The Varactyl Squadron Commander (A Star Wars: The Clone Wars Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The Twaran ship was small to say the least; it most definitely was not an easy place to have a private conversation when the only two main rooms were filled with either guards or refugees. There was always the bathroom, but it could barely fit a normal-sized person by themselves, causing the triplets to become creative with their surroundings.

It was basic, a simple spell similar to that of the shield incantation they'd used during the previous fight, but quite effective as they sat in the corner of the passenger bay. Wrapping around the three in a way that reflected the dome-like build of their telekinetic shield, the barrier was enough to keep their voices mute to the people around them. In order to keep their conversation as private as possible, Jordae and Cyndea also kept their backs to the individuals as well in case anyone knew how to read lips.

"You've got to be kidding me, are they insane?"

"We don't really have any other choice in the matter," Cyndea explained. "We're enemies to our own home now; there's nowhere else we can go where the Separatists can't touch us. Seeking amnesty from the Republic-"

"Have you forgotten the terrible things the Republic has done?" Jordae interrupted and folded her arms stubbornly over her chest. "They're vicious monsters filled with nothing but hatred and lies."

"You're just quoting Mother," Cyndea didn't hesitate to point out, though bringing up their mother so soon after their betrayal brought a stabbing pain to her heart. Jordae's cheeks began to turn a deep and a single tear strayed down her cheek before Cyndea could do anything about it.

"Why would she lie to us about something like that? She wanted to protect us from them, to make sure we never end up as horrible as them!"

"Everything we know about the Republic is from what we've heard Mother and Auntie Agnacia yell about during meals. We've never been able to actually check if the things they said were true," Cyndea spoke in a low, calm voice, knowing that raising her anger and frustration to match that of her sister's would only make the situation worse. "All we've heard our entire lives was one side of the story, and that exact side has deemed us traitors to our own crown."

"But-"

"You know our ways, Jordae," Her sister sighed. "Twar is a planet with one line of thinking - no mercy to our enemies. Our culture is brutish in the very least and our home, our family, has placed a target on our heads that will not disappear until our skulls are mounted on the palace walls for all to see." Though it was a a terrifying truth, it was a truth nonetheless. And Jordae knew her sister was right. Their home and everything that came with it was no longer safe. If they were caught, they'd be taken to the same arena they'd escaped from and be executed by the queen's own hand. Their mother, who'd finally felt the joy of her eldest daughter returning from the Republic's grasp, would be forced by tradition to slay her three triplets as the entire kingdom watched.

"But what about everything they did to Aveline?" Jordae snapped back. "They held her prisoner-"

"You and I both know that isn't our sister," Cyndea took her hand and gave her a small, sad smile. They'd suspected it the moment they laid eyes on the woman stepping out of her ship with her guards. Though the three had tried to convince themselves that the kind, beautiful, caring lady who'd greeted them with a big group-hug was indeed their flesh and blood, there was always a nagging in the back of their minds telling them otherwise. Yes, she'd acted just as Aveline had when they were growing up, but the storm behind her eyes was new to them, experiences and heartbreak that being a prisoner of war was nowhere near capable of providing.