Tosca's announcement the next morning that she is the new matron is well received. But her stated intention to make changes at the cloister is even more enthusiastically welcomed. Things are going to look and feel different around here, she promises. But first things first, we will purchase new dresses. And for that task, Tosca intends to take the girls shopping. In public.
Everyone is invited, Tosca tells the girls, but no one is required to come. If you do come, you should be prepared for looks, she counsels. Maybe even rude comments. We will be accompanied by guards, so we will look especially conspicuous. Her words are the dampener she intends them to be. Tosca doesn't want to ruin the girls' zeal, but she wants to prepare them. It's possible that you might see friends or even family while we are out, she warns. That could be awkward or hurtful. So please consider carefully whether you want to come.
Where are they going? Tosca names the most exclusive department store in Kaas City. It's the bastion of luxury where only the wealthiest Sith Ladies shop. Because if these girls are going to be stuck in a cloister, they are going to do it in style. Tosca plans to add some glamour to the seedy ignominy of being a Temple girl. Unfortunately, the destination clinches it for the girls. Everyone knows that it will not be a comfortable setting. One by one, they decline to join her. Very well, I will go myself, Tosca decides. Then, she admonishes everyone not to do anything she wouldn't do while she's gone. That comment earns her a few good-natured eyerolls that Tosca cheerfully ignores.
She is heading for the door when Poppaea intercepts her. "Can I change my mind?"
"Of course. Get your veil. We're leaving now." Quickly, before Tosca loses her nerve. Bringing along Poppaea is probably a good choice, she judges, as the girl scrambles to ready herself. After their conversation yesterday morning, Poppaea probably bears close watching. Plus, maybe some time outside the cloister will be the outlet the teen needs to deter her from escaping.
"Are we actually doing his? Can we do really this?" Poppaea asks breathlessly as they step into the hallway. Her dark eyes are flashing with excitement.
"Yes," Tosca responds with more confidence than she actually feels. But she is determined to assert herself as matron. Lord Tenebrae told her that she could make changes, so she intends to take him up on that offer. Things are going to start to change around here beginning today, she resolves.
Tosca and Poppaea present themselves to the guards at the Temple entrance. Tosca requests a transport and a security escort for a short outing. The lead man looks her over skeptically. He informs her that he will have to clear it with his superior. After that, Tosca and Poppaea cool their heels for almost fifteen minutes. But then, two red armored guards appear with a driver and a very official looking speeder. As soon as they climb in, the driver asks, "Where to, my Lady?"
Tosca can't contain her grin. Everything is off to a promising start. Just getting away from the oppressive gloom of the Palace complex feels good.
Beside her, Poppaea claps her hands with excitement. "It's been over a year since I have been outside the Temple," she gushes.
It's a short ride to where they are headed. All the most exclusive restaurants and shops in Kaas City are adjacent to the Imperial District. As the speeder pulls up to the grand edifice with curated windows full of the latest fashions, Tosca takes a deep fortifying breath. She advises Poppaea quietly, "Hold your head high and carry yourself with grace. You're a big girl. You can deal with dirty looks. I'll be right by your side," she reassures. "You're not alone in this."
"I can handle anything," Poppaea answers brightly. "Now let's go spend some of the Emperor's treasury." It's the happiest Tosca has ever seen the girl. And that alone makes this trip worthwhile.
Once inside, their reception is pretty much how Tosca expects. It's still early so the store is sparsely occupied. But even with the absence of haughty Sith matrons to cluck their disapproval, the sales ladies manage to create a frigid atmosphere. No one really knows who the cloistered Temple girls are—they are something of a whispered urban legend since they seldom appear in public—but everyone recognizes what the red veils signify. They are the mark of fallen women. Women to be shunned and shamed. Women too unruly and dangerous for their families to tolerate. Women who have forfeited the chivalry and privileges that elite Sith society offered to them. When you add the two red armored bodyguards into the mix, their group is impossible to miss. Everyone is gawking at them. Even Tosca, who is used to being eye catching, has to work to stay positive.
Young Poppaea heads straight for the makeup counter where a pureblood Sith Lady is shopping with her teenage daughter. "I know we're here for dresses, but how about some lipstick too?" Poppaea wheedles.
"Lipstick does make everything better," Tosca smiles beneath the veil. Young girls always love makeup. It gives her an idea. "Let's buy everyone a tube as a treat."
As they approach the makeup counter, the Lady with her daughter by her side is finishing a purchase. She keeps throwing Tosca and Poppaea nervous, furtive looks. It's impossible to ignore her unease. The Lady even turns to instruct her daughter, "Go wait for me by the elevator. I'll be right there."
"But Mom, you said I could pick out a lip gloss," the daughter whines.
"Some other time," the mother hisses, shooing the impressionable girl away from Tosca and Poppaea as fast as she can. As if the mere proximity of two Temple girls might corrupt her daughter.
"We need thirteen tubes of lipstick please," Poppaea requests of the flustered sales lady who has observed this exchange. Poppaea gestures to Tosca. "She needs a red color for her fair skin, but the rest of us need a neutral dark purple." It's a typical nude shade worn by hybrid and pureblood Sith women who have naturally dark berry colored lips. With an ugly smirk over at the protective mother who is clearly listening in, Poppaea adds, "Aunt Tosca here is the only pale sex slave. The rest of us have skin consistent with our noble ancestry."
"Poppy!" Tosca shoots her charge a quelling look.
But the cheeky, rebellious seventeen-year-old will not be dissuaded. Poppaea now asks the sales lady loudly, "What floor is lingerie on? We're going to want something new for tonight's big orgy."
"Poppy! Stop it!" Tosca shoots the girl a reproving glare. "I'm sorry, my Lady," Tosca apologizes to the other customer. "She's not usually so poorly behaved."
But as the offended Lady hurries away in search of her daughter, Poppaea beams triumphant. "You can't take me anywhere," she brags proudly.
"Yes, I'm learning that," Tosca grumbles.
Poppaea is unrepentant. If anything, she's indignant. "I refuse to hang my head in shame. The shame should be for my parents!" And once again, her voice carries.
Tosca looks daggers at the teenaged girl who is making a scene. "No one's asking you to be invisible. But I would like you to be less conspicuous. Do not go out of your way to offend people. It's immature."
"So I'm supposed to be okay when they whisper about us?" Poppaea challenges. "When they point when they think we are not looking? Like that sales woman two counters behind you is doing right now?"
"I warned you about that," Tosca reminds her. "Nothing you are doing is going to stop it. But if you carry yourself with respect, it will increase the chance that people will treat you with respect. Now, act like a Lady."
Poppaea pouts, "What's the point?" Then, for a brief moment, the girl's mask of petulance slips and she looks as though she might cry.
Tosca's face softens. "Poppy, I was gawked at long before I wore this veil. Trust me, this is not the way to handle it."
"Oh, alright," the girl relents. "But you're ruining all my fun."
"Nonsense. The fun is just beginning. What do you think of this color?" Tosca strokes a blood red lip stain across the back of her hand. "Too bright?"
"Looks good. Can we get some eyeliner too? And mascara?" Poppaea asks hopefully.
"Why not?" Tosca plays along. "How much are those hair grooming droids?" Tosca asks the sales lady. She names a sum and Tosca decides, "We'll take three."
"No one sees our hair under the veil," Poppaea points out.
"Very soon," Tosca reveals "we're losing the veils."
"Really? But we're supposed to cover our heads in the Temple. All women do. It's tradition."
"I have a better idea," Tosca confides. "Let's finish here and I'll show you."
Tosca's better idea is a red cloak. There's nothing more Sith than a cloak, so it's a perfectly acceptable garment for a formal setting like the Temple or the Palace. Upstairs in the quiet, by-appointment-only ultra-expensive area of the store, Tosca discusses commissioning a bespoke version for the Temple girls. It will be scarlet red in color with a deep, concealing hood, long sleeves, and a black silk lining. It's the female version of the cloak every Sith Lord owns. Only, Tosca hopes, theirs will be devastatingly stylish.
"What do you think?" Tosca consults with Poppaea about the design. "We can raise the hood for services or when we are in public. It won't obscure our vision as much as these veils do."
"This is made-to-order couture. The good stuff." Her young companion is intimidated. "My mother always said this was too expensive except for a wedding dress."
Poppaea's mother probably fit less expensive standard sized designer clothing, Tosca thinks to herself. But due to her unique size, Tosca is used to commissioning garments. It's the only way to get exactly what you want and it makes sense for big occasions or for basic items that you intend to wear over and over again. And anyway, cost isn't really the issue. The Empire can afford this. It's probably a small fraction of the cost of one of those great naval ships they keep building. "Only the best for the Palace Temple," she waves off Poppy's price concerns. "But tell me, would you prefer this to the veil?"
"Absolutely," Poppaea fully endorses the choice.
Once thirteen capes are ordered, Tosca starts picking out new dresses. All the girls can wear clothes off the rack with minimal alterations, so Poppy dutifully models a few options. They are all demure but not severe. Well cut and easy to wear. Which do you like best? Poppy has plenty of opinions, but she can't decide. So, Tosca buys each girl five dresses to wear in rotation. Maybe a little freedom and self-expression will help ease the tension in the cloister. They don't all need to look exactly alike every day, Tosca figures.
"And what about you, my Lady?" the sales woman asks. As she has realized the size of this purchase, the woman has become more and more solicitous. Her initial standoffishness is gone.
"Yes. Order something for yourself, Aunt Tosca," Poppaea urges. "You have only one dress that's not the old style."
Poppaea is right. But given her size, Tosca cannot purchase off the rack at this store. So, she decides on a few bespoke commissions for herself. She chooses four designs similar to her current dress, each with a wide-open neckline and a skirt with sufficient ease of movement. Tosca refuses to mince around tugging at some skintight fishtail day gown like the fashionable women of her class. She'll be dowdy but comfortable, as always, in her A-line skirt.
As they complete the order and make arrangements for fittings and delivery, Tosca hears her name said aloud in a familiar voice.
"Tosca?"
She whirls to find the speaker.
"Tosca! I thought that was your voice."
A familiar woman has exited the adjacent dressing room, her arms laden with new purchases. It's her good friend Daria, Lady Marrow. Daria takes one look at Tosca in her red veil and swears softly, "Oh Force, it's true. He did send you to the Temple." Daria's jaw is agape with dismay. Her eyes are full of pity . . . and questions.
Tosca shifts her weight. Suddenly all that bold talk about poise and confidence she gave Poppaea deserts Tosca when she needs it most. Somehow, she had been so concerned with how the girls might handle running into someone they know, that Tosca had neglected to prepare herself. "Daria," Tosca says her friend's name uncomfortably. "H-Hello."
"Here. Hold this." Her friend thrusts the dresses she is carrying at the rather shocked looking seamstress who has followed her from the fitting room. Then Daria approaches closer. She has wary eyes on the uniformed guards as if to silently ask permission. "When Septimus came home with the story, I didn't believe it. He said Marcus wasn't sent home on leave, he came home because he caught you in an affair and needed to deal with it." Daria looks ashen faced with concern. "I thought it was ugly gossip that got exaggerated with retelling. But it's true. Oh, Tosca, what have you done?" her friend whispers in horror.
"Uh . . . Uh . . . " This is the cover story Tosca agreed to, but hearing it from her appalled friend makes it far worse than she imagined. Suddenly, she is at a complete loss for words.
"What were you thinking?" Daria looks crushed. Like she is very let down. And, frankly, that's far worse than the shaming looks Tosca and Poppaea have endured from strangers thus far.
"I . . . I . . . I made a big mistake." Tosca decides that the less said, the better. Because if you're going to lie, it's best to keep it simple with scant details. "Look after my boys, will you? And Marcus too. Please Daria-"
"Tosca, you should have thought of them before you—you—" Her friend's voice trails off awkwardly. Then, she rallies. "Who was he? What Lord got you into this mess? Was it Indelible? Because he always liked you a little too much."
"No. Not Lord Indelible."
"Then who? Tell me so I can let it be known. Why should you bear all the stigma while he walks free? He is just as culpable as you are-"
Tosca looks down. "It's no one you know."
"Of course, it's someone I know! I know everyone you know—"
"Please Daria, let it go." Tosca feels a tear drip down beneath her veil. She hopes her friend can't see how nervous she is committing to this lie. "I made a big mistake. I can't change any of it now. What's done is done."
"But Tosca—"
"Daria, drop it!" The words come out sharply. Then Tosca starts improvising explanations to compound the lies she's telling. "If his name is known, then Marcus will have to challenge him. Then, there will be a duel and one of them will end up dead. I don't want that to happen."
"You're right," her friend backs down as she comprehends. Then, she shoots Tosca a hard look. "So . . . you're protecting your lover? You're shielding him from your husband's justice? Shouldn't Marcus have a right to defend the family's honor?"
"Oh Force, you know I'm protecting Marcus!" Tosca vents. "He doesn't know one end of a sword from another! He's as hopeless as our boys are in combat! Just let it go . . . please!" All this machismo talk of family honor is just another form of vengeance. This is how family feuds start among the Sith ruling class, and some of them last for generations.
"I guess I should be glad that Marcus didn't kill you," Daria says miserably, "because that's what most Lords would do. Can you have visitors? Can I come see you? I want to help you-"
"No. It's not allowed."
"What about the boys? Can they see you?"
"No. That's not allowed either."
"Who's looking after them now?"
"I guess the servants," Tosca answers weakly as her conscience pricks at her. Abandoning her children is the worst part of this scheme by far.
"Oh, Tosca," her friend breathes out with awful insight, "you've lost everything. What folly!"
"I made a big mistake." If she says this vague statement enough, Tosca thinks, maybe Daria will believe it. She hates lying to her friend, but there is no alternative.
Daria looks to the guards now and asks, "How much time do you have?"
"We were just finishing. We need to get back. We . . . uh . . . don't get out much."
"Well, come here. Give me a hug. I'll walk out with you."
Tosca hangs back and shakes her head. "You might not want to do that." Tosca is thinking of her friend's reputation. "Someone will see and then there will be talk."
"Nonsense. I can handle it. Who is this?" Lady Marrow turns to the wide eyed Poppaea who is silent for once. Tosca introduces the teen and she mumbles hello.
Daria eyes the two guards who hover close. "Do you go everywhere with these guys? For a minute there, I thought the Emperor himself was in the ladies dressing room."
Tosca sighs, "It's overkill, I know. You know how hopeless I am with the Force."
"Those are praetorians," Daria observes thoughtfully.
"I guess." As far as Tosca is concerned, the guards come in three varieties at the Palace: red, grey, and black. She differentiates them only based on uniform colors. Their weapons may be different, but they all look plenty lethal to her.
"Praetorians guard Vitiate himself," Daria divulges. She runs her eyes over the security detail. "Your crew here aren't the regular Palace guards."
"I guess." Whatever. Tosca doesn't care what color the guy is wearing who hands her a black hood. Their purpose is the same.
Daria goes in for a hug now and whispers into Tosca's ear, "Meet me here same time next week."
But Tosca balks. She refuses to plot a meeting. "I don't think that's wise."
"But Tosca—"
"Thank you, but no. Everyone knows Septimus will be considered for the Dark Council someday. A wife in your position shouldn't risk this. You can't be seen with a Temple girl. You know how people talk."
"But Tosca—"
She looks away, but stubbornly persists. "I've hurt enough people with what I did. I don't want to hurt you too. Please watch out for my boys and for Marcus. That's the best way to help me."
Daria's mouth is a straight line of disapproval, but she agrees, "I will. I wish you would tell me who he is. It's not fair that you get all the blame and your Lord stays anonymous."
"It doesn't really matter now," Tosca sighs. "And life isn't fair. Especially for women. You know that." Every woman knows that.
With a brief hug, she and Daria part. Then, Tosca completes her shopping tasks with Poppaea in near silence. All the adventure of this outing is gone. Tosca just wants to get back to the Temple as soon as possible.
Back in the transport heading home, Tosca remains subdued. She can handle the dirty looks and moral condescension from strangers. But her conversation with Daria is very upsetting. It brings home the consequences of her bargain with the Emperor. Tosca will live the rest of her life as a social outcast for a sin she did not commit. She's known that on a theoretical basis for weeks now. But today, it became very real.
And for her astute onlooker Poppy, it was engrossing. "Did you really cheat on Lord Struct?" she asks. The girl's curiosity is lurid. Her skepticism is also very apparent.
Tosca looks Poppaea in the eyes, gauging how to answer the question. She wants to promote trust with this girl. But there are two guards and a speeder driver listening in to consider.
"You didn't, did you?" Poppaea guesses. She looks at Tosca's troubled face and registers her hesitation. "No . . . you didn't," Poppaea decides.
That comment makes it hard to avoid an outright lie. So, Tosca opts for the truth. "No, I didn't. Not in the way people think, anyway. How did you guess?"
The teen shoots her a frank look. "Aunt Tosca, you are a terrible liar. Plus, your friend was genuinely shocked." Poppaea keeps prying. "Did you husband want rid of you? Was that it? Did he frame you? Was it a set up?"
"No. If he wanted rid of me, he would have killed me for adultery," Tosca points out. Then Marcus would be free to remarry and move on with his life. Unlike the current situation in which they are married but separated permanently. "Look, it's . . . complicated." Tosca knows better than to confess the whole truth. This girl has a big mouth to match her big attitude. And the Emperor's random act of mercy must remain a secret. "It's complicated," Tosca repeats.
"Well obviously, if you ended up in the Temple," Poppaea rudely retorts. "Did Lord Struct piss off the Emperor or something?"
"Poppy, watch your language," Tosca snaps. "You sound common when you speak like that."
"Who cares? It's not like it matters. I'm not a Lady any more. There's no one to impress." Poppaea now summarizes their shopping experience in a nutshell: "We're the bogeyman to scare young girls. We're the example of what not to be. You can't fail as a wife or daughter worse than we did. Even when it's not even true," she adds bitterly.
And now, heedless of the guards listening in, young Poppaea discloses the crux of her desperation. All those tentative conversations in private in the cloister didn't succeed in getting this girl to open up, but today's outing apparently has. Pretty Poppy is indignant as she reveals, "You know, I didn't do what they said I did either. They said I was caught with one of the servants at my cousin's villa. It was a lie!"
Tosca is taken aback by the vehemence of this revelation . . . and by its implications. She gulps as she begins to fully comprehend the situation. "Oh, Poppy—"
"It was a lie!" the girl screams. She's suddenly near hysterical. "My father . . . he . . . he . . . well, he did things with me that he shouldn't. I told my mother and she didn't believe me. And he kept d-doing it. No one believed me." Poppaea is a mix of frustration, rage, and hurt. Those dark eyes of hers suddenly flash with yellow. It sends a shiver down Tosca's spine to see what extreme distress has made Poppy capable of. "I kept telling teachers and they would approach my parents. But my parents would say that I was making it up. That I was a troubled girl and a pathological liar who wanted attention. I wasn't! I told the truth! Aunt Tosca, it was the truth! But they covered it up for the sake of the family and my father's career."
Poppy dissolves into great gulping sobs now. It's pitiful to witness. "Oh, Poppy . . ." Tosca snakes an arm around this very unhappy girl. Clearly there is way more to her wretchedness than just the naval commander priest who preys on her as his favorite.
"They lied and s-stuck me in the cloister! They lied!"
Tosca hugs her closer. "I believe you."
"They put me in the T-Temple to shut me up. Problem s-solved. They t-threw me away. . ."
"I'm so sorry," Tosca commiserates.
"They are never going to take me back." Poppaea looks up and pins Tosca with her eyes. "You know what that means."
Tosca nods sadly. "I know."
"So if I want to speak coarsely or offend some righteous woman buying makeup, I will! Because this whole damn Temple girl tradition is a disgrace and a fraud! It's just one more way to control and abuse women, and I refuse to go along with it!"
Tosca can't argue with that sentiment. She just nods again.
"I am so tired," young Poppaea vents between sniffs, "So tired of being the victim! First my dad and now the priests. Well, I refuse to die for my parents' lie! It lets them win!"
Tosca now understands why this girl wants to attempt an escape. Because in her mind, she has nothing to lose. She's going to die anyway. "I'm sorry," Tosca stammers out, wondering now what it means to know this information officially in her role of matron. Because Tosca suddenly feels as if she should try to help. Or at least to investigate Poppy's claims.
Angry Poppaea plucks the red veil from her hair. Then, she reaches to yank the veil from Tosca's hair too. "We shouldn't wear these. We don't deserve them. They're a lie!"
"You're right," Tosca agrees softly. Then she impulsively leans forward to get the speeder driver's attention. "Open this window please," she requests. When the driver complies, Tosca reaches clear across the armored guard on her left to heave the two veils out into the street. They waft in the breeze as the speeder whizzes forward and then they are out of sight on the pavement. It's a useless gesture, but it makes Tosca feel good. Then, she awkwardly pats Poppy's back as the girl cries her eyes out.
When they make it back to the Temple, the girl is still inconsolable. It's like her confession to Tosca has brought a lot of suppressed grief to the surface. "D-Do we have to go in?" Poppaea complains. "I don't want to go in." That wail produces a fresh round of tears.
"Yes, we must go in," Tosca answers. "But let's you and I go to the garden for a bit. The guards can deliver our packages to the cloister for us."
Soon, she and Poppy are alone on a bench in Lord Tenebrae's garden. Tosca sits holding her hand as slowly the teen regains her composure. "Are you going to tell me how you got here?" Poppy asks now that they are alone.
"I wish I could," Tosca answers honestly, "but I can't. Please keep my secret safe. Don't tell the other girls that I'm not really here for adultery. It will just raise questions that I cannot answer. And," she adds as an afterthought, "it could endanger my family." Because there's no telling what Emperor Vitiate might do were the truth became public.
"Alright," Poppaea agrees, but requests in return, "Don't tell my secret either. I don't want anyone to know. It won't change anything."
"I might be able to help you," Tosca offers tentatively, not exactly sure herself what she means.
"The only way you can help me is to help me escape," Poppaea whispers.
"For both our sakes, I'm not going to do that," Tosca turns her down flat.
"Then keep my secret," Poppaea hisses. "And I will keep yours."
Hours later, Compline is over. Tosca walks with the other girls to dinner. Then, she promptly excuses herself and heads for the garden.
She's tired. From the heartbreaking truth of Poppy's past to her own vague lies to Daria, today has been emotionally exhausting. Mostly, Tosca wants this day to be over. But she already committed to meeting Lord Tenebrae in the garden, so who knows what's coming next? Life at the Temple is turning out different than she expected. What she feared most—being passed around for sex by the priests—has not come to fruition. And unforeseen circumstances, like her new role as matron, are complicating things. She now has twelve troubled girls to watch over, including the restless and reckless Poppy.
Nightfall is fast approaching as Tosca walks into the garden. But the full moon from the night of the Proscription ritual has not waned much. And so, while the garden is full of long shadows, it's far from pitch dark. Is the chief priest here? Tosca doesn't see him. As usual, she cannot sense him in the Force. So, she starts to wander aimlessly to kill time and be alone with her thoughts.
She is startled when a voice calls, "Good evening, my Lady." It's a tall, skinny gardener in work gloves and rubber boots still toiling away by the gazebo. He's young with an easy open smile and a deeply tanned face from a life outdoors.
"Hello there," Tosca responds as she walks up. "You're working late."
"Dusk is the best time to see the blossoms," he explains. "Come see." He puts down the shovel he's spreading soil with and beckons her over to see a climbing plant that winds its way around the pillars of the gazebo. "The flowers only open at night."
Intrigued Tosca follows. "Oh, how lovely." The plant has small pink berry-like fruits that open into tiny flowers. Some of them unfurl in real time as she watches.
"Smell," the young gardener invites. "Their real lure is their fragrance. At night, the insects that pollenate can't discern colors, so the plant has adapted to attract them with scent."
Tosca leans in and inhales. "Uhmmm." It's an earthy, musky, sweet aroma.
"If you're a local bee, that is very seductive," the gardener grins. He looks her over. "You're the new girl."
"Yes," she smiles absently. "But hardly a girl."
"You look like a country lass with those braids. Like you got dressed up to celebrate the solstice."
It's an observation that would merit a dismissive rebuke from most Sith Ladies, who would deem it an insult. But not from Tosca. She pats her intricate crown of braids and explains, "The girls have a new grooming droid to play with. I let them test it out on me and this was the result. It's probably a little young for me," she shrugs, "but I let them have their fun."
The talkative gardener is even more impertinent now as he approves, "It's pretty. I like it. So, how's life at the Temple?"
"Okay, I guess. I'm still getting used to things." Tosca looks around and sighs deeply. It releases some of the pent-up tension of the day. "I love this garden," she muses, looking to change the subject. "I could never manage to grow much in our little atrium." The Struct house, like most Sith city houses, is constructed around a central open court with a fountain and small greenspace. "I always managed to pick one plant that would take over and crowd out the rest. It looked great at first and then months later, it was a jungle thicket."
The young man nods and speaks with wisdom beyond his years. "That is the nature of life. Some are born to dominate."
"Not here," she points out. "Here you have everything growing side by side in harmony. There's a spot for each plant."
"It is from careful pruning," he discloses. "You must keep the dominant ones in check so that there is room for all. It takes a firm hand to keep things balanced so that everything can grow and prosper. You need a watchful eye and a willingness to intervene. To cut things back and uproot them if need be."
The young man goes back to his work now. He is shoveling dirt out of a wheelbarrow and spreading it among the plant beds. Tosca watches him in silence. There's something familiar about him. Something about the deep-set eyes and dark brows. Maybe something about the wide shoulders that contrast against his lean frame. This young man will need a few more years and a lot more pounds to grow into those shoulders, Tosca decides.
"What's that?" She points to the wheelbarrow. "Compost? Fertilizer?" She's asking mostly to make conversation. Lord Tenebrae hasn't shown up yet. So, she will talk to this gardener kid about his work.
"In a way, it is a fertilizer," the boy answers as he keeps spreading it around among the plant bed. "It's ash."
Oh. "Ash from what?"
"From the Proscription ritual. From the burned bodies."
"Oooh." Tosca was not expecting this ghoulish answer. She makes a face and takes a step back.
The gardener doesn't seem to notice. If he is troubled by the cremated remains of four hundred Sith Lord, it doesn't show. He is matter of fact as he explains, "I mix it with wood ash to feed the soil. I spread it thinly. A little goes a long way."
He lays aside his shovel, scoops up a handful of ash and turns to Tosca. He surprises her when he grabs her hand to stuff the mixture in it.
"Ewwww." She recoils but the young gardener closes his hands tightly around hers.
"No, don't," he cautions her. "Don't be frightened. This is death and decay that feeds new life. All life comes from death. All new beginnings also mark an end. That is the way of things. The way of the Force. Whether Dark or Light, it is the same."
Flustered Tosca wrenches back her hands. She sputters, "What do you know of the-oh!"
Tosca looks up to find that she is not talking to the young gardener. She's looking up into the handsome bearded face of Lord Tenebrae.
"Hello, Tosca," he smiles. It's the same easy smile of the young gardener. "I've been waiting for you."
"You-you-"
"Surprise," he smirks.
"You're like a changeling!" Tosca accuses. She's not exactly sure what just happened. But the laboring boy is gone. In his place stands the priest.
Lord Tenebrae grunts. "I do more with the Force than just kill." He gestures to her hand still holding the ash mixture. "Go on. Scatter it. Sow the future with me."
Gingerly, Tosca steps forward and complies. It's mostly to get it out of her hand.
"Cinis in cinerem, pulvis in pulverem." Ashes to ashes, dust to dust. He quotes now from the burial ritual of the Sith the words of farewell spoken as the tomb is closed. "Memento, domini, quia pulvis es et in pulverem reverteris. Atque in perpetuum, ave atque vale, domini." Remember that you are dust and to dust you will return. Forever and ever, hail and farewell, my Lords.
His Kittat is spoken solemnly. There is no mockery here. In his own way, the priest is burying the Proscribed, she realizes. Perhaps he is not as callous about the ritual carnage as the absent Emperor seems to be.
"Is this why you burned the bodies?" The Sith bury their dead. Rarely do they burn them.
Lord Tenebrae nods thoughtfully. "Cremation was the custom among my people. But whether bodies are buried or burned, this is the fate of us all. It is good to acknowledge that. Those men died, but they will live on. In my garden. And in me." For the Master Sorcerer had absorbed their essence in the Force in a jaw dropping display of power.
"You didn't want to do that ritual, did you?" Tosca guesses.
"I do what must be done," he answers neutrally. Perhaps he is reluctant to criticize the Emperor. He shrugs, "All die in the end."
"Except the Emperor."
He nods. "Except the Emperor."
"And you."
He says nothing.
Tosca clenches and unclenches her fist that held the ashes, looking down at her dirty fingers. She too will one day be ash and dust. She's fine with that. "I don't want to live forever. To watch everyone I love grow old and die." She wonders how Lord Tenebrae does it. How do you cope with such a remarkable lifespan when others do not share it? It must be very isolating over time.
The priest is reflective now. "Everyone I loved died way too soon and by my own hand. All my losses came at once. After that, it didn't matter. So, the years have no consequence. Time has little meaning to me now."
Is he boasting or sad? Tosca can't tell. This man is a strange mix of pride and regret. When he speaks of himself, he sounds so dissatisfied. Maybe that too is the consequence of living far past your time.
"That doesn't sound like living," she remarks before she can stop herself.
Her comment provokes his wry smile. He chuckles. "Oh, I assure you that I am very much alive."
Lord Tenebrae looks so relaxed in this setting, she notes. At peace. Almost happy even. So unlike the man she's seen barking orders and killing people. And that prompts her to ask, "That boy earlier who you pretended to be—who was that?"
He looks mischievous as he admits, "It was me."
"I thought so." He was his past self, doing what his past self once did—tending the land here in the Temple garden. This man is many years and many lightyears from where he began, and yet the past is still very much his present. And he seems to like it that way. He's less haunted than nostalgic tonight, she judges.
It occurs to Tosca now that Lord Tenebrae, the untrained, illegitimate, non-native Master Sorcerer of the Empire, a man who lives out of place and time, is not as comfortable in the upper echelons of Sith authority as he purports. Perhaps he lives here in the Palace because he likes it. Because his existence as a fourteen-hundred-year-old bachelor means he wouldn't fit into the normal peer group. Because he has no peers left. If he ever had any, that is.
"I guess you have done it all in your long life," she muses. "So, tell me—how do you cope when there's nothing left to look forward to?" She's been wondering this for herself and for the girls. Because what do you do when the expected progression of life events falls apart? Getting outside societal norms is a lot harder than it sounds. Today had brought home to Tosca very clearly her predicament. So . . . what's next?
Lord Tenebrae looks at her quizzically. "There is always something to look forward to. Today, I looked forward to seeing you. All day," he tells her, "I have been thinking of you."
With that declaration, he steps forward into her space. He's going to kiss her, she can tell. Should she step back? Probably. But she doesn't.
He continues his theme. "All day," he whispers, "I have been longing for you." And here comes the kiss. It's not hot and hungry passion. It's a soft, slow salute. Nothing intrusive or insistent. Just a simple kiss. Like something that farm boy version of him she met earlier might give to his sweetheart. Not the kiss of the Sith Lord she went to bed with that had left its mark all over her body.
As wholesome—almost sweet—as the moment is, Tosca is shy. She turns her head and steps away. "My Lord, someone will see."
He follows her. "No one will see. No one will hear. We are cocooned in the Force. The world will be blind and deaf to us."
"How?" She looks to him in befuddled amazement.
His response is sly. "I did not survive on the run for years as a boy without learning a few tricks. I can hide and disguise better than anyone else." His eyes are full of cheeky mischief again as he brags, "It made for some silly circumstances on occasion."
"I'm picturing you hiding in haystacks," she giggles.
"It was far more sophisticated than that," he groans, shooting her a look of reproof. "Far more sophisticated." Then, he flashes a suggestive grin. Lord Tenebrae looks almost boyish. "So, how about it? Will you lay with me in my garden, my Lady? Let me see you naked in the grass in the moonlight," he proposes. And is he serious? He is.
His hands reach for her greedily. He grabs her from behind in a bear hug. But Lord Tenebrae is more playful than threatening. This feels very different from the other night.
Tosca asserts herself. She bats at his hands and complains, "What are you—"
"It's alright to want this," he overrides her. "I want you to want this. To want us." His voice is husky in her ear now. "I'm crazy about tall blondes in braids who like my garden. Come admire my flowers and I will fall at your feet. No one can kill me but you. You slay me with your beauty and you goodness."
She laughs off this shameless flattery. "You're such a liar—"
"It's true. Feel the truth in the Force." He's irrepressible as his hands start to roam freely now. "I want to plow you like a new field. I want to roll in the dew with you. I want to have you here in my garden."
"Oh, stop!" she protests again, wiggling away. She points to the high walls near them. "The guards! They will see—"
"Only the Force will know," he whispers seductively. "And the trees and the flowers. Maybe the bunny who lives down that path."
Wait. "There's a bunny?"
"Lots of bunnies. They reproduce like—"
"Rabbits?" she snorts.
"Precisely. Be my bunny and I'll be your jackrabbit?" he wheedles.
"You're ridiculous."
"I'm just a country boy bewitched by a grand Lady. Now, let me put some grass stains on that dress. Better yet, let me take it off. I'll put some grass stains on your ass—"
"My Lord!" she huffs, even as she can't quite repress a smile.
He is undeterred by her half-hearted qualms. "You have a spectacular ass. Big and juicy." He swats it to indicate his approval. "Just like I like it. I bet it jiggles."
"It does," she confirms with a sigh.
"Good. Now, let's do this. Let's give those bunnies something to see." He leans in now to confide, "You know, I saw you in the Force before I ever met you. So, when I laid eyes on you, I knew we were destiny."
She groans. "That's a corny pickup line."
He smirks. "Maybe for others. But in my case, it's true. What do you say, my Lady?" he coaxes. "Will you be mine tonight?"
She freezes in indecision. Is he actually asking permission? Does she get to say no?
He looks her in the eye and lets her know he realizes her misgivings. "I won't hurt you."' It's a soft, sincere promise. All joking is set aside. He is serious.
Looking up into his handsome face, Tosca wonders whether she should be less guilty for this man and more grateful. Because things could be a lot worse for her than being in his arms. Lord Tenebrae is very likable at times, even if he is hard to understand. And before their night together verged into gratuitous excess, Tosca had thoroughly enjoyed herself . . . multiple times. Plus, she's no fool. Keeping Lord Tenebrae happy could make things easier for her. He is the chief priest, after all. So, Tosca makes a snap decision. "Kiss me," she urges as she affirmatively pulls him to her.
That's the last talking either of them do for a while as their passion catches fire. Tosca's enthusiasm definitely eggs him on. For all his talk of being naked in the moonlight, neither of them gets to that stage. In the rush to pleasure, Tosca ends up with her dress around her waist and he just unzips. It's fast, furtive fumbling that becomes a grunting, panting romp in the wet grass.
This is wild. This is way out of Tosca's comfort zone. Having sex outside in the open isn't something she or Marcus would ever do. Conventional, traditional Tosca had sex in her master bedroom on her back with the lights off. This feels very daring. Downright risky. Very wanton. But she's already a fallen Temple girl who has committed adultery. Sex with a priest is her job now. She might as well do this and enjoy it. Because what the Hell? Being in Lord Tenebrae's arms has Tosca blithely dispensing with all her inhibitions. Plus, part of her knows that those disapproving Ladies she saw today out shopping would fully expect this. She has a racy reputation to live up to now.
Both their hands are still dirty with the ash of dead Sith Lords. As he caresses her thighs and holds her hips, it leaves charcoal smears and smudges. It's life and death in opposition, violence and lust intermingled, power and sex combined. And it all leaves a mark.
But Tosca is oblivious. All she knows is rising desire. Her outing this morning has her feeling a bit indignant. More than a little subversive. She's coming to terms with the fact that life as she lived it is over. There's no going back to the way things were. And this man-this perplexing, difficult, yet very human man-might just be her life now. He's her chance for comfort and security and maybe even something approaching happiness. It's not what she would have chosen had she better options. But Tosca's life is full of compromises and this is just the latest. So, yeah, she'll settle for this. Fighting it seems like a stupid course, like just another way to make herself miserable. And then she might become poor Poppaea.
Tonight isn't the determined, perpetual pursuit of pleasure like their first night together. It's all over in a few minutes. Afterwards, they lie side by side in the grass, both satisfied and out of breath.
Lord Tenebrae speaks first. "You make me feel young again."
"Young like 500 or young like 25?" she teases.
"Young like in my 100s. Like before Vitiate. Before the defeat and before the re-founding of the Empire." He rolls over to snuggle next to her. "Like I'm a man of 100 robbing the cradle by romancing a girl of 40."
She rolls her eyes. "I'm hardly a girl."
"You are to me." He reaches a long arm out to pull her closer. He starts canoodling her neck. "How was shopping?"
"You know about that?"
"There are no secrets here. Did you enjoy yourself?"
"No." Tosca is candid. "It wasn't as much fun as I hoped it would be."
"Were people unkind?"
"Not really. It's more that they were uncomfortable. Disapproving." She and Poppy had been treated with cool courtesy for the most part, but there was no doubt that they were pariahs.
He's not surprised. "I feared as much."
"I don't much care what people think or say," Tosca claims. "I have a thick skin."
"Good. Tosca, go out if you wish but all you need is here. Right here." He cups her face with his palm as he promises, "In time, you will see that this isn't a prison. It is a refuge. There's nothing out there but pain for you now. My power can protect you from that."
Her brow furrows with discomfort because he's right. She had a taste of that pain today when she unexpectedly met Daria and was confronted with her own lies.
Lord Tenebrae looks very pleased with himself now as he announces, "I have a surprise for you."
"Uh oh. I hate presents."
"No one hates presents. Besides, you will like this one. I told you that I would make the other night up to you, and I meant it. Your sons are coming by for a visit tomorrow."
Tosca sits up. "Really? Oh! That's-that's . . . " What is that? Good or bad? Her first reaction is elation. But perhaps that's too hopeful given all that has occurred. Her upsetting conversation with Daria is still very much on her mind.
Lord Tenebrae is oblivious to her concern. "I will let them come monthly for a visit, if you wish. Boys need their mothers." He's thinking of himself when he says this, she suspects.
Tosca frets. "I want to see them but—"
"What could go wrong?" he interrupts. "They love you. And you love them."
"I do love them," she nods.
"Then you will love tomorrow."
"And the other girls? Can they have visitors?" Tosca angles to help her flock.
But Lord Tenebrae shoots her down. "They are different. You are the only married woman with children here. Once you sit through an interview with parents when they dump their daughter here, you will know that those sorts of reunions are ill advised."
Tosca frowns some more.
"It's messy and raw. There's a lot of crying and screaming. You'll see. There's a family coming to drop another one off tomorrow. I want you to handle it."
"Me?"
"You're the matron now."