CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

ARTIE COULDN'T UNDERSTAND HOW IT HAD ALL GONE SO WRONG SO QUICKLY. HOWEVER APPREHENSIVE SHE HAD BEEN, SHE'D NEVER EXPECTED THIS. Not one time did it ever occur to her that Lysander would have his hands in the inter systemic slave market — she never once believed he'd leave Tatooine. And now . . .

His face was inches from hers. He'd pulled back just a fraction to look at her directly. His eyes seemed somehow meaner, sharper, more ice-blue than the last time she had seen him after he'd abducted her outside of Owen Lars's homestead. Quite literally every ounce of her energy was channeled into not bursting into tears, and they threatened to spill nonetheless. Lysander seemed to realize, and he smiled. He brushed a thumb over the apple of her cheek.

"I've actually been after this one for a while," he said, addressing the whole room. He squeezed Artie's jaw until her mouth opened and pretended to examine her teeth. "Old troublemaker back on Tatooine. A few years ago I caught her with a Jedi's lightsaber. Little skug stole it." Artie sensed Anakin bristle, but she couldn't even look at him. Lysander tipped his head even closer to her. "No way she'd still have it, though."

The Queen rose from her throne and lifted a shoulder. "Let her steal from Jedi — all of them worthless scum in my opinion. But if she's to be yours, I expect you will keep her in line. They all need to be taught respect."

Lysander stepped back from Artie and paced a circle around her. "Some more than others. I couldn't agree more. Quell," he nodded to Anakin and Artie felt a wave of anger plume off of him like a solar flare, "you've done me a larger favor than you will ever know. She might not look it, but she's been a thorn in my side for years."

     Anakin pinned Lysander beneath his stare. "If she's so much trouble to you, just keep your money and let me sell her somewhere . . . where she won't be a problem. She's equal to a shop slave on Tatooine . . . as I'm sure you'd know. Trust me, this one isn't worth thirty-five thousand. I wouldn't even sell the Togrutan for that much."

     Artie risked a glance at Ahsoka. The Padawan's eyes were blown with confusion and panic, but she stayed almost as still as Artie. Artie had no idea what Ahsoka might be thinking — no one knew about Lysander but Anakin, and she was sure this little display was as bewildering as it was unsettling. Everything was going horribly off-plan.

     Lysander gave Anakin a look. "I wouldn't get sentimental about it. Get a new one to warm your bed at night. The only thing that makes this one special is that she's hard to catch — nice job with that, I guess. But find another blonde one, you won't know the difference."

     Artie's cheeks burned and she wanted to scream. She wondered how much of this was just Lysander toying with them. Surely he'd recognize Anakin— he was all over the HoloNet, people were obsessed with him — and surely he'd know she was a Jedi. She'd done very uncomfortable interviews for the HoloNet before to give updates on the war — surely at some point, Lysander would have seen one. But then again, the HoloNet didn't reach Tatooine very well, and he'd never bothered to worry about it before . . . so maybe he did believe this was just his luckiest day alive.

     "Lysander, take her wherever you will," the Queen commanded airily. Her amber eyes were fixed on Anakin hungrily. Artie really, really couldn't believe so many terrible things were happening all at once. Normally, they spanned out over a few days. "But stay on-planet, please. You cannot miss the auction."

     As if Artie needed one more reason to loathe this woman.

     Lysander stooped into a bow. "As you wish, your Majesty."

     He kicked the pouch of discarded credits back towards Anakin, took Artie by the arm, and guided her out of the throne room without giving her enough time for so much as a glance back.

• • •

     ARTIE TRIED HARD TO MEMORIZE WHERE HE WAS TAKING HER, BUT THE GILDED HALLS BLENDED TOGETHER ALMOST INSTANTLY. SHE DIDN'T THINK SHE COULD RETAIN ANYTHING at that point, anyway. So intense was her stupor that she barely remembered what she was even doing on Zygerria, the only real thing in her world at that moment the fact that Lysander was here, and had her exactly where he wanted her. She could practically feel the excitement coming off him.

     He ushered her through a pair of doors and into something that looked like an armory. Or a torture chamber. Artie couldn't decide, but she suspected she was about to find out. Lysander halted her in the middle of the room, warned her, "Don't move," and strode over to a workbench. He tinkered with something Artie could not see, configuring from the looks of it, then brought it over delicately.

     A collar.

     "In case you feel like pulling the same stunt from the last time we saw each other," Lysander said quietly. "Not my fault the Force is with you." He spat out the last part in a mocking, pantomimed voice. Artie's hands were still shackled, so she could not ward him off. She craned her whole body away, pushed as much loathing into her face as possible.

     "Don't you kriffing dare," she hissed.

     But Lysander slipped the metal hoop around her throat and the two magnetized ends fused together at once. Unbreakable. Artie felt a current hum suddenly to life and understood immediately: One wrong move, one misstep, and he would fill her with enough volts to evaporate her very blood.

     "I wouldn't feel the need if you weren't so prone to difficulty," he explained almost apologetically. He gently pushed her braids away from the collar and seemed almost to admire it, as if it was fine jewelry. "So tell me," Lysander went on, leaning back against the workbench and folding his arms. "Was I right?"

     Artie shook with so much fury and fear, she could barely speak. "About?"

     "You and that slavemaster," he said. "Quell. Didn't seem to want me near you at all. You expect me to believe he had you on for labor?" He laughed quietly to himself. "I'm not stupid, Artemis. Why would else would he dress you so badly? You're not strong — you don't look like any kind of worker. No one would take you for one. But not advertised as entertainment, either, were you? So clearly, he was going to do a half-assed job at trying to sell you, wind up not, then keep you for another season."

     "Clearly."

     Lysander spread his hands. "Am I wrong?"

     "Do you think," Artie began scathingly, "honestly, that when I told you I didn't want to be pimped out like a slab of meat, I said no because it was you asking? I said no because I didn't want to, not then or ever."

     "That doesn't answer my question."

     "Yes!" Artie spat. "You're wrong! He's never touched me — not once."

     She was tempted to laugh. In perhaps a deranged way, Artie could not help but enjoy the irony of how exhilaratingly untrue it was. But she couldn't let it show.

And she wasn't exactly sure why Lysander cared in the first place.

"Tell me the truth, Artemis," he began coolly. "The last time we were together — where did you get that lightsaber? Obviously you aren't a part of the Order."

Artie's lips parted then closed unsurely. "A Jedi gave it to me."

     He studied her for several moments before lifting his mouth into a endeared smile. "At least she has a sense of humor. How long have you been out of Amidala's circle?"

     Artie scrambled to piece together a good enough story. "A year."

     "Why?"

     Her brow flattened; what would he want to hear? "I . . . I underperformed. I wasn't good enough. She replaced me."

     Something like satisfaction crept into Lysander's face. No, not like satisfaction — he looked completely satisfied to believe she had failed. "So you went back to Tatooine? Of all places? Artemis . . . that's just asking to get caught."

     She sneered at him. "Not exactly, sithhead. I stayed on Coruscant for a few months. When I ran out of money, I stowed away on a freighter . . . I didn't know where it would end up. It took me back to Tatooine, and Quell snatched me up a couple of weeks later."

"Bad luck," Lysander admitted with a nod. He took a small transmitter from his pocket and twirled it through his fingers. Artie felt the current quicken around her throat like a pulse. "Let's not start calling names, though."

Artie grit her teeth. She knew she wouldn't really be staying with him . . . but doubt threatened to consume her and hope seemed more useless every second. "So what now?"

Lysander scuffed his boot against the floor. "Not sure, honestly. You're a tricky little puzzle, aren't you? I could send you to processing . . . though I doubt even an expert could hope to bend your stubborn will. I'd take you back home, I s'pose, but that vile queen insists I stay for a while. Now there's someone who likes to collect toys." He gave her a sly look. "I guess Quell's next, eh?"

Blood rushed to Artie's ears and cheeks. "Guess so."

     They watched each other for a long time. Lysander's hair had grown, and now more than ever he swept it away from his face. Blonde and streaked by the sun, just like hers. He dressed better than she'd ever seen him — breeches of a deep green color, a loose shirt, dark jacket, expensive, thick-soled boots. Clearly, he'd been doing well for himself. Her curiosity betrayed her.

     "You're looking posh," she said flatly.

     Lysander spread his arms. "Thank you for noticing."

     "Whose life did you ruin to pay for those shoes?"

     His grin slackened and he waved her off. "Kriff, Artemis, every time I think we can have a civil conversation. I don't remember every single slave that's brought in — I don't even handle them anymore. It's mostly bookkeeping at this point." He shrugged. "Tedious, if I'm truthful."

     "You think that makes it better?" Artie snapped. "That you're so far gone you just have to take down records of the people that get brought in under your name?"

     "The Hutts' name, love, I'm just a cog."

     She couldn't keep it in any longer. She knew he might kill her, but all rationality had gone from her. "You're despicable. You didn't used to be like this. I've never met such a spineless person."

     Artie watched all amusement flush from Lysander's pointed face. "Watch it, Adhara . . ."

     "What can you do to me?" she challenged. Her voice lifted into a shrill shout. "Hurt me? Fine. Hurt me again. Make me feel pain. I don't care. It's your greatest talent — you might as well practice it. Shock me. Flay me. Do anything you want."

     He raised the transmitter. "Suddenly a masochist, are we? What, did Quell put a taste for pain in you?"

     Artie steeled herself against him. "It's all you can do."

     "It seems like plenty."

     "You're not strong enough to kill me. You won't even make good on your threat. What's it been? Four years?"

     Lysander's eyes blazed into Artie's. In one swift movement, he pocketed the transmitter and swiped a skinny-barrelled pistol from his belt. In two strides he had it pressed against Artie's forehead.

     "Then give me a really, really good reason."

     Artie blinked slowly. It was too easy to get him mad. She remembered all the times Separatist droids and commanders alike had leveled blasters between her eyes. She remembered all the times she had truly accepted her own death, only to be saved by last minute cleverness. She knew she should be afraid. Perhaps the war had scorched it out of her.

     "I have. I told you no."

"You think that's all it takes with me?"

"That's all it took for you to hunt me like an animal," she said icily. "You'd been told no your whole life, I just made the mistake of doing it when you had power. But you could have killed me back on Tatooine. Back before I left with Amidala. All the times you caught me and I got away. You let me."

     He pressed the nose of the blaster even harder against her. "You really think that? You really think I'd let you escape me for all those months out of sentiment?"

     "Not sentiment for me. Fear. You said it yourself — you liked the chase. You wanted it to be a chase forever, to believe that I was just a fraction too clever for you. You never would have killed me."

     "And why, I beg you to tell me, is that?"

     Artie braced herself. "Because if I'm dead, you don't think there's another soul in the galaxy that would ever love you."

     At this, Lysander seemed to falter. His face twitched strangely and his lips peeled back from his teeth. The blaster pulled back an inch. "You think I love you?"

     Now it was Artie's turn to be confused. "No . . . no, I think you care to be loved. You wouldn't waste yourself trying to learn selflessness. You just want to believe some part of you is lovable."

     He stood as still as stone. His brow furrowed deeply, face bewildered as if she had begun speaking a different language. Silently, Lysander lowered the blaster and slipped it back on his belt. His hands lifted and came to hold her face gently. So carefully, Lysander tilted his forehead against hers. When he spoke, his words barely seemed to pass his lips. "You think I couldn't love you?"

Artie fought the urge to shove him away. She let him stay near. "You would never be so decent."

"And you," he said, voice deep in his throat, "you'd never be so dastardly as to want me."

"I'd never be so stupid."

"If I wanted you?"

"I would wonder," she hissed, "endlessly, what wicked thing I did to deserve that."

Lysander laughed very softly. "My spitfire, I did miss you."

"I never won't loath you, Lysander."

He frowned, declining his face even closer. "Don't wound me like that."

"Find yourself another blonde. You'll never know the difference."

He didn't recoil, no matter the venom in Artie's tone. She stood frozen as his mouth hovered above hers, indecisive. He said, "I do love it when you talk so mean to me."

He turned away slowly. Artie caught her breath, tried to stop her skin from crawling. She was so rigid, her entire body trembled. Lysander maundered a few paces away before facing her again, eyes slightly wild like he wasn't altogether sure what to do with himself. Then his blackguard's grin returned. "You know, —"

A commlink Lysander wore on his wrist beeped. He pressed his lips in a thin, aggravated line and raised it near his mouth. "What is it?"

"Her Majesty the Queen requests your presence at once," said a haughty and extremely satisfied voice; it was the Zygerrian slavemaster from the market, Artie realized.

"May I ask what for?"

"She is beginning the auction early. We have discovered an infiltrator attempting to free the Torgrutan governor, and Her Majesty believes he can be made an example of."

Artie's stomach dropped and dread turned an icy spiral through her insides. Who had they caught?

Lysander's stare shifted suspiciously to Artie. "Who was found?"

The slavemaster laughed, the sound like scraping rocks and gravelly static. His joy was unmistakable.

"Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi."

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