[HR] Temptation of the Force, de Tessa Gratton

[L2-D2]

Deuxième roman adulte de la Phase III, signé Tessa Gratton.

Sortie prévue à l'été 2024 !

[L2-D2]

Couverture, synopsis et date de publication (11/06) !

https://www.starwars-universe.com/actu-20416-synopsis-et-couverture-du-roman-temptation-of-the-force-.html

[L2-D2]

Et un extrait (en VO) pour le livre, issu du Chapitre 1 !

Attention au spoil sur le sort d'un personnage dans le précédent roman adulte !

Spoiler: Afficher

Avar Kriss walked quietly down the corridor of the Jedi Temple, a ceramic bottle of sourstone mead in one hand, a box of kel­dov nut pastries in the other. When she reached Elzar Mann’s quar­ters, she paused, tucking the liquor under her arm, and flattened her palm to the cool metal door.

In most of the Temple, the song of the Force flowed peacefully, easily. This place was no exception. She pushed her awareness out­ward, reaching for her friend. He was in there. A small smile played on her lips, but before she could knock, the door slid open. Elzar was scratching at his beard, but his hand fell away at the sight of her. “Avar.”

“Elzar.” Her smile faded into something soft and expectant. “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“I know.” That was all he said, staring at her.

Avar waited, studying the thin lines of stress at his eyes, the way those eyes focused on her, unblinking. His beard had grown full, though he kept it trimmed shorter than Stellan’s had been. He wore only the innermost layer of his temple robes — white tunic and white pants — and his feet were bare. When he noticed her glance down, he moved his toes against the thin carpet.

“Can I come in?” she asked. She wanted to add, The last time I left you, I did it badly. I don’t want to leave without you again. Without us.

“Of course.” Elzar backed up and Avar followed, pushing the pastry box against his stomach.

“Are these from Tal-Iree’s?” he said in a hushed tone.

Avar grinned. “It’s exactly where it used to be, down that alley in the Jadeite neighborhood.”

“I’ll get plates.” Elzar hummed a little in pleasure as he went to the corner cabinet.

“And cups.” Avar set the mead on the floor, then removed her boots and hung up not only her cloak, but the outermost gold layer of her robes as well. After a second thought, she took off her belt and light­saber, too.

In the six weeks she’d been back from Nihil-occupied territory, she hadn’t grown used to the layers of appropriate Jedi attire again. She embraced the Temple uniform for what it symbolized, though: being a part of a whole, a melody in a great symphony. It was unfortunate that this new mission would require her to remove it. Meanwhile Elzar had always hated the formal robes, and he wore them every day now. They’d both had to adjust.

Avar bent, stretching her hamstrings and calves, and grabbed the liquor.

“There are three buns,” Elzar said suddenly.

She looked up, startled. He stood at the counter, where two small plates and cups were stacked on a dark tray, and looked down into the open pastry box.

Avar swallowed. “When I walked into the shop, I was so over­whelmed. It smells exactly the same, the menu is the same, the eat-in stools are just as chipped, that old painting over the pickup counter is the same. I ordered what I always ordered without thinking, and when I realized, I couldn’t bring myself to make any corrections.”

Elzar nodded and put all three buns onto the tray. When he turned to her, he was smiling sadly. “Already making yourself at home, I see,” he teased.

“The mess in here is too familiar not to,” she teased back.

Elzar’s quarters were as basic as any in the Temple, except the small table, low bed, meditation platform, and every built-in shelf were covered in odds and ends. Mostly machinery, tools, pieces of computers, and datapads. Some rags and robes were tossed over the back of the sole chair. Avar nudged a pile of what looked like scraps of droid plating away from the foot of the bed and plopped onto the rug. She leaned against the bed and unstoppered the jug of mead while Elzar joined her.

She busied herself by pouring for them. “Did you water it down?” Elzar asked.

“Pinkapple juice,” she said lightly. Locating some had been the reason she was in the Jadeite neighborhood in the first place. Cutting the sourstone mead had always been for Stellan’s sake, when they were fifteen and goofing off. Not because he opposed the alcohol, but to sweeten the flavor.

With full cups, they saluted each other and drank. It wasn’t as good as when they were kids — probably because they weren’t getting away with anything anymore. They hadn’t had any idea what was to come back then. Of course, nobody ever did, but when she was a teen, Avar had thought she’d be an exception. She, Elzar, and Stellan: all exceptional.

She’d been right, in a way.

Avar picked up one of the nut buns and tore through the dark-brown crust to the rich crumb. With her chin she gestured toward the table. “That looks like parts of the Sunvale device.”

“I’ve been experimenting with different alloy shielding and the most flexible style for the construction to make the devices more adaptable to different kinds of ships. The innards — the wiring and coding and slicing — I don’t touch. I barely understand what Avon and Keven have designed for processing.”

“I’m glad you’re helping.” Avar bit into her bun and leaned her shoulder against his.

“I couldn’t let you go back across that Stormwall without a piece of me along with you.”

She nearly inhaled nut bun at the dedication in his simple words.

Avar knew how dangerous this mission was. The newly invented technology for crossing the Stormwall was untested. She would be co­ordinating Jedi and Republic Defense Coalition — RDC — efforts to determine the feasibility of the tech and leading forays back and forth. There was every chance it was a one-way trip. The Stormwall remained practically impenetrable. She should know: She’d been the first person to escape after a year of trying.

She said, “Once we get the process down, it won’t be very exciting. Just making jumps back and forth, evacuating people and delivering goods to Maz Kanata’s contacts inside the Occlusion Zone. Maybe some of the Jedi still alive over there, who . . .” She trailed off, thinking of Porter Engle, who had sacrificed himself to distract the Nihil’s Gen­eral Viess from Avar’s escape. It was difficult to imagine the great Blade of Bardotta dead. But not even an exemplary Jedi could survive an exploding ship or the vacuum of space.

Shaking herself out of it with a sip of sweetened mead, Avar said, “It will be mission after mission, each time with different priorities, different goals. Rescues and relief work.”

“Sounds good. Sounds like making a difference out there.” Elzar’s tone was rife with the subtext, Better than the politics here. Better than any­thing I’m doing.

“Danger, experimental use of the Force, questionable allies. Sounds like,” Avar said, glancing at him from the corners of her eyes, “a mis­sion perfect for Elzar Mann.”

He grimaced. “It’s better for me to stay on Coruscant.”

“Why?”

“I’ve been here, liaising between the Council and the chancellor, for nearly a year and a half. It would be disruptive for me to leave. The chancellor trusts me.”

“El,” she said gently, with only a slight censure. His answer was a line for the Senate or the public. Maybe fellow Jedi. But not her.

For a long time, he was quiet. Avar could hear him in the Force. It had been awful last year, not knowing if she’d hear him again — the comforting, necessary harmony of his familiar song. Not having it when she reached for it had taught her a lot about what she needed. Who she was.

Avar grabbed Elzar’s bun and tore it apart. She held a chunk up to his mouth, and he smiled a little, eating it. As he chewed his attention drew inward.

At different times in their lives, they’d been as close as two beings could be. She knew him better than anybody, and she could tell Elzar was aware of the real answer to her question. He was searching for the version he wanted to share. What he was willing to tell her.

A long time ago, he’d have told her anything.