#vataash

I wonder how it works here, exactly.

I mean—I wonder at what point I would be overstaying my welcome.

From what I can tell, there are always several guests in the Pentarra house at any given time. How closely are they monitored? Who authorizes their stays?

Pentarra’s house is full of guards. The guards are not slaves, which makes sense, because they’re more likely to do their job if they’re paid. There are guards that stand at the gates and there are guards that stand at the door and there are guards that stand on either side of Pentarra’s table in the dining hall. And they’re armed.

Ruut Pentarra knows I’m here. I stick out, not being Twi’leki, and we have made eye contact in the dining hall a couple of times. Especially since Fannie’s mother’s table has been reinstated to its former place: the closest table to Pentarra’s on the right side of the hall.

Last year, it was the furthest table. Pennie Pentarra, who despises her family, had it moved.

Pennie Pentarra does not come to meals anymore.

Sometimes I sit with Fannie and her mom and sisters, and sometimes I sit with Mikal on the men’s side of the hall. In sitting with Mikal, I have sometimes found myself sitting with Vataash and Nabohri. They ignore me, which is probably for the best.

I’ve dropped a lot of names. I think most of Fannie’s family deserves their own posts, so I won’t analyze them all here. But…

Have you ever seen a sabacc deck with royal cards?

Here’s an easy picture for you: Ruut Pentarra is the King. Pennie Pentarra is the Queen. Vataash is the Jack, Nabohri is the Joker, and Mikal, I think, would be the Ace.

That’s the best way I can think to sum it up.

I had kind of dissociated during it, to be honest. I had actually liked it—a fact which utterly shocked me—but only so long as I'd been able to distract myself from who I was with. Being with Pennie had felt...wrong.

But...I was open to having my mind changed.

I think what had excited me most was the feeling of closeness. Breathing her breath. Folding my fingers into hers. Letting my hands wander where they'd never had. But then the sun had rose, and she had gone back to treating me the same as always...which is to say with indifference, silence, and occasional annoyance. And yet she’d still gotten angry when I'd said I needed some time alone.

Maybe she’s mad ‘cause I wasn't very good at it, I thought.

For the fifty-sixth time that day I gained unwanted lucidity, and I groaned and pulled the drawstrings of my hoodie over my face. Inspecting the leaves under a magnifying glass was tolerable. Interesting, even. But whenever I remembered what sort of forest I was looking at, I wanted to die.

I guess I just thought it’d feel a little more special, I mused within the confines of my hood. I mean...it finally happened, right?

Well...partially. There was a lot that hadn't happened—either because I had been unwilling or unable to see it through.

Still...a lot had happened. And just in time for me to turn twenty-five. Which didn't really matter...but then somehow it did.

But...nothing's changed, I thought with frustration. I'm still a loser. Pennie and I aren't anything. I'm not even sure I'd want Pennie and I to be anything. Not like the way I was with...

I thought about that night on the balcony, with the five moons in the sky.

Well...one thing had changed. I now had something that would be extremely difficult to explain to Fannie...if not outright impossible.

And the worst part?

I had sworn off lying and keeping secrets.

"Ben Solo...?"

"Oh, shoot!" I shouted, throwing off my hood and scrambling up, but I backed up too far and hit the back of my head on the polished stone bench behind me. "Ow!"

A hand reached out to help me sit up on the bench. And the hand belonged to...

"Vataash," I said, surprised. "...Hi."

Vataash Pentarra was the oldest of Fannie's half-siblings: age twenty-two now, if I knew how to do math. He was a handsome kind of guy—lean and muscular—which made up for his average height. He had deep violet skin, his father's piercing eyes, and matching tattoos that sprawled over his left lek and his right arm.

Vataash and I were not exactly friends. I had spent my first visit to Ryloth trying to impress him, and had ultimately succeeded...only to decide he wasn't the kind of guy I wanted to be friends with. We had mostly ignored each other since then.

Which made it all the more surprising when he sat down next to me on the bench.

"I am glad to have found you," he said, glancing around as if afraid we'd be caught. "I have been hoping to speak with you, Solo. I have some questions to ask."

"O...kay?" I said, admittedly not in an answering-questions type of mood.

And the question he opened with was a doozy.

"Are you the father of Pen'awen's child?" Vataash asked, dead serious.

I should've had a mouthful of water to spit out.

"What?!" I shouted. "No!! Why would you think that?!"

Vataash's brow twitched, as though he found my reaction odd.

"It would not have been implausible," he said. "You have taken up residence with her. You are always with her. I had thought perhaps..."

"You've got to be kidding," I protested. "Pennie was pregnant long before I started hanging around! And she and I never would've—"

I stopped. I couldn't finish the sentence. It wasn't true anymore.

I shut up and hoped Vataash would believe what I couldn't say.

"...Very well," Vataash said slowly. "But...what are your plans, after she has her child?"

"What do you mean...my plans?"

"I mean: do you intend to wed her?" he asked earnestly. "To raise the child as yours?"

I stared at him, trying to decipher his intent. If this was any other family, I'd assume Vataash was acting as a protective older brother. But...this wasn't a normal family. The Pentarras had never been a normal family.

"...Why are you asking me these things?" I asked.

Vataash began to look uneasy. I wondered if he had something to hide.

"...It is very odd that you have chosen to become her mate now, under the circumstances," he said at last. "It is strange enough that you would select her when she is with child, and stranger still when the child is not even yours. I want to know why you are doing this. I want to discover what you hope to accomplish."

"I...well, I...I'm not Pen'awen's mate," I stammered. "She reached out to me as a friend. We're just friends."

But...are we?

I brushed the thought away, and continued. "I don't know what our relationship will look like, after she has her baby. I'd...have to talk to her about it. But I'm pretty sure she just wanted some extra support until she has it."

"But...suppose if the child were yours?" Vataash pressed insistently. "What would you do?"

"Vataash, I told you, that would be impossible. Pennie and I have never done anything that could result in a child."

At least that much was true.

"Yes, I know," Vataash said impatiently. "But what would you do if you had?"

"You’re not making any sense!" I protested.

A tone of desperation had crept into Vataash's voice. He leaned in closer and closer, as if proximity could draw out an answer from me.

"I am asking you, Ben Solo," he pleaded. "What would be the right thing to do?"

I blinked, bewildered, suddenly wondering something...crazy.

"Vataash..." I said slowly. "Are...you the father of Pennie's child?"

Vataash recoiled like he'd been shot.

"Of course not!" he bellowed.

“Well…I may be a lot older than you, but it’s my first one, too. Where are you sitting?”

“As is tradition, I will be sitting at my father’s table to celebrate that I have become a man.”

“Oh!” I said. “I’m sitting at his table, too. Wanna…sit together?”

Mikal smiled—something he didn’t do often.

“Yes,” he said. “I would like to sit with you.”

Normally, the serving women wore neutral colors, as if to draw as little attention to themselves as possible. Tonight, they dressed very brightly…and in very little. It was shocking, unnerving, and a little bit exciting—but what I felt was more the thrill of the forbidden than any kind of physical attraction, if that makes sense.

Still, the servant girls’ outfits were nothing compared to the shimmering fabrics and striking silhouettes worn by the performers, who walked around to mingle with guests before the show. One of the dancers was wearing a fishnet top, the loose strings at its ends adorned with beads—but either it had a lining that perfectly matched her skin tone, or she was naked underneath. I spent way too long trying to figure out which it was, and got caught looking.

The dancer smiled, and sauntered up to me. “Naughty, naughty,” she teased. “It’s not polite to stare.”

Now that she was up close, she looked about seventeen years old, which made me feel pretty gross and weird. “Uh—sorry,” I choked, but she only laughed.

“Oh, don’t be sorry,” she said, leaning in and lowering her voice. “We’re not here to be polite, after all.” She flicked her index finger under my chin, and turned on her heel and flounced away.

I looked at Mikal, mortified…but Mikal showed no emotion on his face.

Mikal and I made our way around the raised stage, past the other tables, and toward the head of the room. A golden silk tablecloth covered Pentarra’s table, and crimson brocade placemats stood out against the gold. On these mats we found thick paper place cards with our names written on them—but Mikal and I had not been placed together.

With a little passionate case-making, I convinced Mikal that it was okay for us to switch the place cards around. We ended up sitting on the left side of the table, with me on the end and him to my right.

There was already bread waiting for us, along with small clay bowls full of oil, garlic, and some tiny olive-looking things. I took a piece of bread, and dipped it in the oil.

“Wine?” A servant girl with her chest barely held in with satin and string came to offer us drinks. “Honeyfruit, from Hetzal Prime. Twenty-two ABY.”

I stared at her. She was the same girl who had been peeling redfruits with Fannie a couple of nights ago, and who had found me the morning I woke up in the east library. She recognized me, too, and looked askance.

“Uh—sure,” I said quickly, pushing my goblet forward and looking down at the table.

Mikal seemed to be included in the invitation despite his age, and the girl filled his goblet as well as mine. After she had moved on to the next table, I turned to Mikal.

“You drink?” I asked. “Alcohol, I mean.”

“Yes. Did you not see me drink at the bonfire yesterday?”

“Oh, yeah. I guess I did.”

I had forgotten. The bonfire was a bit of a blur…for totally non-alcohol-related reasons, obviously.

“Do you like alcohol, Mikal?”

“No.”

“Do you like how it feels?”

“No.”

“Then why do you drink it?”

“Because it has been put in my glass,” Mikal said simply.

I felt sorry for him. I took his goblet, and poured it into mine. Then I worried he might think the action was patronizing…but he looked at me with an expression that seemed to thank me, maybe.

I wasn’t sure. Mikal doesn’t emote much.

“Do you like alcohol, Ben?” he asked.

“Uh…yeah, I like it,” I said. “It took me a while to get used to the taste. And it kinda depends on the type of alcohol. But yeah—I like it now.”

“When did you first drink?”

“When I turned twenty-one. That’s how old you have to be to drink, where I come from.”

“When did you first have sexual intercourse?”

I spit my wine back into the goblet.

“Wha-huh?”

“When did you first have sexual intercourse?” Mikal repeated, in the exact same tone and wording. He seemed to think I just hadn’t heard him the first time.

Geez Louise. I didn’t know if I’d ever heard the words “sexual intercourse” before in a non-academic setting. It was so awkward, I almost would have preferred Fannie’s “making love.”

I hesitated, wiping my mouth with my napkin. Yeah, I had lied about my nonexistent sex life to all the guys at the bonfire—including Mikal. But…now that I was with him alone, I didn’t feel like continuing the charade.

“...Why do you ask?” I questioned instead.

“Because I am going to have it for the first time tonight,” Mikal said solemnly. “Since I am now a man.”

I looked at him, astonished. From what I’d heard, it wasn’t unusual to have one’s first sexual experience so young…but I didn’t get the sense it was because he wanted to.

“...Do you want to have it?” I asked.

“I don’t see what difference that would make,” Mikal said. “I am going to. It is what men do.”

Well—not all of ‘em, I thought.

“You know,” I said, “Nabohri told me you weren’t at the hunt this morning.”

“No,” Mikal confirmed. “I wasn’t.”

I waited for him to say more. He didn’t. I really needed to remember to ask my follow-up questions out loud, when it came to Mikal.

“Why weren’t you at the hunt, Mikal?” I probed.

He paused, seeming to choose his words.

“Because I thought about what you said,” he told me. “And I decided there is not a rule that says I must go hunting. So…I did not go.”

“But is there a rule that says you have to come to the gentlemen’s banquet when you turn fifteen?” I asked. “And a rule that says you have to drink wine even if you don’t like it? And a rule that you have to have sex tonight, just ‘cause it’s what other guys do?”

Mikal frowned, and looked distressed—the most emotion I’d ever seen on him. “It’s…hard to tell what is a rule and what isn’t, sometimes,” he said. “Usually I just try to do what other people do.”

“Mikal, buddy…I think there are a lot fewer rules in the galaxy than you think there are,” I told him gently. “You decided you didn’t have to go on the hunt. You can also decide not to be here if you don’t want to be.”

Mikal looked like he was thinking about it.

“But…you’re here, Ben Solo,” he said finally. “Do you want to be here? Because, if you want to be here…then I’ll stay here with you. I trust you, Ben.”

I opened my mouth…but I didn’t know what to say.

In the end, I didn’t get to say anything. The sound of a horn from the middle of the room captured our attention, and we looked to see Ruut Pentarra in the center of the stage. Having silenced the entire hall, he handed the horn back to the servant girl standing next to him, and she bowed and removed herself from the stage.

Pentarra was dressed in glittering golden robes, and a matching gold headpiece that sat on the crown of his head and coiled around each base of his lekku. He wore the same rings he always did, but the rainbow array of gemstones seemed to sparkle even brighter now that the rest of him was drowning in gold.

“Welcome, sons of Pentarra, and all my distinguished guests!” he shouted, his voice booming, and cheers rose up around the room. “I am honored you all have come to partake in this night of revelry.”

I looked around. Pentarra’s sons were all here—all of them that did not sit with their mothers at supper. I was able to pick out both Vataash and Nabohri, who were seated on opposite sides of the room from one another. I targeted Vataash first, and then Nabohri, with a smug smile and a cheeky little wave—like the kind my mother had had to do as a young Alderaanian princess.

Both of them saw me, and pretended not to.

Vataash was wearing a bacta patch over his swollen eye. Perhaps he had taken Nabohri’s insult to heart, and was hoping his face would heal in time for him to charm one of the dancers.

There were no female guests at the tables, nor were there any children (even if Mikal still seemed like a kid to me). But the room remained as full as it had been the previous evenings. Of the men I hadn’t seen before, most of them were Twi’leks, but there were others, too: humans and Neimoidians and Rodians and Togrutas. Some men were young and some men were old; some looked charming and suave and handsome and others looked slimy and sleazy and greasy.

All of them, however, looked disgustingly wealthy.

“As many of you know, I host the gentlemen’s banquet every cycle, when Tollah’s moon is full,” Pentarra said. “The purpose of this night is to celebrate and enjoy the best of Tollah’s pleasures. It is always a special occasion...but tonight is even more so. I am proud to announce that my son, Mikal Pentarra, has come of age and become a man.”

The crowd began to clap. Pentarra turned toward us, and raised his voice: “Mikal! Rise!”

Mikal rose to his feet obediently, but did not smile—though I think he would have, had Pentarra told him to. The applause came to a peak and slowly dissipated.

“Mikal is Lethan,” Pentarra boasted proudly—which I found odd. From what Pentarra had told me, he did not seem to think it was something for Mikal to be proud of. “He is the only one of my offspring to bear this great mark of luck. Please, Mikal: step forward.”

“How many steps?” Mikal asked seriously, and several men chuckled.

Pentarra’s lips curved dryly. I wondered if he thought Mikal meant to mock him. If he had known Mikal at all, he would have known this wasn’t the case—but I had little faith that Pentarra really knew his children.

“Join me on the stage, Mikal,” said Pentarra, a little less grandly, and Mikal complied, with no sign of embarrassment at having originally misunderstood.

“Good,” Pentarra said, as Mikal stopped beside him. “Now: turn, so everyone can see you.”

Mikal turned. He turned to face one side of the room, and then the other, and then the last, shifting mechanically on his feet at perfect ninety-degree angles. The whole thing felt very weird and uncomfortable to me, though I couldn’t explain why.

The guests murmured with intrigue, and then I knew why it felt so odd—Pentarra was, for the moment, a ringmaster hosting a freak show.

“Would that your son had been born a daughter!” someone called out. “He has a dancer’s build.” Several of the men whooped and laughed at this. I frowned and searched indignantly for the source of the remark, but couldn’t tell who’d said it.

“I like being a man,” said Mikal, expressionless. “I would not be at the gentlemen’s banquet, were I not.”

The men laughed again, but Mikal seemed unbothered.

Pentarra smiled that faint, unnerving smile again. “Go back to your seat, Mikal,” he commanded, and Mikal did—but he stood beside me, and did not sit down.

I leaned over. “Mikal,” I whispered. “You can sit.”

But Mikal shook his head, his eyes fixed on Pentarra. “It is important that I follow my father’s commands exactly,” he told me calmly. “You saw what he did to Nabohri.” And Vataash, I thought to myself. “But sometimes my father does not say exactly what he wants me to do.”

I felt sorry for Mikal. And I was even more sorry that he didn’t see a problem with Pentarra’s behavior. To Mikal, his father’s mistreatment was just another set of rules he had to make sure to follow.

“Well…you can sit down, Mikal,” I told him. “When he said ‘go back to your seat,’ he meant ‘sit down.’”

“Oh,” said Mikal. And he sat—if reluctantly.

“Mikal was born of my fifth wife, Kuhrii, fifteen years ago,” Pentarra was saying. “It has been many years since I took my last wife—though, of course, I have since collected many women.” The audience of men chuckled amiably.

“But besides this being Mikal’s first banquet,” Pentarra continued, his voice booming, “tonight is a special celebration for another reason, which is this: I am pleased to announce that I will soon have a new bride, whom I now display before you.”

I frowned. Display?

“Allow me to present my most recent betrothed—Pen’awen!” Pentarra bellowed, gesturing grandly toward the curtain in the northwest corner, and a chill ran down my spine.

A roomful of heads turned to look.

…No one came.

I chewed on my lower lip, trying not to show my concern. I hadn’t known Pennie was supposed to be here. At this very moment, Pennie was currently with Fannie in the garden, discussing how to become Pentarra’s most recent unbetrothed.

I knew that Pennie wasn’t here. But Pentarra must not have known that Pennie wasn’t here. Had he not bothered to check for her before the event had begun? Had Pennie failed to plan an excuse for her absence?

The crowd began to murmur.

I played with my fingers nervously, wondering what would happen next—and what consequence would befall Pennie for having embarrassed her father in front of all his guests.

But…I didn’t have to wonder.

Because suddenly, out flew Pennie Pentarra from behind the curtain, her head adorned with jewels and decorative cuffs around her lekku. She wore a periwinkle bikini top with great wings of gauzy fabric that trailed below her outspread arms, and a short, wrapped skirt under a bustle of large plumed feathers that made her look like some flamboyant bird. Her stomach and legs were bare, and she wore no shoes. Gold bangles encircled her wrists and ankles, and they jingled as she held her lithe arms up to the high ceiling—the gauzy wings fluttered up into the air and floated down slowly.

And then she flashed the crowd a winning smile, her lips rosy pink, her teeth blinding white.

For a second, I was stunned.

Then I pulled out my holopod and checked for a message from Fannie, but there was nothing.

Everyone else was whistling and hooting over Pennie, but I was mentally floundering, trying to make sense of things. What time had it been when Fannie messaged me to say they were eating dinner in the garden? Six-thirty? And what time was it now—seven? No, seven-forty-five.

Had she and Pennie parted ways early, then? Well, they must have—because here was Pennie, right in front of me. I squinted as Pennie made her way to the center stage, trying to see as a last resort whether it was Pennie at all—I deliriously imagined some kind of soap opera conspiracy where Pennie had hired one of the servants to dress up and take her place at the banquet, so that she could run away in the night with her sister—

But no. The woman onstage was definitely Pennie Pentarra. I had seen enough of her dry, cunning smile to recognize her beyond a shadow of a doubt.

So then…where was Fannie? And why hadn’t she messaged me?

I opened our conversation history again in desperation.

Nothing.

Pennie drew herself gracefully up to the center stage and cleared her throat, and I looked up.

“Thank you, gentlemen: my brothers, and my guests,” she said sweetly, in a voice I’d never heard from her before—a little higher, a little more syrupy.

Oh yeah, I thought. Most of these guys are Pennie’s brothers. Well, half-brothers. I had nearly forgotten, the way they whistled at her.

“It is my honor to be your hostess,” Pennie went on, curtsying in each direction of her applause, “and of course, Ruut Pentarra’s newest bride. My husband-to-be wishes to recognize a few of his guests in particular.” 

Newest bride?

Husband-to-be?

I had a bad feeling about this.

“Firstly,” Pennie said, gesturing toward our table, “Markos Nikoulo of Coruscant, businessman. Owner of the Nikoulo hotels found galaxywide.”

The Rodian gentleman who had been sitting on the other side of Pentarra’s chair rose and bowed to the rest of the room. I’d never heard of him, but the Nikoulo hotel chain was ubiquitous.

“Secondly: Borh Free Taa, nephew of the late Senator Orn Free Taa,” Pennie continued, and the large Twi’lek man who had been sitting next to Markos Nikoulo stood and bowed.

Orn Free Taa had been Ryloth’s representative in the Galactic Senate, under both the Republic and the Empire. Due to his corruption and greed, he had never been popular with his people. I didn’t know what this nephew of his was like. Maybe he had a more favorable image. Or…maybe he didn’t.

“And thirdly, Ben Solo—son of Leia Organa, the Huttslayer!”

And Pennie gestured toward me, and a hundred heads swiveled.

Oh. So I was getting a special shout-out, too.

I supposed I should have expected as much, seeing as I was the last one at Pentarra’s table who had not been mentioned. I wasn’t sure what to do. I had wanted the Pentarra boys to see me here, but I didn’t know if I wanted everyone in the room to look at me at once.

I stood up reluctantly, bowed my Rylothian bow, and received the same polite applause that the other two guys had. And I guess it did feel pretty good to scout out Vataash and Nabohri again, and see how ashen their faces looked—I buried a private smile.

“These are all of the special guests that Pentarra wishes to acknowledge,” Pennie said as I sat back down. “Rest assured he is beyond pleased to have each and every one of you in attendance—as am I.” She turned over her shoulder and smiled, seeming to look specifically toward me as she said it.

Pennie had obviously known I would be here. She had introduced me and everything, and she’d clearly practiced beforehand.

Only an hour ago, Fannie had said Pennie wanted to break off her engagement to her father. So…either Pennie was currently lying about being honored to be Pentarra’s newest bride…or she had lied to Fannie about wanting to break the engagement.

…I had a hunch about which lie she was more likely to have told.

Oh, boy. Fannie wasn’t gonna be happy about this.

But where was Fannie?

She wasn’t with her sister. That was for sure.

I had to leave and go find her…but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself in the middle of Pennie’s speech. I decided to wait until the speech was done, and then I’d sneak out and look for Fannie.

“Eighteen beautiful dancers shall perform tonight,” Pennie was saying. “Some of you have already had the pleasure of meeting them. As is tradition of the gentlemen’s banquet, these women will be available to you for further familiarity after dinner. But there are only eighteen of them, and many more of you—so you must secure your chance quickly.”

I was only half-listening, because I was trying to figure out what I’d do once I found Fan. I had to tell her about Pennie: that I had seen her hosting the banquet, and that she was no longer interested in breaking off the engagement with Pentarra…if she had ever been at all.

But how was I going to tell her that without revealing I had also been at the gentlemen’s banquet?

“Since there are so few women,” one man called out, “can we share them amongst ourselves?”

Well, that got my attention again. It was as if he was talking about, like, a sandwich or something.

“That would be an arrangement between you and whoever you intend to share with,” answered Pennie. “I see no reason why not. But good luck—most men do not like to share.” She smirked. “Then again…there are some who do.”

Everyone laughed.

“Do the dancers expect to be paid?” another man called out.

“As is Pentarra’s custom,” answered Pennie, “the dancers have already been graciously paid for by your host. Both for their dancing…as well as anything else.”

“Very well then,” the guy said, “do they expect to receive a tip?”

“Indeed, no, sir,” replied Pennie slyly. “They expect to receive the whole thing!” She bent at the hips and rose up again with a crude pelvic motion, causing the men to roar with laughter while I sipped my wine and tried not to go red in the face.

I had to admit, though: Pennie had inherited her father’s charisma and stage presence.

“At the end of each dancer’s performance,” Pennie went on, “the first gentleman to come to the stage will win her company for the night. He will then come to me, and collect a key to one of the sleeping chambers, which you will find through the northeast curtain.” She brandished a ring of keys in the air, and gestured toward the corner to my left.

So that was what the northeast corner of the dining hall led to: sex rooms.

I’d have to try not to think about that while I was eating my dinner in the hall from now on.

“Dinner will be served first, before the dances,” Pennie said next. “This way, you will have some time to digest—as the luckiest of you will soon be engaged in rigorous activity. You will find the menu beneath your plate.”

I lifted up my plate. There was indeed a menu there, made of the same thick paper as the place cards, and written in Basic instead of Ryl.

“Best of luck to you all,” Pennie said, sashaying around in a wide circle to blow kisses around the room. “May you all find pleasure tonight—and may Tollah smile upon our merrymaking!” She leapt gracefully down from the stage, and headed for our table.

With the introductions concluded, servants began to enter from the northwest corner with platters of food. I stopped Pennie as she was making her way past us to her seat.

“Pennie,” I said. She turned, and met me with a charming smile.

“Ben Solo,” she said, savoring my name. “I am so pleased that you are here.”

“Where’s Fannie?” I demanded. “I thought you were eating dinner with her in the garden.”

“Which, of course, is why you decided to come here behind her back, no?” Pennie smirked.

“Look, I don’t have time for this,” I snapped. “Where is she?”

“Why are you always asking me where Fa’nakhra is? Am I my sister’s keeper?”

“You were just with her, weren’t you? You sent her a message earlier. You asked her to have supper with you. She told me you were in the garden only an hour ago. She also told me some other things…but now I see they weren’t true.”

Pennie smiled as if reliving a pleasant memory. “Oh, yes; Fa’nakhra and I had supper,” she said sweetly. “We also had a lovely conversation. I so enjoyed pretending, even for a moment, that my sister did not utterly despise me for the choices I have made. The choices that she cannot understand, because she refuses to understand me.”

“So you lied to her,” I said sharply. “Why? You know her. She’s gonna be heartbroken when she finds out you weren’t serious.”

Pennie smiled even wider, and nastier, and gave me a cruel little wink.

“Which is precisely why I did it,” she crooned.

I stared at her in disbelief.

“Besides, Ben Solo,” Pennie said in a low voice, “it is not as if you have never lied to her. You are still sneaking around behind her back and spending your time however you please. Look at where you are at this very moment. You speak of my sister’s heartbreak? She will be heartbroken if she learns that you were here. Don’t you dare speak to me as if you were above me.”

“Pennie, just tell me. Where is she?”

Pennie’s smile vanished.

“She is in her quarters, if you must know,” she sniffed. “We finished with our supper around six-thirty. She said something about needing to meet you later, and retired to her chamber to take a nap.”

“A nap? At six in the evening?”

“I don’t know,” scoffed Pennie. “She said something like: ‘oh, goodness, I am so exhausted—but rather in a good way, I think. I believe I shall lie down a moment and rest my eyes before I meet Ben at nine.’”

Pennie’s impression was so convincing, it did sound like something Fannie would say.

I relaxed my shoulders a little.

“You’re meeting her at nine?” Pennie said calmly, and glanced at the large chronometer above the entrance of the dining hall. “Then you have plenty of time at your disposal.” She leaned over to pull the menu from under my plate, and handed it to me. “Please. You must be hungry. I implore you, Ben Solo: enjoy the finest of Tollah’s bounty.”

She smiled and patted me on the head, and I watched her as she sidled past Mikal to take her seat.

Well…I was hungry. And women holding platters of food were now coming to our table.

…Fine. I’d stay to eat some food. And then I’d get the hell out of here.

I looked over the menu, and scanned it for snorlii—to my relief, there was none.

The menu was as follows:

TO START fresh-baked bread, served with garlic confit and pickled lothii buds honeyfruit wine

FIRST COURSE in honor of Mel’aatola, divine attendant of good fortune a cold salad of lakeweed and spring chives, drizzled with shal’sholla seed oil and topped with stuurgfish roe lothii blossom tea

SECOND COURSE in honor of Shaak’tola, divine attendant of harvest wild rice pilaf with roasted barley, pine nuts, and young rivercress, served with a side of charred baby greenspears Outer Rim Flight (Twin Suns Haze, Mantellian fungolager, Ryll imperial stout)

THIRD COURSE in honor of Tollah, divine goddess of all abundance spit-roasted senshiil, glazed with zuukshi honey, stuffed with sweet onion, q’reshnuts, kernmeal, and fresh herbs Cantonica Pinot Noir

FOURTH COURSE in honor of Vikh’tola, divine attendant of wealth oyster chowder with heavy cream and wild chantrello mushrooms, topped with sliced violet truffles and served with toast points and foie gras Daruvvian champagne

FIFTH COURSE in honor of Zhul’iitola, divine attendant of pleasure egg custard tart with clotted cream, garnished with Briika cherry preserves and gold leaf sweet goldberry wine

Whoa. Fancy-schmancy. I’d spent the last three years eating instant glowblue noodles—I was fresh out of college, for goodness’ sake.

Normally, I’m a sardine-and-tomato sandwich kind of guy. But, hey: I can appreciate nice things.

Especially when they don’t cost anything. Save, perhaps, for a smidgen of moral compromise…but that, I figured, I could stand to afford.

“Wizard,” I murmured as the bowl of lakeweed salad was placed in front of me, the bright orange sturrgfish roe glistening like gems.

Since there were a lot of off-worlders here tonight, one of the servants came around to offer forks and spoons. Which was great—because I could enjoy dinner a lot more when I didn’t have to worry about fumbling food with my fingers and looking dumb.

Dinner that night was the fanciest meal I have ever had in my life. Does something that’s going straight in your mouth need to have gold leaf on it? Hell no—but also, why the hell not?

Each course had a different drink to pair with it—with the exception of the second course, which featured three. The only drink Mikal liked was the sweet wine that was served with dessert. Even then, he only sipped it, and did not finish the rest.

I helped Mikal finish his drinks…which seemed like an okay idea at first. But while I was helping Mikal finish his Daruvvian champagne, it all hit me at once—or maybe I just hadn’t paid attention up until that point. I squinted at the ceiling and felt my head spin like the water in a fishbowl when you move it around, and thought to myself: “oh, kriff, I’ve done it now.”

By the time dessert had concluded, I found myself, shall we say…considerably relaxed. Not only that, I had forgotten to keep track of time. Since there had been so many courses, dinner had proceeded at a leisurely pace, and it was already nine o’clock when the servants began to clear the last of the dishes.

“Geez, I should get going,” I muttered. I tried to stand up…and got so dizzy, I immediately had to sit back down.

Oh, yeah. I’d really done it now. I was gonna have to sit still for a bit and give my body a chance to metabolize.

I checked my holopod again (embarrassingly, it took me a second to remember my passcode this time). Still nothing from Fannie.

Maybe she was still asleep. Maybe she’d forgotten to set an alarm.

I fumbled my fingers over the touchpad:

Hey! Are we still meeting up?

Part of me hoped she wouldn’t wake up. Maybe she’d sleep till morning, and then I could just tell her everything tomorrow. I didn’t think I’d be able to give her my full attention now, anyway…nor had I thought of a way to explain how I’d discovered Pennie’s dishonesty without incriminating myself.

It became nine-fifteen, and then nine-thirty. The plates disappeared. The men grew restless.

Still nothing from Fannie.

I’m sure she’s fine, I thought to myself hazily. I was beginning to feel weirdly comfortable as I sank into my seat—as if I were having a dream, or an out-of-body experience. If she messages me before the end of the night, I’ll come find her.

“Do you plan to claim one of the dancers, Ben?” Mikal asked, breaking my trance.

“Um—what? Sorry?”

“Do you plan to claim one of the dancers?”

“Uh…no.”

“...Okay,” Mikal said. “Then…neither will I. I suppose there’s no rule saying I have to.”

I patted him on the back affectionately. Maybe it was a good thing I was here, after all.

“Ben Solo!”

I looked to see who had called my name, and saw Pennie coming up the steps. She leaned forward against the table from the other side, all smiles.

“Did you enjoy dinner?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I admitted with a self-conscious laugh. “A lot. Maybe a little too much.”

“Nonsense. There’s no such thing,” she chirped, before switching to a look of concern, her full lips rounding into a pout. “But…aren’t you late to meet my sister?”

“Well, she never messaged me back,” I said. “She’s probably still asleep.”

“Oh…I see,” said Pennie—and if I had been a little more sober, I might’ve picked up on the tooth in her grin. “Then why don’t you stay for the show? The girls have worked so hard on their performances. Of course, I know you wouldn’t dream of taking home anyone other than your dear Fa’nakhra…but, you know, it’s not a crime to look.”

She smirked, and strode off toward the stage before I could reply.

…Well.

Why not, indeed?

Pennie was right that I had no interest in the women. But so far, tonight had proved very interesting, and if I wasn’t meeting Fannie in the library anymore, it wasn’t like I had anything better to do.

And besides. It was a good thing I was here. For Mikal.

Once onstage, Pennie raised her arms and called for the hall’s attention. She gestured toward the northwest corner and introduced the first dancer: the girl with the fishnet top who had caught me staring at her. The girl came flying barefoot from the curtain in the corner, slender and shapely and scantily-clad, and twirled and glided across the stage. She held sticks with ribbons on the ends that trailed flitteringly behind her, tracing her every movement.

The men sat hypnotized, whistling as they watched. I didn’t whistle, but I did watch—and I did finally figure out whether she was naked underneath the fishnet or not…but I will leave that to your imagination.

Although the servants had cleared the plates, they were still serving drinks. I swallowed, realized how parched I was, and asked one of the servants for water. She only laughed and poured me more wine.

I stared at it for a second.

Then went ah, what the hell—and drank it.

“She is a very good dancer,” Mikal remarked to me as we watched the girl float around the stage.

“She is,” I said back. “She must practice a lot.”

And then I had to laugh, because the things Mikal and I had to say were so unlike what the rest of the men had to say—which I will also leave to your imagination.

As soon as the girl finished her dance, a bunch of guys stood and raced toward the stage. The first one to get there swept her off the ground and threw her over his shoulder like a sack of flour, then came to where Pennie stood in front of our table. She congratulated him and handed him a key, and off he went, carrying his prize through the curtain at my left.

 It all happened so fast. I tried to see the woman’s face as he carried her off—but her face was hidden, and there was nothing to see. And then Pennie announced the second dancer, who also came flying out of the northwest curtain, and the whole thing began again.

She danced. They catcalled. She bowed. They descended on her. She disappeared through the northeast curtain, never to be seen again. Pennie introduced the third dancer.

The evening went on. I lost count of the dancers. Everyone got drunker and drunker. I nursed my wine—I had given up trying to get water. I wanted to leave, but didn’t feel like I could. Everything blurred together—the sights, the sounds, the sensations—the drinks kept pouring and the men kept laughing and the women kept dancing, and I felt the electricity in the room all around me—a potent cocktail of revelry and exuberance and naughtiness and lust—I felt like I was somehow shut outside of it and trapped inside of it all at the same time—and more and more I could sense how different I was from everyone else here, everyone except Mikal—but even then, Mikal seemed to be taking it all in—Mikal, who, like his family’s domesticated blurrgs, had never known anything other than the world in which he was raised—

I began to feel like I was falling sideways in my chair. I put out my hands and gripped the edges of my seat to stabilize myself. The dream-feeling, the floating feeling, the out-of-body feeling—it began to feel not-so-good.

Dancer after dancer finished her performance, and was immediately carried off into the sleeping chambers (which were most definitely not used primarily for sleep). Every time, several men would rush the stage at once, pushing and shoving each other to get there. They seemed just as driven by carnal desire as my blurrg friend from earlier. I couldn’t imagine what that felt like, or why anyone would behave like that. And I began to replay over and over in my head—well, everything—

—when Fannie and I were in my old room, and I’d made her stop kissing me, and she asked what Snoke had done—

—when Connie and Ginnie had made fun of me during my first dinner here—

—when I had lied to the guys at the bonfire about all the sex I hadn’t had—

—when Pennie had tried to seduce me: “You are a man, aren’t you?”—

—and now, here I was, in the very lap of lust and lechery, and I felt—

…I felt…

…nothing.

Well—I did feel pretty damn drunk. But that was about it.

Even the initial excitement I’d experienced over seeing so many upper halves of breasts and lower halves of buttocks, more because I knew I wasn’t supposed to than because I had a genuine interest—even that thrill was gone too. At this point, I’d seen so much that I was bored of it.

Yet…no one else seemed bored but me. It was like being the only sober person at a house party. (Not that I was anything close to sober anymore, at this point.)

And stupidly, I thought to myself—hey, you know what would make me feel a little less bad about this?

…More wine.

The night wound down. A few of the servants began to clean up spilled drinks and shattered glass. Some of the men, having given up on their chances with the performers, disappeared with the servant girls instead. Others drank themselves into oblivion and lay passed out over their tables and benches. There were only a couple of dancers left.

Ruut Pentarra ended up claiming the seventeenth dancer. When he rose from his seat, his competitors immediately sat back down and allowed him to make his way to the stage uninterrupted. I noticed a flicker of jealousy cross Pennie’s face…but she quickly recovered, and handed him a key with a hostess’s flourish.

I had been glancing at Vataash and Nabohri over the course of the night, wondering if either of them planned to claim one of the dancers. Strangely, they had both seemed nervous to, and neither one had made any move all this time. Maybe it was because they had felt the need to defer to Pentarra’s guests?

…Or, I realized, to Pentarra himself.

That hypothesis seemed a lot more likely as I watched the intense way both brothers watched their father disappear through the northeast curtain. Unlike the other men, Pentarra did not carry the girl away in his arms, or run as he went. He simply strode away in that calm, controlled manner of his, and the girl followed obediently behind like a senshiil to slaughter.

I saw her face as she went. It reminded me of how Hassacha had looked at me the night before.

“She looks terrified,” I murmured aloud, and Pennie heard me.

“He likes it when they are,” she said stiffly into her glass of wine. “Perhaps it is because I no longer fear his fantasies that he has grown bored of me. What cruel irony it is, that a woman’s devotion means nothing to a man who craves only sport.”

I turned to look at her, caught off guard by her lucidity. She met my gaze and looked surprised as well, her nose in her glass.

Then she turned away and pretended she hadn’t spoken. She put down her glass and smoothed her skirt and announced the eighteenth dancer to the crowd. The last dancer threw the northwest curtain aside, and posed seductively in the doorway.

As she ascended to the stage and began her routine, I idly imagined myself going up to her, and taking her into one of the sleeping chambers, and…well…I didn’t know what I’d do with her then. Tell her I didn’t know how to do anything, that I’d never done any of it before, and ask her to show me how. Or maybe I’d just set some tea to boil and interview her, and ask her what her story was, and how she’d ended up in this place.

I was sitting across from her in my head, asking her what she would most like to do with unlimited credits and the ability to travel to any planet she wanted—when I snapped out of it and blinked a couple of times. I glanced furtively around, embarrassed, as if anyone would have been able to see inside my head.

Even in my own fantasies I couldn’t have sex.

For the past several minutes, Vataash and Nabohri had been watching each other almost as intently as they watched the stage. When the eighteenth dancer finished her performance, ending in the splits with her arms extended gracefully, both boys leapt out of their seats at once and came flying down to the center of the room. They descended upon her at the same time and each tried to wrest her away from the other, like two hounds fighting for the last scrap of meat.

Neither of them would let go. And I realized it wasn’t just about the girl. It was about power. Dominance. Control.

At first, the dancer played along, pretending as if she were flattered to be in such high demand. But the more roughly Vataash and Nabohri fought, shouting at each other and yanking her back and forth till I feared for her arm sockets, the more her facade wore away. She began to look concerned, then frightened, then pained.

Vataash and Nabohri cursed one another in Twi’leki at the top of their lungs—if their father had still been in the room perhaps they would have kept themselves in check, but now no holds were barred. The girl began to shout, too, and I didn’t know what she was saying either—but it was extremely clear to me she did not enjoy what was happening.

I turned to Pennie, who watched the proceedings with a placid expression and her wine glass to her lips.

“Pennie,” I urged. “You’ve got to stop them. They’re gonna rip that poor girl’s arms out!”

Pennie looked at me coolly. “This is our tradition, Ben Solo.”

“Pen, listen to me,” I begged. “That girl up there? She’s a kid just like you!”

“Kid?” Pennie sniffed indifferently. “That is a woman. She knows the hazards of her trade. And she is nothing like me. I’m not onstage.”

I stared at her, shocked by her callousness.

“...Kartakk erai de numa,” I uttered, and Pennie looked at me sharply…before settling into an amused smile.

“Did my sister teach you that?” she chuckled. “I do not abide by that rule, Ben Solo. I am not bound by some code of loyalty to anyone, simply because we are of the same sex.”

“Fair enough. Forget that she’s a girl,” I said. “But she’s a person, and nobody deserves to be treated like that!”

“The fact that she is a person makes no difference to me, either,” Pennie said loftily. “There are a great many people in this world I do not care about, Ben Solo—and I am sure there are also a great many you do not care for. Again, I would appreciate if you did not pretend as though you were better than me.”

I didn’t have time to ponder her retort—I knew I had to do something. So I jumped and stood on top of my chair, almost toppling as I did, and shouted at the top of my lungs the very first thing I thought of to say:

“Vataash challenges Nabohri to a fight to the death!”

The two boys stopped where they were on the stage, and stared at me.

For a second, Vataash gave me a very “what the kriff” kind of look. But…I knew he was too proud to deny what I’d said, lest he look like a coward.

“A glorious battle of strength and might!” I shouted, tacking on some extra drama to buy time. “Whoever defeats the other will win the girl!”

Silence.

I looked around the hall desperately. And then I waved my arms and cheered, until the rest of the men caught on and roared their drunken approval. They had not expected this, but it was a welcome addition to the night’s entertainment.

Having successfully riled everyone up, I plopped back down in my seat, my heart racing. I didn’t have any hope of rescuing her from either one of the boys—but I figured I could at least try to save her from being handled by both at once.

Vataash and Nabohri both withdrew from the woman, and looked at each other awkwardly. I wasn’t sure how prepared they were for hand-to-hand combat under normal circumstances—let alone inebriated and before a crowd.

But I was right. Vataash was much too proud to retract the duel…and Nabohri was too envious of his eldest half-brother to back down from a challenge. The woman stepped dazedly off the stage, and Vataash and Nabohri circled around on top of it, trying to look menacing…but I think they just didn’t know what to do. Part of me hoped that both guys might be too scared to fight, and simply walk away.

But that was a foolish thing to hope for, I guess.

It was Nabohri who made the first move. He threw himself at his brother with a warrior’s cry, and the entire hall cried with him. Vataash took the cue, and ran toward Nabohri also—they crashed into each other in the center of the stage, locked together, and tumbled to the floor in a flurry of limbs, each pummeling the other without technique or coordination.

I found myself holding my breath. Nabohri had more height, but Vataash had more muscle. I wasn’t sure who had the better odds—but some of the men seemed to think they did, because some of them started to wager and place bets.

I glanced over at Pennie, who seemed greatly entertained. And then at the dancer, who was sitting on the ground a few feet away and probably disassociating.

I wondered if I had done the right thing. My little tournament basically ensured she’d end up with whichever brother was more violent.

…Then again, perhaps that had always been the case. At least I had spared her from having to be in the middle of it. I hoped that whoever ended up winning would also end up too tired to exert himself much tonight.

“This was a brilliant idea, Ben Solo,” Pennie murmured. “I could certainly use one less brother.”

“Yeah…don’t mention it,” I muttered back.

For a long time, neither guy seemed to be winning. But at last Nabohri gained the upper hand, his long limbs allowing him to drape himself over Vataash—who struggled, but could not get enough leverage to push Nabohri away. And then, despite having already straddled him and pinned him down, Nabohri took hold of Vataash’s lekku—both of them—and pulled, causing Vataash to scream and the crowd to gasp—only, I think this poor display of sportsmanship was met with delight rather than consternation.

“How do you like it, brother?” Nabohri bellowed in Basic. He must have wanted everyone in the room to hear him and understand him, not just Vataash. “You have always thought yourself so high above the rest of us, just because you were born first—and you have always thought me little more than a jester. Well—I am tired of playing the clown. I am tired of being laughed at. Do I make you laugh now, you filthy son of a seed-swallower? Look at yourself, and how low I have brought you. Feast upon the dust of the earth, you skarth-eating maggot!”

He yanked once more, and Vataash cried in agony.

But Nabohri was so caught up in his monologue, he forgot to stay on guard. Both his hands were occupied as he gripped Vataash’s lekku. Incensed by Nabohri’s taunting, Vataash suddenly roared like a crazed beast and went clawing at his brother’s face—it happened so fast, I barely saw it. And then, all at once, Vataash had tumbled forward and knocked Nabohri onto his back, and was sitting on top of him, now, and pummeling him, sending fist after fist into his brother’s face and screaming such obscenities in both Twi’leki and Basic that it would be inappropriate to record them here.

At first, it was shock that kept Nabohri from retaliating…then after that, incapacitation. Although Nabohri struggled, Vataash used his legs to pin Nabohri’s arms to his sides so he could not block the onslaught. Nabohri’s screams became gargled, and my skin prickled as I saw red drops of blood begin to fly into the air with Vataash’s fists as he struck blow after blow.

“That’s enough—we gotta end this,” I said to Pennie—then questioned why I’d said it to her.

“You started it in the first place,” Pennie said without turning around. “They are men. They must settle it amongst themselves. And besides, Ben Solo…you said it was a fight to the death.”

Kriff. I had said that, hadn’t I?

“Nabohri concedes!” I heard someone shout to my right, and I saw that Mikal had stood up beside me, and I knew he was the one who had said it.

I figured that was fair. Nabohri did not seem conscious enough to object. I stood up, too.

“Vataash, stop!” I shouted. “Nabohri surrenders!”

But I don’t think Vataash could hear us—though not by any deficiency of his ears. He was being carried along solely by rage.

“Vataash, you win!” I yelled. “You’ve already beaten him! Stop—you are going to kill Nabohri!” And I considered getting up onstage to restrain him—but I had a feeling if I did he might kill me, too. “I was being dramatic!” I shouted again. “A fight to the death—like actually to the death—is not a good idea!”

This time, though, he did hear.

“I disagree—I thought it was a wonderful idea!” Vataash screamed back. “You do not know, Ben Solo, how much I would like to bury this buffoonish, ignorant beast, for even daring to think he might elevate himself above me!”

And then I had an idea.

I took a huge breath, and yelled as loud as I possibly could—louder than anything else I had shouted in the last fifteen minutes:

“Vataash, you will face the wrath of Ruut Pentarra if you murder his son!”

It worked.

Vataash stopped, his fists wet with blood, his face flecked with it—the drops contrasting deep red against the white of his eyepatch—and looked at me.

And I collapsed, exhausted, back into my seat.

I didn’t know how Pentarra would react, if one of his sons killed the other. From what I knew of him, I wondered if he wouldn’t find it incredibly amusing. He might see it as a survival-of-the-fittest situation, and say that the weaker had deserved to perish.

But from the look on Vataash’s face, it seemed like he didn’t know how Pentarra would react, either.

He stumbled to his feet and away from Nabohri, and a couple of the servants rushed forward and dragged the unconscious boy away.

I strained to see. Nabohri’s chest was rising and falling. Thankfully, he was alive…but his face was a mess. He was so bloodied, I could barely make out his features.

I will spare you any description more detailed than that.

Vataash, breathing heavily, soiled with his brother’s blood—which was beginning to crust and oxidize—stumbled over to where Pennie stood at my left. She dropped the key in his hand, and the eighteenth dancer quickly stood and followed him.

Vataash wobbled and collapsed before reaching the curtain—he scrambled to stand up again, casting a self-conscious glance about himself as he did.

The dancer did not react. She followed him quietly through the curtain, like how the dancer before her had followed Pentarra. Hopefully my wish came true, and Vataash was too tired now to concern himself with pleasure.

“That was too much,” I mumbled. I wiped my forehead on my sleeve, realizing how sweaty I had become. I looked toward the stage again—some of the servants were now mopping up Nabohri’s blood.

Then I looked at the chronometer above the hall entrance. It took me extra long to decipher it, since I was starting to get double vision from adrenaline and alcohol—but it was nearly midnight already. I checked my holopod for what felt like the billionth time that evening.

Still nothing from Fannie.

…Well. Whether I’d heard from her or not, I’d had enough of this. It was time for me to go.

It had been, for a while now.

I rose to my feet. Pennie turned.

“Leaving so soon?” she asked, sounding surprised.

“Not soon enough,” I told her. “Anyway—yeah, I’m done. Sorry Nabohri lived.” I began to sidle out from my chair, but she interrupted.

“Please,” she said, smiling. “Stay for just a moment more. I have a surprise I think you will be very interested in.”

“What’re you talking about?” I said impatiently. “I thought everything was over.”

“On the contrary, Ben Solo,” Pennie smirked. “It’s only just beginning.” She put her hands on my shoulders and pushed me into my seat. Too tired to fight, I let her.

Pennie returned to the stage. “Gentlemen!” she said, holding up her hand to get everyone’s attention. Her gauzy wing floated up into the air and then back down. “It has been our pleasure to host you tonight. I hope you enjoyed that little extra excitement—we have Ben Solo to thank for that. Let us drink to Ben Solo!”

The men all cheered and raised their glasses to me—whichever of the men were still conscious, that is. I waved halfheartedly, but didn’t drink, despite the inch or two left in my glass. I kind of thought I might be sick if I did.

“But the night is not over, for there is yet one more dancer to behold,” Pennie said mysteriously. “If you have found no one else to suit your fancy tonight—or, if you have simply not been quick enough—then perhaps you may find a bedfellow in our last performer.” With a flourish, she strode offstage, and disappeared behind the curtain in the corner.

The other men murmured with intrigue, but I groaned. I was exhausted and drunk and getting a headache and I’d sat through eighteen dances already and had to save Nabohri’s life, and I wasn’t interested in sticking around for one more girl I had zero interest in spending the night with. All I wanted was to get to bed—I was already thinking about the horrible hangover I was gonna have, and how I was gonna have to try and hide that from Fannie in the morning, along with the five thousand other things I was hiding from her at this point. I slowly rose to my feet, now that Pennie couldn’t stop me, and prepared to leave—

But then Pennie re-emerged from the curtain arm-in-arm with the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen—and I stopped where I stood, and sucked in a breath.

She was veiled. Her head was, at least. The rest of her was on near-full display. And while I had become bored of seeing skin hours and hours ago—this girl was different from the rest. She wasn’t tall and leggy like the others had been: she was short and thick-set, with soft thighs, soft arms, and a pillowy shape to her. She had lovely seafoam-green skin, and she carried herself not with the confidence of the other dancers, but with a delicate, dazed timidity that immediately endeared me to her.

The other men began to jeer and heckle—but she had me spellbound. My heart pounded, my nerves blazed, my veins pulsed—I was stunned by the strength of my own feelings, and shocked to be experiencing them at all. Was it the alcohol? Was it the energy that pervaded the room? I had never felt this way about women, only about one woman in particular—and even then I had only been able to feel that way after knowing her for years. So why now did I feel as drawn to this woman as if she were part of my soul?

…Wait.

Oh no.

OH NO.

I sat down again sharply, my stomach churning, suddenly feeling very very very sick for totally non-alcohol-related reasons.

Pennie dragged the woman up to the center of the stage. The girl tripped on the steps and dropped to her knees, but Pennie pulled her up till she stood shivering and wobbling on her feet. This was bad—very bad—I was living in a nightmare. I was screaming at myself to move, to do something, but I didn’t know what to do—

Then the music came on. And Pennie came flying toward us. She threw herself up the steps and vaulted over Pentarra’s table and stood on her father’s chair and screamed:

“DANCE, daughter of Tollah!”

The girl didn’t dance. She didn’t look capable of doing hardly anything. She stumbled and fell to the ground as the men laughed and began to throw things at her—shoes, belts, empty tankards, not-so-empty tankards—she flinched against the projectiles, but did not have the responsiveness to defend. I turned desperately to Pennie—who was smiling a subdued, but very cruel, very malicious smile.

And she was filming all of this on a thumbrecorder.

That sleemo of a sister!

I shot to my feet again, and braced myself against the table as my head throbbed. Ugh, I wished I hadn’t drunk so much! The hall warped and elongated as the men’s laughter echoed in my head and the air felt very, very warm. I began to very much regret that I had participated in any of this—even as a so-called investigative study.

My vision swam in front of me. I had to get to her. I had to get to her. I had to get to her, I had to get to her, I had to get to her. I stood up and tripped over my chair; I got caught on the tablecloth and heard my wine glass shatter on the floor.

“Ben, what are you doing?” Mikal asked, but I couldn’t answer. I finally succeeded in getting out of my chair. But then I stopped, horrified, as Pennie bounded off of the table, leapt up to the stage, and yanked the veil away from the other girl’s face—

—and there was an uproar of hilarity as the Pentarra boys all recognized their eldest sister, her eyes droopy and bloodshot, her lips trembling.

“It’s Fa’nakhra!”

“Fa’nakhra?!”

“Fa’nakhra!”

“I don’t believe it!”

And Pennie laughed, circling around where her sister lay in the center of the stage. Fannie struggled to lift her head, the wine that had been thrown at her shining wet on her arms and legs—Pennie stooped and roughly took hold of her sister’s chin.

“Fa’nakhra: the high and mighty!” Pennie crooned. “All that you have refused to show, now on display for all to see. Yes—I know the words you have not spoken, sister, though you have never dared to say them to my face. You think me a whore. You think me a slut. Don’t you? Oh, not like you—you in all your ignorant privilege; you in all your self-admiring pride. Well—pride comes before a fall, Fa’nakhra, and on the night of Tollah’s full moon, Tollah herself avenges me!” Pennie slapped her sister in the face and let her head fall to the ground as I yelled—

—but then I saw movement in my peripheral vision. I snapped towards it—and saw that it was Borh Free Taa. He, too, was getting up from his seat. He was very drunk, and moved slowly—but he was heading for the stage. Pennie also saw him, her eyes gleaming—and with a gracious gesture and a demonic smile, she stepped away from her sister.

No.

Absolutely not.

I finally found my ability to move and took off immediately, bolting around the long table and racing toward the middle of the room. Ugh, I wished I hadn’t eaten so much! I tripped as I bounded up the raised stage, and grabbed Fannie.

She smelled like wine.

I hoisted her up and tossed her onto my shoulder, similar to how some of the guys had done to the previous dancers—and the men all whooped and cheered, like this was some kind of conquest for me.

Well, it wasn’t: this was a rescue mission.

I stumbled off the stage, and made a beeline for Pennie. I lunged at her in an attempt to seize the thumbrecorder from her hand, but lost my balance under Fannie’s extra weight. Pennie yanked her hand away.

“That tape,” I growled, panting. “Give it to me.”

“Sorry, Ben Solo,” Pennie said haughtily. “I know you are jealous over your mate…but unfortunately, this is my property. Besides, haven’t I done you enough favors? Especially this one. You’d think you’d be a little more grateful for your surprise.”

“My surprise? Yeah, right—don’t pretend you did this for me, you disgusting piece of—”

Pennie smiled. “No…you’re right, of course I didn’t do it for you. Still… that doesn’t mean you need not also benefit.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you see—I’m afraid this little tape belongs to me,” she said, tucking the thumbrecorder into her bikini top, “but I can give you this. As a consolation prize.” She winked, and dangled the last chamber key in the air. “Fa’nakhra has likely frustrated you over many nights, Ben Solo. I imagine there are many pleasures she has repeatedly denied you. Tonight is your chance to finally enjoy her however you please.”

I stared at her, hardly hearing her words, the blood rushing past my ears. I had to get that footage and destroy it. I didn’t know what Pennie planned to do with it—but I knew it wasn’t good.

C’mon, Ben, think, think, think—

And then I came up with this stroke of genius:

“Pennie,” I said gravely. “Give me the thumbrecorder. Now. In return, tomorrow morning I will give you a recording of—of whatever I choose to do to Fannie tonight.”

And then I gagged mentally. I couldn’t believe I’d just said that.

But…I definitely succeeded in getting Pennie’s attention.

Her eyes went wide.

“Now…that would fascinate me, Ben Solo,” she said through pursed lips, before narrowing her eyes again. “But why would you want to trade your recording for mine? Surely yours would be a lot more…interesting.”

That was a great question. If only I had a believable answer.

“Because—because Fa’nakhra is mine, and I refuse to let anyone else see her like this,” I floundered furiously, trying to sound like I wasn’t making it all up on the spot.

Pennie raised a brow. “Yet you would allow me to have footage of her fully unclothed, as you make love to her?” she asked suspiciously.

…Damn it.

“Well—exactly!” I exclaimed angrily, trying to think fast. “Do what you will, Pen’awen. I know you have a score to settle. But I want everyone to know that Fa’nakhra is mine, and belongs to me.”

It was the best I could come up with.

Pennie cocked her head, as if trying to decide whether to believe me. She squinted at me for what felt like forever.

“...You drive a tempting deal,” she said finally. “If you are indeed a man of your word, then what you have to offer me will be worth far more than this silly tape.”

I was too afraid to breathe.

“...Fine,” she mused. “I will hold onto my recording for the night. You will meet me in the east garden courtyard tomorrow morning at ten. You will bring your recording. And then, we will trade.”

Well, that wasn’t gonna work for me. I couldn’t let Pennie go home with her tape tonight, because I needed to make sure she couldn’t make a backup copy. And anyway, I wasn’t gonna have a recording to show her tomorrow.

“No deal,” I said, forcing more confidence than I felt. “You’ve got to give it to me now, or there won’t be a recording for you at all.”

“Nice try,” she said smoothly, “but if I give it to you now, how can I be sure you will bring me what you promised?”

That was a good question. I paused, feeling my scalp prickle up with sweat.

“Well, I…I suppose you can’t,” I said at last, trying to mirror the haughty arrogance in her tone. “But—I can promise you one thing: that if you don’t give me your recording now, I can give you nothing.”

“And why not?” Pennie challenged. “My recording will be waiting for you tomorrow. Surely you could have some patience.” Her eyes flickered lower on me than I felt comfortable with. “At least, when it comes to this little drive.”

“Sorry, but I need to know you won’t make copies,” I told her sternly. “I don’t want anyone else seeing that tape.”

“Hm.” She scrutinized me, rubbing the thumbrecorder between her fingers, then tipped her finger up underneath my chin. “All right, Ben Solo: I will give you my tape now. You will take Fa’nakhra to the sleeping chambers. In the morning, you will bring me your tape, and complete your end of the deal.” She placed the thumbrecorder in my breast pocket, and pressed the palm of her hand firmly and tenderly against my chest, in a way that I didn’t really like—but I ignored that. I was shocked. She was actually willing to trust me.

However, the reason why became clear in a second.

“I know you won’t double-cross me,” she said sweetly. “After all…I happen to possess a wealth of information that you do not want Fa’nakhra to know.”

And she smiled the smile that was so much like her father’s.

My face fell.

So that was why she was willing to trust me. Because it wasn’t me she was putting her faith in—but my desire to save my own ass.

Kriff.

Still…I knew I didn’t have a choice. Protecting Fan’s honor was far more important than losing mine. I’d have to figure out what to do later…but I knew what I had to do right now.

“It’s a deal,” I said firmly.

“Excellent,” Pennie purred. “Enjoy yourself, Ben Solo. I think you will find Fa’nakhra to be in a most…receptive state.”

“What did you give her?” I demanded. “You didn’t poison her, did you?”

“Of course not,” Pennie scoffed. “Do you really think I’d kill my own sister?”

“Well, I never would have thought you’d do this,” I said. “So you’re clearly capable of a lot more than I thought.”

“I’m so glad to have risen in your estimation of my capabilities, Ben Solo,” Pennie said sarcastically. “But…no. I don’t want my sister dead, you see. I want her miserable.” She laughed—a delicate little titter that made my nerves itch. “Don’t worry. She will not suffer any lasting harm. She is merely very, very intoxicated. My sister has never let wine touch her lips before—did you know? Well—until now, at least. She did remark that the tea tasted odd…but I told her it was licorice root, and she believed me.”

She smiled nastily. And once again I wondered if, by staring at her hard enough, I could make her head explode.

“You should thank me, Ben Solo!” Pennie sang. “She will not remember anything that happens tonight. Therefore, I encourage you—indulge yourself in every fantasy that you have never dared to speak aloud.”

I felt absolutely furious—but…I couldn’t say anything, not having convinced her to hand over the thumbrecorder that was now in my pocket.

So…I snatched the chamber key from Pennie’s hand, and hefted Fannie higher up on my shoulder.

Pennie beamed, and stepped back onstage to address the rest of the hall. “Ben Solo has claimed Fa’nakhra Pentarra for the night!” she announced, inciting a roar of intoxicated cheers.

I ignored them.

As I headed toward the northeast corner of the room, toward the hall of sleeping chambers, I locked eyes with Mikal, who was still sitting at Pentarra’s table. He looked concerned—perhaps even frightened.

I stopped in front of him.

“Mikal,” I said seriously. “Listen to me: Leave. Now. This is not a good party. These are not good people.”

He nodded.

Then he stood up, and left.

“Mikal only came to see us off, and did not wish to participate in the hunt,” Nabohri said. “I think he was tired of losing.”

Once again, I felt protective of Mikal. “Hey, I’m sure you lose just as often as he does,” I countered playfully. “Mr. Stuffs-Kortokks’-Heads-With-Stones.”

“See—that’s the thing, Ben Solo!” Nabohri crowed triumphantly, flinging his arms wide—one of his brothers caught a face full of liquor as Nabohri’s cup spilled. “I won the hunt—and without any kortokk-head-stuffing.”

“Oh!” I said, surprised, as the guys all cheered and clapped Nabohri on the back (with the exception of the dude who was soaking wet now, and only sulked). “Uh—congrats! Have you won before?”

“No, never,” Nabohri said, “but since Vataash did not join us this time, I finally had the opportunity—”

He stopped and caught himself, realizing he’d made himself look worse by saying that.

“...Of course, I would still have won, had I faced Vataash,” he boasted, correcting himself. “Vataash always claims falsely that I have manipulated the weights of my kills. But in his absence I won at last, because he was not here to accuse me.”

“You mean because I was not there to catch you,” came a voice from behind. We all turned.

It was Vataash.

The boys fell under a hush. Some of them looked worried, and began to inch away from Nabohri, while others had an impish, expectant look, like high-schoolers hoping for a fight.

Nabohri had reported Vataash ill. Well, Vataash looked just fine…except that his face and neck were all bruised—mottled black against his deep-violet skin—and one of his eyes was swollen shut.

I sucked in a breath.

We all stared at him. I had only just met the guy, but I didn’t need to have known him long to know that he was proud, arrogant, and self-important. Given his current appearance, I could understand why he had hidden himself away for most of the day. To see him in such a state was…unsettling.

I was about to move toward him and ask if he was okay. But I didn’t have time to.

Before anyone else could decide what to do, Nabohri pointed at Vataash with his arm straight out, and laughed.

And laughed.

And kept laughing.

Vataash scowled.

I stared at Nabohri, surprised. The other boys looked back and forth between Nabohri and Vataash, perhaps trying to see whether Vataash was going to retaliate before they declared a particular allegiance. But Vataash didn’t move a muscle—only seethed.

When Vataash did not fight back, the other boys all looked at each other. One by one, they began to join Nabohri in laughter.

All the guys, except me. I could only look on in shock. I couldn’t imagine this scene playing out two days ago, when I’d first met the Pentarra boys. Vataash had seemed like their unquestioned leader then, and Nabohri nothing more than a harmless goofball. Now the roles had reversed, and everyone who wasn’t Vataash or Nabohri had reversed alongside them.

Was this what the guys’ daily lives were like, without school or work or meaningful pursuits to ground them? Just a never-ending game of king of the hill?

Well, I couldn’t take it anymore—I had to stop this.

“Vataash,” I said sternly, stepping forward and projecting my voice so that it cut through the other guys’ derision, and Vataash turned sharply, glaring at me through his swollen eye. I extended my hand to him. “C’mon. Let’s get out of here.”

Vataash looked distrustfully down at my hand, but did not take it.

“Ben Solo,” said Nabohri behind me, in a warning tone that was so unlike his usual joviality. “Step away from him.”

I turned, and made eye contact with Nabohri. Nabohri was tall—taller than me—and for the first time, it occurred to me that he struck an imposing figure, lanky as he was.

I didn’t move, my hand still held out toward Vataash.

“If you do not step back, Solo,” Nabohri threatened quietly, “I will retract the invitation I gave you to Pentarra’s banquet tonight.”

He glared intensely at me. And I began to realize that, as friendly as Nabohri had been toward me lately, it was not my camaraderie he wanted. It was my loyalty.

Well. Unfortunately for him, that was not something available for him to have.

I gave him a defiant look before striding forth and grabbing Vataash by the arm. My intent was to take Vataash back to my room, so I could get him away from the other guys and ask him why he was all bruised up. But to my surprise, Vataash wrested himself away from me in disgust and spat in my face.

“Don’t touch me, human scum,” he snarled, wiping his lips on his bare arm.

I stared at Vataash. And then I looked back at Nabohri. I smeared Vataash’s spit from my cheek with the side of my hand.

Vataash shoved me aside to approach Nabohri, his sharp teeth bared. “You know, nerra,” he growled, “I enjoyed watching Pentarra slam your vacant skull into the ground…and I could almost have pity on you because of it. Surely this delusion you have come to possess, this…idea that you command the loyalty of our brothers, is merely a product of the damage to your head.”

The boys all muttered and murmured.

Nabohri scoffed. “Funny that you should speak of damage to one’s head, nerra,” he shot back, “when your own is so disgustingly disfigured. Do you still mean to go to the banquet tonight, with such a rancor’s face as yours? Ha! No woman would sleep with you.”

More muttering. More murmuring. A little louder this time.

“I wager your mother would,” Vataash hissed. “Because your mother is a whore.” The mutters and murmurs all came to a head, and several of the guys rose up and objected (probably because they had the same mother as Nabohri).

“No, your mother is a whore!” Nabohri retorted—and although this counterattack was far from original, several more brothers rose up and objected (probably because they had the same mother as Vataash).

I found it ironic that they each accused the other’s mother of whorishness, when they shared the same father, who was the biggest whore I’d ever seen.

Vataash and Nabohri snarled at each other like wild kath hounds.

“Nabohri,” I said, coming over and putting a hand on Nabohri’s shoulder. Even though he had attempted to wield his self-assigned authority over me, he wasn’t the one who had spit in my face. “Chill out. Vataash only wants to get under your skin. It’s not worth it.”

But Nabohri slapped my arm away.

“Stay out of our affairs, Ben Solo,” he growled, void of the jollity he had shown me before. “You do not belong here—you never did. You are not one of us. You are an outsider. Eat your snorlii without vomiting, before you try to come in and tell me how to behave!”

Well! So much for nerra!

My face went hot, the blood rushing in my ears. My arm throbbed where he had struck me.

I turned to Vataash. “Vataash—”

“Now that is one thing on which my brother and I can agree,” Vataash hissed. “You, Solo, are only here because you have bedded the ugliest of our sisters. You are no great hunter—I heard you brought back nothing today. I doubt you have had as many women as you claim—for if you had, you would not have chosen Fa’nakhra. You may have dined with our father last night, and perhaps you were even so drunk with conceit that you thought he might favor you over his sons—perhaps you even seized the opportunity to kindle my father’s anger against me. But do not presume he has bestowed honor upon you, Ben Solo. You are merely as a creature in a zoo to him. You may be Fa’nakhra’s guest, but you are not ours—nor are you our father’s, as you seem to think you are.”

I stared at Vataash, my cheeks red, my heart pounding in my throat. I didn’t know if I was surprised by this shift, necessarily—I knew the Pentarra boys weren’t any more reasonable or trustworthy than their father—but damn it, I had just tried to stick up for both of them! (Though perhaps it was my attempt to play both sides that had turned them against me.)

In any case, both of them hated me now. And I knew that, without either Vataash’s or Nabohri’s favor, the other guys would turn on me just as quickly as they had turned on Vataash—unless I thought fast, and made a move.

Luckily, I had a comeback.

I cleared my throat, and shifted my weight.

“Well, uh…that was quite the speech, there, Vataash,” I said slowly. “But if that’s the case, then, um…” I scratched the side of my face, and put my hands in my pockets. “Then how come your father specifically requested my company tonight, at his banquet, at his table?”

I pressed my lips together and raised my eyebrows, scanning the group.

Everyone stared at me. Most of all Vataash and Nabohri, who turned to look at each other in perfect unison and exchanged glances like in a cartoon. I could’ve laughed, if I weren’t so angry.

Hakiiro broke the silence. “He lies,” he said. (What else?)

For once, I wasn’t lying.

At last, Nabohri spoke.

“I was the one who invited you to the banquet, Ben Solo,” he said sternly. “I have since retracted my invitation.”

“Well—you weren’t the first to invite me, I’m afraid,” I admitted. “Sorry, ol’ chap, I didn’t want to tell you before. Thought it might—I don’t know—hurt your feelings, or something.”

Several seconds passed in silence. Vataash and Nabohri looked at each other again. I think they both knew there was no way to recover, now, except to follow Hakiiro’s lead and call my bluff—but then, how foolish would they look if it turned out I wasn’t bluffing?

Which…I wasn’t.

They both stood frozen, unwilling to take the chance. The other boys shuffled awkwardly, not sure what to do without a cue from either captain.

Slowly, I began to smile. I’d won.

“Well…see ya tonight, fellas!” I said in a syrupy sing-song voice, backing out of the room with an over-the-top Rylothian bow. Encouraged by their stunned expressions, my inner thespian came out. I gave a cheerful wave and a hammy salute as I jaunted off into the hall.

I held myself together until I reached my bedroom. And then I shut the door, leaned my back against it, threw my arms around myself, and laughed.

And then…my face fell, and I sank into a squat at the bottom of the door. My boasting only packed a punch if I delivered on it. Which meant…I was either gonna have to make an appearance at the banquet, or look like a total fool.

…Kriff.

Well. Fannie was having dinner with Pennie at six. The gentlemen’s banquet began at seven. Provided that Fannie and Pennie were occupied for at least an hour, I could show up at the banquet long enough to make good on my flex, then bow out and meet up with Fannie later.

Seven o’clock was still two hours away. I messaged Fannie.

Hey! Thinking of you. Do you have any idea what time you and I should meet up tonight?

I waited for her to respond, but no response came. So I flopped back onto the bed and stared up at the velvet canopy, folding my hands over my stomach.

I began to wonder if it would really be so bad if I did attend the banquet. Who knew? It might be interesting…as interesting as everything else I’d seen on Ryloth so far. It wasn’t like I wanted to do anything there—I just wanted to watch.

“There is nothing at the gentlemen’s banquet that would interest a man like you,” Fannie had said. “You would feel out of place—and quite bored. I am sure of it.”

It still sort of bothered me, the way she’d said that…though I wasn’t sure why.

Well…she was right. I didn’t want to watch the women. I wanted to watch everybody, and see everything. Even Rol the taxi driver had heard of the gentlemen’s banquet, and said he’d give his left arm to attend. Maybe it was time for Ben Solo to conduct some good old-fashioned investigative journalism.

I already knew whatever went on at the gentlemen’s banquet wasn’t going to be good. But I had a feeling it was going to be pretty darn interesting.

“Real people should be good, not interesting,” Fannie had said. Well—I knew what she meant. But the banquet was going to happen, whether I was in attendance or not—it wasn’t as if me going or not somehow made things better or worse.

I rolled over on my side, and scrolled on my holopod for a while. Looked at loth-cat videos. Skimmed hate reviews of the Defenders of the Republic holofilm adaptation. Sifted through fan predictions for Hutts in Love Season Four. When my eyes got tired, I went over to the armchair and draped myself over the back of it, like Pennie had the previous night, and exhaled deeply to loosen my spine.

It was six o’clock. That meant Fannie and Pennie were meeting in the kitchen now. Seven o’clock was still one hour away.

I shuffled across the room and plopped down at the desk. I tried to do some writing, but found I couldn’t focus long enough to get anything done.

My mind drifted back to the temple in Bulii’kana. If a holy shrine had been so sordid, how much more would an orgiastic revelry hosted by the wealthiest man in the Tcha’buli region be?

I shuddered…but I also felt very, very curious.

Seven o’clock was half an hour away. My holopod buzzed, and I read the following from Fannie:

Sorry Ben, I just saw this! Pennie and I are eating in the garden now. You should get your supper too, if you haven’t already. Please keep us in your thoughts. Pennie wants to break off the engagement (!!!) and I cannot tell you how relieved I am. There is so much to discuss. Can I meet you around nine tonight?

So Pennie really was going to leave the relationship with her father!

I leaned against my chair and quickly wrote a reply:

Fan, that’s CRAZY! And that IS good news. You know I’ve got your back. Let’s meet in the east library at nine—can’t wait. See you soon. Love ya.

I sent it to her, then tossed my holopod onto the table and crossed my arms behind my head.

Wow. So Pennie really was gonna cut it off. Good for her.

I wondered how Pentarra would react. Would he be angry? Surely he would find her rejection insulting…though I could also imagine him not being affected at all. Perhaps, after all the agony Pennie would have to endure to remove herself from him, Pentarra’s revenge would be to simply not care.

I imagined how much that would hurt Pennie’s feelings. Leaving someone who had held that kind of power over you could be…complicated. Sometimes, even after you left, you ended up carrying a piece of that person with you wherever you went.

…I knew that from personal experience.

I wondered again what had triggered Pennie’s change of heart. Maybe it had been his rejection last night. Or maybe it had been the reminder of tonight’s banquet—the banquet where Pentarra, despite being betrothed to her as well as five-times married, put women on display for his own entertainment and that of his guests.

The banquet that no women besides the performers were allowed to attend.

The banquet that I could safely pop in and out of before meeting Fannie at nine, with a buffer of two whole hours.

…Huh.

Seven o’clock was fifteen minutes away. Guests began to arrive downstairs, and I heard the hubbub coming from the bottom floor. I peeked out the curtain on my balcony, and saw people—men—streaming leisurely in, dressed in their finest (but perhaps not intending to stay dressed for long).

Well…I had to go downstairs to collect my dinner anyway, right? Even if I wasn’t going to attend the gentleman’s banquet, this gentleman still had to eat.

Seven o’clock was ten minutes away. I changed into nicer clothes and left my bedroom, following the stream of other guys as they exited the west wing out to the landing in the atrium. I’ll just go down to the kitchen, I told myself—though that didn’t explain why I’d changed my clothes.

Seven o’clock was five minutes away. I followed the other men down the stairs and toward the double doors of the dining hall, marveling that there was not a woman in sight. I’ll just take a peek before I go to the kitchen, I thought—but the peek was more than a peek, and something more like a linger. The hall was decorated differently, I noticed, and it felt different, too—the air buzzed with laughter, carousing, and extravagance. A sweeping flood of intrigue washed over me and drew me in with almost a magnetic force—I barely managed to hang back.

Seven o’clock came. The great chronometer chimed. A wave of men sailed in behind me, pushing me forward—and this time I did not resist, allowing myself to be carried along by the crowd. I’ll just walk to the other end of the hall and get to the kitchen through the northwest door, I thought to myself dazedly…but at that point, I think I knew I did not honestly mean my own words.

My ears were met with a swell of cacophony as I found myself immersed in the delirium of the dining hall. But I heard something else through the din, too.

A voice.

“Yet another secret, Ben Solo? Very well. You know it will be safe with me.”

I ignored it.