Cohmac and Orla crept along behind Master Laret through the cave tunnels. They were getting closer to the kidnappers’ lair—they all could sense that—but pinpointing their precise location was proving difficult. The problem was compounded by the reality that choosing the wrong path to the hostages could lead them straight into armed guards, or explosive booby traps.

Orla brought up the rear, where it was darkest. Her own faint silhouette was only one of the many shadows surrounding them. They were, at this point, too close to risk activating their lightsabers or even using their glow rods at any but the lowest setting.

She didn’t doubt Master Laret. Finding pathways through the Force was a known gift of hers. More important, Master Laret’s judgment was invariably, inarguably correct. It wasn’t a matter of slavishly following the Order’s dictates—Laret Soveral made up her own mind, no matter what, as Orla had learned when trying in vain to sway her judgment. But in making decisions, her master always had some rule in mind, whether it be ethical, legalistic, or otherwise. All those rules urged them to keep doing what they were doing, namely, searching for the royal hostages.

Orla, however, always felt the urge to follow her instincts first, rules be damned. At the moment, her instincts were telling her to stop.

Just to stop. Not to search. Not even to reach out with her feelings. To stop and wait for a sign that would tell them more.

You’re scared, she told herself, resolutely gripping the hilt of her lightsaber. Don’t give into fear. That’s all this is.

Monarch Cassel whispered, “I’ve been thinking.”

That must be a first, Thandeka said to herself, then felt guilty. On Eiram, the jokes about Cassel’s intelligence, or lack thereof, were common…and perhaps not completely wrong. But after hours physically bound to him, she’d learned whatever the man lacked in cleverness, he made up for in kindness. “What about?”

Cassel glanced over at Isamer before answering. The Lasat was too busy stuffing his face with barely cooked meat to pay any attention to their mumblings. Reassured, Cassel said, “He keeps sending his guards out to look for the Jedi, so the Jedi must be fairly close to us.”

“It’s a possibility,” Thandeka said. She wouldn’t extend her hopes any further than that. Thandeka had resigned herself to death hours before—at least, mostly. The one part she couldn’t fully accept was never seeing her wife again. “Why do you mention it?”

“I was thinking that we could do something to get their attention,” Cassel said, his Pantoran face flushing dark blue. “Shout at the top of our voices, something like that.”

“We’re surrounded by solid rock. I don’t think shouting will do us much good.” Then Thandeka considered it. The particulars of Cassel’s suggestion might not be useful, but the basic idea…