A shiver crawled along her spine, the same one which had settled there for the past three weeks, and her instincts told her she was being watched. Reflexively, her free hand settled on her WESTAR and her eyes roamed over the room. Just as it had been for the past three weeks, she was alone with only her thoughts to keep her company. The only eyes upon her were those of the ancestors, immortalized in portraits that hung from the walls of the estate's art gallery. Where once their gaze inspired only awe, the stillness of their eyes and lifeless glint brought on by the sun invited only unease.
It was like they were saying: You are not welcome here, coward.
"Sabine."
The young girl nearly jumped but reigned herself in and turned to face her younger brother, Tristan. If he'd caught any hint of her surprise, he said nothing; in their younger years, he would have boasted that he caught her with her guard down and she'd have gladly tossed a snowball at him. A playful little war that could only be waged by siblings would have erupted, ending with them lying in the snow, breathless from laughter.
Those days seemed long ago now.
"Did you need something, Tristan?" Sabine asked.
"It's almost time for dinner," he said like it was obvious. "Mother was wondering where you were?"
His gaze flicked to her hair briefly and his face wrinkled slightly at the sight; she knew why too. Being an artist, Sabine saw now greater form of expression than to wear her art like it was her armor, and to that end, she would often dye her hair a variety of colors, only keeping to one style if she liked it enough. Currently, she was sporting a mix of dark blue and soft orange, the kind of vibrancy frowned upon by those of higher rank—and lower creativity—than her. Even among her own clan, she noticed the occasional odd glance. It had also been the source of endless arguments between Sabine and her mother, which had increased in both frequency and intensity as of late.
The young artist was prepared to wage the same kind of battle with Tristan, should he challenge her on the subject, but in deference to her status as big sister, he held his tongue. The only critique he offered was the shake of his head before departing. After a moment of studying her painting, she set down her brush and followed suit.
The afternoon sky flooded the halls of the family estate with muted columns of orange and glittered dazzlingly off the frozen lake in the courtyard. It was a rare day of sunshine on Krownest, a planet where the temperature ranged from manageable to freezing throughout the year. It hardly bothered the members of Clan Wren, but it was endless source of complaint from their newest additions.
Sabine turned the corner and nearly barreled into her cousin, Juno.
"Oh!" the girl cried. "Sabine, there you are! Finally decided to emerge from your layer?"
Sabine offered a small grin, "Hey, a girl's gotta eat sooner or later, right?"
"Too true," Juno sighed. "Just another mouth to feed."
"That a problem?"
"Of course not," her cousin answered rather sharply. "Sorry, I just got my head chewed off by Uncle Kori. He says that our inventory for winter wasn't properly calculated. I know that I put in the right numbers, but he insisted that I'd screwed up and I just wanted to take his head off. At least, that was before I…"
"You…" Sabine urged.
"Before I found out the stinking bantha breather was right!"
Juno groaned leaning herself against the wall, looking for all the galaxy miserable. Since their youth, Sabine often found her cousin to be a perfectionist, not much different from her if she was to be honest. Any perceived failure was the greatest insult, just as whatever victory she could grasp from a situation was the ultimate satisfaction. She could imagine Juno having to admit her own faults was as likely as their people forging a lasting peace.
"Hey," Sabine offered a hand on the shoulder. "Don't worry about it. We all make mistakes, right?"
Some of which we can never atone for.
"I guess," Juno huffed.
The young artist decided to leave her cousin to sulk and continued toward her family's dining hall. The orange sky faded into purple by the time she arrived, just as her Uncle Kori was giving his report on the food inventory. While not much of a warrior in the physical sense, Kori Wren's mind was sharper than any blade forged on Krownest or the mother world of Mandalore. To that end, his skills were focused on maintaining Clan Wren's finances, weapons material, and food supply. His meticulous nature was well-known, it served him well; he could spot an out of place bolt just by watching a machine perform its duties. Sabine would've never said it in front of Juno, but if her uncle said there had been a slight miscalculation, then he was most likely right.
Uncle Kori adjusted his glasses along the bridge of his beak like nose and murmured, "Juno insisted that food supply numbers were accurate, but upon further inspection, I discovered her calculations were off by a few measurements. It's nothing to worry yourself over, Countess, but this goes back as far as three weeks and you know how stubborn the poor girl is. After she finished flashing her fangs at me, all I had to do was show her the numbers and the food supply and she conceded her mistake."
"I see," her mother's voice replied. "And what do you suggest we do about it?"
"I wasn't suggesting anything, Countess," Kori replied. "I'm mostly venting about the frustrations of rebellious youths."
Sabine heard her mother's soft chuckle, a sound about as rare as the sighting of a Purgill.
"On that subject," the older woman sighed. "You will find no greater expert."
Sabine clenched her jaw as a pang of hurt struck at her heart; it wasn't as though her mother attempted to her hide her contempt for her daughter's apparent free spirit. But still, listening to her talk with someone else about it was somehow more painful than hearing about directly.
Steeling herself, Sabine decided to make her presence known by entering the dining hall. It was mostly empty, save for her parents, Uncle Kori and Tristan. All three of them glanced up to watch as she made her entrance. Her mother, Countess Ursa Wren, roamed her amber eyes over her daughter's appearance and clicked her tongue. But the young Mandalorian met her gaze head, ready to engage her in combat if need be.
Before her mother could say anything, she glanced at her father (who'd no doubt taken her hand under the table) and relented. Leave it to Alrich Wren to negotiate a peace between mother and daughter. It was practically second-nature to him these days. If there was one thing Sabine and her mother agreed on, it was that they would have ripped each other's throats out if not for her father's presence. Wordlessly, Sabine settled into her chair opposite of Tristan.
Uncle Kori excused himself and vanished into the hallway.
For a time, the four of them ate in silence, the tense atmosphere that had settled over them a few months ago continuing at a steady pace. And Sabine knew it was her fault, but she wouldn't give her mother the satisfaction of admitting it. Not after all she'd done in the name of family.
And Family always comes first, Sabine thought bitterly. Even at the cost of one's a conscience and morality.
But if things went accordingly, then in a few short days, she would be on her way to joining the ranks of the Imperial Division, where a prime spot apparently awaited her under the leadership of Viceroy Gar Saxon. The idea of having to swallow her pride as a Mandalorian and serve under that glorified politician made her blood boil. But that was the price of being born into one of "Mandalore's finest clan's" as the Countess so often liked to remind her. If only her mother knew just what Saxon intended for Mandalore and her people. Rather than focus on that, however, Sabine banished all thoughts on the subject and continued with her meal.
"So, Sabine," Tristan spoke up, "you must be pretty excited to be joining the Emperor's Hand."
"I guess," she hummed.
"It is quite the honor," her father offered. "To be given such a high rank at your age, nothing short of remarkable."
"It's to be expected," her mother said. "She is of Clan Wren, after all."
Anyone else might have mistaken Ursa's words for an expression of pride, but Sabine was far too aware of when the matriarch of Clan Wren was merely stating a fact. She would have said something if not for that familiar shiver running along her spine again. Again, she felt an unseen gaze settle on her, watching and studying, searching for any hint of weakness. Her entire body tensed, and she would have sprung out of her seat and aimed her blasters in whatever direction that coldness was coming from if not for her training.
"Sabine!" her mother's voice snapped.
She blinked, "What?"
"Your father asked if something was bothering you," Ursa said, a critical lilt in her voice.
The Mandalorian artist flushed slightly, "It's nothing. I guess I'm just nervous."
"There's no need," Alrich assured her. "All you need do is devote yourself to your training and discipline and you will bring honor to us and to Mandalore."
"Yes, father."
They continued eating in slightly more comfortable silence before a knock rattled the dining room hall door. Her Aunt Sacha Wren entered the hall, head bowed, and body stiff.
"Countess," she said. "You have a guest."
It must have been someone of great importance for her to adopt such a formal tone with her own sister. Sabine noted it was her family's way of warning Ursa to an oncoming danger.
Ursa cleared her throat, "And who thinks they are so important that they can arrive unannounced in the middle of the night?"
"Viceroy Gar Saxon, my lady."
Sabine watched as her mother frowned in confusion; Saxon may have been the Emperor's Hand and the apparent ruler of Mandalore, but not even he would warrant such a stiff reaction from her aunt. Which could mean only one thing?
"Has he come alone?" Ursa asked cautiously.
"No," Sacha replied, lifting her eyes to meet her sisters. "He's brought the Grand Inquisitor with him."
A flash of cold passed through Sabine's blood, a dark sense of foreboding hanging in the air. Though she'd never seen one personally, everyone on Mandalore knew of the Imperial Inquisition, a division of the Galactic Empire home to a small group of force sensitives tasked with enforcing the will of the Emperor throughout the known galaxy. In the entirety of the Empire's reign, an Inquisitor had never set foot in Mandalorian territory. She'd known a few of students at the Imperial Academy who confidently attributed that fact to Mandalore's perceived might, even in the face of subjugation. But Sabine knew better; she knew that if they wanted, Inquisitors could come and go as they pleased into their territory and there wasn't much that could stop them.
To some, there was no difference between an Inquisitor and a Jedi, but Sabine knew that to be a falsehood. Jedi were predictable, fighting for what they perceived to be a noble cause. Hypocrites they may have been, but they were hypocrites with a sense of honor, if the stories were to be believed. But it was a moot point; the Jedi were gone, wiped out by forces of the Empires, and it was left to the Inquisitors to flush them out. Which begged the question of why the Grand Inquisitor was here on Krownest.
Mandalorian space was the last place a Jedi would seek refuge; her people had no love the now extinct order. To be honest, many of them blamed the failure of the Jedi for Mandalore's current predicament; had it not been for the Siege, her people might still be free. Of course, Sabine knew there was more to it than that, but now was not the time to dwell on such things.
The four of them made their way to the grand hall of their estate, a collective nervousness binding them together. They stopped just out the hall, and Sabine chanced a gaze at her mother. For all her confidence, not even Ursa could hide her anxiety and fear regarding the situation she was walking into. Dealing with Gar Saxon was one thing, the presence of the Grand Inquisitor offered an uncertainty which bordered on unnerving. After taking a few seconds to harden herself, she strode forward and opened the door into the grand hall.
The four of them filed out into their usual formation; Ursa seated in her throne; Alrich standing dutifully by her side; Sabine and Tristan positioned at the bottom of the steps.
The Countess nodded to the guards placed at the doors, who promptly opened them up as two figures entered the hall.
Imperial Viceroy Gar Saxon was clad in usual attire, the bloodred Commando armor which signified his position as leader. His gray hair was swept back formally, shaven at the sides. Cold grey eyes surveyed the room carefully, as if he hadn't spent numerous times here, slowly pressuring Sabine's clan with the heel of his boot. There was a bit of stubble darkening his face, but he carried himself with the same swagger that reminded Sabine of a bug crawling its way along the floor. As his eyes settled on the four of them, he offered an oily smirked, convinced that he was the cause for concern and intimidation, and not the being standing next to him.
In her studies, she had briefly looked into the Inquisition and found any detail on its members scarce. The only images she could find were taken from a holonet server belonging to a Rebel sympathizer. Even then, they were mostly blurred out stills of the Imperial enforcers in action, but she'd managed to find one picture that had stayed with her ever since and now it was staring her and her family in the face.
The Grand Inquisitor was Pau'an male clad in black armor, leaving only his gray face exposed. His broad nose sneered at them from his place at the entrance. Red markings ran vertically over his eyes. Eyes that housed black sclera, where only drew more attention to the golden irises and dilated pupils. The Imperial was every bit the demon she'd imagined him to be.
What struck her even more, however, was how calm he seemed, how he could stand there still as a statue, observing everything around him. He wasn't even shivering from the cold outside; even Gar Saxon, who was only just growing accustomed to the weather on Krownest couldn't hide the shuddering of his body.
At last, her mother spoke, "Viceroy, Saxon. As always, it is the greatest privilege to host the Emperor's Hand. And I see that you have not come alone. Welcome, Grand Inquisitor."
"Many thanks, Countess Wren," the Pau'an replied, his voice distinctly too snake-like for Sabine's liking. "I do apologize for the late hour, but this was a matter the Viceroy and I agreed could no longer wait upon."
"Yes," Saxon spoke at last. "There has been a change in plans, I'm afraid."
Sabine felt the tension coiling in her stomach grow tighter.
"A 'change?'" her mother's voice carried an edge to it.
"Yes," Saxon continued, before shifting his eyes to Sabine. "I'm afraid that Sabine will no longer be joining the Supercommandos. Tristan will take her place while she assumes a new role in aiding the Imperial Inquisition."
The tension forming in her stomach coalesced into this unimaginable weight that crashed to the bottom as the words sank in. She was numbly aware of the world around her, of her father's startled gasp, her mother's widening eyes, and Tristan's knees nearly giving out. Sabine was only vaguely aware of her mother's voice when she spoke, "Pardon…?"
"I understand that this comes as a shock, truly," Saxon replied, feigning an understanding tone. "I was just as surprised when the Grand Inquisitor informed just a few weeks ago. I was looking forward to working with Sabine to ensure Mandalore's continued growth and expansion under the Empires' influence, but this directive comes from Grand Moff Tarkin himself. He feels that a consolidation of resources will prove beneficial in flushing out Rebel sympathizers and Jedi remnants. Regardless, I'm more than certain Tristan is up to the task. Aren't you, my boy?"
For the first time, Sabine chanced a look at her brother. Tristan Wren's face had lost all color and he looked as if he'd been struck dumb by an unexpected blow. Their father coughed into his hand, snapping the younger boy out of his stupor.
"Of course, Viceroy Saxon," Tristan answered steadily. "I am honored to join the ranks of the Commandos."
Saxon nodded, "Glad to hear it."
At that point, the Inquisitor spoke, golden eyes focusing on Sabine, "Lady Wren, I have seen your Academy scores and must say, even for a Mandalorian, your skills are remarkable. I've no doubt that you perform admirably in service of the Empire."
Sabine's throat felt dry under the probing gaze of the Pau'an, but she held herself; if she'd learned anything from her mother, it was how to hide your emotions from those who would exploit them.
"I will… do my best, Grand Inquisitor. I look forward to working with you."
The alien chuckled, low and unsettling, "Apologies, Lady Wren, but you will be partnering with another. Come forth, Seventh Brother!"
Sabine wasn't sure what she expected—she was still reeling from the initial declaration—but one thing she was certain of was that she didn't expect the newest member of their meeting to emerge from behind her father. The hiss of a door alerted the four of them to the newcomer, who entered via the (previously) secret passageway located next to her mother's throne. Her father stepped in shock aside to give her a better look and the Seventh Brother.
From head to toe, he was clad in black armor, his torso sporting a vest with red buckles at the top, and white lines along the side. The forearm gauntlets he wore were color gray and silver, a battle skirt lined with silver along the edge and boots. On his shoulders, he bore the insignia of the Inquisition. On his head, he wore intricately designed helmet, a sliver of red over the opaque visor framed with silver. As he descended the stairs, she realized he wasn't that much taller than her.
He stopped to briefly tilt his helmet in her in direction before continuing towards Saxon and the Grand Inquisitor. Once behind his superior, he rested against the wall, arms crossed as he took in their shocked expressions.
"Greetings," he said, voice distorted through his helmet.
Her mother was the first to regain her composure, zeroing in the newcomer like she had a blaster in and was training it directly at him.
"And just how did you know about that passage?"
"I found it," the younger Imperial shrugged.
"You 'found it'?"
"Yeah, while I was looking around. I got bored waiting for so long and decided to familiarize myself with your estate. It's very lovely by the way."
Sabine's mother looked ready to do away with formality and start pulling out her blasters when Alrich wisely stepped in.
"Pardon us, Seventh Brother, but I believe the Countess wishes to know just how long you've been roaming about our home."
"I'd say," the younger Inquisitor paused, leaning his head back as he did some internal calculations. "About three weeks."
Sabine felt a sudden shock of ice water inject itself into her veins. Three weeks. That could mean he was the presence she'd sensed watching her this whole time. Her warrior's instinct was always right, even when she wished it wasn't. At the very least, the discrepancy with the food supply made a little more sense now.
"Yes," the Grand Inquisitor said slowly. "You must forgive Seventh Brother's methods. He felt it necessary to observe you in your natural routines and reach his own assessments about Lady Wren."
The Seventh Brother snorted but was ignored.
"In any event," Gar Saxon cleared his throat. "I'm sure that with the two will make a fine team."
"I should hope so, Viceroy," the Pau'an nodded. "Their first assignment begins tomorrow."
Now none of the Clan Wren members could keep their jaws from falling open.
"Lovely," the Seventh Brother replied. "If we're done here, I'm going to get some sleep,"—he glanced at Sabine—"See you in the morning, Lady Wren."
The young Mandalorian managed to compose herself, "You as well, Seventh Brother. I look forward to working with you. I promise to do my best."
"Right," he said. "Well, don't worry about it too much, otherwise you'll screw up. And if that happens, then I'll be forced to kill you."
Without another word, the Seventh Brother, Grand Inquisitor, and Gar Saxon departed, leaving the four Mandalorians to their own terrible thoughts.