TAKING THE VEIL
This story is set in the Old Sith Empire. It depicts the Dark Side and it is written for mature adults.
This is a backstory for Darth Vitiate, who appears in my fics Versions of You, Recalled to Life, and DARKER. This is the man in his heyday as the undisputed Dark Lord. At this point, Vitiate is fully committed to the tenets of the Sith religion, ideology, and society, all of which he helped to shape. Let there be no confusion: balance is not his goal at this point. Retaining power is his goal. For as readers who made it to the end of DARKER already know, conquering the Republic is far less important to Emperor Vitiate than retaining his power and position. Darth Malgus of DARKER figures out what few will ever realize—that the revenge of the Sith on the Jedi and the Republic is a lie. Merely a convenient way to organize Vitiate's Lords against a common enemy. For Darth Vitiate secretly admires his enemies and their ways . . .
This story will be written in two parts. Part One is told from our heroine's perspective. Part Two is told from Vitiate's perspective.
From Wikipedia:
Proscription (Latin: proscriptio) is, in current usage, a decree of condemnation to death or banishment. The term originated in Ancient Rome, where it included public identification and official condemnation of lists of declared enemies of the state, who were often the losers in political power struggles.
At the end of the Great Hyperspace War, the Sith Empire was soundly defeated and in full retreat. A heretofore unremarkable sorcerer named Carl Tenebrae, Lord Vitiate, convened a meeting of the surviving Sith Lords at his obscure planet. Eight thousand Lords attended to sort out what to do next.
The sorcerer and the other Lords took part in a Dark ritual that consumed the participants' Force, as well as the Force belonging to all living things on the planet. The combined life Force was transferred to the conniving sorcerer Vitiate, making him immortal. With the Sith leadership either dead in the war or dead in his ritual ruse, the crafty Vitiate declared himself Emperor of the Sith unopposed.
Vitiate next led his people on a twenty-year exodus into the Unknown Regions. There, hidden from the enemy Republic deep in wild space, for over a thousand years Vitiate rebuilt Sith society and remade his armies as he forged a new Empire. All ostensibly for the single goal of re-emerging one day to strike back at the Republic. Revenge, as always, is the Dark Side's stated goal.
Purging the ranks of the Sith Lords from time to time became a pastime of the reclusive, anonymous Emperor. Every few decades, Vitiate deemed his Lords too weak. And so, he would draw up a list of unfortunate Dark souls to make an example out of. The men would be sacrificed for his glory in a repeat of the ritual Vitiate used to seize power. For in the culture of the Sith, only the strong survive. The weak serve as victims and servants of their rightful masters.
My story begins with a day in the life of an unremarkable aristocratic Sith woman. Her concerns are not putting food on the table and making ends meet. Her troubles are how to succeed in the game of power and influence when you've been dealt a lackluster hand. She's a creature of convention clinging to what she has. It's not so much for herself as it is for her family, because among the fiercely patriarchal Sith, a woman's fortunes largely rise and fall with her clan. But our heroine, a woman used to life in the background and on the sidelines, is about to take her family's destiny into her own hands. She makes a bold move with consequences that will lead her to question many things that she blindly accepts about her culture.
PROLOGUE
3703 BBY, on the Sith Empire capital world Dromund Kaas
"My Lady? Can I get you another size?"
"No, thank you."
"My Lady, are you quite certain?"
"Yes, thank you."
Tosca tries to keep the irritation from her voice. She might not have much prestige among her own set, but among the common people of the Empire she does. And so, there is an awful lot of 'My Lady' talk whenever she ventures into down market retailers like this one. For not many ladies of her class would deign to patronize such an establishment. Then again, few ladies of her class have her regrettable figure that necessitates this special size range.
Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she sighs. The truth is that she looks like she belongs here. She has the thick, fleshy, dimpled figure of their usual customer. There's not an item in this cheap store that cannot be made to fit her. Tosca wouldn't be here, naturally, if she had better options. Usually, she commissions clothes bespoke for occasions. But that costs a lot and takes time. Today, she is just looking to pick up something alluring since Marcus is coming home unexpectedly.
She cocks her head and frowns at her reflection in the mirror. This nightie and robe set are the usual thing. Among the Sith, lingerie comes in either black or red. This set is black lace. It looks a bit inexpensive because, well, it is. There is little style to it and it's basically a different version of something she already owns. But she can make it work. If all goes well tonight, she won't be wearing it for long anyway.
"My Lady, would you prefer to see something else?" It's the sales girl again. She's hovering. The novelty of a Lady dropping in to shop has clearly impressed her. This store in particular is one most of her peers would not be caught dead in.
Sith ladies—whether pureblood or not—are a uniformly lean bunch. With elegant, toned bodies honed by punishing workouts and strict diets. The vain Sith are extreme by nature, so they routinely take things too far. Sith Lords might covet pain for self-improvement, but Sith Ladies tend to covet hunger. All except Tosca, who gave up on deprivation as a lifestyle years ago. She eats and exercises in moderation. But that strategy, together with an unfortunate slow metabolism, are what have landed her in this store.
In her younger days, Tosca strived mightily to fit in, dieting constantly and even dying her hair. But at this point in life, she is content to be herself. Part of maturity is appreciating and accepting who you are, for better or for worse. Her mother might complain that she has let herself go, but Tosca prefers to view it as validating herself. And, oh, look at the time. She needs to get going or she will be late for the conference.
She's changing back into her dress when her comlink rings.
"Tosca, it's Daria. I'll be quick. Are you coming tonight?"
"Oh, I'm so glad you called. Marcus is coming home tonight. I will have to miss."
There is a long pause from her friend. "That's unexpected, isn't it?"
"Yes. The boys are excited. It's been six months since his last furlough. Anyhow, I'm running around today preparing for that."
"Hmmm. You don't think it has anything to do with the List?"
Tosca gulps. "Oh, don't say that—" That reason hadn't even occurred to her. Just the very thought of it sends a shiver down her spine.
"Oh, no!" Her friend hastens to correct herself. "I don't mean that he's on the List. Just that the Empire will shuffle things around after the List is announced. My Lord says it could be as many as four hundred this time. That's going to open up a lot of positions. It will mean opportunities."
Yes, she knows. Others' loss could be your gain. It's very Sith to advance this way. But advancement is advancement, Tosca knows. And anything helps in the uber competitive culture of Darkness.
Tosca's eyes narrow as she asks, "Does Septimus know anything?"
"I'm sure he does, but he's not telling me. Tosca, I didn't mean to worry you. A lot of Lords are being recalled. Septimus told me last night that he's sending his whole command back next week. And Livia just found out this morning that Vero is on his way home. She's cancelled for tonight too. Look, Marcus is doing an excellent job on—what world is that again?"
"Ziost."
"Right. I knew it was one of the far-off ones near the Republic. Anyhow, not to worry. Everything is fine."
"Well, I said I would bring dessert, so I'll send my cook around with something later today. Daria, I'm sorry about the late notice. I'll make it up to you," Tosca apologizes.
"No need. You welcome your Lord home properly, you hear? And good luck at the conference. That's today, right?"
"Right."
Tosca hangs up, buys the negligee set, hops in her speeder, and heads for school.
Lord Wrath, the headmaster, greets her with the school's academic counselor at his side. Lucius is there too looking as nervous as Tosca feels.
"Lady Struct," the headmaster addresses her formally even though they know one another socially. It sets a formal tone that signals bad news. "Let us speak frankly," the headmaster begins. And that too is not an encouraging sign.
What follows is a ruthlessly objective assessment of ten-year-old Lucius who is made to sit through it all. Tosca hears how her son lacks physical strength and coordination. His build is bulky and slow. Clumsy Lucius is easily outfought by boys years his junior, the counselor reveals. He is behind his age level on all his combat skills, with and without the added challenge of weaponry.
So those extra training sessions with the swordmaster didn't help, Tosca asks weakly.
No, the man responds.
Next, she hears how Lucius is merely adequate at the Force. Given his low midichlorian count, that's actually impressive, she is told. But Lucius will never have enough Force ability to compensate for his physical inadequacy and inherent lack of killer instinct. The boy is not a warrior, the headmaster condemns him curtly. It's a harsh statement. For all Sith Lords, no matter what their ultimate service to the Empire, are expected first and foremost to be Dark soldiers of the Force.
Tosca listens with a sinking feeling. None of this bodes well for Lucius' Academy application in two years.
But he's a very bright boy, she protests weakly. The school administrators will concede this is true. It's his saving grace in their eyes. They are suggesting that Lucius begin focusing on technology classes. The kid is destined for a laboratory or the engineering corps, the counselor informs her. You and your husband need to adjust your expectations accordingly.
But the Lords in my husband's family are always military, Tosca contends. Going back almost three hundred years, Lucius' forbearers have helped to build the new Empire following the disastrous Sith defeat. Sure, it's been awhile since anyone in the family truly distinguished themselves, but Lords like her husband Marcus are integral to the Empire. Someone has to administer, defend, and oversee the worlds the Sith conquer. Military rule is a key part of the Imperial system.
But the school officials are firm: her boy's options are limited. The headmaster assures her that the Academy will only be more selective going forward given the Palace has confirmed that the Emperor will be issuing a new Proscription List. The Emperor will be looking to heighten our standards for the next generation, not lower them. With a glance at Lucius, the headmaster summarizes him as smart but soft. It's a cringe inducing moment that prompts the boy to start to cry. And that is just more proof for the school officials that their assessment is correct. It's best to orient your son towards goals that he can achieve, they tell Tosca as they hand her information about the Imperial Engineering School.
Engineering is a semi-respectable career path, she knows. But it is a support function and not the traditional leadership role of a Lord. Worse still, it is a career path open to non-elites. For you don't need to have the Force to do these jobs. Lucius would be surrounded by his social inferiors. In the hierarchical, competitive culture of the Sith that means a big step down.
Tosca puts a supportive arm around her miserable son. The prevailing sink-or-swim ethos of Sith pedagogy has written him off at age ten. And that's a lot to absorb for one so young. It also uncomfortably reminds Tosca of a frank conversation she had at age twelve with her own mother. Young Tosca was informed that her marriage prospects would be limited by her low midichlorian count and her modest dowry, and so she needed to pay more attention to her appearance. You have a very pretty face, her mother informed her, but no one is going to marry a fat girl, so shut your mouth and stop eating. Sometimes you have to be cruel to be kind, her mother had sighed as young Tosca cried. For Sith parents, those are words to live by.
Tosca now thanks the two men for their time and takes her leave. She will discuss her son's future with his father, she promises. Then Tosca bustles her now full-on crying boy out into the speeder as fast as possible before his classmates see him. There's no point in sending him back to class in this condition.
"Lucius, don't cry," she consoles the shamefaced boy. "We will find a way. We will make it work." She always does. Life is full of less than ideal circumstances, but you make the best of them and move forward.
"Decimus made it into the Academy," the boy hiccups. Because, of course, at this age his main concern is keeping up with his big brother. Lucius starts crying anew now. And that babyish reaction is all wrong. A Sith boy is supposed to be sullen and angry in disappointment, not tearful. Boys don't cry in their social strata. Boys are supposed to break things and hurt the servants. But sensitive, sweet natured Lucius never does that. It's why he will end up an engineer or a scientist and not a naval or army officer.
They arrive home and Tosca heads straight for the kitchen. With Marcus' transport touching down in a few hours, she orders her husband's favorite dinner. Tosca plans to spend the few hours left before then with her grooming droid to look her best for his homecoming. But that plan goes awry when the cook tells her that his Lordship is already here.
Tosca has to drag the still teary Lucius into his father's study to greet him. There the boy kneels the obligatory obeisance to the Lord of the household before he dashes off to sulk in his room.
Low key Marcus merely raises an eyebrow. "What's the matter with him?"
Tosca relates her conversation with the school officials. Her husband listens in silence, frowning.
"What else is news?" Marcus asks for a full report. Tosca tells him about the promising conversation she had with Lady Harm last week about Lord Harm taking Decimus on as Apprentice in a few years. About the progress on the over-budget repairs to the kitchen after they had a small fire. About how the speeder is going out of warranty soon and they should consider whether it's time to invest in a new one. She and Marcus talk weekly, sometimes more. But Tosca, like all Sith Ladies, runs the household singlehandedly while her husband is off on deployment. The dirty secret of the Sith is that the women quietly make almost every day-to-day decision, even if it is not overtly acknowledged. The Sith patriarchy might be enforced by men, but it is largely implemented by women like herself. Tosca knows that she is the dependent who her whole family depends on.
"Apprenticeships? Are we already at that stage?" Marcus sighs. "How time flies . . ."
"I know it's early," Tosca explains, "but I was hoping to put out some feelers. Unless something changes, Decimus will end up in the bottom third of his class." She says what they both know: "It may be a challenge to find him a Master."
Marcus grimaces. "Where is our firstborn anyway?"
"He's doing sword practice with Lord Vile's boys after school."
Marcus nods his approval. "Vile is a connection he should pursue. That family could offer a lot of Master prospects." Her husband looks Tosca herself over now. "And how are you?"
"Same as always," she smiles.
"Good," Marcus smiles back with obvious relief. But the moment is brief. Her husband looks very tired. The lines on his face seem deeper and the shadows under his eyes more pronounced. Her husband is not a tall man, not even as tall as Tosca herself. He used to have a boyish, impish quality in his youth. But time and responsibilities have cured him of that. At forty-seven, Lord Struct is a balding mid-career army officer who is towered over by his taller, broader, much more vibrant wife.
Marcus picks back up his cloak to throw it over his shoulders and draw up the hood. It signals that he is going out. Like other Lords, Lord Struct wears the cloak and sword in public at all times. "I have a few things to attend to with our lawyer this afternoon and then I am meeting with the financial types," he informs her. "I'll be home for dinner."
"Don't be late. It's your favorite—pork chops," Tosca teases, trying to lighten the mood. Then, she too drops to one knee in the ceremonial posture of submission to her Lord. She probably should have done so along with Lucius earlier, but Tosca often forgets. Marcus never orders her around—that's not how they relate to one another—so it's a symbolic gesture at best. But still . . . Tosca wants to show that she knows her place and honors her husband for his role in the family. They each have responsibilities and together they are a team.
Marcus walks forward to reach down and cup her cheek. "There's nothing you can't handle, is there?"
"Nope," she grins up at him. "I always make it work."
"Good." Marcus nods gravely in a demeanor very much at odds with hers. "I'm counting on that."
Hours later, after Lord Struct has picked at his favorite dinner and snapped at both his sons, the day is done. Tosca is alone with him in their bedroom. Marcus has divested his weapons, chestplate armor, and cloak. He's working on his boots when she emerges from the dressing room in her new lingerie complete with a spritz of perfume.
Marcus doesn't so much as glance up.
Tosca moves to retrieve his cloak from the floor to hang it up. The saber and pistol she puts on the bedside table. The armor she lays on a chair. "Want some help with those?" she offers, watching him fiddle with the laces on his combat boots. The Force tells her that Marcus is nervous and that makes no sense. But he's been distracted all night.
"No, I've got it." Lord Struct stands now to pull off his trousers. He tosses them aside and climbs into bed.
Taking the cue, Tosca does the same. But as she reaches for her husband, Marcus anticipates her. He turns on his side facing away.
Tosca doesn't react to this rejection. She has mastered the Sith stiff upper lip for disappointment. She and Marcus have a deep affection for one another, but their marriage is not the passionate love affair that some are. Other friends giggle and blush as they whisper tales of reunions with their Lords after long absences. Those romantic seductions are the antithesis of tonight. For this evening Lord and Lady Struct are as far apart in the same bed as two people can be.
The distance is more than physical. Tosca reaches out now to lay a hand on his bare back. Marcus flinches and she takes it for a rebuff. Usually, he is up for some cuddling even if he's not up for sex. But not tonight. Maybe Marcus is like many Lords stationed in remote areas and he keeps a local woman for sex. If so, Tosca doesn't want to know. Or maybe their fifteen-year marriage has reached the point where sex is an afterthought. They long ago settled into comfortable routines and mostly separate lives due to his career. But whatever the reason, there won't be any action tonight.
Well, okay. Tosca can make that work. She always makes things work.
"What's wrong?" she asks softly now. Maybe tonight they will not be lovers, but they are still confidantes. Marcus has something on his mind, she's certain.
Lord Struct doesn't answer.
Tosca is prepared to prod one more time before she gives up. "What's wrong? Tell me and maybe I can help."
There is another long silence before her husband speaks up. He's still facing away on his side as he says the words that forever change both their lives: "I'm on the Proscription List."