Skywalker's eyes narrowed in consideration, the cool, contained outrage at hearing those names blasting out through the Force like a wavefront, Palpatine basking in its power.
"They alone?" His Jedi placed his fork to the side of the plate, the meal forgotten, uncanny eyes narrowing. "There are no other names - no-one else was involved?"
"No-one else. I have read the communiqués between the task force and Madine's office, all encrypted. No-one else knew but Madine and Mothma."
Would he want the names of those who planted the bombs too? That would be unfortunate - firstly because Palpatine wanted to keep his Jedi's focus, his anger, completely concentrated. And secondly, however unlikely, it may come to light that Palpatine had known about the two Rebel infiltration units who had been working on the Peerless, and allowed them continued access.
They were long dead now of course - dead men told no tales and in truth, Palpatine had not expected the assassination attempt to be a fraction as close to successful as it was - someone had to take the brunt of his own wrath.
But it was far better for Palpatine to remain completely removed from this. There were to be no ambiguities. Skywalker had taken this final step forward and as far as he was aware, he had done so of his own free will, his own decision, without any influence from his Master. And Palpatine intended for it to stay that way.
"How do you know you have them all- Madine could have been sending the same messages to several Chiefs of Staff?"
He could so easily have implicated other, closer allies, Palpatine knew... but all in good time. "No. My agent is in a position to monitor all incoming and outgoing comms. The only communications mentioning the task force went between Madine and Mon Mothma."
"He's sure of that?"
"Very sure. Leemarit has total access. He's completely trusted- has been for many years."
Skywalker was silent, nodding slowly as he considered the facts, fists balled one inside the other before his scarred face as he leaned on the spotless linen tablecloth, the white of the polymer form and the steel of the bars which held his shattered arm together just visible at his unfastened cuff.
"Well now isn't that interesting..." he murmured at last, almost to himself.
Suddenly aware of his Master's scrutiny, Skywalker looked up, guarded and wary, and Palpatine smiled a contented grin into those wonderful unmatched ice-blue eyes.
"How far you've come, my friend." Palpatine murmured at last, benevolent and contented, "It was a difficult path you walked, but it has only made you stronger. From ignorance to enlightenment - from day to night....." He set his head to one side, ochre eyes fixed on the subject of his musings, and the boy gazed back unfazed.
Would he do as Palpatine hoped? Would he take that final step - cut that cord; hunt down those he had once venerated.
Because the truth was that even now, after three long years, Palpatine was never quite sure, that knife-edge volatility as wild and feral as ever. Would he ever truly tame it - in truth, did he even want to? "Will you howl in the Darkness...my Wild Wolf?"
Luke tilted his head indulgently, for the first time genuinely accepting of Palpatine's epithet, willing to give his Master whatever he wished - as long as those wishes coincided with his own intent.
He half-smiled, unaware of the ruthless menace in his own scarred features in that moment. "Give me the hunt and I'll make sure I'm heard."
Chapter 8
The lush, ornately opulent surroundings of the huge Main Audience Chamber were silent and empty in the small hours of the morning, the room dim, its vast clusters of jewel-bright, hand-blown light-globes muted to reflect only the slightest luminosity onto the rich gold of the distant, gracefully arched ceiling, its subtle radiance reflecting down to cast diffuse shadows into the velvet gloom far below.
On the high dais, the ornate, gilded Sunburst Throne was set on a pale disc of rare polished stone, inlaid with a motif in rust-red and indigo blue. It had been taken from the Council Chamber of the old Jedi Temple, and it never ceased to delight Palpatine that the throne from which he ruled his Empire was set on a floor which he would once have been forbidden to stand upon.
The throne itself, a relic from centuries past plundered from its secure hiding place in the vaults of the Jedi Temple, boasted a massive disc at its back hammered from precious metal in the image of a sun surrounded by flares, the lowest flames touching the floor, the highest beyond head-height, the fluted sunbursts and the hammered sun-face caching the smallest rays of light and refracting them about the throne and its occupant.
Its true role long lost to history, the throne had always been a venerated Jedi artefact, its existence hidden, its portentious truth concealed. Because the ancient throne carried with it a hidden prophesy- if one knew specifically where to look. One which both threatened destruction and promised salvation. A new era, a greater empathy; connection beyond all known limits, referred to in both Sith prophesies of Mastery and Jedi prophesies of balance
Hidden within the intricately-tooled surface, in an unknown, archaic text upon an ancient throne were a series of inscriptions, scribed in tiny, stretched letters so distorted as to be near indecipherable within the massively complex sunburst, their origins, like that of the throne itself, lost in the mists of time. And each of these fragments quoted a citation, all of them combined providing one of the greatest prophesies known;
'Sun of Suns'
It stated obscurely, the inscription repeating about the sunburst, the heiroglyphics so distorted as to form little more than a decorative pattern.
Scholars had argued over its exact meaning for centuries, meticulously interpreting and retranslating the text many times in an effort to bring clarity to confusion, no other example of its type existing anywhere. But scattered as it was, the prophesy had always defied definition, the minutae endlessly discussed and disproved, many versions and interpretations existing.
What they had needed, it seemed, was a key. Ironic then, that at the time the key came into existence, the Jedi were all but gone - that by the time this key first saw the throne, they had dwindled to just one survivor, and he hidden in the wilds, a forgotten hermit.
Yes, the vaunted Sunburst Throne had, considering its credentials, seemed the natural choice when Palpatine had created his Throne Room, the finalisation of the massive behemoth of his ornate Imperial Palace completed almost ten years after he had cemented his reign. All that he had felt the need to add was a heavy, sumptuously carved footrest, engraved with images of his far-reaching Empire, the allegory hardly subtle.
Now he sat alone, his Empire beneath his feet, lost in thought. The room was silent and still, Court long-since dismissed, though Palpatine had remained here, in his seat of power. Even twenty-four years after he had taken control, he still gloried in being here. Now more than ever, because if he held Skywalker - commanded his loyalty - then everything was possible.
No more Jedi, no more prophesies or portent.
Now, finally, he held the key to the prophesy. He had known it for two years now; since he had followed that distant, whispered twist in the Force to his Throne Room to find the boy there, drawn back into the shadows, staring hypnotized at the throne; the Seat of Prophesy. Unaware of his Master's close presence, he'd stood, transfixed, as moments ticked into minutes and minutes dragged unmarked. On impulse, Palpatine had invited the boy to read the inscription, knowing that there was no way that he could even know of its existence, let alone of how to decipher it.