CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

WHEN ARTIE WOKE, THERE WAS ONLY PAIN. PAIN, CRAWLING UP HER BACK to fester across her shoulder. Pain, in the shape of a collar around her throat. Pain, in her head and behind her eyes, so potent she could hardly stand to open them. But she opened them. Everything was a blur at first, completely indiscernible save for some movement close to her. A dark shadow darted over her vision. A hand came to her chin.

"She's up," said Lysander's voice.

Even in her delirium, Artie could feel hate. She lashed out viciously, clawed at what she thought was his face, but the hand released her chin and grabbed her arm before she could scratch open his eyes. She tried to shout at him, but there was a gag slipped between her teeth.

"What is wrong with her?" A second voice said, sounding aghast. The Queen. Another wave of loathing fell over Artie. "Does she have any kind of sense?"

"I've wondered that myself." Lysander shifted to stand behind her, taking her arm with him. He pinned Artie's wrist against the middle of her back. Something cool pressed into the side of her head. She sensed its shape through the Force, but it wasn't like she didn't know before.

Lysander had another blaster pulled on her — what a surprise.

Artie's vision cleared a little more. She smelled burner skin and realized it must be her. Suddenly, she felt very small and very much wanted to be saved. She didn't want to fight. She was hurt badly. She wanted Anakin to appear and kill Lysander and take her back home.

Where is he? Where is Anakin?

"The General is waking up, Lysander."

Artie's heart jumped. She looked frantically around the room — where were they, anyway? The throne room? Or somewhere else completely? She noticed a bed in the center of the polished sandstone floor, and on it . . .

"You," the Queen began, moving languidly to stand before a grand arching window, "have destroyed my auction. Terrified my guests. Lost me valuable customers. Have you any idea what you've cost my kingdom?"

Anakin sat up, a hand clutching his head. Artie called out to him against the gag, for which Lysander gave her a harsh shake. Anakin's attention snapped her way.

"I wouldn't worry about her, Skywalker." The Queen took a step towards him. "Presently, you have much bigger problems. Count Dooku — along with half my people — are demanding you be put to death. Now, I myself don't necessarily want —"

She broke off. She gasped, clawed suddenly at her throat. Her feline eyes grew wide and terrified.
"No," Anakin said quietly, hand outstretched and fingers taut with strain. He got to his feet. "No, you probably should've listened to them. Let her go. Tell me where the others are."

The Queen made a sound like retching. She scratched at a noose that couldn't be seen. "Misbehave — and — they — die. Her — first."

Anakin looked at Artie and she saw the anguish in his face. He relinquished his hold on the Queen, however reluctantly, and cast his eyes to the floor.
The Zygerrian Queen dissolved into a coughing fit. She composed herself eventually, uneasily, eyes streaming tears and hands still pawing at her neck.

"How . . . how strange, Skywalker," she croaked. "I've never heard of a Jedi caring more for his friends than for the completion of a mission." She took a few cautious steps toward him. "Not exactly the proper mindset of a general, or a hero. But you needn't worry about that, because now you are neither of these things. You are a servant to me, Skywalker, from this moment until the last."

Red-hot indignation filled Artie, but she could do nothing but watch. Listen.

Anakin turned his steely gaze on the Queen. "You've got a good sense of humor, I'll give you that. I won't be doing a damn thing for you, not in this life or the next."

The Queen only chuckled. She circled Anakin slowly, an animal on the prowl, and produced something from the folds of her dress — Anakin's lightsaber.

"Your heart is not in your words, Jedi. Take this. If you are to be my companion, you must be armed."

"Why would you trust me to carry it?"

"Simple." The Queen lifted a shoulder. "You want your friends alive more than you want me dead. The moment I come to harm, they are each killed. Brutally. A solitudinous life would make your crusades far more successful. Now, take it."

Lysander pressed the nose of the blaster harder against Artie's temple. "I would."

Anakin threw him a look of pure loathing. He snatched his saber from the Queen's hand.

"There." She smiled. "You will stand beside me, a testament to my power. The galaxy will see I've conquered the Hero With No Fear." She put a hand on his shoulder, moved it down his arm. "You needn't worry about your friends, either. For now, they will be quite safe. You can trust Lysander, at least, to watch over that one."

Artie hardly had the energy to be afraid. She was in too much pain, too floored by the Queen's treatment of Anakin, to care very much what Lysander did to her. She had an idea, though, of what he'd question her about next.

"What are your orders, my lady?" Lysander asked. He released Artie's arm and took firm hold of the back of her shirt.

The Queen opened her mouth to speak, but Anakin cut her off.

"I won't cooperate for a moment if I don't have eyes on her constantly. Not a chance."

Lysander sneered. "You're not in a position to start making demands, Skywalker."

"Get that blaster off of her."

Lysander scoffed. He moved the nose to jab Artie under the chin, pressed his cheek to hers, and smiled ever-so. "Only if she says please."

Artie locked a hand around his wrist. She tried to pry him away. "Please. Please, Lysander."

"Apologize for lying to me, Jedi."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry."

He moved away slowly. Put the blaster back on his belt. "Not so hard, was it?" His hand still gripped the back of her shirt. "My lady?"

The Queen turned a calculative stare on Anakin. "He means what he says. He won't trust me if I don't let him keep her close. You've ensured that much." Her eyes became cold when she looked at Lysander, and Artie knew he must have made too much of a spectacle of himself for her liking. Even he, it seemed, could misstep. "Bring her along."

With that, the Queen went proudly out of the room. Anakin cast one last agonized look at Artie and followed after.

"Where are we going?" Artie asked quietly. The more aware she grew, the worse her charred shoulder felt; nausea bubbled in her stomach and she felt close to passing out.

Lysander steered her toward the door once there was considerable distance between them and Anakin. "Dunno. Wherever that beast feels like. Force, I cannot wait to get off this planet."

They joined the others on a broad veranda. Artie understood suddenly that they were still in the auction arena, just on the outside wall. Two saddled brezaks waited for them. They tossed their scaly heads, stretched their amber-colored wings and kicked plumes of dust into the yellow air. They reminded Artie of krayt dragons, and though smaller and considerably less vicious, she still hesitated when Anakin and the Queen mounted one, and Lysander ushered her to the other.

"Come on," Lysander said, and he sounded almost tired. He climbed on and offered her his hand. Haltingly, Artie let him pull her up behind him. The reptavian squawked, shifted with the new weight, and spread its leathery wings. With a guttural rawp, the Queen's beast launched itself into the sky. Anakin manned its reins, and Artie watched with brutal jealousy as the Queen slid her arms about him, rested her head against his back. The brezak soared higher and higher until Artie could just make out its shape above them.

Lysander urged their brezak forward and within two ungraceful bounds, it took flight. Artie maintained a reluctant hold on Lysander's overcoat. Up, up they flew, high above the arena, above the markets snaking for miles around, everything enveloped within that yellow haze that suppressed this entire world. The air about the clouds was easier to breathe, ironically, as dust could not drift so high. The beasts were not very swift, gliding easily atop the wind currents, and if Artie's shoulder had not been so blindingly painful, and if she'd been with anyone but Lysander, she may have enjoyed the ride.

"I'm sorry about the collar," Lysander said suddenly. "I wasn't the one who detonated it back in the arena, by the way."

Artie was sure she'd misheard him over the wind. "What?"

"The last time we spoke on Tatooine, I said I'd treat you as an equal. I said I wanted our past to die." He paused. The Queen and Anakin made a sudden dip, headed for the palace below, and Lysander eased their mount after them. "I was so angry with you for lying to me about being in the Order. I thought I might kill you." He sighed. "I forgot what I'd said to you before. I wasn't lying when I said I was alone without you."

Artie remembered his first confession back on Tatooine, the day he'd abducted her from the Lars homestead. You're my only real friend. She'd been sure he was mocking her, but perhaps in his own demented way Lysander had actually thought he was admitting regret.

"I wasn't in the Order then."

"Uh-huh."

"I really wasn't." It escaped Artie why she was explaining herself to him. "That was Anakin's lightsaber. He'd asked me to hold onto it."

"But you still joined at some point."

They were nearing the palace's rooftop, and their trajectory forced Artie closer to Lysander. She bristled. "Why do you care so much?"
He didn't answer her immediately. They landed on the palace's roof, where Anakin and the Queen had already dismounted. Lysander slid off the brezak and offered Artie his hand again.

"Because," he said when she accepted, "I hate that you got out. I hate that you were able to leave. I never thought that was an option."

Anakin and the Queen had rounded a corner, conversing, and Artie had no hope of hearing about what, but in that moment her thoughts were racing so fast she could hardly worry about it. She'd never heard Lysander talk like this. Admit that he might have human flaws.

"I would have come back for you," she said. "I would never have left you behind . . . if you hadn't tried to ruin me. Why . . . why did you make my life so hard?"

It was a childish thing to ask, but Artie couldn't help it. She wanted him to say it out loud.

Lysander stared at her for several moments. In the setting sun he looked like a boy again, the persistent gauntness of past hunger hollowing his face even then. His mouth screwed up. "I thought you were stupid to refuse me. I thought you were inconceivably simple to not understand what I was trying to do for you. I didn't see it how you saw it."

"I would have had no agency. A body to be used."

"I considered you ungrateful."

"And you offered me to anyone who could catch me."

Lysander sighed deeply. Shoved his hands in his pockets. "I'm sorry. Truly."

Artie's breath caught in her throat and she made a small choking sound. She stared at him, horrified. Was he joking? He was sorry?

"I know that probably means nothing," he went on, "and by no means am I planning on doing anything more to help you escape this . . . but if you do, I'll never bother you again." Lysander paused and chuckled to himself. "I don't think you'll be here much longer, honestly. He sure loves you, huh? He'll get you out."

And saying this, Lysander did indeed sound sorry.

note.
hello everyone!! i'm so sorry i was gone from this story for so long, but i'm back!!