"THE CORELLIAN COUNCIL is filled with fools. All of them, bumbling idiots," her father seethed through his teeth, fingers shifting through raven-dark curls, distress teeming from every pore.

"A gentle reminder that I'm on the Corellian Council," Uncle Kennith piped up, letting the chairpods float back as he stood on his feet, canines glinting as his smile turned ice-sharp, cocking his head to the side, the gold-gleaming chandelier casting light over his glass-cut features. "You aren't calling me a fool, are you, Lucius?"

Illyria straightened in her seat, sensing the wire-thick tension between them, malevolent and persevering, only needing to be plucked before it snapped and burned from both ends.

She had to do something to dissipate the tension.

Illyria hummed then, gaining her uncle's attention, tapping twig-thin fingers on the marble table. "Well, if the shoe fits . . ."

"Oh, you wound me, Illa." He crouched, omen-black air diminished, hands splayed theatrically on his heart, as if his chest had received mammoth-sized blows by her words alone. "And to think you were my favourite niece."

She shrugged, curling her fingers around the neck of Elladan's cup and sneakily sipping his wine. "Considering I'm your only niece, it isn't much of a compliment, is it?"

Her uncle winked, gracefully falling back into his seat. Illyria billowed a chuckle, before returning her gaze to her father on the head of the oval table, sea-blue eyes narrowed, lips pursed downwards, unimpressed.

"Laugh all you want, Kennith," he spat out the name, foul-tasting on his lips, bitter as arsenic. "But the matter at hand is serious. The Senate grows suspicious of us. The Council's close affiliation with the Trade Federation will lead them to think we have a hand to play in the blockade of Naboo."

Elladan grasped for his glass moments after their father's tirade, and upon realising the space was empty, he turned to his sister, thumb and forefinger flicking her grubby hands.

"That's my drink," he whispered, their elder's discussion fading to white noise in the background. "I offered you one earlier and you refused. Now, stop taking mine."

"A whole glass would've left my belly far too full." Her grin was wolf-sharp, eyes glinting with mischief. "Taking bits of your wine is the perfect amount."

He rolled his eyes before simply submitting to his fate of a dull, wineless meeting. It was far too early for a matter so serious.

"Why must it be my drink?" he grumbled, watching as Illyria twirled it teasingly in front of him, some of the berry-red liquid sloshing out of the cup's rim and spilling over the table.

"Here, Sister," Daeron offered from her left, sliding over his chalice towards her, knowing full well it would rattle Elladan. "Feel free to drink up."

She took it, swished the amber-coloured drink, and then lightly sniffed it, its sharp tang immediately wafting through her nose. "Ah, the NN182, finest of Whyren's Reserve." Illyria drank it and glanced at Elladan, the crevices of her face moulded with spite. "See, this is why he's my favourite brother."

"Your favourite?" he hissed, incensed, eyes sharp as laser-blasts as they glared at Daeron — all smug, practically preening, wincing apologetically when their father's gaze landed in their direction, brimming with reprimand. "I'm your twin. I give you everything. We shared a womb and I was gracious enough not to eat you. Why is he the favoured brother?"

"You said it yourself," Illyria retorted, goading him on purpose. "You could've eaten me in the womb, Brother."

"But I didn't," he insisted.

"But you could have. Forgive me if I'm not willing to take my chances."

"Oh, you're insufferable," he huffed, thumbs gliding gently over his temples, pressing lightly as he repeated his movements. To alleviate his headaches, Illyria assumed.

"And you're drunk," she parried back steadily, a wisp of a smile flowering across her lips, placing a durasteel-strong dam over the giggles bubbling in her throat. It was incredibly entertaining to rile him up.

"Need I remind you whose fault it is—"

"I'm pleased to know that our current predicament amuses you children so much." Their grandfather's voice boomed over the room, rattling the crystal-clad chandelier, flickering the flames of the lanterns that adorned the onyx walls and pillars, breezing through the maroon-shaded curtains, snaking their way into Illyria's limbs. In harmony, their heads snapped over to the looming shadow of him on their furthest left, lightning-quick, opposite Father at the other end of the table.

"You, boy, showing up drunk to this meeting when your father's diktatorial is hanging in the balance," he scoffed, peering over him, his gaze dripping with skin-searing condescension. "If you have yet to earn the right to a chair in this family, then perhaps you should leave."

All of Illyria's fear left her, as if the spectre chains had suddenly released its vice-like grip. If her father would not defend Elladan — his own son, then she would shield her brother. "That was my doing. Elladan's not this reckless, he would have never done it without my influence."

Immediately, Elladan's left hand strayed to her arm, withholding her from saying anything further. His fingers squeezed against her sleeve, gently, as if telling her to stop defending him.

I can hold my own, he seemed to whisper in her mind, or perhaps Illyria was simply fashioning his voice inside her head. Don't make this worse. Let me bear his anger.

"Ah, yes. You were out all night, partying. And you dragged him with you." Distaste seeped through his tone, and his eyes bore against her. "I thought you were better than this, Illyria."

Daeron's eyes narrowed. "That's quite enough of your patronising act—"

"Have care of how you speak to my daughter, Elion," Father interfered suddenly, startling them all, his knife-sharp voice cutting through the silence, edged with danger.

Grandfather did not heed his omen-sheathed warning. "She's my granddaughter. She will carry our legacy someday, mine and yours. They all will. Are you going to allow them to continue their behaviour?"

"You seem to have forgotten yourself. I suppose I can excuse it in your old age, but I shall spare you this reminder once and only once." He stretched his hand, pointing at the three of them. "My daughter—my children—are of House Andali. They are not Kreldins. And the only legacy they will bear shall be mine. No one shall dictate them but me."

"And you will do well not to forget yourself either, boy. It was your wedding to my daughter—your wife—that allowed you the opportunity to climb to such great heights in Corellia." Grandfather's rage was all-consuming, like the black plumes that blistered and stuffed your chest after a wildfire, polluting your veins and corrupting your bloodstream. "I am your father by law, I shall tolerate no disrespect from you."

Ten thousand volts of thunder seemed to crackle in the room. A noose suddenly tightened around Illyria's lungs, robbing her of her breaths, incapacitating her ability to move. All her soothing words died on her tongue, burned to ash, gluey and trapped.

No one spoke about their mother in their father's face. It was an unwritten rule.

It was Uncle Kennith that allowed the tension to simmer down as he cleared the pebbles lodged in his throat.

"Perhaps, an adjournment is needed," he suggested with faux cheer. "Lucius, you have a meeting with the petitioners today, do you not? Allow Elladan to accompany you. And, Father . . ." Uncle trailed off, stumbling through his words, trying to think of an excuse for Elion to leave.

Daeron intervened, knotting his fingers together, pivoting his elbows on the table. "Grandfather has a meeting with the company's Board of Directors, only half an hour after this. I shall come with him."

Illyria glanced at her brother in concern, but grandfather's acquiescing nod had effectively silenced her.

Of course, grandfather knew Daeron's dedication to the Sindahar Mining Corporation. After all, her brother had been groomed as its heir before Danik — their cousin, Uncle Kennith's son — had been born, stealing all his hard work underneath his nose simply by existing and bearing the Kreldin name.

Understandably, the corporation had been fostered by House Kreldin since the beginning of time. Even with Daeron's upbringing as its successor, once a boy with the Kreldin name was birthed inside bone-pale walls of their estate, Daeron did not stand a chance.

It was a pity, all his efforts seemingly went down the drain.

However, her brother's experience as Sindahar's former supposed inheritor could not be diminished. Even grandfather understood the influence Daeron still wielded amongst its shareholders and Credit-hungry directors.

"Well, let's get to work." Uncle Kennith tapped the table, the sound as tiny as a pindrop, but having the desired effect. Everyone cleared out immediately, their daunting steps ringing in her ears, the noise of their footfalls shrinking by the second.

It was just her and her uncle now.

"Come, sweetling," Uncle Kennith beckoned, parading a honey-sweet smile, cradling her shoulders once she was within arm's reach. "Forgive your grandfather's callousness. He is but an old, wary man."

"Everyone's always on edge around these days. Even you are, Uncle." She shrugged in nonchalance. "I'm perfectly used to it. You'll return to normalcy in a week or so."

Uncle Kennith's brows furrowed, indignant. "How so? Am I not always kind towards you?"

"Of course, you are," she hurriedly assured, patting his arm to ease his bewilderment. "It's simply one of those days. It's like clockwork, really. Every year it's the same antics from all three of you."

His hands slipped from her shoulders, taking several steps back. "I'm afraid I don't follow, Illa."

"Well, you know . . ." she trailed off, bobbing her head, trying to delay her explanation. At her uncle's querying eyes, however, Illyria realised she had dug a hole for herself. Now, she had to actually explain her words. "Today is the day. The day Eyta Kreldin left Corellian soil and never returned. You all tend to be . . . different around this time of the year."

Even her father grew uptight, wary, a coiled snake trying to untangle his own limbs and nerves. Trapped. Helpless, almost. Though Illyria had never comprehended as to why, seeing as father hardly cared for her mother.

"Ah," her uncle muttered, at a loss for words. Eventually, he gathered his bearings and tapped her nose — a habit he'd developed since she was a baby — even when the ease around him turned stilted, forced. "She's still your mother. You shouldn't call her by her name, it's hardly appropriate."

"And was leaving her family appropriate? You, her brother? Us, her children?" Her uncle's silence was a satisfactory answer. "Hmm, I hardly think so."

He looked down, scuffing his boots, then slid his gaze away to the small, needle-thin light that escaped the curtain's grasp, diverting the conversation. "I'm heading to the Kreldin Estate to spend some time with your aunt and Danik. Would you like to come?"

Illyria scoffed. If she came along, Daeron's spirit might truly possess her and start strangling the life out of the boy. His hatred was so vast, it tampered with her perception of their cousin as well.

"No, I don't think I will," Illyria refused kindly, blanketing her animosity for the twelve-year-old boy, edging towards the door. "I'll be heading to the Temple."

"You, to the Temple? On Taungsday?" If her uncle was a man with less decorum, Illyria imagined he might actually snort in her face. Now, however, he was content to show incredulity all over his face. "I assume you're not coming there to seek repentance?"

Illyria waved away the ridiculous idea. "Gods, no. You see, many . . . esteemed members of the Corellian Council happen to be doing their confessional today." She tilted her head, her smile turning sly, thorn-edged, ebony curls streaming over her shoulder, down to her waist. "I'll just listen in, get my confirmation."

"Confirmation of what?"

"Of their part in the Naboo blockade," she explained further, rolling her eyes skyward, as if it should've been obvious. "If they were really involved with the Trade Federation, then we will treat this as a serious matter. Otherwise, I'll convince father to calm himself."

"How in the nine hells do you know of the Council's confessional days?" His chuckle was injected with pride and a hint of amusement, every syllable wonder-laced. His dearest niece never ceased to amaze him. "I thought those schedules were highly classified?"

"Why'd you think I was out partying all night, Uncle? The Council's aides were there, unwinding. They were tight-lipped at first, but their tongues grew loose enough after Elladan and I had overflowed their cups. I managed to wrangle this bit of information out of them."

"Ah." He nodded, piecing the puzzles together, remembering the dark crescents under Elladan's eyes, his half-lidded, faraway gaze, the way he'd requested the curtains drawn. "That's why my poor nephew looked so battered."

"It wasn't my fault," she defended herself, tangling her hands behind her back, as if she was a scolded child. "He insisted on coming. Afraid of harm befalling me, I suppose."

"You are fortunate, Illyria." Her uncle's sclera were suddenly rain-drenched, glassy, his expression overwhelmed. "To have siblings so devoted to your wellbeing."

"I'm aware." Illyria's demeanor turned somber, solemn, aware that her mother was not just her mother. Eyta was Uncle Kennith's sister too, and she had ripped herself away from the family's tight-coiled tapestry. It must have been an insurmountable blow to her uncle. "You know, Uncle, you deserve a sister who was as loyal to you, as my brothers are to me."

Her uncle was silenced, stunned at her candor, utterly robbed of all speech, the syllables tattered as they spewed out of his mouth, half-formed words tumbling past his lips.

"And, please," Illyria added before she could forget, whip-fast, saving her uncle from his distress of conjuring a proper reply. "Don't tell Father the truth of last night? I left without his permission. He would be so cross with me if he learned of what truly happened. Father always thinks it's far too risky to be showing our faces in the more . . . seedier places."

"It's a terrible risk you took," he reminded her, finally finding steady ground to speak, voice grave. "Your father is the Diktat of the Corellian System, Illa. This is his first term, and his first year. You must employ caution. Many will seek to tear him and his reputation down through you."

His diatribe did not reach its aim. Illyria managed a tired—almost bored—sigh. "I understand, Uncle. Just promise me that Father will not hear a single word of this."

His stare turned assessing, his gelled black hair slicked to the side, glinting underneath the lights. "Is that why you and Elladan didn't defend yourselves earlier?" His hands gesticulated to Elion's barren seat. "Against your grandfather?"

"Yes," she affirmed dubiously, shoulders tugged down in hesitation as her fingers played with the lower strands of her hair. "Will you keep your silence, then?"

"I'm offended you even feel the need to ask," he jested, his smile sincere, austerity carving itself in his eyes. Thankfully, he refrained from his usual theatrics whenever he felt . . . betrayed by his niece's lack of conviction. "You have my word, Illa."

With his promise lingering in the air, soothing all her worries, Illyria nodded. She slinked away from the room, quick as a butterfly, pacing towards the Alderakh wing of the grand Coronet House.

After all, she had a confessional to attend.

author's note !

okay, I admit, I half-assed act i but it's 2 am and i had no willpower to be aesthetic BYEEE. also this chapter is literally just the andali family talking even tho i planned to lay out the groundwork for my plots, their spirits just took over I'm sorry if it isn't really that interesting. i would love to see your comments, including criticism <3 love you allll