Lost Tribe of the Sith 05 - Star Wars Purgatory

either side before touching Ori’s wrist. He spoke in a low whisper. “This was ordered by the Grand Lord herself, milady. Just a couple of hours ago.”
    A couple of hours ago?
Ori shook her head. The assassination attempt had only been two hours earlier. How was any of this possible?
    The caretaker gestured to the main entrance. There, two apprentices of the Luzo brothers stood in the grand doorway, watching the furniture-laden workers pass. They hadn’t noticed her yet, Ori saw—but she’d change that. Ori took a step toward the house.
    Clutching at her arm, the old man yanked Ori back. “There are more of them inside,” he said, pulling her behind the fire and out of their view. “They’re taking your mother’s things, too.”
    “Is she still a High Lord?” Ori asked.
    The caretaker looked down.
    Another thought struck her. “Am I still a Saber?”
    Suddenly sickened, Ori staggered closer to the flames and tried to remember what she’d heard and seen on the way out of the Korsinata. There had been so much chaos. With Campion Dey killed seconds after his failed attack, rumors were attributing his act everywhere. The Red faction claimed her mother had madea dire pact with the Golds, and vice versa. Some claimed Venn had died in her box, succumbing to her exertions and the excitement; others reported seeing the executions of High Lords Dernas and Pallima, right in their boxes at the arena. None of it made sense.
    The only thing all agreed on was who brought the assassin into the stadium to begin with: the Kitai family.
    She had to get back to Tahv and speak to her loyal apprentices with access to the High Seat. Defenders of her family’s interests, they would know what was going on now. It was important not to succumb to anger over the bonfire, an obvious attempt by the Grand Lord’s camp to provoke a reaction and reveal disloyalty.
    Looking toward the mansion, she smirked. Candra Kitai’s political skills were unparalleled. By now, she’d have successfully deflected blame and figured out who the victors were. By the time Ori reached Tahv, Candra would likely be sitting at the right hand of whoever had won out. Now was no time to fall into a clumsy trap set by the Luzos.
    “This will be straightened out,” she told the caretaker, turning toward her uvak.
    “Good-bye, Ori.”
    Climbing atop Shyn, Ori took the reins in hand. Suddenly she stopped, calling after the retreating Keshiri elder. “Wait. You called me
Ori.
”
    The Keshiri looked down and wandered away.
    By the dark side
, she thought.
Anything but that
.
    Jelph tipped the wobbly cart backward, allowing another pile of soil to spill into the trough. As summer went on, the mounds would dry out, becoming more acidic; an alkaline wash tended to refortify the stockpiles. His Keshiri customers didn’t know about hydrogen ions, but they were particular nonetheless.
    Hearing a sound, Jelph dropped his trowel and stepped around the hut. There, in the waning rays of evening, stood his visitor from the day before, facing her uvak and gripping the bridle.
    “I’m surprised to see you,” Jelph said, approaching her from behind. “Nothing wrong with the dalsas, I hope?”
    Turning, she released the harness. The brilliant brown eyes were full of hurt and anger.
    “I’ve been condemned,” Ori of Tahv said. “I’m a slave.”

Chapter Three
    Jelph poured more of the gritty mixture into her bowl. A Keshiri pauper’s dish, the tasteless cereal became something else in his hands, seasoned with spices from his garden and the tiniest morsels of salted meat. Ori didn’t know what animal it came from, but now she devoured the meal hungrily. Two days of prideful restraint had been enough.
    It was still so strange to see him, here, outside the fields. Each of the past two mornings, he had risen before sunrise, beginning his chores early to have more time for her. He washed in the river before she rose. When it was her turn, he retreated to the corner of the hut that served as his kitchen to preserve her modesty. Ori didn’t think she had any, but again, that strange meekness crept in. He was no Keshiri plaything, but a human, even if he was a slave.
    As she was.
    For some reason, she hadn’t told him anything that first night. There was so little he could do, and it was all so far beyond his frame of reference. She’d sat in silence in the doorway of the hut, watching for nothing until she collapsed. She’d awakened the next morning inside, on