Is she doing this?
Is she really doing this?
She is. It's three days later and Tosca stands nervous and fretful in her best dress. It's the one she wears for weddings and funerals. It was ridiculously expensive when she commissioned it, but just putting the dress on gives Tosca confidence. Today she needs that chutzpah more than ever. Her face is carefully made up complete with the typical red slash of lipstick. There wasn't time to dye her hair dark, so she settled for hiding it with a black scarf. If she tucks the fabric up closely to her hairline, her natural color is less noticeable. Her brows are dark and that helps. And if all goes as planned, she'll need to get used to wearing a veil anyway. This is a look she may wear for the rest of her life.
But, oh Force, is she really doing this?
Yes, she has to do this.
Her heart is racing and her palms are sweaty as Tosca once again girds her resolve. She has called in every favor from every influential relative and friend she knows to get to this point. She can't back out now. There is one chance to get this right.
Tosca has been waiting over three hours, watching as one by one the preeminent Lords of the day present themselves in costly ceremonial armor for an audience with the Emperor. One Lord didn't make it out alive. His lifeless body was dragged from the audience chamber by a pair of red robed guards. Another Lord emerged limping and slightly smoking from surviving a bout of Force lightning. How will Tosca emerge from her interview? She doesn't know, but she fears to find out. What she is doing is very unorthodox.
Finally, the deeply disapproving majordomo nods his cue for Tosca to enter the Emperor's presence. There's no backing out now. She takes a fortifying breath and steps forward.
It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the sepulchral gloom of the Imperial audience chamber. The Emperor sits on high far above her sight line. No one other than the Lords who are members of the Dark Council know what the Emperor actually looks like. Here today, he is a shadowy figure in a cloak, barely distinguishable from the empty dark space that surrounds him. In contrast, his visitors are brightly lit by a single shaft of light from high above. Ironically, the lighting only serves to blind and obscure things further.
Tosca recognizes this setup to be classic posturing. From his vantage point, the Emperor sees all but his subjects see very little. She knows this to be no accident. Tosca is a Sith lady born and bred. She knows all the subtle cues that promote and reinforce the balance of power in her hierarchical society. She takes those cues and uses them herself. But it all boils down to this: the Emperor prevails over his Lords, who in turn prevail over their command posts and all the people living and toiling in them.
A less stark version of this room exists in many a Sith Lord's household. Her own husband has a throne room at his local outpost. But even when Marcus sits there for official business, he is a stand-in for the authority of this man. For all power emanates from the Emperor. There is nothing he does not control, despite how much he delegates.
Supplicants to this mysterious figure, the ultimate and forever Dark Lord of the Sith, customarily are men. Sith Ladies might be powerful Force wielders and very effective social figures, but always in private behind closed doors. Women of her rank have no place in the public sphere. For in the rigid patriarchy of the Sith, all glory and honor inure to men, at least officially. Sith women do not lack for ambition, they just express it through their husband's career and their children.
One does not remain standing in the Emperor's presence. Lords take a knee, head bowed, with their sword offered up. But that warrior pose is inappropriate for her. So nervous Tosca sinks down on both her knees, clasping her clammy hands in her lap to keep from wringing them. Her chin ducks. She waits to be spoken to.
A long pause follows. Is the Emperor offended by her presence? Tosca can barely think because of the blood pounding in her ears.
"Who are you?" a voice from on high now rumbles. "Why are you here?"
Tosca keeps her head bowed as she answers. "I am Lady Struct."
"Louder. I can't hear you."
"I am Lady—"
"Louder, woman!"
Tosca looks up now and announces loudly and boldly, "I am Lady Struct. Daughter of Darth Vehement and Granddaughter of Darth Stain." She identifies herself with the genealogical references that the Sith slavishly obsess about. Hers are not particularly impressive, but it's who she is on formal occasions like this.
"That's better. Why are you here?" the voice wonders aloud again.
"Lord Struct is on the P-proscription List," she begins.
The unseen Emperor interrupts again. "And you have foolishly come to beg for my mercy?"
"No," she gulps. "I have a proposal."
"Then make it," the voice says impatiently.
She rushes her words to get them out. "If you will remove Lord Struct from the Proscription List, I will take the veil in the Temple."
"I can't hear you," the voice complains again and Tosca feels her opportunity slipping away fast.
She repeats her words louder. "If you will remove Lord Struct from the Proscription List, I will take the veil in the Temple."
There. She said it. She has just offered the unthinkable in exchange for Marcus' life. If the Emperor accepts, Tosca will face permanent social ruin that will earn her others' contempt.
"Why?"
Why? Tosca begins babbling. "Because it will save him and it will protect my sons. If my husband is proscribed, my boys will never be fostered. No one will take them on for an Apprentice. Their lives will be ruined."
That assessment does not elicit sympathy. "Proscription is necessary. Only the strong survive. That is the way of things. The way of the Sith."
Yes, she knows. Every few decades, the Emperor culls the ranks of his Lords, choosing the underperformers to be sacrificed to renew the Dark sanctity of his temple. Those he judges worthy continue to serve his Empire. Those he judges unworthy he drains of their power, killing them in an elaborate Dark ritual. That will be Marcus' fate if she cannot convince the Emperor of her scheme.
What's worse, the consequences reverberate past the doomed Lords themselves. For to be proscribed effectively ends a family. The surviving children—male and female—are shamed and shunned for their misfortune. No one will marry the offspring of a proscribed Lord, for fear the taint of weakness will pass on since the Force is very hereditary. And so, if her husband is proscribed, her boys will live their lives at the margins of Sith society. With very limited career opportunities and no training. With no opportunity for a peer marriage. Her boys will never belong to the ruling class they were born into nor will they be regular non-Force sensitive Sith bourgeoisie. They will be outcasts somewhere in between.
The Emperor speaks again. "Why have you come to waste my time with this ridiculous bargain?"
Tosca responds staunchly, "Lords die in battle for the Empire. Ladies sacrifice for their families."
"Not usually in this extreme," the Emperor observes.
"Lady Scathe did," she counters, citing the centuries old Sith heroine who took up her injured husband's sword to defend him from a Jedi Master, getting herself killed in the process even though she slew her foe.
"Did your husband put you up to this?"
"No, Excellency. He does not know I am here," she admits. Tosca had kissed Marcus and the boys lingering goodbyes this morning, but no one seemed suspicious. In fact, they barely noticed.
"You dishonor Struct by making this appearance and by making this proposal," the Emperor decrees. He sounds very annoyed.
But Tosca doesn't back down. "It will save him," she points out. That's what matters most. He will live.
The deep voice from above disagrees. "Lord Struct might prefer to die rather than have his wife trade sex for his life."
Tosca hangs her head lower still now. Oh Force, this interview is awful. Every bit as awkward and uncomfortable as she feared.
"You're blushing. You do know what the Temple girls do, don't you?"
"Yes, I know," she responds weakly.
"What was that? I can't hear you," the voice complains again testily.
"Yes, I know," miserable Tosca says in a louder, choked voice.
"Are you always this headstrong?" the Emperor asks.
"Oh no, Excellency," she gulps. "I know my place."
"I rather doubt that."
Tosca flushes some more.
"The Proscription List is not final. But there are some who know of Lord Struct's name on the List. If it comes off, there will be talk."
Yes, she has thought of this. "His name comes off because he has proven his fortitude by condemning me to the Temple." That's the cover story. It explains both his pardon and her absence.
"Condemned to the Temple on what grounds?"
"A-Adultery," Tosca stammers. It is the obvious charge for a married woman like herself to be sentenced to the Temple.
"Adultery could call into question your sons' paternity."
"Our boys look just like my Lord," she says quickly. "No one will doubt they are legitimate."
"Have you ever been unfaithful to your husband?" the Emperor now asks bluntly.
"No!" comes her quick, reflexive response.
"Yes, I thought not." The conversation now takes an abrupt turn. "Take off that scarf," the unseen Sith ruler orders.
Tosca reaches up with trembling hands to snatch at the pins and yank off the offending fabric. With the light shining down so brightly from above, she knows her light blonde hair will be revealed in all its glory. The unfortunate hair together with her alabaster skin and light eyes speak volumes about her unimpressive heritage. There hasn't been a red skinned, dark eyed pureblood Sith in her family tree ever.
"So that is what you are hiding," the Emperor drawls as she cringes. "Are you a Lady or are you a peasant?"
Tosca lifts her gaze and asserts herself indignantly. "I am a Lady."
"But only so long as I refuse to grant your wish to let you take the veil in the Temple," the Emperor points out. "What is there in this bargain for me?" he muses. "The Temple is not short of serving girls at the present. I gain nothing from your volunteerism."
"My sons and my Lord will be alive to give their loyal service to the Empire."
"I expect that of all my subjects. Moreover, Struct's service is a benefit I already have and do not value." When Tosca has no further rejoinder, the Emperor repeats, "What is there in this bargain for me?"
"Nothing, I suppose," she concedes.
"So then you have come to beg for mercy after all?" the Emperor concludes.
A long uncomfortable silence follows until Tosca whispers, "Yes."
"Speak up! I can't hear you."
"Yes. Yes, I am begging for mercy. But it will not appear like mercy to others. If you grant me this request, no one will know. It will look like just punishment for my transgression."
The Emperor is silent for a moment of consideration. Then he offers biting criticism. "Lady Struct, that last bit is the only astute point you have made during this entire audience. I appreciate those who understand the value of discretion. Things are not always what they appear in the Empire."
Does that mean he accepts? Tosca looks up hopefully.
"Guards!" the Emperor commands sharply. "Take Lady Struct to the Temple."