Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil

The final installment of Timothy Zahn’s Thrawn prequel trilogy, Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil, finds the Chiss Ascendancy slipping into war and Thrawn having to uncover dark secrets.

Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil, once again takes a look back into Thrawn’s past as a member of the Mitth family through the memories and relationship of a character that could be very important to Thrawn. A character that has been referenced in the previous two Ascendancy novels, who will take center stage in Lesser Evil.

The preview below is set at a party welcoming new members to the Mitth family and the fateful meeting between Thrawn and Thrass. You can check out the print or audio preview below.

Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil arrives in bookstores November 16th.

Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil – Synopsis:

The fate of the Chiss Ascendancy hangs in the balance in the epic finale of the Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy trilogy from bestselling author Timothy Zahn.

For thousands of years the Chiss Ascendancy has been an island of calm, a center of power, and a beacon of integrity. It is led by the Nine Ruling Families, whose leadership stands as a bulwark of stability against the Chaos of the Unknown Regions.

But that stability has been eroded by a cunning foe who winnows away trust and loyalty in equal measure. Bonds of fidelity have given way to lines of division among the families. Despite the efforts of the Expansionary Defense Fleet, the Ascendancy slips closer and closer to civil war.

The Chiss are no strangers to war. Their mythic status in the Chaos was earned through conflict and terrible deeds, some long buried. Until now. To ensure the Ascendancy’s future, Thrawn will delve deep into its past, uncovering the dark secrets surrounding the ascension of the First Ruling Family. But the truth of a family’s legacy is only as strong as the legend that supports it. Even if that legend turns out to be a lie

To secure the salvation of the Ascendancy, is Thrawn willing to sacrifice everything? Including the only home he has ever known?

Star Wars: Thrawn Ascendancy: Lesser Evil


Of all the duties foisted on low-ranking family members, Aristocra Mitth’ras’safis had often heard, the task of wel­coming new merit adoptives to their formal rematching dinner was one of the worst. The newcomers were either highly skilled additions to the Mitth, in which case they tended to have an overblown opinion of themselves and their value; or they were freshly initiated into the Ascen­dancy military, in which case they were self-conscious and, well, extremely military. Nearly all of the blood, cousins, and ranking distants opted out of reception duty, leaving most of the burden to fall on Trial-borns and other merit adoptives, none of whom had enough pull to avoid it.

Which made Thrass a definite anomaly . . . because un­like practically everyone else in his circle of friends, he genuinely enjoyed the service.

Of course, he’d only been doing it for the past three years, and in that time he’d only welcomed eleven merit adoptives. Maybe after a couple more years the excite­ment of meeting and evaluating new people would fade and he would become as cynical and world-weary as ev­eryone else.

But he doubted it. Every one of these people had been approved by the Patriarch’s Office, a fair percentage of them by the Patriarch himself, and Thrass liked to see if he could figure out what made each of them special in the family’s eyes.

This one, for example. The young man freshly renamed Mitth’raw’nuru was standing inside the reception room, looking around the walls at the Avidich landscape paint­ings and the corner statuettes representing or created by some of the ancient Mitth Patriarchs. To Thrass’s eye he looked just a bit lost, a fairly common reaction from some­one who’d been rematched from a nondescript family on a minor world into one of the greatest of the Ascendancy’s Nine Ruling Families. Thrawn was wearing the uniform of a Taharim Academy cadet, which meant he’d been taken from his home directly to Naporar and then been brought here to Avidich for his welcome and orientation.

Thrass frowned. For new warriors it usually went the other way around, first to Avidich and then to Naporor. Ap­parently, someone in the family had wanted him signed into the Expansionary Defense Fleet as quickly as possi­ble, before even his formal welcoming.

Hopefully, he wouldn’t look as intimidated in the heat of battle as he did in a grand Ruling Family reception room. The one common attribute of Ascendancy military types was their outward confidence.

The younger man turned as Thrass walked in through the archway. “Cadet Mitth’raw’nuru?” Thrass asked for­mally.

“I am he,” Thrawn said.

“Welcome to Avidich,” Thrass said. “I’m Aristocra Mitth’ras’safis. I’ll be guiding you through the various pro­tocols that will fully and officially rematch you to the Mitth family.” He waved a hand to encompass the room. “And try not to be overwhelmed by all the fancy flourishes and curlicues. This reception room is also where dignitaries and emissaries from other families are brought in, and we like to make sure right from the start that they know who they’re dealing with.”

“I wasn’t intimidated,” Thrawn said mildly. “I was merely noting the unusual fact that the same artist who did three of the landscapes also created two of the statuettes. It’s uncommon for a single artist to excel at both artistic forms.”

Thrass looked around. He’d been in this room dozens of times, and had twice visited the Csilla homestead’s col­lection of official family art, and as far as he could remem­ber none of them had visible signatures or other identifiers.

In fact, that was the whole point of these displays. These were Mitth artworks, to be seen as coming not from indi­viduals but from the family as a whole.

So how did Thrawn know which pieces had been done by which artist? “Which ones?” Thrass asked. “Show me.”

“Those three landscapes,” Thrawn said, pointing. “And those statuettes.” He indicated a pair in one of the corners.

Thrass stepped over for a closer look. Just as he’d re­membered, there was nothing to indicate the artist on any of them. “What makes you think they’re by the same per­son?”

Thrawn’s forehead furrowed in a frown. “They just are,” he said, sounding a little confused. “The lines, the color, the material mix. It’s . . .” His lips compressed briefly.

“Obvious?” Thrass suggested.

Thrawn looked like he was going to agree, then seemed to think better of it. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said in­stead.

“Well, let’s find out,” Thrass said, pulling out his questis. The artwork here might not be labeled, but the specific artists were surely listed in the archives. “Anything else you can tell me about them?” he added as he started the search. “The artist’s height or favorite foods, maybe?”

“No, neither,” Thrawn admitted. If he’d noticed Thrass’s little joke, he didn’t show it. “But I believe a personal or family tragedy may have occurred between the creation of these two.” He pointed to two of the landscapes, one showing a churning ocean tidepool, the other with a snowcapped mountain jutting into the sky. “Actually, the tragedy may predate all of the pieces except the one with the tidepool. I also have the sense that the artist was a woman, but that’s just an impression, not a solid con­clusion.”

“Why that impression?” Thrass asked, peering at his questis. There was the listing. Now to sort through and tag the five pieces Thrawn had specified.

“It’s something about the line and edging,” Thrawn said. “But as I say, I don’t claim that’s necessarily accurate.”

“I understand,” Thrass said, suppressing a smile. Though of course an assertion like that did give him a fifty–fifty chance.

His hidden smile became a hidden grimace. Earlier, he’d told himself he would never get cynical about meet­ing newcomers to the family. Was he breaking that prom­ise already? The listing came up . . .

He stared at the questis. No. It wasn’t possible.

“Is there trouble?” Thrawn asked.

Thrass threw a hooded look at him. No—there was no way the cadet could have simply looked at the works and come to those conclusions. He must have dug into the ar­chives himself in advance.

Except that there were hundreds of thousands of Mitth family artworks, and they were rotated frequently among the various family holdings and official offices. The odds that these particular ones would be on display in this par­ticular reception room at this particular time were practi­cally nonexistent.

He took a careful breath. “You’re right,” he said, forcing his voice to stay calm. A Mitth cousin had no business re­acting in even moderate awe to a freshly chosen merit adoptive. “All five were created by the legendary Twelfth Patriarch, Mitth’omo’rossodo, sometimes called the Tragic. All four of her sons died in battle—” He pulled up her bio and did a quick comparison of the dates. “—three months after the tidepool piece.”

“All four,” Thrawn murmured, looking again at the land­scape. “A terrible loss indeed.”

“According to the archives, she was determined not to let it influence her rule,” Thrass continued. “But that moun­tain landscape was the last piece she ever did. Or at least, the last surviving one.”

“I can understand that,” Thrawn said. “An artist of such skill and self-awareness might well have seen how the scars of memory had affected her inspiration and resolved to put her artwork aside until she could regain her former tranquility.”

Thrass winced. “Only she never did,” he murmured.

“No,” Thrawn said softly. “Some losses run too deep to ever fully heal.”

Thrass studied his face, noting the fresh tension lines in his cheeks and throat. “You sound like you’ve had experi­ence.”

Thrawn shrugged slightly. “No more than many others in the Ascendancy have suffered,” he said, the tension lines smoothing out.

Though it took a conscious effort, Thrass saw. Whatever pain was lurking behind those eyes, it wasn’t going away anytime soon.

But that sort of ache wasn’t for public display. It cer­tainly wasn’t for a new acquaintance to casually poke at. If life had taught Thrass anything, it was to respect others’ privacy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, gesturing toward the door. “Perhaps a discussion for another day. Let me show you to your room. Dinner’s in three hours, and you may want to practice your part of the ceremony.”

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