never happened. I knew Fannie would have been miserable in that kind of life. I wondered, too, how many of the priestesses had illnesses and infections beyond their control—after all, they could not choose the men that placed money in their hands.

We descended into a section of the street designated for food vendors, and the mouth-watering scents of baked grain, roast vegetables, and smoked meat filled the air. The sellers called boisterously over the sounds of searing and sizzling, and hungry customers swarmed through the haze of savory-smelling smoke.

“Oh, yeah,” I said, suddenly reminded by the sight of food. “I saw the priest guy eating one of the offerings when no one was looking. I don’t think I was supposed to see.”

Fannie laughed, but without any pleasure in it. “I had long suspected as much,” she said. “The priests burn the offerings so that the smoke ascends to Tollah’s moon. They are supposed to, anyway. The sky above the temple has often seemed much too clear for that to be the case.”

A young woman bumped into us as she hurried by. She cradled several paper-wrapped buns in one arm, and clutched her veil in her other hand. She didn’t apologize or even look at us as she rushed back up the street and toward the temple from which we’d come.

Fannie giggled, and I looked at her.

“Sorry,” she explained. “That girl reminded me of Connie. Connie would always forget her offering, and have to purchase one in town. Ginnie never forgot…and Pennie and I would always make our offering together. Poupriiseed buns. I taught Pennie how to make them.”

Fannie had left Ryloth when she was seven, so these memories must have been from very early on in her life. “Did you, uh…realize what was going on in the temple when you were that young?” I asked.

“Not in detail,” she said. “But for as long as I can remember, my mother would take us there, so I suppose that everything we heard and saw was normal to us. Countless times, the five of us knelt together in front of Tollah’s statue. Pennie would kneel between my knees and hold the poupriiseed buns, and I’d have to keep her from picking off all the seeds because I took so long to pray. The priests always got impatient with me, too. I think they could not wait to get their hands on my buns.”

“They wouldn’t have been the only ones, had you ended up a temple priestess,” I quipped.

And got slapped for it, which I deserved.

“Sorry.”

“Oh, don’t pretend, you silly thing. I know you aren’t sorry one bit.”

“Fine, ya got me. I thought that one was pretty good.”

“It was…clever. Inappropriate…but clever.”

Her mouth twitched. Someone who didn’t know her very well might think she was upset…but I knew she was desperately trying not to laugh, lest she encourage my bad behavior.

I grinned. It was a win in my book.

“...You know,” I said, “I get the impression that you don’t really believe in Tollah anymore. You’d never talked about her before I came here.”

Fannie sobered again. “No,” she said, her voice sounding heavy. “No…I do not believe in her anymore.”

“How come? Because you’re a Jedi?”

“Well…I suppose that is part of the reason,” she said. “But…I actually held my belief in Tollah for quite some time, even after becoming a Jedi. It was part of my culture—what I had been taught since birth. I kept my belief in Tollah for years into my training…until that belief became increasingly incompatible with the other beliefs I knew I was sure of. At last, I came to a point where I had to let my belief go.”

It was strange to hear Fannie talk about a time when she was not sure what she believed in. I thought she had always been as sure of her beliefs as she was now—or at least, after becoming a Jedi.

“That must’ve been hard, Fan. To not be able to believe anymore in something you learned when you were a kid.”

“It…is an odd sort of feeling, to no longer believe in the same thing my entire family does,” she said with thoughtful sadness. “My sisters still believe in Tollah. They are not devoted to her…but they believe. My mother, of course, remains devout. You have observed how she thanks Tollah before each meal, and every week, she offers a piece of her weaving at the temple.”

“Really?” I asked, incredulous. “Her weaving takes so much work—I can’t believe she just…takes it to be burned.”

“Oh, I’m sure her labor is not in vain,” said Fannie with a salty wryness. “No doubt the priests find comfort beneath her blankets each night. But…I know what you mean.”

“I guess it just shows how dedicated your mom is to her beliefs, huh?”

“Yes,” Fannie agreed. “And I don’t doubt that my mother’s belief has meant a great deal to her. That it has given her a sense of someone she can turn to. Someone she can appeal to for better things. Someone to be her constant, now that she will never see her home or family of origin again.”

“Kinda like you and the Force. Right?”

Fannie looked surprised. “Well…I do admire elements of my mother’s devotion, Ben,” she said. “But…I cannot admire the thing she devotes herself to. Eventually, I came to see Tollah for what she truly was: an invention of mortals. Not like the Force. The Force was here before us. It was not born from mortal minds. Rather, we were born from it.”

“Hold on a second. What makes you so sure that Tollah isn’t real, and the Force is?” I asked. “How do you know the Force isn’t…also…an invention of mortals?”

I asked the questions before considering whether or not I should. I didn’t mean anything by it—and I certainly wasn’t trying to be disrespectful. It was just that I had never felt as sure of anything as Fannie seemed to feel, and I had often wondered where her sureness came from.

But Fannie stared at me, her brow knit with concern.

“Ben…of course you believe in the Force, don’t you?” she asked.

“Well, yeah—of course I do,” I said hurriedly. “I was just…asking hypothetically. You know. Like—what would you say, if someone asked you that?”

Surprisingly, this deflection worked. Fannie thought about it for a moment.

“...I’d say the fact that Tollah caters to the basest instincts of man proves she was created by them,” she said at last. “Tollah does not inspire her followers to become more kind, more loving, or more just. She is called the goddess of fertility, of prosperity, of good fortune. It sounds nice. It sounds good. But…if you look at those who follow her, who seek the things she claims to offer—they are driven only by hunger, selfishness, lust, and greed. I do not wish to follow that.”

“Okay, but…that seems a little harsh,” I countered. “What about your mom? Surely you wouldn’t call her greedy, just for wanting her life to be a little better when it sucks so bad.”

Fannie paused. “...No,” she agreed. “I wouldn’t call her greedy. Nor would I call any of Tollah’s followers greedy who seek her out of desperation. But, I ask you this, Ben: who has ever made the purpose of his life wealth and comfort and success and fine things, and found himself satisfied through them? Certainly not my father—and he possesses more than you and I will ever dream of having. For those people, there is never such a thing as enough.”

“Well…I think there is,” I said. “Yeah, I want money—but I don’t need to be Ruut Pentarra-level-rich. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’d be cool if I was—but with my line of work, it’s a spice dream. Anyway—all I want is to be able to eat, pay my bills, and buy you nice stuff sometimes. I don’t think that’s so wrong.”

“Oh, of course not, Ben,” she assured me. “But—did you just hear yourself? You said you wished to use your money merely to support a simple life, and to give gifts to the one you love. That is a much nobler pursuit than that of my father, or Tollah’s crumb-mouthed priests.”

“…I guess so.”

“As a Jedi, I do not think our primary concern should be improving our own lot in life. A Jedi learns to forget herself, and to instead serve the greater good. The light side of the Force asks me to reverse my nature, not to follow it. It asks me to pursue and create goodness for all in the galaxy, not only for myself. And so, I no longer pray to Tollah and ask her to make my circumstances better—I meditate on the Force, on the light, and choose continually to become better, as a person, no matter the hardships I face.”

A tingle of admiration for her ran down my spine.

As well as…I don’t know. A bit of sadness.

Because I knew, deep down, that I would never be like her.

But I smiled, and I nodded. “Makes sense,” I said. “Thanks for explaining. Well—that’s more than enough philosophy for now, I think. I’m gettin’ hungry.”

“Oh, yes—me too!” she said, clapping her hands together and forgetting all about the previous conversation, much to my relief.

For lunch, we bought skewers from one of the street vendors—an elderly Twi’lek man who spoke no Basic, and hardly spoke at all, really. We got to choose what we wanted from his trays of ingredients, and then he skewered and grilled them right in front of us. There were a lot of ingredients on his cart that looked unfamiliar to me—but I knew what snorlii looked like, so I avoided that. There weren’t any forks…but hey, a stick was good enough for me. There wasn’t any seating, either. Instead, there were several standing tables constructed shabbily-but-functionally out of wood.

Fannie and I stood at a table and leisurely enjoyed our lunch. We were discussing the differences between Rylothian and Nabooian food when Fannie received a communication on her holopod, and gasped.

“...What?” I asked, and she looked up at me, pale.

“From Pennie,” Fannie choked out. “I…I can’t believe she reached out to me. What do you think she could want?”

“Maybe it was a butt dial,” I suggested.

“Pardon me, dear—I hope you don’t mind if I listen to it.”

“No, of course not—play it.”

She did. We heard the following message in Pennie’s voice:

“Fa’nakhra…I am so sorry about yesterday. I know I have not been kind to you. I spent a lot of time thinking last night, and…I have come to see that you may be right after all. I desperately need your help, dear sister. I do not know what to do next. I could not find you at home, so I assume you are away with Ben Solo. Please…eat supper with me tonight, so we can talk. If you are not too angry with me, I will meet you at six o’clock in the kitchen. Help me, Fa’nakhra—you are my only hope. Pen’awen.”

I blinked. Fannie stared at me, her eyes huge. Then she played the message again. As we listened to it a second time, she began to tear up. I quickly passed her an extra napkin.

“My cries to the Force have been answered,” Fannie murmured. “This is everything I have hoped and longed for. Pennie’s eyes have finally been opened—she is going to find her way out of my father's grasp at last.”

“Yeah,” I agreed solemnly. “This is huge.”

Provided, of course, that she’s telling the truth, I thought. I wiped off my fingers and put my hand on Fannie’s shoulder.

“Hey. Are you sure she’s sincere?” I asked. “I mean—I want to believe that she is. Obviously I do. But…she sure was pretty mad at you yesterday. It seems like a drastic shift.”

“It does,” Fannie agreed. “And yet…that does not make such a thing impossible. Miracles can happen.” She looked up, searching my eyes. “What do you think, Ben? You have spent more time with her than I have, as of late. Please. I need your insight as much as my own. Do you think she is sincere?”

I was quiet. I was hesitant to take Pennie at her word. She hadn’t exactly presented herself to me as someone I could trust.

But then again…maybe something about last night had changed her mind.

I remembered the way Pennie had looked at me as I had closed the door on her last night—her great big eyes, bleeding rivers of sorrow, that looked just like Fannie’s when they weren’t set in that arrogant squint.

“Wait, Ben Solo. You…you must not think he doesn’t love me. Once we are married…Pentarra will no longer cast me aside like this.”

“Is that what he told you?”

“It is what I tell myself. I have to believe it. I have to.”

And the night before that one—

“I only wish Pentarra cared about me enough to lie, as normal men do.”

“You would rather he cheated on you behind your back?”

“Yes, of course. It might show he cared what I thought.”

And I remembered when I had first met Pennie to begin with, and observed her in the dining hall as her father flirted with the servants. I remembered the private look of anguish she had thought nobody else would notice, because Pentarra certainly didn’t—but I had noticed.

And then I thought of what Fannie had said, when she had described how she stopped believing in Tollah. That, in the face of so much mounting evidence, she was finally forced to let go of the last bit of belief she had clung to for so long.

Maybe Pennie had finally broken down enough to lose her last bit of her belief in Pentarra’s love for her.

Maybe Pennie was finally finding herself in the same place that I once had, all those years ago in a field on Chandrila.

I looked at Fannie, and firmly took her hand.

“...You know, Fan,” I said in a low voice, “I think Pennie just might be for real.”

We locked eyes, and nodded at the exact same time.

“Then I know what I have to do,” said Fannie resolutely—before her expression turned apologetic. “Oh, Ben—I’m so sorry. I know you and I were planning to spend the day together and have supper together, too, but…”

“No—we need to get you home to talk to your sister,” I told her seriously. “You and I already got to do a whole bunch today, and I had a real good time. Let’s start heading back. That’ll give you a couple of hours to prepare. So you can…y’know, meditate on the Force, or…whatever you need to do.”

“Oh, thank you so much, Ben,” she said, coming around the table to give me a hug. “You’re so good—truly you are. You won’t be lonely while I’m away with her?”

“Hey, don’t you worry about me, sister,” I said, patting her on the back. “This is way more important. Do you have any idea how long she might want to talk?”

“No,” said Fannie. “But…I have a feeling it could end up being a long conversation.”

“Yeah—me too. How about you send me a message when you’re done, then?”

“Yes—that will work.” Fannie quickly started gathering the skewer sticks to dispose of them, and used her handkerchief to sweep crumbs off the table. “Remember, dear: there is no supper today, so you will need to collect your supper from the kitchen. There is a separate passage down to the kitchen in the lower west hallway, so you won’t have to enter the gentlemen’s banquet. Perhaps Pennie and I will even run into you. In any case—however long the conversation ends up taking, let’s plan to see each other tonight before we go to bed. That way, I can tell you all about it.”

“Solid. I’m looking forward to it,” I told her, and wrapped my arms around her and planted a kiss hard on her forehead.

We headed back home. Wouldn’t you know it—it was Rol who drove us back to the estate. ‘Ol Rol was as animated as ever…but we couldn’t really pay attention to him this time.

Fannie looked at me, then nodded.

“Well…all right. Let me back up, then. I asked her how she enjoyed her afternoon with you, first.”

“And…what did she say?” I asked, feeling nervous.

“Not much,” Fannie said, and I breathed a silent sigh of relief. “So then I asked her how she was doing. She said she was fine. And I asked her if she meant it, and she asked me why she would have said it, if she hadn’t meant it.”

“Kinda sounds like she didn’t really wanna talk to you.”

“Well…I suppose not,” said Fannie. “But…she hadn’t said so out loud. If she had told me that she did not wish to speak to me, of course I would have honored that. But I wasn’t about to stop speaking with her simply because she was being a bit unfriendly. After all, Ben—the only way to maintain the very last bit of relationship I have with her is to show her that I love her—whether she treats me kindly or not.”

I could see where Fan was coming from…but I could also relate to Pennie in a way. My mom always worried about me, and even though I knew it came from a place of love, it did make me feel kind of smothered.

“Okay,” I said. “So…then what?”

“I…asked her if our father was treating her well,” Fannie said. “And she said—‘Pentarra is not my father, he is my mate.’ And, oh, Ben—that angered me so much, that he has so deluded her. So I said to her…‘But he is your father. You are his daughter. We are all his daughters.’ And then, when Pennie did not say anything…I suppose that is when I became a little too bold.”

“What did you do?”

“I looked her in the eyes,” Fannie said, her voice swelling powerfully in her chest. “And I said to her: ‘Pen’awen. Our father cast our mother aside for other women. He has cast his other wives aside for you. He does not love you any more than he can devour you in his greed, and cast you away when he considers you spent. Do you not think your turn will one day come?’”

Her words echoed off of the high ceiling. And I myself began to feel intimidated.

“...Wow,” I said.

“And that was when she pushed me off the bench.”

“No kidding.”

Fannie looked at me. “Ben…do you think it was wrong of me to say that to her?”

I shrugged and scratched my neck.

“Well…I don’t think it was wrong, Fan. I agree with everything you said to her. But I think sometimes people have their minds made up, and there’s nothing we can say or do to change them. When someone’s in a spot like that, reaching out will only make ‘em close off even more. I’ve been there before—you know I have.”

Fannie sighed, and fiddled with her skirts in her lap.

“Pennie’s gonna do whatever Pennie wants to do,” I told her solemnly. “And whatever she does, you can’t hold yourself responsible for your sister’s choices, Fan. It sucks. I know. But you’re gonna have to be able to accept that, if you don’t want it to eat you up.”

“No…I can’t believe that,” Fannie insisted, shaking her head. “I can’t believe that there is nothing I can do.”

I felt bad for her. Maybe my weakness was being too ready to accept a galaxy where some things are wrong and have always been wrong and will always be wrong, no matter what you do. But Fannie’s weakness was that she couldn’t accept it at all.

“Well…maybe you’re right, Fan,” I said gently. “Maybe there isn’t nothing you can do. But…there’s definitely nothing you can do right now. Pennie’s not gonna want to talk to you for a while, after what you said. And maybe, not even because you were wrong. Maybe because, deep down, she knows you were right.”

Fannie’s head snapped up all of a sudden.

“You have to tell me how your afternoon with her went,” she demanded. “Were you able to learn anything from her? Did she open up to you at all?”

I blinked. Fannie sure had a lot of expectations about this hangout with Pennie that I hadn’t even had. Luckily, I did happen to have learned a lot about Pennie, thanks to our night in the lounge.

At the same time…it didn’t feel right to unpack all of that with Fan. Not when Pennie had such a complicated relationship with her. Not when she thought Fannie only wanted to judge and control her.

“Actually…Pennie did open up,” I said—and I wasn’t really lying, because although Pennie hadn’t spent the afternoon with me, she had opened up to me. “Yeah…she shared with me quite a bit. I don’t know how much I can tell you, though. If there’s anything she wants you to know, she should probably tell you herself. But…yeah, I learned a lot about her.”

“Stars, I’m so glad,” Fannie said—and then she clasped her hands together. “Oh, Ben…she really seems to like you. Much more than she seems to like me. I mean…goodness! I can’t believe she spent all afternoon with you, showing you around the house and telling you about herself. And, the way she wanted to escort you to the front of the dining hall—she really does seem to have a connection with you. Do you…think that you could get through to her? Perhaps? With a little more time?”

I was silent.

“...I, um…I don’t know, Fan,” I said quietly. “Let’s…just…take a little break from thinking about it for now.”

Fannie’s large eyes grew sad.

But she nodded.

“...Okay,” she sighed.

I stood and held out my hand, and she got up and joined me, and we went out on the balcony together. The sun was still setting over the rocky outcroppings, even though it was past seven o’clock. I marveled that on Ryloth, November was still summer.

“It’ll be okay, Fan,” I told her. And I wasn’t sure what I meant by that—I wasn’t sure what, exactly, I was claiming would be okay—but…I did mean it, whatever I meant.

“My family is nothing at all like yours, is it?” Fannie asked ruefully.

“No,” I said, putting my arm around her shoulders. “Nothing like them at all.”

I turned to look at her, the last of the sun’s rays glowing warm against her skin, and I reached out with my free hand to run my knuckles against her cheek. She closed her eyes, leaning into my touch.

“Yo,” I said. “Fan. I know it’s been rough for you, ever since you started living here full-time again. But…I think you’re doing all right. I think it’s amazing that you’ve turned out to be such a…good person, having come from a place like this.”

“Hm.” Fannie smiled down at the railing, then pulled me closer to her. “I told you, Ben. I’m not a good person. I am merely a person. Any goodness you see in me is what the light side of the Force has wrought in me, and managed to keep alive.”

“Well, however you wanna say it—I think you’re a good person,” I told her, and laid a kiss on the top of the head.

She giggled softly, and took my hand to kiss it back.

I grinned. She was absolutely adorable, her father’s and brothers’ opinions be damned.

As the sun slowly disappeared behind the mountains, the blushing pinks and reds and oranges gave way to dusky, sleepy blues. One by one, the stars began to wake—bright, winking pinpricks in the sky, like pearls in a tapestry.

And then Fannie turned to me.

“...Do you think you’re a good person, Ben?” she asked.

My smile faded.

I drew away from her in silence, and a gust of wind blew between us, low and forlorn.

Well. Wasn’t that a great question.

A herd of kortokks screeched faintly in the distance.

“...No,” I told her, looking out at the rocky mountainsides, watching them become dark silhouettes against the deep blue sky. “I…I don’t think I am. Sure—I’m capable of doing good things, sometimes. Occasionally. But…I’m not a good person. I’m just…a person.”

I realized, strangely, that I had said almost the exact same words that she’d said.

“I am merely a person. Any goodness within me is what the light has wrought and kept alive.”

“Sure, I’m capable of doing good things, sometimes. But I’m not a good person.”

And yet, somehow…she and I were saying two completely different things.

I began to wonder what the two of us were even doing together.

Someone like her…

…and someone like me.

I felt her tuck her hand back into mine, and I looked at her.

“...For what it’s worth, love,” Fannie said quietly, “I think there’s a lot more goodness within you than you fully realize or are willing to see.”

“Well…I appreciate that,” I told her, even if I wasn’t sure I believed her.

Because…I knew there was a whole lot of bad in me, too, that maybe she didn’t realize, or wasn’t willing to see.

…That I wasn’t going to let her see.

“But how was dinner with my father, dear?” Fannie asked, changing the subject. “I suppose he was charming as always.”

“Oh, he was charming, all right,” I said, half sarcastic, and half not.

Fannie picked up on the hint of sincerity. “Ben, I was joking,” she said. “Surely you don’t think so?”

“Well…he is charming,” I said. “He’s not a good guy. But he’s definitely interesting.”

“‘Interesting?’” Fannie echoed.

“Yeah,” I said. “I don’t like him, you know. But I am fascinated by him.”

Fannie frowned, but said nothing. I could tell she was getting upset.

“Look. Sorry,” I apologized. “Maybe I’m not speaking clearly. I can’t emphasize enough how much I do not like him—”

“Oh, don’t you?” she asked bitterly, pulling her hand away.

Her tone took me by surprise. I began to feel angry, too, that she wouldn’t hear me out and was determined to read ill intentions into my words.

“No!” I protested. “Not at all—look, I never said I liked him or approved of him or anything. But you can’t deny he’s an intriguing character—”

“He’s a horrible person,” Fannie said firmly, and I fell silent. “It’s well enough to be interesting if you’re a character in a book. But he’s a real person, Ben. And real people should be good, not interesting.”

I paused, and thought about it.

I supposed I could see what she meant.

“...You’re right,” I said. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t respond.

“...I’m sorry,” I repeated. “Yeah, you’re right—he’s not just some guy. He’s your father, and you have a specific relationship and history with him. I should’ve kept that in mind before I started running my mouth.”

She stayed quiet. In the quickly-fading light, it was difficult to see her face.

“Aw, Fan…don’t do this,” I begged. “You know I hate when you just stop talking. Please. Don’t shut down. It freaks me the hell out.”

“Language.”

“Oh, good. You’re still here. You know, maybe I should just start cussin’ whenever—”

She swatted me, which I deserved.

“...Sorry.”

“It’s all right.”

“...I love you, Fan.”

“I love you, too, Ben.”

I reached for her hand again, and squeezed.

She squeezed back.

And I knew, then, that we were gonna be okay.

I decided to be patient, and give her some time to collect her thoughts. I did need her to talk to me…but I guessed it didn’t have to be right away. I patted her on the shoulder to show her I cared about her, then rubbed my fingertips against the back of her neck in that way she likes.

See? Sometimes I can be kind of okay at the boyfriend stuff.

After a couple of minutes, Fannie spoke again.

“...I shouldn’t have called my father a horrible person,” she said at last, and I was surprised that that was the first thing she wanted to say. “It wasn’t very Jedi-like of me.”

“Hey,” I said. “I never said your father wasn’t a horrible person. He is. Yeah, I said he was interesting—but only for how awful he is. That was what I meant. And, uh…sorry I raised my voice. I know that freaks you out, as much as it freaks me out when you get quiet.”

“Thank you, Ben…and I’m sorry I got upset, too,” she said. “I suppose you’re right. I can see why one might be fascinated by him…especially a writer like you. I only wish I had a less-interesting father.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “I wish your father was a little less interesting, too.”

The sun was gone, now. Fannie shivered in the breeze, and I shuffled behind her and wrapped my arms around her.

“Are we good now, Fan?”

“Yes, dear, we’re good.”

“Good.” I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, and she giggled and reached up to pat the side of my face.

“Oh…yes,” she said suddenly. “Speaking of my father—that reminds me. We will have to eat dinner somewhere else tomorrow, love, as there’s not going to be supper in the hall.”

“There’s not?” I asked.

“No,” she said, shaking her head. “Pentarra has…well…a personal event. He hosts it once a month.”

The gentlemen’s banquet, I remembered. I was about to tell her Pentarra had invited me—

But then, for some reason, I found myself not wanting to mention it.

“What…kind of personal event?” I asked.

Fannie shook her head. “You don’t want to know.”

“Well…I can guess,” I said. “It’s, like…a stripshow, right?”

Fannie smiled miserably. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

“Have you ever…seen it?”

“No. Women are not allowed. None except for the performers and the servants. Not that I would ever wish to attend, given the opportunity.”

“Has your mother ever been there?”

“Pentarra does not have his own women perform,” she said. “He is much too jealous for that. He hires dancers for his guests to enjoy…though the dancers do more for them than simply dance.” Her face darkened—and then she turned around to face me.

“In any case, Ben,” she said, “there is nothing at the gentlemen’s banquet that would interest a man like you. You would feel out of place—and quite bored. I am sure of it.”

She said this part hurriedly, as if to dissuade my curiosity. And although I knew it was not meant as an insult…somehow it did not exactly feel like a compliment.

But before I could think much more of it, Fannie turned again and laughed bitterly.

“...Why’d you laugh like that?” I asked.

“I was thinking,” she said. “Is it not incredibly ironic? That my own father…the man who sired me, and brought me into the world…should show far more interest in you, Ben Solo, during a single meal and having just met you, than he has shown in me my entire life.”

She stared hard at the dark horizon, her full lips set in a tight line.

She was right.

It was ironic.

“...To be fair,” I said quietly, “you probably wouldn’t have wanted the kind of attention your father has to give. Not if it’s anything like the attention he gives your sister.”

“Well…no…I suppose not, but…” She sighed and shook her head. “I was thinking about this when we were with your family, too, Ben. When I was washing the dishes with your dad, and he asked me what it was like at the Jedi school and what I do now. Your father also showed more interest in me in one single moment, than my own father ever has.”

I rested my chin on the top of her head, and rubbed my hands over her shoulders. We looked out at the sky together.

“Ruut Pentarra may have begotten me,” Fannie said softly. “His blood runs through my veins. And yet…he was never a father to me. Luke was the closest thing I had to a father. But now…”

Then she turned around to face me. “Ben…are we doing the right thing?” she asked, and the pleading in her voice just about did me in.

I didn’t know what to say.

“Well…we’re doing what we want to do,” I said quietly. “Isn’t that enough?”

The look in her eyes told me that, for her, it might not be.

That scared me. I was afraid of what would happen if she decided it wasn’t right for us to be together.

Of course…I also had my doubts about whether she and I were right for each other. But maybe there was something within me almost a little like Ruut Pentarra, and his apparent willingness to defy nature for the woman he wanted. Because I didn’t care if Fannie and I were “supposed to be together” or not. We were just going to be. Like I told Pentarra—I didn’t believe in fate. We’d forge our own fate, damn it. As long as Fannie was willing to follow me down that road, that’s where we were headed—if I had anything to say about it, at least.

And I did come up with something to say. To Fannie, I mean.

“Listen, Fan…” I began (and everything I was about to say to her, I genuinely believed). “I don’t think it’s always easy to say what’s right and wrong. Sure—maybe with some things. It’s wrong to kill people. It’s right to help people. But…who can say whether it’s right or wrong for you and me to be together? Uncle Luke thinks it’s a bad idea—well: I don’t. Why should what he thinks be more true than what I think? Because he’s older? Because he’s a Jedi? I don’t think so.”

Fannie didn’t reply, only listened. I could tell this was going to be another point on which she and I didn’t fully agree. I kept talking anyway.

“Some things are definitely right, and some things are definitely wrong,” I said. “But everything that’s in-between, everything that’s in the gray—that’s where I think people make up good and evil to get others to do what they want them to do, and be how they want them to be. I don’t think it’s our job to figure out whether every little thing is right or wrong. We all see things differently. We all deserve the freedom to decide. You know?”

Fannie was quiet. I knew she was thinking pretty hard. And I knew she was probably about to argue with me.

“…I’m not sure I agree,” she said at last. “It seems clear to me that good and evil are laws written into the universe. Like the pull of gravity. Maybe there are scenarios where it’s more difficult to determine right from wrong, but…I think things usually are one or the other. If you cannot say something is fully right, then by definition it must be wrong. There are few things, I think, that are truly neutral—and even then, a neutral action can be colored by right or wrong intentions.”

“Then who gets to decide what’s right or wrong?” I challenged. “I’ll follow your premise. But if there’s a hard line somewhere, we can’t all be right about where it is—and you’re never gonna get everyone in the galaxy to agree. That’s why we have planetside conflicts—that’s why we have star wars. People fighting about who gets to decide. So: who gets to?”

“Well…I don’t think anyone gets to decide what’s right and wrong, Ben. I think we determine what’s right and wrong.”

“Okay. Semantics. So who gets to determine what’s right and wrong?”

Fannie thought for a moment. “It’s not who gets to determine morality, as if it were a power to wield,” she said. “We all bear the equal responsibility of searching out what is true and right. We all have the obligation to make the best choices we can, according to our consciences.”

“But people’s consciences tell them different things,” I pointed out. “I mean—look at us. You and I like each other a lot, but even we can’t get on the same page. Anyway, if right and wrong are concrete ‘laws,’ like you said—then where did those laws come from?”

“But where did anything come from?” Fannie challenged. “Gravity? Light? The galaxy itself?”

“Okay…now we’re getting a bit into the weeds, I think,” I said, chuckling. “That is a whole other question I’m not prepared to contemplate right now.”

She giggled, too.

And then she paused thoughtfully.

“…I don’t know where the laws of right and wrong come from,” she said at last. “Perhaps they come from the Force. Perhaps from something outside of it. But I am convinced that they exist.”

“What do you mean, you don’t know?” I asked with a good-natured smirk. “I thought you Jedi had an explanation for everything.”

“The Jedi are merely stewards of the galaxy, not its creators,” Fannie said. “There is much about our universe that even the Jedi do not know. I do not know where good comes from…but I know that it is real. I know that it is true. And I know it is the only thing worth striving for when all is said and done. It just seems to feel that way.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” I asked. “That you don’t have a logical explanation? It would bother me.”

“No,” she said, with a calm sense of conviction. “I feel it so strongly, I have never felt the need to justify it with proof or study.” She looked to the sky. “It is like the moons,” she said. “I know now they are great balls of rock, circling Ryloth from afar and reflecting the light of our sun. But…even when I was a child, and thought they were tiny orbs of magic that came to dance during the night…I knew they were the moons. One need not have a complete understanding of something to know it is real. And beautiful. And important.”

Well. That’s Fannie for you.

I wasn’t entirely convinced. But…I did get her.

“I guess I see what you’re saying,” I said.

We looked up at the moons together—all five of them.

Naboo has three moons.

Hosnian Prime, where my parents live, has one.

Ryloth has five, each of them with their own nightly dance through the sky.

“...I think it is right for you and I to be together,” Fannie said finally, and I tilted my head down to look at her. “…Yes. There is a lot of good in our relationship. We may not see everything in quite the same light, Ben…but you give me help in many different ways, and you teach me many things. Without a doubt, my life is better with you in it.”

“Well. So’s mine,” I murmured.

I held her close as we gazed at the moons.

“They are beautiful,” I said. Then I came up with a real slice of cheese. “Not as beautiful as you, though.”

Fannie smiled and swatted me and I laughed.

Now that I knew I deserved.

“What are the moons called?” I asked. “Do they have names?”

“Well…they are called by different names, depending on the region,” she said. “Here, they are named according to the Tcha’buli mythology. The large one is called Tollah, after the goddess of this place, and the rest are named after her priestess attendants. But when my sisters and I were young, we gave them our own names.”

“What’d you name ‘em?”

She pointed to the largest one, and then to each of them in order from biggest to smallest. “Fashha, Fa’nakhra, Coneeyla, Ginevrah, and Pen’awen.”

“Oh,” I chuckled. “You mean you literally gave them your own names.”

It was fitting. Just as each moon traveled its own orbit, each woman in Fannie’s family had chosen her own path. Sometimes their paths crossed, like starships in the night. Sometimes their paths took them to opposite ends of the sky.

“…Well,” I said. “I think Fa’nakhra is my personal favorite.”

“Is that so?” Fannie giggled. “How come?”

“Oh…she just seems to shine a little brighter than the rest, I think,” I said, nudging her. “Or…maybe it’s a trick of the eyes.”

“Hm.” Fannie smiled modestly. “Whatever she shines is merely the sun’s light reflected on her surface.”

“Well, then,” I answered. “Perhaps Fa’nakhra reflects the sun’s light a bit more than the rest of us.”

Fannie tilted her head back so she could look up at me, her large eyes shining like stars.

“There’s light in you too, Ben Solo,” she murmured.

I gazed at her for a moment.

“...Thanks,” I said.

She looked up at the sky again, her eyes lingering wistfully on the smallest moon. By some strange coincidence, the moon she called Pen’awen held itself a distance away from the others that night.

“...It means a lot to me, you know,” Fannie said quietly, her face clouded with sadness. “You spending time with Pennie. Especially since my efforts to reach her always return to me fruitless.”

“...Yeah, of course,” I said. “Don’t mention it.”

“Do you…think she would want to spend time with you again tomorrow?” Fannie asked hopefully.

I laughed, embarrassed.

“Well, I…I don’t know about that,” I said. “But um…” I cleared my throat. “Actually…I think the two of us oughta spend more time together while I’m here. Whaddaya say, Fan? Want to do something tomorrow? Just you and me?”

Fannie smiled. “Oh…I don’t know,” she said coyly, breaking free from my clasp. “I am hesitant to spend extended time in your presence unchaperoned, Mr. Solo.”

I frowned, confused at first…but I caught on pretty quick.

“Goodness knows it’s certainly bad enough,” she continued in a low voice, “that this evening should find us in my chambers alone.” She looked over her shoulder at me, sporting a sly little look I had never seen on her before.

Whoa.

Holy moly.

My heart began to pound, and I felt like how I had earlier when I’d downed the whiskey. The dim light made her beautifully mysterious: that smile I didn’t recognize, on the person I knew so well.

“Geez Louise, Fan,” I told her. “Don’t tease me like that.”

Her eyes widened, and she dropped the act. “Oh…! I’m sorry, Ben. I didn’t mean to make fun of you—”

“No,” I whispered, coming closer. “I mean…don’t…” I brushed up against her, and ran my fingers up her shoulders. “...tease me…” I leaned down to whisper in her ear. “...like that.”

She shuddered breathlessly. “Ben…”

But I didn’t let her say anything more, because I pulled her into me, and planted a kiss right behind her ear. And then I buried my nose in her neck and kissed her there too, while her face turned warm against my cheek and she tried not to laugh.

“You’re only proving my point,” she breathed. “We shouldn’t be left alone.”

“Hey…we’re not alone,” I told her, holding her at the waist and sliding my hands down around her hips. “The moons are watching. Right?”

She giggled and threaded her fingers through my hair right at the nape of my neck, so that my scalp tingled like crazy—and then there was more hugging and more kissing and, you know, just a general exchange of cooties.

…But you don’t want to hear about all that.

We didn’t carry on long, anyway. Since she had talked about the moons representing her family, the idea of them watching us made things sort of…awkward.

Eventually we wound down. And then I coughed, and lowered my hands to my sides.

“Sorry. I’m, uh…not really into it anymore. Not with the moons watching.”

Fannie laughed, and politely withdrew from me. “I was beginning to feel the same way. Perhaps you should retire to the west wing for the night, love. We’ll spend time together tomorrow—in the light of the sun.”

“Yeah,” I chuckled, scratching the inside of my ear. “That sounds good.”

“You and I can have dinner together, too,” Fannie said, smiling playfully. “We can find a nice little place: somewhere that offers forks, and doesn’t serve snorlii.”

“That also sounds good,” I laughed, and gave her a big hug, squeezing her as tight as I could.

I pulled back so I could look at her again. Her face was flushed, and she was smiling so wide it must’ve hurt.

Geez, she was somethin’.

“Um…Ben?” she said.

“Yeah?”

She stepped back, and I watched as she clasped both my hands in hers.

“I…I would love to be married to you,” she stammered, her eyes sparkling, and she bit her lip and smiled up at me.

I was glad it was dark. I could feel my ears turning red.

“Yeah, could be fun,” I said, with a quiet laugh. “Maybe in a few years.”

We looked at each other, standing there, holding each other’s hands. And I found myself imagining what it would be like if we stood like this in front of our friends and family one day…

And then I cleared my throat, and took a step or two back.

“Geez—look at us saps—I better go,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck, and I was grateful that she knew me too well to be offended. She merely smiled and folded her hands together in her lap. “But um…you’re okay, Fan?”

“Yes, Ben, I’m wonderful,” she smiled.

“You look wonderful,” I told her.

She beamed.

And when she smiled, she did shine like the moon.

We began to head back in from the balcony. But Fannie stopped, and turned over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Fashha,” she said to the sky, and blew a kiss to each of the moons. “Goodnight, Fa’nakhra. Goodnight, Coneeyla. Goodnight, Ginevrah. Goodnight, Pen’awen.” And then she added, quietly: “May the Force be with you, Pen’awen. May the Force be with you.”

I put my hand on her shoulder as we went back inside. I could feel the immense weight of her compassion for her sister, even if she didn’t always know what to do, or the best way to do it. And…I wished I was doing something to help, like Fannie thought I was.

I gave Fannie a kiss on the cheek goodnight. And then I walked out the door and into the hall.

Fashha and Ginnie were on their way back to the room as I was heading out. I suppressed the urge to scurry past them, and forced myself to smile—I figured it was okay to make eye contact with them, since they knew who I was.

Or…maybe not. They didn’t reciprocate the gesture—though Ginnie deigned to offer me a look of suspicion, while Fashha walked right past me.

“Fannie and I weren’t…doing anything,” I told Ginnie quickly, in case that was the reason she had looked at me like that.

“I wouldn’t have assumed you were,” she said, in a way that was probably not meant to be flattering.

“Where’s Connie?”

“With one of her many boyfriends,” Ginnie replied. “Where else?”

There was just enough bite in her tone to make me wonder if Ginnie was jealous. I hadn’t seen Ginnie with anyone before…which would have made her the only one of her sisters to be single. Even Fannie was in a relationship—and with as much disdain as Ginnie seemed to have for her, that had to feel like a bit of a blow.

“Well…” I replied, “I pity whichever boyfriend Connie is with.”

And I think I coaxed something like a smile from Ginnie. But it vanished immediately—like a reflected glint of starlight.

I walked out to the landing where that giant portrait of Pentarra watched over the atrium, then entered the west wing. On the way to my room, I passed by one of the men’s lounges where Nabohri and some other guys were hanging out.

“Nerra!” Nabohri called. It took me a second to recognize that I was the nerra in question. I turned.

“Yes, you, Ben Solo!” Nabohri laughed—and I laughed too, and walked into the lounge to meet him. It was interesting, the way people on Ryloth pronounced my name by mashing it all together: Bens’olo.

Nabohri raised his fist to me, and I knocked mine against it. Thank the Force that the bro code was universal.

“I wanted to tell you, Solo,” Nabohri said. “We hunt again at noon tomorrow. Will you join?”

The guys all whooped and bounced around me and clapped me on the back, and I felt a rush of pleasure to be included again. But I knew I couldn’t—not this time.

“Sorry,” I said. “I have a date with Fa’nakhra tomorrow.”

This was met with general booing, which I shrugged off good-naturedly.

“Aww,” said Nabohri, flopping his butt down on the armrest of the lounge sofa. “Please. You must join! We want to see how you fare on your own, Ben Solo, and not bogged down with Mikal.”

Mikal was, in fact, present to hear the remark. As before, his brothers seemed quite comfortable putting him down in front of his face.

I tried to throw him an apologetic look (which he saw, but did not react to). I turned back to Nabohri.

“Sorry, Nabohri,” I said. “But I can’t.”

“Fine,” said Nabohri. “We can come up with a solution. How about this? Hunt in the morning, before your time with Fa’nakhra. You may take one of the blurrgs. When you are done, leave your kills at the stables, and we will count them in the contest. I will even promise not to throw your trophies to the blurrgs when no one is looking.” He gave a goofy grin, and everyone laughed.

Nabohri may never have been to school, but he sure was a class clown.

I chuckled. “I mean…sure, yeah, I guess that could work.”

It wasn’t such a bad idea. I also wondered how I’d stack up against the rest of them on my own.

Then I looked around. It seemed odd that Nabohri was the one organizing and making plans for the group.

“Hey,” I said. “Where’s Vataash?”

“I don’t know,” said Nabohri. “Pentarra held him after dinner.”

“Held him after dinner?” I repeated. “Why?”

“I don’t know that, either,” said Nabohri. But…he smirked. And I think it was because he was imagining Vataash getting his lekku yanked instead of him. The ruthless smile of Ruut Pentarra, that I’d seen on Pennie’s lips, now found a home on Nabohri—jester as he was.

I didn’t know what to say.