Star Wars, page 1
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All rights reserved. Published by Disney • Lucasfilm Press, an imprint of Buena Vista Books, Inc. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney • Lucasfilm Press, 1200 Grand Central Avenue, Glendale, California 91201.
First Edition, March 2024
Hardcover ISBN 978-1-368-09381-1
eBook ISBN 978-1-368-09516-7
Library of Congress Control Number on file
Design by Kurt Hartman, Soyoung Kim, Scott Piehl, and Leigh Zieske
Visit the official Star Wars website at: www.starwars.com.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Introduction
Timeline
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Thirty-Four
Thirty-Five
Thirty-Six
Thirty-Seven
Thirty-Eight
Thirty-Nine
Forty
Epilogue
About the Authors
Praise for Star Wars: The High Republic Path of Deceit
For everyone who loves The High Republic as much as we do. Thanks for coming along on the ride.
Avon Starros hated the Nihil. She hated their ridiculous clothes, their selfishness, their violence, and every other single miserable thing about them.
So standing in her bedroom within the Nihil compound on Hetzal with her mother, Ghirra Starros, self-proclaimed ambassador for the Nihil, and Deva Lompop, a Nihil who had been assigned as Avon’s bodyguard after many, many violent encounters, was not the place she wanted to be.
Only slightly worse would be the dinner that Ghirra seemed determined to force Avon to attend.
“It’s not safe,” Avon said, crossing her arms and sighing. “Even with Deva, it’s just not safe, Mother. At the brunch for the visiting Hynestian queen, someone tried to poison me. At the banquet honoring General Viess, Deva had to break a woman’s neck to keep her from stabbing me. And just last week, when I was doing nothing but hanging out in my room, someone fired a blaster at my door!”
Ghirra moved through the room, picking up and rearranging the datapad and crystal samples on Avon’s desk and workstation, clearly only half listening to what her daughter was saying. That was nothing new for Avon; her mother had always been more concerned about her career than listening to Avon’s problems, but this was the first time that Avon’s mother hadn’t been worried about her safety. Instead, the only thing she cared about was the fancy dinner they were supposed to attend.
Ghirra Starros wore an elaborate dress of green sati-steel, the collar arching up high. It looked like a pretty extravagance, but Avon had overheard her mother telling the droid responsible for creating the monstrosity to make sure no one could shoot her in the back as she sat down to dinner. Perhaps that was why Avon’s mother no longer seemed so outwardly concerned about safety. Danger was part of being a Nihil. Even Nihil fashion was beholden to keeping the wearer safe or giving them an advantage in a fight. Avon knew this, because she wore her own weaponry hidden under her jacket.
Not that it had helped her in the past. She lacked the murderous instinct that drove all the Nihil—even her mother, apparently.
“Each time you survive one of these attempts, you show them you’re stronger than you look. And that is a very good thing, my heart. We are important to Marchion, and that makes others jealous of us. So they try to hurt us, and when they do we repay our debts threefold. You should welcome these attacks as a challenge. You’ve never shied away from something difficult before.”
“Crystals aren’t exactly out in the galaxy pillaging and killing innocent people.” Avon couldn’t even look at her mother when she got like this. Once, Ghirra had talked of protocol and decorum and how one should conduct oneself in the most vaunted halls of politics within the galaxy. Now she spoke of murder attempts as opportunities.
Ghirra Starros had clearly lost every bit of her common sense, and Avon didn’t know why she should pretend otherwise.
“Avon. If you do not attend this dinner, Marchion will be very disappointed,” Ghirra said, turning back to give Avon a small smile. “And I do not want to disappoint Marchion.”
Avon swallowed a scream. It would be nice to react to such an irrational statement with something just as ridiculous, but her mother wouldn’t get it. Avon had met the Eye of the Nihil twice, once at a dinner shortly after she’d arrived on his ship, the Gaze Electric, in the aftermath of the destruction of Starlight Beacon, and again at a sort of victory ceremony after the Stormwall—the passive relay net that kept all those without a Path drive from safely using hyperspace—was established. It was probably better classified as a riot, as Nihil tore through the capital city wreaking havoc in the name of celebration. Marchion Ro was a cold man, vacant and cruel, and Avon honestly couldn’t see what the big deal was about him. He reminded her of the flower serpents on Haileap: pretty and deadly, without a care about anything but himself.
So it was highly unlikely he gave a flying bantha turd about Avon being anywhere but in his way.
Not to mention that both times Avon had met Marchion, some random Nihil had tried to kill her less than twenty-four hours later. She could do without the drama.
“Lady Starros, you will be late if you don’t head over to the event,” Deva said, her voice low. Ghirra sighed heavily and turned back to her daughter.
“I don’t have time to fight with you. Deva, get her dressed.”
Deva tilted her head, the rainbow crest of her feathers giving the movement an air of curiosity. “You want me to turn violence toward your child?” Deva’s voice held a tone of warning that caused annoyance to flicker across Ghirra’s face.
“No, of course not. Just escort her to the main hall. Avon, if you are not sitting next to me in the next hour, you can forget about going to university on Coruscant.”
Avon’s heart fell, and a chill ran across her skin. She’d spent months negotiating and cajoling to get the chance to attend school outside of the Occlusion Zone controlled by the Nihil, and here was all her hard work laid to waste. “But you promised! I’ve already been accepted and everything. Mother, I can’t stay here. It isn’t safe. And it isn’t…good.” Avon’s words failed her, and she was horrified to feel tears spring to her eyes. “Please, don’t make me go to this dinner. Just let me leave Hetzal.”
Ghirra’s expression softened, and she reached a hand toward Avon. But it hung in the air before curling into a fist. “People need to know I can keep my household safe. So you will not hide here. You will attend the celebration. Deva, I leave you to it.”
Without waiting for a response, Ghirra sailed out of the room, and Avon was left alone with her minder.
“Well, pup, it looks like negotiations have broken down,” Deva said with a sigh.
“She doesn’t care that I could die,” Avon said, feeling numb. “That’s the truth of it, you know. I could die and she just doesn’t care. As long as she looks strong.”
“First of all, I would never let that happen,” Deva began, and Avon waved away her words.
“I know that. Honestly, you’re the only person here I trust.” Avon looked once more at the dress on the bed, a blue-hued twin to the one her mother was wearing. “It’s just so…unnecessary. I don’t even know what we’re celebrating.”
“Triumph over the Jedi and the Republic during the Battle of Seswenna,” Deva said with a shrug. “Make sure you wear your dart gun. It’s going to be a scene, I’m afraid.”
“Maybe I should just stay here,” Avon said, her stomach souring at her lack of options. She’d always been able to think her way out of any kind of jam, relying on her wits the way her mother had always relied on her charm. But now Avon felt lost, hopeless. How could she think her way out of this terrible cage?
“You have to get to Coruscant,” Deva said, picking up the dress and all but throwing it at Avon. She caught it, but barely. “And not just because of the university,” Deva continued. “It’s about your friend. I have news.”
“Imri?” Avon asked, feeling a measure of calm as she turned her thoughts to something else. She always felt better when she wasn’t thinking about her mother.
“Yes. I just heard that Kara Xoo is setting up operations on Aricho. There’s a valuable herb there, and her profits have everyone buzzing. It’s only going to be a matter of time until General Viess turns her attention there. She tends to follow the money.”
“And where the general goes, her monsters follow,” Avon said, feeling frustrated all over again. “We have to get Imri
“And what about Mkampa?” Deva asked, her voice even as she raised a single eyebrow.
Avon groaned. For the past couple of months, ever since Avon overheard her mother talking about Dr. Mkampa working on the Lightning Crash—the space station responsible for powering and encoding the Stormwall—Avon had been trying to figure out a way to get onto the station. It had been nothing but dead ends.
Avon shook her head. “Let me get through tonight, and I’ll figure something out.”
Deva grinned, her expression affectionate. “I know you will.”
Avon got dressed, leaving her boots and trousers on under the dress, since the massive skirt hid her legs. At least when things went sideways she’d be able to run. Deva walked behind her, wearing her mask and looking every bit a Nihil while Avon tried not to look like she was afraid, even though she was terrified.
What Ghirra Starros didn’t seem to understand was that each time someone came for Avon, she felt more and more like she was losing who she was, like she was little more than a gaja bird being hunted for sport. Avon hadn’t slept in months, her rest troubled by nightmares and sudden starts, convinced someone was trying to kill her. It was no way to live.
The Nihil compound on Hetzal had once been the parliamentary building—or at least it was what remained of the massive hall after the Nihil had bombed the city—and a few statues and holos depicting the agricultural history of Hetzal still flickered on the edges of the hallway. Most of them had been destroyed, the busts knocked over and trampled to dust, the holos reprogrammed to show various Nihil making rude gestures or beating random victims. The violence and the excess of the Nihil were on display everywhere, refuse and misery their chosen decor. Avon even had to step over an unconscious Nautolan who looked as though he’d been on the losing end of a fight.
“By the storm, this place went downhill fast,” Deva said, looking askance at the graffiti someone had etched into a column.
“I don’t know how you can even work with them,” Avon said.
Deva laughed. “I wasn’t always the person I am now. You know that.”
It was true. Once upon a time Deva had been Avon’s kidnapper, back when Deva still worked with the Tempest Runner Kara Xoo. But so much had changed in the past year. Avon had chosen Deva to be her bodyguard because she was the only Nihil Avon trusted. Deva wasn’t cruel for cruelty’s sake. Her violence was direct and targeted, more defensive than offensive. And most important, she had kept her promise to Avon when it mattered most.
No one else in the entire compound had done that—not even her mother.
They were almost to the turbolift that would take them to the main dining room when the sound of running feet made Avon spin around. The Nautolan who had been seemingly unconscious on the ground ran toward them, and Deva sighed heavily as the man leveled a blaster at them.
“Take cover!” Deva said, putting her body between the Nautolan and Avon. The man fired anyway, one of the blaster bolts hitting Deva directly in her midsection. She grunted in pain but did not waver, drawing her own blaster and shooting once, twice, three times in rapid succession. The Nautolan crashed to the ground, twitching once before lying still on the floor, clearly dead.
Avon couldn’t move. She was frozen in place, her heart pounding, and terrified tears threatened to blind her, so she blinked quickly to chase them away.
“Are you okay?” Deva asked with a groan, her side a mess of charred skin. Her pale green face was pinched in pain.
Avon nodded. “I’m fine. Are you okay? You’re the one who got shot! Do you need to eat him?” she asked. She’d once accidentally seen what happened to the assassins who kept trying to kill her, and Deva had been unapologetic, if a little embarrassed.
“I can wait…” Deva began even as she winced, and Avon shook her head.
“No. I…have an idea,” Avon said, realizing it was true. After months of frustration, she could finally see a way forward. Not just that, but she could see all the moving pieces, past conversations pointing her to a path that was…possible—a way to accomplish every single one of her goals. It wasn’t one she would’ve attempted months earlier, but she was desperate. The longer she remained in Nihil space, the harder it would be to get things done. “My mother wants me to be strong. Let’s show her strong.”
Deva ate fast and digested quickly so that the only thing left of the Nautolan a handful of moments later was a tentacled head and a pair of heavy boots that Deva claimed for her own. Avon hefted the head of the man as she gripped it by the head tendrils with one hand, glad she was wearing gloves as her stomach heaved.
“Let’s go make an entrance,” she muttered.
They made quick time to the Hall of the Eye, which was what everyone had taken to calling the old parliamentary chambers. Levels of seating rose up in a half circle, a dais in the center of the room. Once, the lawmakers of Hetzal had argued their causes there and pushed for the care of their people. Now the Nihil shot at innocent bystanders and ate overly rich food they’d stolen from the farmers and citizens of Hetzal, while those same people starved.
Avon hated them, every single last one of them, and she could not wait to see the Nihil ground to dust.
She channeled that hatred, that loathing, into her expression as she entered the banquet hall and headed right for the main table—placed on the dais, the center of attention for the room—where General Viess, Marchion Ro, and her mother sat. Sycophants and hangers-on surrounded the trio, vying for their favor. Avon elbowed Nihil out of the way as she approached the main table, Deva snarling at people in Avon’s wake.
Ghirra saw her first, jumping to her feet as Avon stalked toward the table. Avon didn’t bother trying to be polite as with her free hand she shoved the last remaining Nihil between her and her mother out of the way and climbed onto the dais.
“Avon! What is going on?”
Avon threw the head of the Nautolan man onto the table. It bounced off of Ghirra’s empty plate and rolled so that one of the head tendrils fell onto Marchion’s plate, and Avon’s stomach lurched as she fought to maintain her composure.
“Deva and I are leaving for Coruscant. Tonight. I’m going to university. I’m done living in this miserable place.”
The room fell silent, and Avon could feel her resolve slipping. Had she really just hurled a dead man’s head at her mother and Marchion Ro? This wasn’t who she was! She was a good person, not a head-slinging monster.
Maybe, once upon a time, before months spent in the presence of the Nihil. Now Avon wanted nothing more than to be a survivor.
Avon realized there was no need to wait for a response. Her mother wanted her to be like the Nihil, so she would take what she wanted. Wasn’t that the Nihil way?
Avon spun on her heel and retraced her steps out of the room, her footfalls loud in the silence that followed her dramatic display. She kept all her rage on her face, scowling, daring anyone to try to stop her.
No one did. But whether that was because Deva followed closely behind or because no one wanted to try her, Avon couldn’t have said.
The last thing Avon heard as she left the hall of the Nihil was Marchion Ro laughing as though someone had just told the funniest joke he had ever heard.
It took everything Avon had not to break out into a panicked run.
Xylan Graf was having a bad day. Strike that. Xylan was having a bad day on top of an awful week after a frustrating month and a deeply aggravating year. He wasn’t meant to work this hard, with this little support, and with no luxury whatsoever—at least not the type of luxury he deserved.
And he certainly did not appreciate being yelled at.
“This explains nothing!” General Viess slammed one green fist onto the shining metal of the display table. The holoprojection of the Nihil Stormwall shivered with the impact. Xylan swiped his hand over the control, and the image vanished.
“That’s why,” he said carefully, “I offered several alternative hypotheses in my report.”
A report he’d resented being required to create. He didn’t work for the Nihil. He worked with them. He maintained his own ambitions.
If he told himself that often enough, maybe he’d believe it.
“There shouldn’t have been any need for your report in the first place,” the Mirialan woman seethed. “Nobody should have been able to escape through the Stormwall.”
