Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars (32 page)

When the broth began to bubble, Ciena stepped away from the hearth and sat on the
floor cushions beside the low table, across from her father. Only after she’d taken her place did she
realize it didn’t feel awkward at all, even after years of eating at higher tables, sitting on benches or in chairs. Home remained home.

Paron shook his head slowly. “It’s good to see you again, my girl.” He touched the side of her face, just for a moment.

“I should have come earlier.”

“No. I know there’s a war on. You do what you have to do.”

The new gray hair at his temples surprised Ciena, but not as much as his demeanor. Her father had always been her rock—unyielding and often tough, but invariably fair. Forever strong. Now
his spirit was weary, so much so that she could see it as clearly as she could see the new lines on his face.

“There aren’t any flags out
front,” Ciena said. “Are the kindred refusing to acknowledge the charges?” That was an act of defiance against authority—anathema
to those in the valleys—and yet truly unjust accusations sometimes earned that response.

“They acknowledge them.” Her father’s voice tightened. “But no one has come.”

That couldn’t be right. “No one?”

He nodded.

She remembered the days she’d remained
at the home of the Nierre family, standing by them in their darkest hours. They had all celebrated together when the accusers had finally backed down
and accepted the Imperial version of events…though now that made Ciena wonder. “How could anyone who knows Mumma think she would ever steal?”

“They know she didn’t take the money!” her father snapped. “They all know it, but not one will say
so.”

“But—to refuse to stand by someone wrongly accused—”

“The Empire accuses her. We owe our allegiance to the Empire. To stand against it would be the most base dishonor!”

“You can’t stand against Mumma.” Ciena stared at her father in shock. “…can you?”

“Your mother understands the demands of honor, as do I. Have you forgotten them, Ciena?” His piercing gaze caught her short,
and she dared say no more.

But what about the truth?
she thought.
How could the truth not matter anymore? When did it become honorable to accept bald-faced lies?

“Forgive my temper,” he said, and he sounded even more exhausted than before. “These days have been difficult.”

“I know. I’m sorry. But I’m here now.”

An hour passed. They ate soup and bread in silence, and all her fear
and worry could not keep Ciena from relishing the taste of real food in her mouth. Sitting near her own hearth, being with
her father, even hearing the cries of salt hawks—at moments she could imagine that she had never become an officer, never even left Jelucan. That it was all a dream.

But she couldn’t indulge in daydreaming for long. Reality weighed on her more heavily with every minute
that passed, because the answering message from the magistrate’s office never
came—and neither did anyone from the valley kindred. Not one soul. The low trench of sand outside their home remained empty, advertising the depths of the Ree family’s shame.

The sky had gone completely dark overhead before Ciena dared to ask, “Pappa, why are you so sure no one will find who really did this?”

“You know the answer. Don’t insult us both by making me tell you.”

She had already drawn the most logical conclusion: the embezzler was an Imperial official, someone who ranked high enough to falsify the records. “The magistrate won’t publicly
question Imperial officials? Even then, prosecuting Mumma—”

“Ciena, listen to me. You are a member of the Imperial Starfleet, and I’m proud
of that. All that is good in the Empire comes from you and those like you.” He patted her hand.
“But every rule, and every ruler, has its bad side as well. Here on Jelucan, we…have seen more of the bad. But we shall not waver in our loyalty.”

She thought again of the sooty skies, the mountains scarred with deep gashes that looked like the claw marks of some monstrous beast. Her father refused
to give way even when everything around
him spoke of corruption and ruin.

It’s only Jelucan, the result of one dishonest governor. Higher officials don’t know the truth, because if they did, they’d take action.

So Ciena told herself. But even within her own mind, the rationalizations sounded so laughable that she could not believe them, much less speak them aloud. She kept thinking of
Ronnadam’s
face as he’d granted her leave, and how he’d been so completely certain that the Imperial courts would make the right decision. He knew that because he knew the “right”
decision would not be the one that arrived at the truth; it would be the one that justified any actions taken by Imperial officials. The appearance of fairness mattered more than the reality.

And yet. “Not
one
person
from the kindred, Pappa?”

He gestured toward the empty sand, the lack of flags.

After that, there seemed to be nothing more to say. Ciena moved through the house as if in a trance, putting away the extra soup and cleaning the pots. Once again half her world seemed
dreamlike, but now it was her own home that had become surreal to her. How could she be in such beloved surroundings
and still feel so small and sick inside? She almost longed to be back on the
Executor
, where the recirculated air smelled of ozone and nobody ever deviated from the safety of the rules.

The final transport journey to Jelucan had taken ten hours; Ciena had been too agitated even to think of sleeping during the trip. Now, another ten hours later, weariness had more than caught up
with her.
Her head swam and her eyes stung. But during times of trial, someone always remained awake at the house of the accused. Normally, loyal friends and family members took turns for the
overnight vigils, but Ciena and her father were alone. As tired as she was, she knew Pappa was even more worn down.

“Go to bed,” she said quietly. “I’ll keep the vigil.”

“You need your rest.”

“And you
don’t?”

“After you made the trip all the way here…” But her father’s voice trailed off. He lacked even the strength to fight her.

Outside she heard the humming of a ridgecrawler. She was so eager for the approach of a friend that the sound made her ears prick up, but immediately she chastised herself.
Many people travel
this way farther down into the valleys. They haven’t come for you.

But then the ridgecrawler stopped. Next Ciena heard footsteps and—oh, thank the Force—the unmistakable sound of a stick being thrust into sand.

Smiling triumphantly, Ciena patted her father’s shoulder and ran to the door. At least one person had been faithful. One person stood by them no matter what. Would it be one of the
Nierres, pale skin blushing scarlet as they apologized for coming
so late? Would it be one of the elders, saying he took the risk of defying the Imperial officials on behalf of all the kindred?

She flung open the door even before their visitor could knock—then froze in shock. It was impossible to move, or even to speak any word besides his name.

Ciena whispered, “…Thane?”

A
S OFTEN AS Ciena had thought about Thane, even though he remained a part of her, she had genuinely believed she would never see him again. And yet
there
he stood in front of her, unsure of his welcome, his pale blue eyes unfathomable.

Her father spoke then. “Yes?”

“Mr. Ree. It’s Thane Kyrell. I heard about Ciena’s mother and—I wanted to stand vigil with you. If you’ll have me.” Thane gestured toward the trough of sand,
where a lone flag stood. “Ciena told me once that people from outside the kindred could bring a plain red flag, since
we don’t have family banners. At least…I think that’s
what she told me.” He hesitated for the first time, and the uncertainty she briefly glimpsed in him made Thane look more familiar, like the boy she remembered. But that moment didn’t
last long; that boy faded away, leaving a stranger behind. “Did I remember the ritual correctly?”

“You did.” The words came out more evenly than Ciena
would have thought she could manage.

Thane nodded, acknowledging her words as rigidly as he’d once acknowledged orders. “Then may I stand with you? Or should I leave?”

The obvious subtext:
Are you going to turn me in to the Empire?

She had sworn to do it. Her oath of loyalty demanded no less, especially now that she knew Thane had joined the Rebel Alliance.

But the sanctity of
standing vigil was supreme. Anyone who staked his honor on yours deserved the protection of your house. So when her father glanced at her, eyebrow raised, she nodded and took
a step back from the door so Thane could walk inside.

He had been listening more carefully than she’d thought back in those days in the Fortress, when she’d tried to explain the beliefs and rituals of the kindred to
him as they whiled
away the hours. He addressed her father properly, bowing his head slightly in respect. “Paron Ree, I believe in the honor of your family.”

“I thank you for your decision to stand vigil with us.” Her father hesitated—he had met Thane on only a few occasions and had never seen him as anything but a privileged rich
boy who piggybacked his way to success on Ciena’s shoulders.
Certainly he had never shaken Thane’s hand before, but he did so now.

Ciena shut the door, her hands so numb with shock that she fumbled with the bolt. It had been three years since they’d said good-bye. She’d made it down to ground level that night
before she’d begun to cry; she doubted Thane had lasted much longer.

I told him I would turn him in if I ever saw him again. I told him
if he ever returned to Jelucan, he would be captured. Imprisoned. Possibly killed.
Even lesser treasons had become
capital crimes in the past few years.

But Thane had returned anyway.

“All right.” Thane stood in the center of their main room, tall and imposing in a domed room that seemed too small for him. “What do you need me to do?”

Her father gestured to the table. “Your presence
is enough. Have you eaten? We have soup, thanks to Ciena.”

“I don’t want to impose—”

“You’re standing vigil,” Ciena said. The words came out more sharply than she’d intended. “You stand with our house. That means you’re entitled to our
hospitality and our protection—while you’re here.”

“Then I’ll have some soup. Thank you.” Thane lowered himself to the floor, folding his long legs
beneath the low table with some difficulty.

Pappa took it upon himself to get Thane’s meal, both as part of the ritual welcome of their one ally and because he must have felt Ciena and Thane wanted to talk. They
should
talk;
Ciena knew that much. But she had no idea where to start.

Best to begin with what mattered most. “Thank you,” she said. “For standing with our family.”

Thane
nodded toward the trough outside. “I didn’t see any other flags.”

“The kindred have abandoned us.” A bitter smile twisted her lips. “No one else came. Only you.”

He hesitated before saying, “I know your mother is innocent. Nobody from the valleys would ever do something like that—least of all anyone connected to you.”

Their eyes met for a long moment before they both turned away.

When her father set the bowl of soup in front of Thane, she saw how slowly Pappa moved. He couldn’t have known one moment’s peace since her mother’s arrest more than a week
ago. “Remember, I’m standing the vigil tonight,” Ciena said to her father, putting her hand on his arm. “Go to bed.”

“I can do it,” Thane said. “Someone has to stay awake until dawn—that’s right, isn’t it? If so, it
ought to be me.”

Pappa, apparently assuming the matter was settled, kissed Ciena on the cheek and went to his room without another word. She hoped he would lie down and fall asleep immediately, both because he
obviously needed the rest and because she didn’t want him to overhear anything she and Thane were about to say.

They remained silent until her father’s door had closed. Ciena’s
knees felt watery as she took her place on the cushion next to Thane’s; being that close to him reminded her so
powerfully of the one night they had spent together. He’d lost the last of his boyhood softness, and instead had become almost aggressively masculine—broad shoulders, solid muscles, and
a thick shadow of reddish stubble along the strong line of his jaw. But she turned until she could
not see his face and said only, “You know it’s dangerous for you here.”

“I’ve been careful,” he said. “I didn’t leave my transport until after dark. Rented a ridgecrawler under a fake name, came straight here. I’ll leave at night,
too. So I’m not going to see anyone who doesn’t come into this house. I’m safe—unless you turn me in.”

“By now you know I’m not going to.”

“Because I’m
owed the ‘protection of the house’?” Thane asked. The obvious subtext:
Or do you have another reason?

She gave him no direct answer. Wrapping her arms around herself in a hug, she said, “I’ll keep the vigil tonight.”