The Sanctuary of Regret

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Theron Shan braced himself and raised his fist to the door for the third time in as many minutes. The door was like every other on the base, made of thick, molded durasteel and served to keep others out.

He'd always treated doors in one of two ways; as a challenge or an opportunity, but this door was different—this door didn't merely deny access to the room or its occupant, but would serve to prise apart the protective shell he'd spent years building and expose the vulnerabilities he harbored within.

To complicate matters further, his confession wouldn't be to a friend or ally, but an adversary—one that had tried to kill him—and perhaps the only one who could help.

Before his knuckles could connect with the metal surface, the door flew open and Theron stood in the occupant's massive shadow, his fist hanging in the air before dropping it almost immediately.

"Your hesitation was starting to annoy." Lord Scourge glared at the agent like a particularly bothersome insect he wanted to pluck apart limb by limb. "What do you want, Shan?"

"A few moments of your time—I need to talk to you."

"I have nothing to say to you, spy."

"All right. Then just listen. You have to know I didn't make the decision to come here lightly. It's important—and I'd rather not discuss it out here," Theron said, gesturing at the corridor.

Scourge's jaw clenched and the way he receded into his quarters reminded Theron of a colossal spider skulking back to the hub of its web after one of its viscid threads had been tweaked.

He took the abandoned doorway as an invitation and went inside. A brazier of twisting flame served as both light and heat, effectively transforming the utilitarian quarters into a primal sanctum. A dim red holocron sat on the low table before the chesterfield.

The air was bitter and dry, and the crackling fire made Scourge's trenchant and unwavering gaze all the more disconcerting. It was like having an audience with the devil himself.

"Say what you came to say," Scourge said, folding his arms.

"It's about Liatrix—I'm worried about her. She's not the same woman, she's changed somehow—and before you argue that it's an effect of time or war or loss—it's more than that. Whatever's happening to her is turning her into a stranger. She's detached and cold and it's getting more noticeable by the day," he said shaking his head. "Tell me you've noticed, that it's not just me."

"I am estranged from my wife—we have spent more time apart than together, we barely speak. Just what is it you expect from me?"

"I don't know." Theron paced and spread his hands. "All I know is that something needs to be done, or we'll lose her. I don't have to be a Force user to know there's no going back from this—whatever this is."

Scourge watched Theron through the heat shimmering above the fire. "What is your relationship with my wife? Are you lovers?"

"No." Theron frowned. "I won't lie. We're close. I love her. I want more—we talk, she confides in me, but that's all."

"And yet she hasn't confided in you about this. Why do you suppose that is?"

Theron plopped down on the short chesterfield in the sitting area, his hands hanging between his knees. "Maybe she doesn't realize it's happening—then again, it's not like I've sat her down and said, 'oh, hey, any idea why you feel like a block of ice when I touch you?'"

Scourge's hands curled into fists, the sound of his popping knuckles competing with the snap of the coals in the brazier. "Has she been this way since she was freed from carbonite?"

"You know about that."

"Spies are not the only ones capable of extracting information when it suits them."

"I guess I'm a little surprised you'd bother."

"You shouldn't be. She is my wife."

"So you know about Valkorion sharing real estate with her."

"I am aware."

"Could he be responsible?"

"Indirectly, perhaps. I've spent three hundred years in lockstep with my Lord Emperor. If he were exerting his influence over her—if he were still present, I would have sensed it and I have not."

"You think he's moved on?"

"Perhaps fully possessing her has proven too great of a drain on his power. Liatrix is nothing if not tenacious—persistently so. Controlling her may have proven impossible and we'd be fools to believe my Lord Emperor wouldn't have made contingency plans."

"What sort of plans?"

"The Emperor has always had safeguards in place to protect his true essence and his immortality—his Voice, his Hand, his Will, the children he created, the clones—they were all little more than possible repositories for his being.

"In keeping Liatrix as his sole vessel, he endangers his own survival. Without the ability to replenish his power as he desires, his supply would rapidly diminish and if she were killed he would have no anchor to this plane. The remainder of his power would evaporate and he would, at last, die."

"Wasn't Lia his Will at one point? When she was captured after the raid on the Emperor's fortress?"

"Indeed—undoubtedly one reason he was able to forge such a connection with her so easily after Valkorion's death."

"So, the Emperor is technically not Valkorion?"

"No. Only one of many shells he has occupied over the millennia."

"If you don't think it's him—what could be causing the changes?"

Scourge's eyes narrowed and darkened. "Has she never spoken to you of her ancestor Tulak Hord?"

"No—but he's been dead for thousands of years."

"Physically—but his essence persists—in the form of a demon."

"You Sith and your ghosts. I guess there really is no death, only the Force," Theron muttered.

"Unlike the Jedi, passion compels many of us to extend our lives through arcane methods."

"So—Hord is possessing her too?"

"No—he is connected to his descendants through their blood. They maintain their own will and desires, but if they were to bargain with him, or draw from the innate well of power that defines the Hord line, a cost is exacted."

"Is that what you think could be happening? Has Liatrix borrowed from his power or bargained with him?"

"I doubt she would be so foolish as to bargain with him, but like her father, it's entirely possible she drew upon Hord's power if the war—if victory—called for it. The coldness you've experienced is a product of complete immersion in the dark side."

"Dammit," Theron grunted and rammed his hand through his hair. "She's done so much for the Alliance—I never realized what it might be doing to her. Tell me there's a way to help her."

"I don't know that I can." Scourge stared into the flames and twisted his left tendril ring. "It may already be too late. She may well suffer the same fate as her father."

Theron's brows puckered and his lips turned down miserably. "Something has to be done—I can't reach her, but maybe you can," he conceded.

"You realize in coming to me, you risk losing her to me."

"Better that, than to risk losing who she is completely—I don't think I could bear that."

"You truly love her. You poor fool, I almost pity you."

"The way you say that—don't you?"

Scourge snorted. "That I say it, means I recognize the disease in another. It's time you left."

"Will you talk to her—do something?"

"I will do what I can, but I make no promises—it may take something far greater than either of us to save her if she can be saved at all. Now get out." Scourge's last words were laced with the deep and palpable hatred that came with recognizing a genuine rival.

Theron looked meaningfully at the Sith and left quickly. His eyes burned and grew bleary and his breathing united in a forlorn sigh that not even the resigned beats fuelling his heart could silence.


Andronikos supervised the droids loading the final skids of supply crates aboard the Sky Princess II.

"That should just about wrap it up then," he muttered to himself and ambled to the edge of the landing pad to take in the evergreen vista and one of the last deep breaths of fresh air he'd likely know for quite a while.

"So, Captain Revel—I take it you've heard about Jadus—and you've decided to leave us," Liatrix called out as she approached.

"Looks that way. Not bein' ungrateful for all you've done, but once she's got her mind made up, heh, there's no stoppin' her."

"I take it she's aboard resting?"

"Yeah. She's gonna need everything she's got."

"It's a shame to lose you both. I wish you'd reconsider, you're good in a fight—maybe we could help each other."

"Maybe we still can—nothing's carved in durasteel, but for right now, Nox has a few matters that need sortin' out. We'll make better allies, once we get back what was taken from us."

"I understand. If things don't work out, know that you're welcome to come back—that goes for both of you. My father considered Darth Nox an ally and so do I."

"Thanks, Commander, 'preciate it."

After they'd exchanged handshakes, Andronikos boarded the Sky Princess II and went to his quarters. Nox lay sprawled across the compact double bed, studying the plans she'd made on her datapad. She glanced up at the darkened doorway where he stood. "Well?"

"Looks like we're all set. We're cleared for take-off. You sure you still wanna do this, Sith?"

"Absolutely—I have the meeting arranged and everything."

"A'right then. Nar Shaddaa here we come. I sure hope you find whatever it is you're lookin' for." He didn't wait for her to answer or dismiss him and sauntered into the cockpit.


Jonas waited until Lana had dispatched the crowd of droids, smugglers, and technicians with their latest orders in preparation for the raid on Iokath.

His approach was more cautious than casual and her pale yellow gaze fixed on him, almost knowingly.

"I'd like it if we could talk. Got a few minutes?" Jonas began.

"It seems you've caught me between briefings, shall we?" She said, indicating her office.

He sauntered into the small chamber and she closed the door behind them.

"Have a seat—I think I have some idea what this may be about," she said, taking her place behind the desk.

"Yeah, it's been a long time coming," he said looking down at his hands.

"Yes, I agree, it has. With so much happening, it's been easy to put it off and doing so isn't fair to either of us. I think we can agree on what needs to happen next."

"Yeah."

"I just wanted to say—you look good—you look well, for the first time in a long time. I think our time apart has been of benefit to you, and that pleases me," Lana said. "And whether you wish to acknowledge it or not, your father has been a positive influence on you as well."

"And I think getting you out of Intelligence was a good move too," Jonas scoffed.

"I'd like to end things between us amicably if that's possible—and yes, I welcome the change, in case you were wondering. Spycraft was never my forte and returning to my former responsibilities has been a comfort."

"Sorry—didn't mean anything by it, except that you don't know my old man like I do. Keep your eyes on him, always."

"Your advice is noted. So that's it then…it's finished?"

"Yeah. It's done. Best thing for both of us," Jonas said.

"I agree—though I am curious, have you met someone else?"

"Nope—just sorting things out, staying on top of work. You?"

"No, but I would prefer to have matter resolved. One less burden."

Jonas stood and started for the door. "Yeah, one less burden."

Lana rose and met him at the door. "I will always respect you and think of our time together fondly. I hope you can do the same."

"You know it, Frosty," Jonas murmured and stooped to kiss her cheek. "If you ever need anything…"

"I'll be sure to call Theron."

"Good woman," Jonas deadpanned.

"Good-bye, Jonas," Lana murmured as he swung the door closed behind him.

((to be continued…))