Kyriaki
At midnight, Adlerberg is a city transformed. It is like a black curtain has descended upon the city, smothering all the light and casting it into darkness. Entire blocks look like they have been covered in pitch-black darkness. One often sees candles providing some dim lighting on the windowsills of households. Strangely, areas with factories or government buildings are generally better illuminated. The same applies, of course, to monuments. We cannot stop our Vader monuments from decaying, but we can make sure they are well-illuminated in the otherwise dark, empty streets.
Brown smoke rises from the chimneys of many houses. With the power grid the way it is, many people have residential coal furnaces. My place has one, too. It's all very messy. Shoving coal into the stoker produces dust, and the smoke produces soot. Sometimes even the traffic lights and lampposts do not have power. On the way, we have passed policemen dealing with a car accident that was evidently caused by the outage. Fortunately, there are not many groundcars on the road at this time.
The colosseum looms large on the horizon. No longer is it filled with life. But as we draw closer, I feel the taint the festivities have left in the Force. I suppress a shudder when I hear a pained scream, so much like that of the Gungan Pyrros cut down. Or perhaps it is that of a labourer collapsing from exhaustion. So many deaths, so many victims whose names have been forgotten, whose stories will never be heard. But I don't forget. And I listen.
But while the games have long ended, the premises are not deserted. Armed Hearthguards are on patrol, using torchlight to provide some measure of illumination in the darkness. Searchlights project bright light into the dark sky. Thugs on bikes patrol the streets. And amidst the brown-clad mob, there are KEC men, all dressed in black and grey armour and armed with machine guns guarding the entranceway. Cameras hover above.
"Tunnels, m'lord," Honna grunts as she brings the car to a halt at a respectable distance from the grand building.
I nod. "Tunnels." We've been through this. I can't mind-trick dozens of thugs. Or count on every thug I run into being weak-willed enough to succumb.
Muddy rain sluices down across walls, and roof-tiles. I've left the ridiculous, grotesquely fancy dress at home. By now it is soiled. Instead I've donned dark trousers, a shirt, nylon gloves, and a basic mask that makes me look like a burglar out of some kind of bad, cliche-ridden crime show. Not that I watch those.
The rain comes down hard as I get out. I pull my hood forward, though it is already well forward covering my hair. Then there is the first flash of lightning, a blue flickering that momentarily lights up the sky. Then there is a distant roll of thunder.
We wait for a pair of bike-riding goons to pass, then cross over. After some searching we find an innocuous looking little door on the exterior near some rubbish. I expand my senses through the Force, probing, searching. No cameras. The door looks rusty. With a grunt, Honna forces the door open. There's some noise, and for a moment I can hear my heart thumping inside my chest. But no one's there. We shut the door behind us, just as there is another rumble of thunder.
Narrow, steep stairs await us. Before I can make my first step, Honna grabs me firmly by the shoulder. "Tracks," she hisses. I nod gratefully. Now that I've been forewarned, I notice the dust coating the stairs. With a casual gesture, I disperse it, and down we go. Cautiously, we make our way through the tunnel. Eventually, I signal a halt when I hear the heavy thud of jackboots stomping against the floor.
"Did you see Lord Pyrros' broad? Those knockers in that tight little dress, that arse...must be great being the boss," one thug says.
"You know what they say about the kind of 'movies' she used to do. I'd rather not lie in a field that's already been ploughed by a whole infantry company," another one says.
"If I were you, I'd keep that kind of loose talk to myself around a Sith Lord." He makes a noise that sounds like an imitation of choking.
I clamp down on a feeling of anger, and reach out with the Force, gently pressing my will upon their minds.
"Did you hear that?" the first one asks.
"What? It's nothing. Probably just rats again."
"You want to bet on that? You know what the commander said. The Moff's been on his case about the games." The two thugs turn back and walk away.
Our path leads us down a long, curving tunnel. By my guess, we have to be under the seats. Every so often there's a passage towards, under the area or outside, like a wheel with spokes. And it's all so damn dark. I could just switch on Crimson Talon, but I dare not. Too much risk of being spotted.
Suddenly I step upon a bit of even floor, and trip. I almost fall to the ground before I feel a strong hand gripping me and manage to stabilise myself. A slight yelp escapes my throat. A shiver runs down my spine, fearing we've been heard. But no one comes...yet.
"
Watch your step, clumsy ape," Morgak chides me in my mind. "I can guide you. Let me be your eyes...but you must follow my orders."
"
Very well," I breathe in, not letting pride get in the way. No sooner have the words been spoken in my mind than I feel a sharp jolt in my skull. For a moment, I feel a spell of dizziness and need to lean against the wall for support. Then everything is just black...and then suddenly it is clear.
It looks like I'm looking through a red filter. I can see shapes dimly. "You 'lright, m'lord? Gotta move," I hear Honna say in a low growl.
When I turn to her, I no longer see her features. Instead what I see is a burning light. "Yes, let's go." It is...odd to view the world this way. But now my step is certain, and I find the darkness doesn't bother me as much.
We make our move through the darkness without interruption. I'm struck by how quietly Honna is amusing. You would not expect it, given how she usually stomps about. A couple minutes pass, but then I suddenly see burning lights flickering in the distance...from behind a wall. They're coming this way. "Hide," I mouth at Honna. Quickly we duck inside a passage. A moment later we see the flashlights of the guards walking along. The thuds of their boots on the floor echo inside my ears. Then we're back on the move through the service tunnel.
"We look's 'or fuel, paint, gotta be a stash lyin' 'round, 'nd find th' generator," Honna says in a low whisper.
"You sound you're familiar with this sort of thing," I comment quietly.
"'een 'round," is all I get out of her and, all things considered, it's probably for the best. If I had the time, means, and expertise, I could rig up a big bomb. But...I don't. So improvisation it is. When I told her my intent, Honna never questioned it. She just told me it could be done with some jury-rigging.
"All you need is here," Morgak chimes in,
"now move, ape."
It takes us about five minutes more to reach our destination. The generator, secure behind a locked wire door, hums as we approach. A lightsabre would cut through the door easily...but it will cause comment when there's an investigation.
I look towards Honna, indicating the door. With a low growl, she pulls at the door, pitting her great strength against it. The door is rusted, and sweat runs down her face as she pushes against it. Reaching out with the Force, I focus my power on the padlock and pull at it to help her. Beads of sweat dribble down my neck, but finally the door gives way from our combined efforts. Inside lies the generator room, which also seems to double as a storage area. Fuel canisters are lying around, as are stashes of paint and other chemicals.
"Grab 't 'll," Honna says quietly. We grab what we can, and pile it all up right behind the generator. My protector retrieves her two small hand grenades together with the timer she rigged up. It's better not to enquire where she got the grenades from. We certainly didn't purchase them today and I don't have any lying around in my apartment. "How 'ong?" she asks.
I furrow my brow. Officially the games start in the morning. It's just one big fight, but they won't start the main event before midday, not before cramming in lots of boasting, ads and at least one execution for the entertainment of the peons. "Set it so that it blows at two in the afternoon," I finally say. If the fates are kind, it will spoil Pyrros' fun.
Honna programmes the jury-rigged-timer, which is actually improvised from a mundane, small alarm clock, and sets it up with the fuse. "Done. We go," she says firmly.
"
Be aware, ape, more of your kind are approaching," Morgak declares warningly. Quickly we get out, closing door behind us. It does not shut quite right, but with luck no one will bother check much. My Force Senses flare in warning, and I perceive faint lights through the wall. Not much, not much longer. We just need to get out of this tunnel.
The lights became less and less faint. The thud of boots on the cold floor makes my heart thump inside my chest. "Company," Honna snarls. They're coming from the front...and then we hear another patrol coming from behind.
Hastily, I look around, but there's no side passage to duck in, no maintenance room or anything. The thuds grow louder. There must be two on each side. Beads of sweat drip down my neck. A glance towards Crimson Talon. No, corpses will ruin everything and I have little faith that we can kill all quickly enough without raising an alarm. A mind trick maybe? Through the Force, their auras burn with resolute intensity.
Damn, damn, damn!
"Boss?" Honna growls, hand reaching for her gun.
The sound of their jackboots echoes in my ears. Their steps are heavy and loud, meaning they must be wearing heavy armour. In a few seconds, they will be upon us. There must be something, something I can do. Desperately, I reach out mentally.
"Morgak...you can twist minds. Can you...help me conceal us?"
I feel her dark aura expand outward, falling upon me like a shroud of death. A shiver runs down my spine. My body feels cold. Dark energy seeps into and under my skin, coursing through my body. I feel the magic rising inside my blood.
"Focus, ape. Imagine you are small. Imagine you are hiding in the darkness like your mice. Imagine yourself buried under their blanket." I reach out, pulling at the blanket of darkness and wrapping it around my frail body.
"No," I mouth to Honna. "Wall. Stay close," Hoping she gets the hint, I press my body against the wall, trying to make myself as tiny as possible. I feel my guard's confusion, but then she follows suit and her body hugs the wall. My flesh hand feels slick with perspiration, and strain is written across my face, but I pull tightly.
Thud, thud.
The steady, relentless cadence of stormtrooper boots pounding on the floor sounds from behind us. Blood drips from my nose, and my temple are pounding with such intensity I feel like my skull is being compressed.
Darkness,
mice,
blanket.
A mouse,
a tiny mouse.
"
As quiet as shadow. Calm as still water."
From underneath the blanket of shadows and darkness, I see the KEC soldiers march through the corridor. Burning lights encased in shells of metal. Their auras are red, red like fire, red like the blood of their victims. My heart seems to skip a beat when both patrols come to halt right in the middle of the corridor, right next to us.
"Anything to report, Squire?" one asks.
"All clear, Errant."
I dare not breathe out when the Errant turns his gaze towards the wall, towards us. His gaze lingers. "Something up, Errant?"
"No," he turns away, "this section's clear. Carry on."
I hold on to the blanket until I can no longer feel their presence. Then suddenly the corridor is spinning all around me. My stomach lurches, and I feel light-headed. Before I know it, I'm falling. I feel strong arms envelope me before my head can hit the floor.
My whole body is shaking. My limbs feel like jelly. I open my mouth to speak, but all that comes out is a gurgle. And then I'm suddenly grabbed and pulled up into the air. I feel strong, muscular arms cradle me, and dimly register that we're moving, but I don't know where. It is all too dark to see, and my head hurts too much for coherent thought. I'm too exhausted to move, let alone think. Everything turns dark.
I stir when I feel a sudden jolt. My eyes flutter open. It is all still so dark. I look around, trying to get an understanding of where we are. Strong arms cradle me like a mother holding a new-born baby. "What? Honn-"
"Shush," my protector says, panting heavily. I smell the sweat dripping down her neck. Her footsteps are heavy. We must be-
"Sleep," she says, voice ever so soft. I do not have the energy to argue the point. Darkness claims me once more.
Suddenly I open my eyes. My heart races like the engine of a racing car. I rub my temples, trying to recover my bearings. My head aches, and my vision is blurry....and I smell...soup and bread. I blink, feeling very confused.
Looking around, I realise I'm lying in my bed. I'm still wearing my trousers, and my shirt, and both feel very sweaty now. I wrinkle my nose in distaste at the smell. Someone – Honna – has taken off my boots. And that someone has also placed a glass of water on the bedside table.
My throat feels as dry as the desert and I greedily gulp it down. I take a deep breath, filling my lungs. And then I slowly slide out of bed, joints still stiff and aching. My body is glistening with sweat and my undergarments feel like they were glued to my body.
Following the sweet scent, I make it to the kitchen. The soup is boiling, and the bread dough is cooking. "Honna?" I ask unnecessarily.
"Mornin', m'lord," my protector says with a gentleness that should no longer surprise me. Putting down the pistol she has been working on, she looks me up and down. "Makin' food, ready soon. You eat."
"You're...making breakfast for me?" I ask a bit incredulously.
"Yeah. You eat."
I'm a bit taken aback by how firm her tone is. "I need a shower. Force, I reek."
"Yes. Then ye eat," she points a long, green finger at me. "I bust heads of anyone who hurts yer, but dat do no good if yer don't take care 'f yerself, got it?"
Instinctively, I look towards the wall, towards the very spot we found the bug. Apparently sensing what I was thinking, Honna shakes her head. "Checked. Ain't any there."
"Thank you," I sigh. "I'm going to have a shower...then I'm going to eat."
"Good. Fed yer mice, too."
I hear whistling sounds from the cage, and feel my eyes moisten. Force, what is wrong with me? "Thank you, Honna."
"I likes 'em."
"I didn't just mean that...although I'm grateful. You've been...very helpful. I couldn't do what I do without you."
Honna looks back up from her gun. A flicker of emotion passes over her face. Then she looks towards the stove. "Gonna be ready soon."
"It smells great." Gingerly I walk towards the bathroom, undress myself and take off the ring, then step into the shower. As the waiter sprays over my thin body, I feel weirdly invigorated. The pain in my body recedes, and I scrub my face with soap.
"You did get some sleep last night, right?" I ask while I wipe the shampoo from my face, and stick my head out of the shower.
"Sofa's comfy, m'lord."
"All right, good. Did anyone...call me?" She says she checked for bugs, but it would nonetheless be careless to openly discuss what we did last night.
"The kid. Worried 'bout ye."
"Isakios?" I wipe hair from my eyes. "Bless his heart, he's a good boy."
"Needs better clan."
I grab a towel from the rack, and dry myself quickly. When I look in the mirror, a frail woman as thin as a waif stares back at me. I'm struck by how...haggard I look. There are dark circles under my eyes. A scar, courtesy of Bakios' thugs, marks my face. The tousled mess that is my hair is still damp, and the dye is starting to wear off, revealing my natural red amidst the crown of black here and there. Maybe I should let it show.
I wipe away the last water drops from my pale skin, do my best to make my hair presentable, then slip on a robe hanging on the rack and step back into the living room. Honna's already set the table. For a moment, I have the ridiculous image of her wearing an apron. I cover my mouth to stifle a giggle.
"What?" she asks, while munching on some bread.
"Nothing," I say quickly, "it's...nice how you take care of me."
"Someone's hasta," she grunts. "Eat."
I bristle at being bossed around. But I remember the haggard, tired face staring back at me in the mirror. And I remember how helpless I was in the tunnels. Some Sith I am. Elpsis would never have collapsed from something as simple as cloaking herself and her guard from some thugs. Then again, Elpsis would not have had to skulk in the shadows to begin. She could simply smite Pyrros with all her might, cut off his head and raise it high into the air while the pathetic mob screams in terror.
I clamp down on these thoughts. The smell is too delicious to resist; my mouth waters and my stomach gurgles even as part of it twists with guilt. Blushing strongly in embarrassment, I sit down and look at the soup. "That doesn't have any meat in it, right?"
"Nah, all veggie," she slurps her soup. Loudly.
I resist the urge to lecture her about proper decorum. After placing a napkin on my lap, I gingerly taste a small spoon-full of the soup. "This is great," I exclaim, surprised, and take a bigger sip before grabbing some bread and dip it into the soup. A
Honna looks a bit smug. "Recipe's 'om mama."
"Your mother knows her cooking."
A feeling of warmth spreads across my body as I eat. For several minutes we sit together in silence before Honna speaks up once more. "So...m'lord, don't like ta ask n'all. But...what'd we do that for? What's the goal?" she asks almost hesitantly.
Of course, we both know what 'that' was. 'That' means all sorts of nasty things. Treason, terrorism, being hanged on meat hooks. Or worse. "To bring about a change, a new order...a new path...for everyone," I say quietly. I put a finger to my lips and tap my ear...just in case someone really is listening.
Honna slurps some more of her soup before wiping her mouth. "'nother big fight today?" she asks, though she knows the answer. "How 'ong's it gonna be, m'lord?"
"Just the one. Pyrros versus Spyridon. The grand finale. There's going to be plenty of warm-up though. The games have all manners of sponsors who need to get their money's worth. Hence, lots of ads. And since the Moff didn't get the chance to give a speech yesterday, I imagine he'll want to regale us with his wisdom. To keep the audience from growing bored before the fight, there should be an execution or two."
I glance at the window. It is no longer dark, but the sun is hidden behind a curtain of grey. As grey as the city. There is no colour at all, except for the posters that have been plastered everywhere. A colourless sky, a drab, decaying city.
"Hmm," Honna snorts, chews on her bread. "You gonna be in th' big box again?"
"Yes, though I will show myself to the people," I sip some soup water with carrots, then drink my water. "It's important they see me. I'm not expecting trouble, not with all that security, but you never know. The Jedi dogs and the Swamp Guard are relentless."
"Ye got me if ye need skulls busted. 'm here if ye wants somethin' done right."
"I know, Honna, I know." I look down at my bowl. To my surprise, it's empty. I'm left with a feeling of fullness and warmth in my stomach. We put the dirty dishes into the washing machine. I've been told that it works again. If it doesn't, someone's going to be sorry. "Tomorrow, I'm going to have my things moved downstairs. The landlord's not coming back, and if he does he can freeze in the attic," I remark.
"Takes his job," Honna says sarcastically.
"I'm having the paperwork handled, actually. It should be in the mail tomorrow."
Honna gives me a thumbs-up. I check my chrono. There's still some time. "Get some newspapers on the floor in the laundry room," I tell my guardian.
I gather some carrot peels on a small plate, and I walk towards the cage. "Hey, little ones. Momma's here. Who's a good boy? Who's a good girl?" I coo, opening the cage.
Aris is the first to peek out of their hideout, ever the scout, ever the protector. He sniffs my hand, then licks it, looking up at me with happy beady eyes. He chirps, and his sisters emerge. Zoe and Eva come up. The girls crawl up my arm and nuzzle against me.
"Hey there, you're looking a lot better. Being out and about is doing you some good, huh?" I say softly. All three are still not that healthy looking, as is to be expected from being imprisoned in that awful jar, but they're improving. It warms my heart to see how well they're taking to their new environment. I pet all three, and feed them some carrot peels. Just a few. A little treat for them.
But the moment of peace cannot last. I deposit the little ones into the laundry room, where Honna has laid out newspaper on the floor, along with some chew toys and tunnel made of cardboard. Zoe whines a bit when I turn away. I bend down and rub her head. "Be back soon, little one. This evening. Now go explore a bit."
Fortunately, the grotesque gown I had to wear yesterday has been predictably soiled, so I will not have to wear it. Hopefully I will never to have to again. My dress is a magnificent green velvet. I embroidered it myself with images of a horizontal open hand in silver head on the sleeves and below the neckline. Green is an atypical colour for Sith, but there are pictures of St Padmé wearing something not far removed from this. Then I fasten a jewelled brooch to my chest. As I apply some lip gloss, I feel Morgak stir.
"
Dolling yourself up, ape, for all the stupid apes to gawk at?"
"
I assume you find me less stupid than them now?"
"
You did...better than I expected last night. You finally showed some drive."
"
Let's hope it works out."
"
The fact that you're willing to take the risk and spill some humie blood is a step in the right direction. Now don't take this as an excuse to get lazy." She slithers back into the recesses of my mind. Before I go, I put on my cloak and wrap a scarf embroidered with the open hand around my neck.
Honna takes the wheel, and against my better judgement I switch on the radio. And wouldn't you know it, 'Canis and Comrades' is talking about me! "...
and we now go to our reporter Zoe Marotzes at the colosseum. Zoe, how's it looking? I'm told turnout is fantastic."
"
You can say that, Ionnes. Looks like it's going to be even bigger than yesterday. The organisers say that over a hundred fifty thousand people have already taken their seats, and there's still a huge queue behind me!"
"
Never mind the millions of viewers who are going to watch the great game on the big screen in the cinema. The Dragon versus the Old Lion! It's going to be epic. Did you see the Supreme Leader?"
"
I got a glimpse! He waves at us, and tossed cash into the crowd and told the vendors drinks were on him since he didn't want anyone to get dehydrated while standing in line."
"
That's our Leader, a man of the people. He honours the worker, not like those arrogant Jedi. What about the Blessed Handmaiden?"
"
She hasn't shown up yet, but we expect her to be here soon. After all, her betrothed is going to fight in the grand finale. No way she'd miss that."
"
Last night, she publicly supplicated herself before the Leader and he accepted her fealty. A most elevated and correct decision. However, if I recall correctly, anonymous sources allege that the Handmaiden has been caught up in controversy. Could you give our listeners the skinny on what's been going on?"
"
Sure! You know me, I hate to speculate. I have no doubt the Handmaiden's a pious and faithful servant of our Lord. But we'd be doing mankind a disservice, if we didn't report on the concerns some of our folk comrades have. You see, there was an unfortunate incident in the Crystal Shores District involving unexploded ordnance. Sadly, a child was killed. Fortunately, the Handmaiden was on the spot to help. However, some residents allege that she threw a little girl into the hands of her xenos minion."
"
Her xenos is a Gamorrean, isn't it? I'm sure she had the best of intentions."
"
Oh, I've got no doubt. It just caused a big fright. Some feared the beast would smother the poor girl. A young boy was injured by the explosion. It's been alleged the Handmaiden maimed him. A man was rushed to the hospital after he gave his life force for a dangerous ritual. We don't know anything about his condition, or the boy's. Again, I'm just reporting on what I've heard."
"
People are just asking questions. I'm sure the Handmaiden will address these rumours in her own time, and all will be well. She's just coming into her power."
"
We know whatever she does, her intent is pure."
"
Her husband-to-be will help her good works, I know it."
"
Too true. Speaking of which, let's take a look at the betting pool..."
"Lemme kill 'em, m'lord," Honna opines.
"It's certainly tempting."
"Could rip them lyin' tongues out. Feed 'em to kath hounds."
"The cretins or their tongues?"
"Why not both?" Honna says with complete seriousness.
Traffic is terrible. The grand boulevard moves at a snail's pace. Honna makes enthusiastic use of the car horn, and snaps on the car's flashing lights and sirens. Imperial drivers, conditioned by generations of life under the laws of the well-ordered Imperium, move to clear the lane ahead of my car. We finally arrive, after invoking Sith privilege plenty of times. Security is tight – roadblocks, armed soldiers and armoured vehicles on patrol, drones intrusively hovering in the sky.
I swear, half the people I see in the streets wear uniforms. Blue uniforms, grey uniforms, brown uniforms, black uniforms, black and white uniforms. I'm reminded of an old joke. We Humanists haven't figured out the way to make babies come out of the womb with uniforms on, but it's in the next Four-Year Plan. Or mayhaps they'll want the babies – the male ones, at any rate – come out of their mother's womb in armour. As resplendent as that of the stormtroopers in gleaming white parade armour guard the way to the stadium, and keep order among the impatient crowd.
The idiots on radio are right: the massive queue outside the stadium is even bigger than yesterday. I smooth out my dress and step out of the car. Immediately, I am assaulted by the bright flash of cameras. Sighing inwardly, I put on my best smile, and raise my hand in greeting.
Time to play the part; time for the mummer's farce. "Good day to you, good people of Adlerberg! Praise Vader!"
A trio of Life Guards lies in wait for me. One of them, a tall fellow wearing a sky blue dress uniform with a chest of medals, stepped smartly up to me, clicks the heels of his boots together and salutes. His minions wear bulky powered exoskeleton evocative of knights of legend, and are armed with assault rifles.
"Blessed One, welcome. The Supreme Leader's expecting you. Please follow us."
I return the salute. "Lead the way." I study his insignia as the trio ushers us through the crowd. "Lieutenant, correct? I must say those medals are impressive. So young and so highly decorated. You must've served gallantly."
"I do my duty, Blessed One. From the Netherworld War to the War on the Usurpers. It's tradition in my family to serve."
"Then I thank you for your service."
As I'm whisked inside, there is some cheering from the plebs, but also some jeering from the safe recesses of the crowd. "We can break some heads if you like. Teach them some manners," the lieutenant says casually as if he was discussing the weather.
"Let's not darken the games with violence against folk comrades. The Vader will judge them in His good time, lieutenant."
"As you wish, Blessed One." He eyes Honna. "Your...guard can come with you to the box, but not enter."
"Of course."
As we're led into a hall for VIPs, I run into...Isakios. He immediately rushes over to me, and looks...unhappy. The soldiers salute, but he ignores them, hands on his hips. "There you are. I made so many calls! You didn't respond to any of them! I was worried!"
I sigh, doing my best to look contrite. I do in fact feel a little bit bad for him. "I wasn't feeling well. When I got home I was just exhausted and went straight to bed. My guard said she replied to your call."
Honna grunts in affirmation.
He looks down on the floor. "Yes...but that was hours later. You could've left a message. In the morning at least. Everyone here was bombarding me with questions. I didn't get a quiet minute-"
I pull him into a hug. "I'm sorry you had to put up with that, little brother."
He remains rigid at first, then yields and melts into the hug. I doubt anyone in his family as ever apologised for anything, no matter how insincere. "Well, all right. But...talk to me next time...when you can."
"I'm sure you did well enough fending off nosy VIPs. You're going to have to put up with them a lot, so see it as useful education," I joke.
He makes a face. "Do I have to? Can't we skip that?"
I pat him on the shoulder, and take his hand. "No, but I shall teach how to make it more bearable and turn it to your advantage."
"I'd rather not at all," he grumbles, tightening his grip on my hand, as if he's afraid all the well-dressed cretins who are drinking, gossiping and eating snacks will suddenly all storm towards him.
"I, too, dislike indulging blobs," a familiar voice says, her appearance heralded by a mechanical rasp. "They're stupid, coarse, and irritating, and get everywhere." If she's still affected by the unpleasant encounter last night, she doesn't show it. Her dark grey uniform is immaculately pressed.
"Isakios, I take you've already meet my good friend Sibylla."
"We have. Never spoke," he shuffles a bit awkwardly on his feet. "Uh, hello. My brother Antiochus...likes some of your work, I think."
"Does he indeed?" Sibylla asks playfully. "My estimate of him has increased slightly."
"Sibylla's a brilliant engineer and alchemist, but not a good role model when it comes to interpersonal interactions."
"I'm excellent at determining which beings are sentient individuals worth my time, and which are mentally deficient blobs to be dismissed," Sibylla insists.
"Don't all humans belong to the master species?" Isakios asks naively.
Sibylla chuckles, and takes his arm. "Look around you," she makes a sweeping gaze with her robot hand. "See all these...people – I'm being very generous when I call them that. What do you see? Blobs. Interchangeable, semi-sentient blobs."
The boy furrows his brow. "I mean...they're human. I get they aren't...like us. That's why we Sith have to see the larger picture for them."
"Oh, most of those we generously call Sith aren't any better. You're lucky you're not at the Academy, learning from factory fodder how to be factory fodder."
The Life Guard's Lieutenant is too disciplined to speak out of tune, but his mouth thins into a line of displeasure. Sibylla either doesn't notice or doesn't care.
"Err...I guess you're right, my lord," Isakios says meekly, fidgeting a bit and with his eyes downcast.
I sigh. "Sibylla, don't crush his spirits like that. There's plenty of chaff, especially here in the upper rungs. Unproductive, spoilt cretins. But that shouldn't blind us to the wheat. Common people who understand their duty are our nation's foundation...but they need a select few to show them the way. And sometimes we need to cut out the chaff."
"Always the idealist."
If only you knew. "The Divine St Padmé set us an example, though many on top..." I trail off when I suddenly see her walk in.
Artemesia's long hair is pulled back and she is impeccably dressed in a blue dress and a blazer embellished with a sparkly brooch, and chatting with some officials. But they might as well not exist as far as I'm concerned. Heat blossoms inside my chest. I feel just a little giddy. At least I haven't fully let go of my wits, and don't do more than glance in the blonde-haired bureaucrat's direction. That is fine. That is expected from a Sith, truly. "...have forgotten the way," I finish awkwardly, finally remembering my words. I grab a glass from a passing Mirialan waitress, and see Artemisia is looking back at me, a small smile on her face.
Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see her. Theo is alone, drink in hand, looking a bit nervous and out of place, wearing a red dress that conceals less than it reveals. Cretins stare at her with disapproval...or lust, and I wish I could burn them. I hear the murmurs, and they disgust me. They don't see her intellect, they don't see she how she has to suffer under a brute. All they see is a piece of meat on display. She looks at me, her gaze softens and she smiles her shy smile with those pretty, lovely lips, and my heart races.
"Sister...are you listening?" suddenly I register that Isakios is saying something, and the spell's broken.
"Of course I was," I declare indignantly.
"Hmm," he huffs.
"You made a good impression on the Deputy Logothe. I'm pleased you're going to be working together. I think you'll find you have much in common," Sibylla says wryly. "Speaking of which, I have some business to discuss with her. Please excuse me." She walks off towards Artemesia. I dare to give Theo a quick glance, but she's being led away by a young thug in Sith robes. I remember that face. One of Pyrros' lackeys at the party. There is a smile on her face, but it is plastered, artificial. Through the Force, she does not feel afraid...but resigned, hollow. What I would do to make her truly smile again.
"Theo said you were nice to her," Isakios suddenly interjects.
"I didn't know you talked. You two are close?"
"Don't hurt her." The words are like polished steel, sharp in a way I could not imagine Isakios is capable of being. The moment is fleeting, soon he is back to stammering again. "Her life – it's not easy. But she's kind...she doesn't deserve to be hurt. It's not her fault Pyrros is...the way he is."
I take his hand and say softly, "I swear to you, I have no intention of hurting her. And if by word or deed I can help her, I shall."
He looks me in the eye and nods once.
We walk up to the box. The Life Guards – clad in bulky looking exoskeletons like our escort and heavily armed – wave us through. As yesterday, Thrul's hooded female minion is standing outside. She acknowledges me with a bow, but says nothing. I bid goodbye to Honna, and step inside. Evidently Eisen is occupied, but I run into Dionysus Laskaris and Moff Martoulis.
As well-dressed and as vain as a peacock, Martoulis is all smiles. I remind myself not to look at his unusually broad hips. "Ah, young Lord Skleros and the blessed Handmaiden, welcome. You look stunning, and so much healthier than when I last saw you, blessed one." He has a forceful grip when he shakes my hand.
"I just needed a good night's sleep."
"I'm glad. If you need anything...my physician is on hand."
"I don't think that'll be necessary, but thank you. Quite a turnout today. You must be pleased. These games have been big success."
"I'm just honoured I had a part in making them that," he indicates his conversation partner. "I trust you and Dionysus are acquainted."
"We've met," the banker says blandly.
"And I know his daughter well. We're good friends," I can't resist rubbing it in. For a fleeting moment, Laskaris' lips form an annoyed, thin line.
"An alchemist, correct?" Martoulis asks. "Dionysus and I were just discussing some of the financial aspects of the Tarazona operation."
"We see potential for a good return on investment."
"I'll be reading the financial report with interest. We must, of course, never lose sight of our folk comrades. They're our most important capital."
"That's always been my motto!" Martoulis exclaims a bit excitedly. "Class collaboration, labour, church and private enterprise in partnership! That's what sets our system apart from the Dominion and the swamp guard. Over there, there is chaos and robbery, here, there is social harmony and culture!" Then he suddenly sneezes into his handkerchief. "My apologies."
"Bless you. Are you all right, Moff?"
"Just a minor allergy," he wipes his nose. "I have to prepare for my speech. If you need anything, my staff's here to serve. Enjoy yourself," he gives Laskaris a boisterous slap on the back. "Till then, comrade!"
Laskaris bristles a bit, but says nothing. "My lord, a word, if you would," he says reluctantly.
So tempting to say no. "I can spare a moment. What is it?" I ask a bit haughtily.
He presses his lips together in a white slash. "It concerns my daughter. You appear to have some influence over her."
"I like to think I have a friendship with her."
"And surely you will use use this...friendship to convince her to be more reasonable."
"Sibylla marches very much to the beat of her own drum. I've never seen be irrational though."
"Her attitude's putting her in danger. Her and her sister."
"Angela? Everyone seems to be tip-toeing about what happened."
"A family matter. An unfortunate, very painful tragedy."
"By whose hand?"
"She's very sick. She needs special care."
"And Sibylla put her in her exclusive care, just like that?"
"My daughter has more curiosity and pride than sense. Angela's not a science experiment, but my daughter's too prideful to realise she's putting her life in jeopardy."
"Perhaps she thinks she's protecting her."
"A father must see the larger picture," he fingers his collar. "Sibylla's never understood that. She has neither the knowledge nor the resources. And my wayward daughter's disrespect for our institutions and customs is going to put her in danger."
Time to change gears a bit. "In what manner? Sibylla's too irreverent for her own good, but she's a good friend with a brilliant mind."
"I've done all I can to shield her. It's my money that funds her...tinkering. That shields her from those whose toes she's stepped on. It's time for her to reconcile with her family."
"Have you talked to Lachesis about this? Sounds like she'd be very interested in anything that concerns her apprentice's well-being."
"Lachesis has ulterior motives, as you no doubt know. I need a mediator, not someone who'd trap my daughter in her web."
"And you think I'm that mediator? Quite a leap of faith, considering you barely know me."
"I'm a man of the Church, my lord. I funded the reconstruction of the very temple where you passed the holy men's trials. Besides, we're of one mind about the best way to efficiently utilise the xenos. Lachesis would kill the cow that gives us milk." He removes an elegant leather case from his suit jacket, and takes out a shiny black cigar. The sort that costs a small fortune. "My friendship can open many doors, my lord." He smells the cigar and admires it so long it seems theatrical. "Doors that will be closed to you otherwise." He puts his cigar in his mouth and puffs on it.
"I see your point. I do want what's best for Sibylla. As someone who grew up without a family, I'd hate for her to be forever parted from hers."
"Good," Laskaris says simply. Lighting his cigar, he takes a long puff. Massive ads flash over the arena, droning on and on. "Herd instinct," he mutters disdainfully.
"The herd wants what it wants, and when the herd moves it moves. I'm going to sit down somewhere away from the flashy lights. Why don't you come?"
He leads me to a couple leather armchairs. Skaer is already there. He is discussing something with an aide, but dismisses him when we approach. As seems his norm, he's foregone a uniform or Sith robes. Instead he wears a black, double-breasted suit with tie. "I thought you said you'd had your fill of the games, Laskaris."
"I've had my fill of useful Sith being killed for puerile entertainment. But the games have been an investment," the banker says flatly.
"One that's more than paid off for you," the Minister retorts. He gives me a simple nod. "Kyriaki, looking much better."
"Yes, my lord. Thank you. I was just a bit under the weather last night."
"Hopefully you'll take a good doctor with you on your travels. Tarazona's swamps attract all manners of mosquitoes. Not a place for someone with a delicate constitution."
"Thank you for the concern, my lord. But who knows, maybe the northern air will do me some good. I'm told it's cleaner than down here."
Laskaris' comm suddenly rings. "Business," he says simply, and heads out, still puffing on his cigar.
Skaer watches him go. "Now what did the old man have to say to you?"
I shrug. "He's just a family man."
"And I'm a humble architect who just likes neo-classical architecture."
"Just an artistic soul with grand dreams, my lord."
He chuckles. "Something you'll realise very soon, if you haven't already, is that when you go to the Leader, you never present him with the bland, the banal. It must be grand; it must be historic; it must immortalise his name."
"We all deal in spectacles, my lord."
"You have much to learn, young one." He glances back towards Eisen, who's chatting with Thrul and a stone-faced Lachesis at the bar. Jealous about not being invited?
"You've been briefed about the Tarazona scheme, I take it. It's the Leader's new favourite child. Everyone seems to want to hold it," I say casually.
He gives me an icy look. "I'm directly involved in it. Who else is going to give thought to the logistics of actually moving all these people north and getting industrial production back online?"
"I recall that Lachesis has all manners of experience in...moving people, whether they want to or not."
"I could tell you so many interesting stories of what an improvised mess the Chiosian population transfers were. Transport bottlenecks, outbreaks of disease, settlers stuck in tents, or murdered by bandits. But let's not drag up the past. To make sure we're better prepared this time, my staff has organised some prototype transport vehicles."
He fishes out a photo of a truly gargantuan vehicle. "It looks impressive, most impressive. Will it be able to handle the primitive roads?"
"It's been thoroughly tested. If the road infrastructure is not up to standard in certain areas, we have many slave labourers who'll work day and night. My people carried out a survey of the region a long time ago. Back then, few grasped its potential. Development is impossible without the Ministry of Armaments. Tarazona has coal mines and iron reserves that are vital for armaments production. I'm informing you of this so that there's no misunderstanding when my people move in. The Leader would be displeased if the project was disrupted by grandstanding."
"No one in their right minds would want to deprive the armaments industry of critical resources, my lord. I know little of such matters, so I really appreciate your expertise," I smile at him, "but Lachesis is in overall command of the operation."
"Aren't you already...doing a lot, my lord?" Isakios asks a bit timidly. He chews on his lip nervously. "I mean you've got this big tank programme, you're building that massive dam, and the Skyhammer Fleet asked you to give them new missiles. Just...uh, don't want you to get overworked, my lord. I heard you were real sick last year because you worked so hard." He cringes under Skaer's icy gaze. "Your concern is unnecessary, and you're misinformed. I hurt my knee while visiting Amidala Corps workers in the Zamoxian mountains."
"Lord Skaer's clearly in good health, little brother. Nonetheless, you're wearing many hats, my lord. More cynical people than me would find it suspect that you need another one."
Skaer tilts his head back haughtily. "This is my hat, as you put it. Industry will only make this gamble if they have someone to work with who has their confidence. There's a reason Chios still lags behind its potential."
"I recall you and Lachesis had a disagreement about tanks, shells or something. Not that I have any expertise there. It's all so technical. But surely that shouldn't cause a lasting rift. Would you like me to mediate?"
He seems to give it some consideration, looking at me thoughtfully. "I have no need of you, my dear," he says finally. Clearly I'm too lowly. For now. "Don't think I'm unaware of your little stunt with Titan. I'm letting it slide. t's their cock-up."
I smile calmly. "From a certain point of view, I did you a favour. Your people get to pontificate how seriously they take their workers' well-being, Titan can't say no when you tell them they have to invest in the Leader's new project."
"Spare me your transparent attempts to ingratiate yourself. You're in the Leader's good graces, for now. Enjoy your time in the sun before it sets. The Leader can be mercurial. The media shows the smiles, the colourful uniforms. Everyone forgets the wrath; everyone forgets how he got the throne. He's sending one kath hound north, and keeping another close. Don't think they're not each waiting to sink their teeth into the other. And you,
Lady Skleros, are right in the middle. If they don't snap at each other, they might snap at you together."
"I know what the Leader can do, my lord. I got a front row seat to him displaying his prowess," I respond a bit tartly. "But I'll take your words about the others to heart."
I finish my glass, and check my chrono. Force, this whole mummer's show is dragging on. I'm about to contrive an excuse to stretch my legs, when Cyrina suddenly walks in. She gives Skaer, Isakios and me a look, and smirks.
"Look who's here! Trying to wrangle a fancy villa out of Lord Skaer, eh Kyri? Be careful, his commissions don't come cheap!" She's wearing a stunning yellow dress beneath a black fur coat, and more lipstick than would ever be proper for a good human woman.
"We were discussing matters of state," Skaer says flatly.
"Oh, but a Sith Lady having appropriate lodgings is very much a matter of state," Cyrina insists. "So how is everyone? Hello, Isakios, nice to see you, too."
"Umm...I'm...th-ank you, I'm alright, my lady...princess," he stammers, looking at me with a pleading expression.
Cyrina puts her arm around him. "Hey, no need to be scared. I'm here as your friend, not the Sith Inquisition."
"Relax, little brother," I add softly.
"Come you two, let's enjoy the view a bit," Cyrina insists, wrapping her other arm around my shoulder. Then she seems to suddenly realise I was talking to someone. "Unless your business isn't concluded," she adds as an afterthought.
"We're done here," Skaer states.
"Thank you for your time, Lord Skaer," I get up and curtsey. Cyrina rolls her eyes. Isakios gives the Sith Lord a polite nod. Cyrina leads us both to the railings. "'Matters of state'," she mimics Skaer's voice. It's not half-bad.
"He doesn't like being disrespected. They say he holds grudges," Isakios points out quietly.
"Pfft," Cyrina makes a dismissive gesture. "He sucks up to Papa, they all do. Think they're hot stuff, but when they're standing in front of him it's all 'yes, my Leader, whatever you say, my Leader.'"
Oh, Cyrina, what a fool you are. Isakios looks at me, and I shake my head. "Let's not talk about politics. My skull is already pounding from all that."
"Not literally, I hope!" Cyrina gives me a one-over. "You're feeling better, right? Sorry I had to desert you last night. I was..."
"You had your duties, I had mine," I interject, taking her hand gently. "Don't apologise for that. I can look after myself. I must say, you look lovely. I'm just a bit jealous. That coat is great."
Cyrina grins, and poses. "I hope you're not upset that it's not one of yours! When I saw it, I just had to have it."
"You must tell me the name of the boutique."
"You're not going to engage in active measures I hope!" she jokes. "Truth be told, there's no boutique. I got it delivered from Progress."
"The...camp?" Isakios blurts out, then coughs. "D-did an inmate, uh, make it, did it...b-belong to one of them?"
Cyrina gives an indifferent shrug. "I don't know. It's not like they need one. Nektarios sent me a catalogue and said I could have whatever I liked. There was a lovely dress, but it had bloodstains. Ugh. Almost killed my appetite."
Isakios bites his lip, looking down.
Camp Progress is not even a two hours' drive from Adlerberg. When you're on the road, you can sometimes see ash falling from the sky and feel it peppering your clothes. You learn to live with the smell. I imagine Cyrina in a striped prisoner uniform, dirty, bloody, and broken. I imagine her going up in smoke.
"Well, it looks stunning on you."
"Oh, oh! I still have the catalogue. We can order something for you, Kyri, if you like. We're about the same size. It's in my room, but I can show it to you tomorrow-"
I squeeze her hand to cut off the stream of words. "Thank you, but that's unnecessary. I have all I need. My closet is packed."
"And I bet everything in it is black! You really need some colour in your life, Kyri." She laughs. After a moment, I join in. "So...have you thought about it?"
I can imagine where this is going, but it doesn't hurt to play coy. "About what? My sartorial choices?"
"You know what. The grand finale. The big fight."
"My thoughts are that of any wife-to-be. I must loyally support my fiancée."
She elbows me lightly. "You haven't given him your favour have you?"
I already know who is going to get, and it is not Pyrros. That leaves me with one last card to play. But let her think I'm just a frightened swan. Let her think she has any power over me.
"Well, no, but it is the proper thing to do."
She sighs with an air of exasperation. "Kyri, I love you, but clearly there's a reason I came into your world." She glances at Isakios. "Could you excuse us for a moment, I need to stage a sisterly intervention. I may have to say some bad things about your big brother."
"Sure, sure, don't mind me."
I look towards the massive arena, and the huge crowds, biting my lip. The very incarnation of the demure, nervous maiden. Cyrina leans in close, so close I can smell her perfume. "Hey, talk to me. Big sis is here."
"It's...not an easy decision to make," I sigh.
"It's just a shame that Parmenion didn't win. Imagine: he beats Pyrros, then Spyridon. I mean, Spyridon is not a bad sort at all. Honourable, gallant...but old. Parmenion on the other hand..."
"He hates Pyrros, and Pyrros hates him. Frankly, it's better this way. Imagine what rumours people would spread if Parmenion beat my fiancée and then did something foolish to convey his...admiration for me."
"The best kind," Cyrina smirks.
"Be serious, please." Another sigh. I fiddle with my scarf. "Pyrros will hurt me if I don't give it to him. And once we're wed, I will be his in the eyes of the Vader."
"So what is it you want to? Be his demure plaything, after everything you've been through, everything you've done?"
"That's not what I said. But I can't ignore that there are larger things at stake than my personal happiness."
"Oh, come on, think of yourself, for once!" A fervent look has crossed her face.
"'I'm afraid." My lip quivers, a tremble in my voice.
She wraps an arm around me. "Sh, I'm here. This is your moment to show him who you are, to stand up for yourself. The whole bloody Imperium is watching."
I take a deep breath. "You're right. I'm not going to let myself get browbeaten by him. I shall give my favour to someone worthy of it. You'd back me up, right?" I look her right in the eye, unwavering.
"Absolutely!" she declares fervently. "Tell you what, I'm going to do you one better. I'm going to tell my lackeys in the press to write very nice things about you. They'll do anything to lick my boots."
"That's so kind of you...but wouldn't that get you into trouble? Thrul's going to hold a grudge. He's very powerful."
"Pfft," Cyrina snorts. "I'm the Leader's daughter, and he's a lackey sucking up to my father to get a place at the table. I stand up for my friends, and you, Kyri, are my friend."
All too easy. I sniff slightly, as if overcome by emotion. Then I throw my arms around her. She smiles and returns the embrace. "I was so close to surrendering, if it hadn't been for you..."
"There, there, big sis is here to screw your head straight," she rubs my back. "You know you and Science are my favourite Sith."
I pull away slowly, smiling. "Thank you. You and Sibylla...you're my best friends. The two people I can really count on."
"You bet! Best friends!" But then her excitement suddenly fades, she looks pensive.
"Is something wrong, Cyrina? Was it something I said?" I ask, ever so softly and concerned.
"You know when Sibylla is being all, well, Sibylla-like. Going on about blobs and all that. She's like this with everyone. It's just her being strange."
"Well, you know her better than me, so you no doubt have a better read on her," I begin, laying a hand on Cyrina's arm, "but in all the time I've known her, yes, she's like that all the time. You know her life's not been easy. It does things to people."
"Yes, yes, it does."
"She certainly doesn't think you're a blob. Come on, that would be so absurd," I laugh.
After a moment, she laughs as well. "Absolutely absurd."
Then, suddenly, trumpets!
So loud we're both forced to clutch our ears, while trumpets thunder and the announcer pontificates. "Volume! Is it so hard to understand?!" Cyrina calls out, irritated.
Rubbing my ears, I see Martoulis stride towards the speaker's podium. Nudging Cyrina slightly, I say, "He needs people to be too distracted by the noise to notice his birthing hips."
The First Daughter has to bring her mouth to her lips to stifle giggle.
"Hey, what's so funny?" Isakios walks up to us, a glass of juice in hand.
"I'll tell you when you're older, little brother," I teasingly ruffle his hair, which causes him to flail at my arm.
"I'm kind of older than you, you know," he points out indignantly.
"Details, now stand next to me, and act like you're interested."
"It's not even the big speech," he sulks.
"And you can there's going to be a camera taking a picture of the little lord Skleros. You don't want your father to get grumpy about you not looking lordly enough? That motivates him to assume position! "Shoulders back," I gently adjust his posture. "Head up."
"...and it's a great honour for us host our Supreme Leader Darth Eisen! Thanks to his steadfast leadership and unerring wisdom, our city has risen to greatness once more," the Moff bloviates.
"For us, the Great Tournament is more than a game, it's a reflection of Imperial, Humanist values. A test of human martial valour, and honour. Throughout the centuries, our great city has been at the forefront of Imperial culture. The very fabric of city is steeped in the Tephriki pioneering spirit, and it's that spirit that's made us great.
We're the city of the Great Tournament, the city of the faith, the capital of the movement. But...but..." Martoulis dramatically raises his index finger, "sadly, even now, there are those who defy the Imperial peace, who commit acts of wanton butchery.
They're madmen, savages, deviants. They hate us because they hate our freedom. Because we dare to be human and proud of it, instead of wallowing in shame of our heritage. They hate us because we've created a bastion of civilisation in a dark, savage world. Just a few days ago, they dared strike the Blessed Handmaiden of St Padmé! Thank the Vader that our Lord gave her the strength to best them." He takes a sip from his glass.
"You, my folk comrades, know me. I've always believed in openness. Anyone of you who has a justified grievance can call my staff and meet me one-on-one. It's in this spirit that I once again turn to you. Behold, the scene before you. Study these beings closely. All four are dangerous criminals. Their guilt has been proved beyond doubt. The only thing that's left is the sentence."
The crowd jeers, spewing insults while armed Hearthguards lead the condemned into the centre of the arena. A middle aged human male with greying hair and a shaggy beard, a female blue Twi'lek, a human female who has to be in her twenties and has a head shorn of hair, and a Gungan male about the same age with a maimed ear. All wear shackles around their legs.
"It's always been my motto that healthy folk sentiment is the best judge. The people's judgement supersedes whatever has been written by bloodless lawyers who've never touched grass and taken a step into the real world. The Leader, in his boundless wisdom, has granted me the honour of presenting these criminals to you for judgement." The Moff pauses.
"First, we have a villainous blackguard and wretch known as Avitus. He does not deserve a last name, he does not deserve to have his family name remembered! Let it be forgotten, and his vile deeds and legacy be as dust! This foul and malevolent worm has been accused and found guilty of the brutal slaying of seven people. Seven good human lives ruined by his poisonous deeds!" The screen shows smiling photos of the victims, and maudlin music plays.
"That bastard!" Isakios exclaims loudly.
I have no sympathy for this prisoner. Far as I know, the case is legitimate. How do I know this? The sensation of pure malice that radiates from this Avitus. As as well as the fact that the Vaderites generally do not frame humans who've crossed them as serial killers. This man deserves his sentence, yet I shall feel no satisfaction when our government is filled with men like him who are lauded as heroes for their vile deeds.
"However, we in the Imperium seek to show that justice is done. Tell me, good people, shall this worm have his death sentence commuted?" There is a roar of disapproval. "Or shall he suffer as his victims suffered?!" A roar of approval and a chanting of 'death', 'death' is taken up by the mob. He raises his hands. "The judgement of the people is clear...die with dignity, filth, in a way you did not live!"
The second prisoner is dragged forward by the Hearthguards. The blue Twi'lek female. They are not gentle in the least. "Next we have a vile temptress called Wenilsa. We all, folk comrades, know of the sins of the Twi'lek species. We know that before the great Imperial revolution, these monstrous creatures captured young humans, fattened them up, and then killed them by tearing their flesh to shreds and drinking their blood. This creature's no different. Nonetheless, a good human family took her in as a worker to help out in their business. I won't mention their name out of respect for their privacy. I want to make it clear that her employers bear no blame for her crimes. They're churchgoing citizens misled by pity for a creature that didn't deserve it. We've all been there. We've all had our 'decent Twi'lek'. So we tell ourselves 'of course, it's all the other Twi'leks are pigs - but this one is a first class Twi'lek, she's one of the good ones'.
They clothed her, fed her, gave her a purpose. How did this creature repay them? The vile thing used her freedom to steal bread, no doubt to poison it. She was out late at night after curfew. I wonder why. During an inspection she was discovered to be in the possession of subversive literature from the swamp guard terrorists! She was tried, found guilty and sentenced to ten years in a labour camp. The court has spoken...but, folk comrades, a judge's legal opinion doesn't always reflect healthy folk sentiment. No offence to our jurists, but sometimes they're too tied up in regulations and legalistic quibbling to understand what our people need. So I turn to you. Comrades, what is your judgement? Shall she be shown mercy and released after ten years? Or shall we cast her into the pit of hell like we do with any other xenos plotter?"
Trembling, the Twi'lek throws herself to her knees. "Please, mercy. I beg you! I'm sorry...sorry for everything I did wrong!"
"Look how she grovels," Cyrina rolls her eyes, sounding bored. Makes me feel like slapping the 'princess'. I feel Morgak's raw, burning hatred, and wince.
The crowd chants. At first it's just a few people howling 'death', then it becomes a near deafening roar! Naked terror emanates from their victim, and the mob feels on it, howling for blood. After this has gone on for a while, the Moff raises his hands. "The people have spoken. As the Vader cast down the vile Neimoidians, we cast you down, vermin."
"She did bad things. But couldn't they have...made her good?" Isakios asks.
"I'm sure mother could have," Cyrina says indifferently. "Her servants' heads are all wired right. Never even think of doing anything improper, right Kyri?"
"I'm sure. Sometimes severity is the price we pay for an ordered society. But we bastardise crime and punishment if we turn it into puerile entertainment, and leave it to the moods of the mob. The judge's verdict should've been respected, not overturned on a whim. It was more than proportionate."
"There's always more where this one came from," Cyrina shrugs.
Isakios scowls, and silently stares into the arena.
The last two of the condemned have been brought forward. A Gungan, and a human woman. Curious that they are being presented together. Is she being accused of aiding a forced labourer's escape or being a Swamp Guard agent? That is my first thought. But then I notice that her hair has been shorn off. That can only mean...surely not?!
"The last case before us is perhaps the most revolting," the Moff bloviates. "Comrades, when I heard about it, I didn't want to believe it. I know many of you have brought your kids, and I apologise in advance. It's really not something you want to expose children to. But it serves as a reminder of how far even the pure can fall. This woman Iris – I will not dignify her with a last name because I want to spare her family the shame – was caught in bed with this...this disgusting, filthy creature. A human maiden laying with a Gungan."
There is a loud gasp of shock in the crowd, followed by howls of rage. I must admit a human laying with...a Gungan is...plain abnormal. They have these long faces with mouths shaped like bills and the big eyes of a frog, these abnormally long ears and tongues. Seriously, they're ugly amphibians.
They're ugly...
and Pyrros is handsome,
but his soul is ugly.
Cyrina brings her hand to her mouth in shock. "Oh dear, the poor girl. She should have at least chosen a xenos which doesn't look like a mutant frog. She desperately needs some reconditioning if she thought...
that... was attractive!"
"Vader's breath...why'd she do that?" Isakios exclaims, confused and shocked. "Maybe some humans hurt her real bad, and that made her weird and..."
"Prefer frogs?" Cyrina wrinkles her nose. "Ew."
"She needs therapy...not this," Isakios sounds distressed.
Morgak's anger is like a smouldering fire. Directed against the mob...but also the girl and the Gungan. I feel like I'm burning from the inside. Deeply in pain, I rub my head.
"Calm down, damn it!" I urge her.
The Gungan stands bravely, silent and resolute while the blood-crazed mob howls. His face has been badly bruised, and his clothes are dirty. I expect the human girl to beg, and kneel, but she stands defiantly as well. I am...impressed. She's no one. All alone. Yet she stands tall.
"The vermin's sentence is clear. There can only be one sentence: death," the Moff speaks, and the mob roars. "But what shall be done with the lost lamb? Shall she be given a chance to reforge herself...or be cast out into the wilderness to live among the beasts she so loves?" The crowd is a bit more divided on the issue. The loudest voices chant 'exile', a minority shouts 're-education', but I note with disquiet that a growing, rabid minority roars 'death'.
Cyrina casually checks her messages on her comm.
"Sister, do something!" Isakios demands in a pleading tone, distressed.
I draw air into my lungs. My throat is going to make things hell for me after this. The Force carries my words, making them louder than my lungs could ever hope to. "Good people, I share your anger! Who could not be dismayed to hear that a maiden has thrown away her purity to consort with a frog, a beast, a savage?! I'm glad I only had a light breakfast this morning, otherwise I'm afraid I'd have to vomit."
I hear laughter. That's a good sign. "But, remember, a few days ago we mourned the anniversary of our Lady of Mercy's death. These games are in her honour. She had a Handmaiden called Saché. Before coming into the queen's services, she was a debauched, stained woman. Why, they say she indulged in all manners of perversion. And yet, and yet, under the stern care of St Padmé, she reforged herself into an honest woman. She gave her life for our Mother."
"Punishment, punishment!" some yell, others, safe in the anonymity of the crowd, yell "blasphemer!", "you're a xenos lover, too!" Suddenly, the voices die down. There's an uncomfortable silence, and the tension in the air is as sharp as a blade. Everyone knows you do not just attack a Sith.
"Who are you? Too afraid of a frail, sickly girl to show yourself? Whoever you are, you're no man, no knight. To skulk in the shadows, and hide behind your folk comrades, that is the mark of a coward." My throat burns, but my words carry. "Let the Handmaiden speak," I hear some voices call out. "Stand with the Handmaiden!" others yell.
"What lesson will be learned from casting her into the wilderness? Will it be a display of strength? No, of weakness. When our souls enter the Netherworld, and we're brought before the Vader, what will He think of us? Remember, St Padmé sits to his right. How will we justify to her that we didn't even make the attempt to cleanse this lost girl's black soul of sin? That we sent her to swamp guard and its beasts? That we had so little confidence in the purity of our faith?"
I let these words hang for a moment. "Adlerberg, you're the city of the faith. The holiest men of the empire live in your city. They know how to cleanse her, they know how to burn the sin out of her body and soul. If, after a period of punishment and education, her soul is still black, we will execute her. And we will have acted in defence of our species and our souls." The mob shouts to the heavens. Many still call for exile or execution, some still spew insults at me, but those calling for re-education have become louder. Finally, the Moff raises his hands.
"What a moving speech. The Handmaiden has reminded us of the power of faith. Faith in humanity, faith in the Vader and St Padmé! As I've always said, we're the city of the faith, and we won't give up on it because it's easy. By the will of the Vader and the people, I decree that this sinner will be re-educated. The Church will make a proper human woman out of her, and when the time comes she will be the mother of pure human children and the wife of a worthy human husband...or suffer the consequences of shaming her species."
"No, no!" I hear the girl cry, desperate and anguished. Her pain is so palpable it feels like a physical force. "Kill me! I've got nothing to repent for. I lo..."
Her Gungan lover shouts something at her that I don't understand, for he speaks in his native tongue. But I can tell what he means from his stance, from the desperation and protectiveness I feel emanating from his aura. He's pleading with her to live, telling her he understands the choices she must make. I feel...ashamed about my feelings on their...proclivities. She cries out, responding in his native tongue.
"I shall see to it that she realises the error in her ways. She will learn alongside the other penitent novices," I once again project my voice to deafen the crowd to the girl's desperate cries. I sway, and see dark spots before my eyes.
The two are forcibly separated by the Hearthguards. The poor Gungan male is beaten by the uniformed thugs while his lover watches helplessly. She tries to struggle, tries to reach him...but it is futile. His lip torn and his face bloody, he calls out to her. When I reach out through the Force, I feel pain from him...but also calm. The only fear I sense is for her.
"In the name of the Vader, the sentence is to be carried out immediately. Blessed are they who follow the path of the Vader, for their days on earth shall be increased. But woe unto those who choose the path of collaboration with mankind's enemies, for we will certainly shorten their stay on this earth," I hear the Moff declare. I have to hold on to the railing to keep myself from swaying, sweat dripping down my face. My throat feels parched and burns hot.
You do realise you're a monster, right? You say you hate the Vaderites, but you've become a monster, some nasty little voice in my head reminds me.
I feel Cyrina arms wrap around me. "You did good, Enigma," she whispers. "Are you okay? What do you need?"
"W-water..." I manage to get out, voice hoarse from the loud bellow and throat aflame with a searing burn.
"Water!" she calls out to Isakios, who quickly hastens away while the First Daughter guides me to a seat. One that gives me an amazing view of the grisly spectacle unfolding in the arena for the amusement of the masses and elites alike.
Like the hounds of hell are on his heels, Isakios has rushed back, a bottle and a glass in hand. So fast is he that he spills some of the water. Some of it lands on my dress or splashes against my cheek. "Uh, sorry!" he stammers. "I've got some tissue, I'll wipe it off."
"Calm down, little lord," Cyrina says gently. Taking the glass from him, she holds it out to me. Wrapping a shaky flesh hand around the glass, I greedily gulp the water down. Isakios quickly refills it, and I gulp it down again. Snarls and hisses can be heard coming from below in the arena.
"Uh, Isakios," I hear Cyrina say a bit awkwardly. "You don't have to watch this if you don't want to. It's not going to be nice. No one's going to think lesser of you. We can just go buy some drinks or something."
"No, I must," he responds, a tremble in his voice. "He'll know." Fear roils inside him.
"Let Creep Sith say what he wants. Papa'll tell him to leave you alone."
"You don't understand. He'll know, and he'll be mad. And...if we sentence someone to die...this kind of way, we owe it to them," he says mechanically. And I feel Thrul's shadow silently looming over us. Watching.
"We're not responsible for anything," Cyrina insists. "It's all lawful anyway. Nothing to lose sleep over."
Oh, Cyrina, oh, Cyrina. Are you really worried about poor, innocent Isakios, or do you just want an excuse not to see the slaughter yourself? I suppose it's a bit too real for your liking. Not the pretty kind of slaughter.
My head is slowly clearing. Enough for me to see the creature that has emerged from the gate. It's an Acklay. The large creature has a shell that reminds me of a crab, coloured a turquoise blue, with six legs. Its two frontal legs are shaped like scythes. It has a small, round head with four eyes and a mouth full of sharp teeth that look like needles.
Driven on by guards with electro-poles, the creature screeches. For a being this large, it looks thin. Too thin...because they've been starving it. Feral rage roils from the creature. Predators aren't mindless beasts that attack anything in sight. It's a waste of energy, and a bad survival policy. You must condition a beast to be like this.
I sense Cyrina's feeling just a bit uncomfortable. Why? Is she not entertained? "Watch," I command hoarsely, though it sends a stab of pain through my throat. "You two. Watch it all."
Cyrina opens her mouth, indignant and startled by my tone. "Who put you in charge?" she challenges childishly. You want this system of slaughter...you can face its consequences
"Your father's watching. Remember the cameras. We can't embarrass him,
big sister."
Isakios stands there rigidly, pale and fidgeting. But he doesn't move.
Iris has been dragged away to a safe distance. Restrained by shackles, and armed thugs, she can only watch in horror while the creature charges.
The first to die is the human male. I shed no tears and feel no remorse over his death. One moment the beast has made a clicking sound with its throat, then it screeches and impales him upon its scythe-like legs before biting his head off.
The next is the Gungan. He lasts longer than the human. He knows he is doomed, and his shackles keep him from running. But he manages to dodge a swing of the beast's claws. He even resists with his bare hands. The outcome is not in doubt though. The Gungan is crushed beneath the creature's blows. Iris wails in terror, sobbing.
The Twi'lek woman dies last. Another sacrifice on the altar of Vaderite power. Another meaningless death to sate their lust for control over our bodies, hearts and souls. Blood coats the creature's mouth, scythe-like legs and claws. The mob cheers.
Isakios doesn't cry, he doesn't vomit from this ghastly sight. He just stands there, his expression a blank, thousand miles stare. All life seems to have been drained from his eyes. Cyrina's face is as pale as a corpse. For a moment I'm certain she's about to retch her no doubt hearty breakfast over the floor. But she defies my expectations, hastily downing her glass.
"More wine," she calls to a servant loudly. However, her lip is trembling and I some of the wine has spilt onto her pretty dress. "Next time I'm going to be fashionably late. Why'd I have to see that?" she demands, her tone both sulky and accusing. Ah, the real Cyrina shows. Stripped of all the glamour, all that's left is the pretty face of tyranny and entitlement.
"I'm sorry, big sister. It was necessary for your father's sake. He'd look bad if his daughter left. As it is, everyone is going to praise you for your strength of will. You found it unpleasant, but didn't flinch from it. You knew you had to, that's why you stayed."
"Well, all right," Cyrina says with a huff.
"It's not like anyone could've commanded you to do something you didn't want to. You knew it was right."
"Of course I did. Well, I forgive you. What a ghastly thing to watch," she says with a shudder.
"But l
awful, as you say."
I walk over to Isakios, who's still staring into the arena. The Acklay is feasting on the dead. He doesn't even react when I touch his shoulder. "Hey, little brother, it's all right. It's done. Look at me."
Cyrina seems to finally notice the shell-shocked child and joins me. "Come here, Isakios. There's no need to look at..that."
"It was lawful," he says in a dull, hollow voice. "It was lawful. It was-"
"Sh, sh. You're a good boy, better than the lot of them, better than me," I whisper. I want to wrap my arms around him, comfort him..after the horror I had a hand in him witnessing.
I could've made him go. I could've contrived an excuse for him to have to escort his frail big sister who cannot stomach the sight of blood. But I did not. Because it would hurt my standing...and his. I could've conjured up an excuse to claim the Twi'lek as my slave, say I was going to redeem her through a life of toil. Fed everyone a story about how harsh her life would be in Hope Falls and how stern a mistress I'd be. But I did not. Because in this world, the innocent are crushed. Because I poison everything I touch.
"Let this serve as a promise to raise who stands against mankind," Martoulis' voice blares through. The microphone. "And to every law-abiding citizen. Whoever raises his hand to strike you, will be hunted down and destroyed."
And the shadow looms over us. The air feels thick and heavy. Thrul's lips have curled into a smile, but even that feels cold. As cold as the air has suddenly become around us. It chills my neck and makes me feel prickly goosebumps upon my skin.
"I'm pleased with you,
son. You kept your nerve. Perhaps there's hope for you yet." He places his hand on Isakios' shoulder and the boy immediately tenses.
"My lord father," the boy says quietly, eyes downcast.
"Look, son. Don't avert your eyes. Remember, you are a Sith."
And Isakios looks. Before I know what I'm doing, my gaze has been pulled away from Thrul's wrinkled face and I'm looking down into the arena, watching the Acklay gourge itself on the Gungan. I cannot pull my gaze away. My head refuses to shift an inch. And I feel Iris' red-rimmed, hate-filled eyes upon me. If looks could kill, I would burn. We would all burn. But I can't look away.
"Look," Thrul continue, "the Light Sith heretics and the liberal blood traitors would tell you that we're a boot stomping on the human face. But this is what the masses
want, this is what they
need. Search your feelings, search theirs."
He's addressing Isakios...but I find myself equally compelled to reach out. The Force heeds my call before I even realise that I am calling to it. And what I feel makes me wish for Morgak stabbing my brain with red-hot needles. Pain is preferable to what I feel in the Force.
I feel that one level below us, people are walking about selling popped corn and drinks. I feel spectators are sharing photos of the Acklay's rampage. I hear people pontificating about how they hope the mutant frog lover is given a good thrashing to beat the deviant out of her.
I hear someone someone bloviate about how it was just a bit uncouth to watch and they should've just quietly gassed all the criminals in a camp instead. I feel certainty that justice has been done; I feel an intense, overwhelming rush of rapturous euphoria. Tens of thousands of voices, all singing the same, euphoric tune. I'm lost in a maelstrom, all alone in the world.
Are you entertained?
Yes, yes yes, we are!
"They want this, son. They want it all. But they can't admit it to themselves. That is why they've put the mantle of responsibility on our shoulders. Without us, they're atomised, drifting like sand in the wind, rooted in nothing and with no cause to drive them. But we give them purpose, we give them happiness, and they give us willing submission. Even love. Because we're the fatherland, we're the collective soul of mankind. There's no salvation outside of us...only cold oblivion. Isn't that right,
daughter?"
"Yes, Lord Father, they want this. They want us, " I reply softly. Yet again I am reminded how much I am disgusted by almost every human. But there it's different when you see it so viscerally. When their barbarity is so in your face. These are all 'ordinary' humans. If only I had a bigger bomb to destroy and swallow all these wretches in fire. Maybe one day I'll do just that.
Suddenly there's this hissing noise in the sky, like a steam cooker. It is followed by a deafening, thunderous rumble. So loud it has to be audible for miles. As I turn my eyes skyward, I see dozens of military aircraft roar low over the stadium.
"
Oh, wow, it's the Triumph Sky Crusader Squadron! Look at the gallant boys in blue, showing off the might of mankind. Isn't that the new Typhoon in the centre?" the announcer declares.
"Get your cameras ready, folks, here they come again!" Flying low in perfectly synchronised formation, the aircraft leave behind a trail of red, white and black smoke. The mob cheers loudly. Cyrina takes pictures.
The pilots do one final flyover.
"What a marvellous display. With talented pilots like that in the sky, we fear neither the Jedi dogs nor their puppetmasters from the stars! Folks, I just got word that the Dragon and the Old Lion have been sighted on the way to the Leader's box! I think the grand finale's about to happen. Believe me, you don't want to miss this! And look, there comes the Leader! All hail!"
The crowd roars. I feel Thrul's cold hands on my shoulder. "Come, my dear. This is your moment. You know your duty."
"Yes...lord father."
"Remember what we talked about," Cyrina hisses in a low voice. Does she think I have so little mettle? Good.
Trumpets sound, and the Leader appears, accompanied by his wife Iphigenia and Eliza, who quickly walks over to join Thrul. Eisen has changed outfits again. He wears a white tunic on which various emblems and insignia in brilliants are plastered, and over the Cross of Glory which dangles from his neck dangles a monocle on a black cord. On his right hand he wears an enormous ring set with six huge diamonds. On his left he wears an emerald at least an inch square. Up close, his hands remind me of a badger's paws.
The tyrant smiles at me. "Kyri, my dear, you look lovely. The people must see you."
"You honour me greatly, my Leader."
"Remember, the whole nation's watching," then he drops his voice to a menacing whisper. "You're going to spend the rest of your life with his man." My legs wobble as I walk with him. Then he speaks again, his tone chilling. "Once you're wed to him – and you will be – you will be under his guardianship. Whatever you do now can't be taken back." Then he suddenly smiles, and says loudly. "Come, my dear, let's go tell these fine warriors to beat the heck out of each other for our entertainment!"
I look around, and see the whole gang has joined us. Lachesis, Skaer, Sibylla's father, Martoulis. And then
they ascend the stairs to the box.
I feel their presence through the Force even before I see them. Pyrros is like a hurricane of impulsive power, flickering with dangerous lightning, all fury and intensity.
Spyridon is a stormy sea whose depths roil and surge predictably yet powerfully.
The mob roars. "The Great Old Lion!" or "The Young Dragon!"
Pyrros walks with a noticeable limp, but Spyridon's sword arm hangs limply from his side. I take a breath. Pyrros smirks, and his aura bristles with untamed power. But Spyridon carries himself with calmness. Each of them wears a truly ornate suit of armour, with a cloak that dramatically billows in the wind. Amidst the cheers of the mob, both bow to Eisen.
"My Leader," Spyridon begins solemnly and with no small amount of camp, "on this auspicious day we present ourselves to you to fight in your name and that of the Vader on the field of honour."
"As is the way of the Chevaliers. Allow us to add a new chapter of glory to their annals, my Leader. Let us test our mettle for all in the Imperium to see and be inspired by," Pyrros finishes.
Eisen claps his hands. "I grant it. May the strongest, the worthiest prevail and be known as Champion of the Imperium. Before we begin, is there a boon either of you wish for?"
'"Not from you, my Leader. You have endowed me with every gift a Chevalier can ask for. A chance to further the glory and honour of the fatherland on the battlefield, the hand of your..ward. But from here I would ask a boon."
Eisen makes an expansive gesture with his hands. "Ask away, my boy."
"My lady, the tales of your beauty and grace don't do you justice. I eagerly await the day you become
my wife, and we're one
forevermore. Give me your favour, so that I might wear it not just in this tournament, but in all battles to come. I will treasure it with all my heart."
Applause. His smile is so gentle while he lusts for the moment he can place a chain around my neck. My lip trembles slightly. His words crawl through my head like maggots through dead flesh. But he doesn't know I have claws, too. He doesn't know my skin is steel.
"Lord Spyridon, is there anything I can do for you?" Eisen asks softly.
"My Leader, for seventy years have I served the fatherland. We've fought together in more battles I can count. Now I lend you my counsel, such as it is, and take up my sword and hope my armour still fits when you call on me to defend the realm." Applause, and laughter. "The fatherland has given me lands, honours and the chance to hang the weapons of Jedi dogs on my walls. What more can an old warhorse like me ask for, when my worthy,
young opponent, who still has so many battles ahead of him, is so modest with his wishes?"
I notice Pyrros bristle at the subtle jab. Good. "I can only think of one thing I'd desire," Spyridon continues. "A small thing, but it would mean a lot to me to wear it in my final battles. Your favour, my lady," he bows to me with a flourish.
"You have it, my lord."
"I will wear it with pride, my lady," Pyrros says with a satisfied smile.
"My apologies, my brave lord husband-to-be, but I meant Lord Spyridon."
There is dead silence for a few seconds. I see Pyrros' smug smile pause and move for a second to confusion, and then utter, barely controlled, fury. "Aha, my dear bride to be, you must be mistaken. In your foolish, feminine confusion you surely meant to gift it to me what is rightfully mine."
"I am sure you heard her, Lord Pyrros," Cyrina says smugly. She is very much enjoying herself.
"It is my right to bestoy my favour to whomever I wish, Lord Pyrros," I say. I look to Spyridon. "My lord Darth Spyridon, I have chosen you to wear my favour because you embody the chivalry, skill and experience that all Sith and citizens of the Imperium should aspire to. I also take my role of Handmaiden seriously and bestow blessing without fear or favour to the one who I feel embodies these virtues."
My heart thuds in my chest. I know one day Pyrros will have his revenge, but for now I know I have pushed his buttons. Pyrros looks apoplectic with rage. He stands from his bow and takes a step towards me threateningly.
Go on, do it. Strike me when the Leader and all the people of the Empire watch.
Fortunately for him, his father puts a hand on his shoulder. "I do not know what sort of prank this is, my Leader, but this is an insult! Instruct your...ward...to bestow it upon her husband-to-be what is deserved!"
Eisen draws himself up and gestures harshly. The recordings all stop. His eyes fall upon Thrul, and he seems to realise what he's just said. "My dear Thrul," Eisen says in his deep voice, but quietly. "I trust you did not just try to command me." The Dark Side draws about him, and I fancy I can see a slight crackle from one portly hand. This is the true Dark Lord of the Sith, the steel behind the buffoon. His guards shift, not exactly threateningly, but enough to show they are present.
Thrul bows quickly. "Of course not, my Leader...I merely requested of you to discipline your ward." Eisen's eyes fall upon me and I tremble involuntarily.
This may have been a mistake, but it was worth making. I'd do it again. "My dear, Kyriaki, look at me." I can do nothing but stare into his eyes. "Do you make this choice of your will, and accept the consequences for it?"
"I do, my Leader. I do not do this for spite or for infantile rebellion, but because I feel it is the right choice."
"So be it." Eisen looks to Thrul and Pyrros. "Kyraki has made her choice, you will respect it." He looks to an aide. "How much was shown?"
"Just the initial choice, great Leader. We have a 30 second delay before broadcast."
"Announce there was technical difficulties," Eisen commands. "My friends...let us reset and make this show for the cameras. I trust there will be no further surprises, my dear?" The warning to me is nakedly clear.
"None, my Leader."
"Splendid. As you were. Spyridon, you will reply first." Spyridon has been uncharacteristically silent, but nods.
"It will be as you say, my Leader."
I see the aide start to countdown from 10 to start the monkey show again. When he reaches zero, Eisen theatrically waves a hand. "Are we live again? My, my, what an embarrassment! I need to assign Lord Skaer to handle my broadcasting! Still, the Handmaiden Kyriaki has made an interesting choice. Darth Spyridon?"
I bestow my scarf upon him. "I sewed and embroidered it myself, my lord. So please don't lose it, for it is dear to me. Now go forth and show us your valour."
The old man rises, bows. "My Lady Kyriaki, I shall bear your favour into this battle, and with the Vader's guidance I shall prevail. I look forward to an honourable combat between myself and Lord Pyrros." He extends his good hand to shake with his opponent. He knows this will trigger Pyrros. Pyrros' fury is now colder, visible only in the depths of his eyes, and he turns his gaze from me to his opponent. "Yes, I look forward to it," he bites out grimly.
"Then, to battle, both of you!" Eisen declares.
Pyrros moves towards me, but I can see he's mastered his anger enough to not do anything stupid. "It is yours to give, my darling, I shall reclaim it in battle, and return it to you." He leans forward as if to kiss me, but he just whispers in my ear. "I am going to trample and crush this old man, and when I do, the people will see what your stupid defiance brings. You are going to regret this, woman."
I keep my expression calm and even smile a little like he's told a joke. "Be careful, husband-to-be," I whisper in his ear, turning from the camera so no one can lip read me. "With hubris comes nemesis." He steps back, eye twitching, then stalks from the chamber, calling for his weapons and armour. Spyridon bows and likewise leaves.
Thrul's presence almost overwhelms me with its malice. The cameras have passed us by as he leans in. "That was most unwise, daughter to be. There will be consequences," he says softly.
"Certainly, my Lord Father, many of them, and not just for me."
"Your misplaced confidence and arrogance will be your undoing, girl."
"Perhaps, my Lord. Until then...."
He stalks away, replaced by the positively bouncing figure of Cyrina. "I can't believe that just happened!" she says excitedly. "Did you see Papa's reaction to that, and Pyrros, and Thrul! You did well to hold your nerve, Kyri, I'm so proud of you!"
I smile. Let's see how long that lasts until she dumps me. "Let's just hope Spyridon wins, or else I've just been made a colossal fool to the whole Imperium."
"Did you see Pyrros? He's so angry I thought he'd hit you! He'll be reckless."
He will hit me, I am sure, and more. But that lies in the future. I check my chrono. This delay at starting the battle might mean my 'surprise' goes off a bit late. "We'll see."
She leaves, to be replaced by Isakios. The poor boy doesn't seem to know what to say. "Brother...is going to be angry," he says softly. "Why did you provoke him?"
I look at him, he looks so forlorn. "Because, little brother...he has been a bully all his life. No one has told him no. He needs to learn it."
"He'll hurt you...I know it."
"I know."
"I...hope it works out for us both...sister."
As we walk back to our seats, Lachesis sees fit to come along for some girl talk. The Lord Commander is sipping her wine, looking very amused. "My, my, it seems you do have a spine after all, Kyriaki. You've come a long way since the timid mouse I first met. But be warned, brave mouse, the world is full of snakes which would make a meal of you."
"I've spent my entire life being surrounded by snakes. I'm speaking to a very dangerous one at the moment. A python perhaps. Do you mean to make a meal of me too?"
Lachesis...laughs. "I'm going to miss the girl you used to be."
"Many will. She was easier to kill."
"But this incarnation of you will afford me some amusement. Try not to lose your head too soon." Then she takes her seat.
I sit down, heart thumping inside my chest as I gaze upon the arena. The Acklay is gone, the remains have been cleared away. Beneath me, the two combatants enter the arena, amidst cheers from the mob. Each of them is dressed in an ornate suit of armour. Scorn and hatred radiate from Pyrros when he looks up to the box. I feel his hate-filled gaze upon him, feel the sheer power radiating from him. But I don't look away. The stage is seat.
They bow,
they draw their swords,
and they clash.
Pyrros vs. Spyridon. Pyrros and Thrul vs. me. No, it is more than that. The Vaderite system vs. me.
And I'm going to win.
