The Foundation of All Desire (Part 50)

Lightning converged on the Citadel from two fronts—great forked hands threatening to uproot the dark towers defying their divinity.

The last time Liatrix had set foot on Dromund Kaas she did so as an assassin, driven by the giddy high that came with the anticipation of the kill. She had delighted in the stealthy immorality of the act and basked in its boldness.

This time, she navigated the city revelling in privilege and favor at the side of their most respected councillor. The thrill was still there even if it had been tempered and honed—not so much the assassin, but instead, the assassin's blade.

Clad in hooded black robes befitting an Emperor, Liatrix filed into the Dark Council chambers at her father's side. Despite her fascination with the Citadel's dark gleaming interior and monolithic statues, she kept her gaze locked on the floor, so that her identity remained concealed.

Darth Marr claimed his seat, and Liatrix took her place at his right side, concealed in the shadow of the Emperor's likeness. She stole a glance at the Sith's most hallowed chamber, lined in scarlet banners and identical elevated thrones.

Only three other seats were occupied, and Liatrix observed that the Dark Council was as badly depleted as the Jedi Order.

Emulating her father's dispassion, she dedicated her awareness to the proceedings and found herself surprised at the lack of formality between the councillors.

"This is new. Who stands at your right hand Marr?" Ravage raised an eyebrow and sat forward with interest.

Something in the councillor's voice sickened Liatrix. Her spine tingled, and her heart raced and skipped in an erratic beat. She'd never wanted to kill someone just for speaking before.

She canted her head to steal a glimpse of the speaker. The sight of his short auburn hair, implants and elegant facial tattoos incensed her, and yet he'd done no more than ask a question. What is the matter with you? You're nervous…don't let them sense it.

Mortis caressed his beard. "Indeed. It seems you've succeeded in piquing our curiosity."

Marr stood, "I present my apprentice and heir Darth Incarnal."

Liatrix emerged from the shadows and bowed her head in deference to the Council, but remained silent. She clasped her hands over the small of her back and kept her gaze on the polished black floor tiles. The twin hilts of her lightsabers jutted from her hips and were crafted in the style the ancients preferred.

"Apprentice and heir. Fascinating. That's quite an incentive. Tired of this life Marr?" Nox's tone was playful as she fussed with her bejewelled bracelet.

Liatrix focussed on the female councillor as she fussed with her cuff—Nox's amused indifference was nothing more than a well-rehearsed act to hide her hyper-vigilance and the anxiety, arousal and sensitivity that accompanied it. Liatrix's insight lasted only a moment, before the tawny skinned pureblood's defenses kicked in.

"I agree with Nox. Most of us aren't in a hurry to give our apprentices motive. But, I must say this one seems a great deal more reserved than your last. An advantage…maybe." Mortis said.

Mortis was easier to read, he hid nothing. At his core, he was logical, law abiding and had a merciful streak for his fellows that he hid deep, and rarely showed, but his red eyes suggested a cruel judge who thought little of meting out death to the guilty.

"It's not as if Darth Lachris was a mystery to anyone." Nox's laughter was a bright echo circling the chamber like a trapped bird. "She was entertaining. Not exactly selective either—butcher, baker, lightsaber maker, it made no difference to her," she smiled lasciviously.

"Yes, she did live through her passion. Pity. Let us hope her successor does so with greater wisdom and prudence," Mortis said.

Ravage steepled his hands, tapping the tips of his fingers together impatiently. "Is she a mute, Marr? I would have expected something from her by now. Step forward child. Draw back your hood so that we might get a better look at you."

Liatrix's breathing hitched. Something in his voice and in his request held a note of unwelcome familiarity. The syllables oozed through her memory and rearranged themselves into a simpler command from long ago. "Come here child, let me get a better look at you." Her gaze had been fixed on the floor then too, until gloved fingers clasped her chin tight, angling her face left then right, before forcing her to meet the auburn haired man's stern blue eyes.

She descended the platform and stood at the center of the hexagonal arena to face Ravage. She threw back her hood and said nothing. Her gaze bored into his, and the canny glint she saw there told her he recognized her too.

Ravage jumped to his feet, his jaw clenched and fists knotted, "What is the meaning of this? This is an outrage! Marr…you bring this…this Jedi here," he blustered. "The Butcher of Korriban no less. Have you gone mad? Guards! Arrest her at once!"

Marr stood. "There will be no arrest Ravage. She belongs at my side."

"She's a Jedi. She's committed atrocities against our people," Ravage snorted.

"So she cut up Goh into fish bait. I for one don't hold that against the Jedi," Nox smirked.

"She was born Sith," Marr corrected.

"Upon investigation, we did learn Goh was a traitor—a Revanite," Mortis said.

Ravage seethed.

Nox clapped her hands, "And to think I thought this meeting would be dull. Limousine ride to the Citadel—two hundred and fifty credits, designer robes—a million credits…watching Ravage pop a blood vessel…priceless."

Ravage struggled to recover and jerked his tunic down. "This is no time for your inane jesting Nox. For once in your life have some decorum."

"I disagree. It's the perfect time for it. I've been following your career Incarnal. Kudos on snuffing that smug Twi'lek. About time, truly." Nox joined Liatrix on the floor, and sampled the quality of her robes between her fingers.

Liatrix tracked the glamorous councillor but remained silent.

Darth Mortis stood and clapped slowly, "Congratulations Marr. You managed what even the Emperor could not. You've revealed yourself to be a far more patient mastermind that I ever gave you credit for. I find the timing of all this rather fortuitous—the assassination of the Supreme Chancellor…your rather hasty departure at our last session, your fleet deployed during the chaos. Not to mention the decimated Republic ships found along our border…and now the Butcher is your apprentice and heir no less. When you consider her actions against the Emperor…could it be, she's been yours all along?"

Ravage's neck was a twist of flexing tendons and blood vessels. His face flushed, the colour nearly matching his red armor.

"Yes Mortis. She is mine in every way."

"Oh really?" Nox's eyebrow peaked sharply. "Do tell."

"Darth Incarnal, is my daughter."

Ravage threw his arms up. "What trickery is this Marr? Your mistress and your bastard were killed years ago."

"Quiet Ravage. She is my blood. There is a child's body in the grave next to my wife, but it is not my child. Mine lives and she stands with me." His voice was little more than a dangerous whisper holding the chamber in thrall.

"This is a fiasco Marr. She's no better than Zhorrid. Look how that ended."

"You're comparing this one to Zhorrid? As much as I adored Jadus, his daughter was…damaged. She was no more suited to be Sith than a rabid tukata. At least a tukata can be pacified with a piece of meat." Nox shook her head.

"Not unlike you Nox." Ravage threw his arm in a back handed wave dismissing her. "This Jedi is playing you for a fool Marr. You would be wise to execute her now, before this nonsense goes any further. Your bastard is dead, and your wife with her."

Liatrix focused on Ravage's voice and closed her eyes to the bickering in the chamber. The voices propelled her to another time, and she found herself mentally transported to her childhood home.

Agonized sounds lured her from her toys. Someone was suffering. She followed the sounds to her mother's bedchamber door. She pressed her cheek against the cool wood, the memory of it unexpectedly vibrant. The door inched open and she peered inside at the undulating bedclothes. The covers slipped enough to reveal the auburn haired man's bare shoulders and rippling back. He threw his head back and shuddered. The guttural sounds he made reminded her of a dying gundark she saw once. She backed away slowly and hid in her closet.

Despite the voices roiling about the chamber, another memory claimed her awareness.

She was a little older now and found herself alone in a rain soaked garden, prodding a soil worm along with a stick. The auburn haired man roared inside the house, and something made of glass broke.

Liatrix hid behind the vine wall and listened. Her shoulders stiffened and her knees trembled at their angered voices. She peered through the greenery to watch. Metal fragments underscored the auburn haired man's eyes and she could see painted markings between his eyes and on his chin. Even though he was younger then, there was no mistaking Ravage.

"Giving him one bastard wasn't enough? Now you carry another? I'll tear it out of you. You're mine!" Ravage snarled and pulled Liaseph against him, his palm splayed over her belly, his fingers digging into the exposed flesh.

"I was never yours. Pleasing you…isn't my…job anymore." Liaseph struggled against him. "Someone help me!" she cried out.

"Pleasing me, is your job and you will address me as Lord."

"Get out of my house, my Lord."

"Who are you to make such demands of me?" Ravage pinched her face until her mouth puckered.

Liatrix willed her feet to carry her into the house, her worm poking stick tight in her fist. "Leave my Mummy alone!" Her voice quaked but she dared another step forward.

Ravage's expression shifted to cruel amusement and his grip loosened enough, that Liaseph managed to wriggle free. She pushed Liatrix behind her.

"Please leave, my Lord. You're upsetting my daughter. It's better you don't upset her."

"What do I care about upsetting her? Nervy little bastard…what do you think you'll do against me with that stick?"

Liatrix glared at him, her gaze bleary but unwavering. She raised the stick like a lightsaber. Her hand shook. The glasses and formal china trembled in their cabinets. The cutlery, out for polishing quivered. The glass doors shuddered and creaked. Slow moving cracks jagged through the windows.

Ravage's eyes narrowed at the unexpected ground quake—everything shook, except the ground."I won't forget this." He backhanded Liaseph hard enough to drop her.

She curled into a ball and sobbed.

"And young one, the next time we meet, you had better bring more than a stick."

Liatrix flung her stick at him, her eyes widening at what happened next: the man flew backwards alongside the stick, both landing outside on the wet pavement. The cutlery followed, zooming at a blinding speed. The forks and knives stuck into the trees and plants, and the handles wagged from the impact. The doors slammed hard enough to rattle on their hinges.

After the man picked himself up off the patio and stormed out of the garden, Liatrix laid on the tile floor next to her mother. She wrapped a chubby arm about her waist and clung to her back. After a few minutes, her curiosity overtook her fear. "Mummy…what's a bassturd?"

Her mother made a peculiar sound and clutched her stomach. Liatrix gripped her more tightly and fell quiet.

Angry voices competed for her awareness and a surge of hostility bubbled up, flushing her skin. Her right hand flexed, hungry for the weight of her blade.

Jolted from her reverie, Liatrix's eyes snapped open. She gasped as if drawing breath for the first time since she entered the chamber.

Marr folded his arms. "There will be no execution Ravage. She is loyal to me. She is one of us, and the day will come, when she will claim her rightful place. I have foreseen it."

"You're making a mockery of this council. This Jedi has no concept of loyalty, or she wouldn't even be here."

"Enough!" Marr growled.

Liatrix launched herself at Ravage, twin blades growling to life at the apex of her leap. Angling the blades downward she drove her lightsabers at Ravage's torso.

Before she could sweep the blades to bisect him, a dark power grasped her midsection, wrenching her across the chambers. She collapsed at Marr's knees and clawed at her throat to keep it from constricting.

"I will deal with you later," Marr hissed.

The last of the air trapped in Liatrix's throat evaporated. The vertebrae in her throat creaked and she collapsed at Marr's feet.

Ravage threw up his arms. "You see? She's beyond control, attacking a Dark Council member without the slightest provocation. She would have killed me."

Nox shook her head, her lips lifting in a lopsided grin, "You can't be serious. You provoke me without benefit of even half the things you said to Marr and Incarnal…"

"Do not pursue this Ravage. Let it be, lest you unleash something irreversible," Marr hissed.

"Is that a threat?"

"No. Only a statement of fact. I urge you to let it be."

"I won't forget this Marr. And you'd do well to keep that savage out of my sight. Next time I won't be so… forgiving," Ravage growled.

"That sounds more like worry than indulgence, Ravage." Nox picked at her nails, "I for one liked her."

"You would," Ravage scoffed.

"She displayed far more restraint than I would have expected given her reputation. I doubt any of us in her position would have taken so much abuse before answering it," Mortis said.

"You've all lost your minds, that you side with that traitorous filth over me," Ravage blustered.

"I will tolerate no more Ravage." The air ghosted before Marr's mask when he spoke, the drop in temperature palpable in the chamber.

"If anything, she has proven she is one of us beyond any doubt," Nox said.

Marr reclaimed his seat. "Guards, remove my apprentice and return her to my chambers at my stronghold. I will see to her discipline personally."

The guards bowed, collected Liatrix's body, and dragged her out by the armpits, the toes of her boots scrapping the tile.

"On to the next order of business…" Marr hissed.


Doc dropped Kira's arm and skipped ahead of her in the hangar on Coruscant. "You can open 'em now. Behold…the CEC XS Stock Light Freighter. Isn't she a beaut?"

When she didn't beam and hop with excitement, he extended his arms with a flourish, the sort dancing girls used to draw attention to the fabulous prizes no one ever wins in Hutt casinos.

Kira circled the banged up freighter and shook her head incredulously. "How much did you say you paid for this scrap heap?"

"Hey, she's not pretty, but she's fast and has a lot of good qualities."

"Sounds more like you're talking about your latest girlfriend than a ship." Kira poked at a scorch mark and frowned. "There's barely any ship left to hold together the damage."

"Droll Kira droll. But I got a guy…he'll fix her up."

"I hope it's not that shifty little Rodian we ran into on the way in."

"They're all shifty looking," Doc shrugged.

"That's racist."

Doc rolled his eyes, "You could be a little grateful. Who else could you get to drop a buttload of credits on a crazy whim? That's just the kind of guy I am. Not like the Jedi are going to pony up a ship until this mess blows over."

"I know, but it's not crazy. You want to help her as much as I do. Admit it."

Doc shrugged. "Sure, but I wouldn't get my hopes up. I don't think you've thought this through. Even if we manage to find her and T7…what then? She can't come home."

"I know, but anywhere is better than the Empire, I would know. Plenty of places she could go…maybe Theron could help."

"Maybe. But what about Lord Doom and Gloom? You think he'll just play along? He's exactly where he wants to be. Probably happy as a bantha rolling around in wet poodo."

Kira winced at the imagery. "That's disgusting. If Lord Scourge is happy where he is, let him stay there, but we're doing this for her. Still can't believe Rusk jumped ship. I thought we were all in this together."

"Don't worry about Rusk, he's with his own kind now. They can have rifle polishing races."

"I think you mean field stripping," Kira said.

"I thought they only do that at parties." Doc's eyebrows twitched devilishly.

"Glad you can joke about it. This is serious. For this to work, you have to trust me."

Doc tilted his head and regarded her for a long time. "Crazy thing, is that I do."

"Then let's get started. We need to get close enough to Imperial space to start triangulating for T7's frequency. I know it's a longshot, but it's all we've got."


Scourge raised his hand to his eyes, to visor away the driving rain. He stalked towards the honor guards dragging Liatrix's unconscious body from the rear seat of Marr's limousine. "What is the meaning of this?"

"My Lord, Darth Marr instructed she be returned to his chambers pending disciplinary action."

"For what?"

"She made an attempt on Darth Ravage's life."

"She what? Why?" Scourge twisted his tendril ring as the guards related the incident. "I'll see to Lord Marr's apprentice myself. Dismissed."

Inside, he settled her on Marr's bed and swept his thumb over the soft swell of her cheek. "My Lord Emperor…" he sighed, knowing the wrath such disobedience would incur. "Perhaps, there is a way to spare you…" He retrieved a stim from the lab and pressed it to her throat. He stood over her, waiting for her to respond.

Liatrix coughed herself awake and blinked up at Scourge. "I take it that wasn't a dream either."

"No," he snorted. "There are moments, when I fail to comprehend what possesses you. We instructed you…you claimed to understand what was required of you to begin your ascension and yet you make an attempt on Ravage?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Liatrix sat on the edge of the bed and tilted her head to the left and right, and winced at the cracking sound the cartilage made.

He poured a glass of water and pushed it at her. "Drink…it'll soothe your throat."

"Thanks." She sipped at the water and stared at the floor.

"Better yes?"

Liatrix nodded and set the glass aside.

"How do you expect me to stay your father's hand, if I can't defend you?"

"I don't need defending."

"I know you. You're impulsive, but never without reason. What are you hiding?"

She sat in silence, her gaze contemplative.

"Liatrix," he began gravely, "I can't advise you, if I don't know the truth."

She drew a long deep breath and sighed. "I remembered something…it's bad. It would hurt him if he knew. I can't do that to him."

"In any other situation, I would advise you to keep it secret, but if the truth spares you his wrath…I think you would be wise to speak it." Scourge's brows met, forming a deep chasm between them. "I thought you said your memory had returned fully."

"I thought it had…but then I saw Ravage…heard his voice…"

"Go on."

"He and my mother…were involved. She tried to end it, but he was obsessed. I think…he made her miscarry."

"Was it Ravage's?"

"No—father's. If he found out, it would destroy his memory of her forever. He'd hate her…and he'd hate me. How could he not?"

"You must tell him the truth."

"I can't."

Scourge grasped her shoulders. "Liatrix, heed me. Tell him."

"I won't do it. You have to promise you won't say anything."

"It would give him the leverage he needs to control Ravage," Scourge said.

Heavy footfalls approached the chamber. Liatrix's attention jerked toward the entrance. The doors blew open, hard enough, that the handles dented the walls. Liatrix pulled away from Scourge and shot him a warning glare.

"Lord Scourge, my apprentice and I have matters to discuss in private."

"I'd prefer to remain."

"Then do so, but you will not interfere."

Scourge turned his back to them, seemingly focussed on the mountains beyond the jungle.

Marr advanced on Liatrix. "Were you any other, you would be facing an executioner now," he growled. "You were warned…it is Ravage's nature to antagonize and goad, and you failed. He wants you dead, and has just cause to pursue it. Who knows what outrageous demands and reparations he'll demand from the council in exchange for his tolerance. You have undermined your own future and placed me in the deplorable position of having to discipline you. It is not what I would have wanted for you, but you give me no choice. You can no longer afford to be reckless. If you will not heed my warnings, then I must instill them in a way you will remember. Have you nothing to say?"

"No." She lowered her gaze and braced herself for what was coming.

"So be it," he muttered, unleashing torrents of lightning, only pausing between assaults just long enough for her to snatch a few desperate gulps of air.

Scourge watched them in the reflection and winced as the pelting rain distorted Liatrix's suffering. He closed his eyes, but found this only heighted his awareness of her suffering.

Liatrix clenched her teeth and shut her eyes against the onslaught. She forced herself to stand straight and still, refusing to cry out, beyond the involuntary gasps and squeaks, that were a mark of her endurance.

She panted before he threw another barrage, this one powerful enough to wrack and twist her body in painful unnatural angles. Her bones creaked and her muscles throbbed. Unable to contain her agony she cried out.

Scourge spun around just as Marr delivered another salvo.

Liatrix howled and curled into a ball.

"Enough!" Scourge threw himself between them, his saber absorbing the worst of the voltaic bolts.

Marr relented and Liatrix blacked out.

"You were not to interfere."

"I am her appointed defender. You made your point." Scourge collected Liatrix and nestled her into one of the overstuffed chairs. "Surely her position isn't completely untenable…what of the rest of the council?"

"We are fortunate," Marr sighed, "Ravage stands alone."

Scourge ran his hand over his jaw, his gaze calculating.

"Why do I suspect you know more than you've disclosed? Marr paced.

Scourge's lip twitched under the strain of his mental debate. "She tolerated your wrath, for you."

((to be continued…))