CW: Force-choking, discussions of slavery, brief instance of internalized homophobia (implied), brief mention of threatened sexual violence
Sabé stayed up all night sewing Padmé's next gown.
She didn't have the time or the skill to make it from scratch, so she used a Karlini silk slip as a base and built on it from there. Among Queen Amidala's handmaidens, Sabé had been one of the weakest in the wardrobe department, but compared to Ellé and Moteé—who were more politically-minded than fashion-savvy—she was practically Yané Higin. Where had the rest of the handmaidens gone, the ones who had attended to Padmé's household at the start of the war? Sabé realized the answer before she'd even finished thinking the question: Padmé had dismissed them upon learning of her pregnancy. It would have been pointless to do the same with Moteé and Ellé. They hadn't known about Skywalker when Sabé had left, but Dormé had been meaning to tell them, and she had a way of getting what she wanted.
Speaking of which, where was Dormé? Where was Captain Typho, for that matter? Sabé had so many questions that her head was spinning—and not just from the obscene amounts of caf that she'd guzzled over the last few hours.
By the time she was finished embroidering the chiffon, her eyelids were heavy and she still had the trickiest part left: beading, which she would have to do entirely by hand. Sabé forced herself upright and took another swig of caf. Padmé was not going to be on the receiving end of Skywalker's rage again. If that meant Sabé had to suffer a little sleep deprivation the next day, so be it.
Thinking about Padmé made it hard to sleep, anyway.
She scowled at that thought and stabbed her needle through the chiffon. I'm glad it's you who's here. Padmé herself had said those words, gripping Sabé's hand during childbirth like she should have been gripping Skywalker's. Will you stay with me forever? Please, Sabé? Will you promise not to leave me alone again?
No. She refused to indulge in this game any further. She would not let herself get distracted by confessions that Padmé didn't mean. Clearly the empress was still in shock and vulnerable to her emotions. That was all it was. That was all it could ever be.
Sabé wouldn't allow herself to think otherwise.
The next morning, Sabé painted Padmé's nails white. It was a tradition within House Naberrie, one that Padmé had honoured in many of her looks as Queen of Naboo. Well, technically, the tradition was painting the thumbnails white, but if all of Padmé's nails were done then she would have plausible deniability. Padmé's eyes filled with tears as she realized what was happening, though she didn't dare voice her gratitude aloud. The hallikset music from Sabé's datapad swelled through the room instead, haunting and wistful, a whisper from her past. Sabé's mother was featured on this album. As soon as her song came on, Padmé gave Sabé a gentle look—empathetic but not pitying. Sabé's heart broke open in her chest. When she was a little girl, her mother would play this same melody for her before she went to sleep.
She hoped her mother was doing all right.
The gown for the day—the one that Sabé had spent all night sewing—resembled a waterfall with its long train and sheath silhouette. The navy underdress was still visible through the sheer fabrics layered over top, and the beading on the bodice was so dense and ornate that it could have just as easily formed a plate of armour. A chiffon cape, intricately embroidered with silver flowers and curlicues, fanned out from between Padmé's shoulder blades and trailed several feet behind her.
No one could accuse Padmé Amidala of being underdressed.
"Sabé, it's stunning," Padmé breathed. She even twirled around like she had when they were girls. When she came to face Sabé again, her whole face had brightened with a smile. She looked so beautiful when she smiled, especially in today's makeup. An icy highlight accentuated her cheekbones, and her bright eyes were shadowed with dark powder, giving her a more sultry look. "Did you do all of this yourself?"
Sabé swallowed hard. "Yes."
"But surely it would have taken—" Realization dawned in Padmé's eyes. "Oh, Sabé. You didn't."
"I did. You're worth it." As soon as the words came out of her mouth, Sabé wished she could take them back. It wasn't that she hadn't meant them; she'd meant them a little too much. "Did you really think I'd let you march into battle without the proper armour?"
"You should have just reused one of my old gowns."
"Skywalker said that wasn't an option, though, didn't he?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Padmé's face. "Where did you hear that?"
"The guards talk." Sabé scooped up a handful of hairpins from a nearby counter. When she spoke next, her voice carried the weight of Amidala's with none of the volume. "I won't let him treat you like that again, Padmé. I promise."
"It's fine," Padmé said. "I'm fine."
"It's not fine!"
"I'm fine." Padmé shot her a desperate look. "Please, Sabé. You can't keep this up. What are you going to do about tomorrow? And the day after that?"
Sabé hadn't thought of it that way. All she knew was that she'd rather die than give Skywalker another excuse to blow up at his wife. "That man is dangerous, Padmé," she warned under her breath. "He'd probably go on a killing spree if someone so much as looked at him the wrong way—"
"He would not."
"Stop defending him, gods!" Shit. She'd said that too loudly, louder than the music that was supposed to be giving them cover. She lowered her voice and leaned closer to Padmé, ostensibly to pin up her hair. "Look. You know I'm going to do whatever I can to keep you safe."
Padmé spun around without warning, and Sabé nearly dropped a handful of pins in surprise. "What you're going to do is take a nap," Padmé said. Her tone brokered no argument. "Seriously, Sabé. I can handle him. You know I can handle him."
"Of course you can," Sabé relented. "I was just trying to make it easier on you."
"And I appreciate that." Padmé threaded her fingers through Sabé's and massaged the heel of her hand. "But it's not worth it if it comes at a personal cost to you."
Sabé would have begged to differ, but she knew better than to argue with Padmé.
About half an hour later, Ellé arrived with a piece of arbovellum paper in hand. Sabé shouldn't have been surprised that the Imperial family was already making use of such status symbols. "Your Majesty is slated to meet with Emperor Vader at 1100," the younger handmaiden explained as Sabé finished up with Padmé's hair. "He's requested your presence at a private meeting, followed by a session of the Imperial Ruling Council at 1200."
"And before 1100?" Padmé pointed out.
Ellé returned her gaze with a smile. "Nothing, actually. You're free."
"Oh…perfect." Padmé slipped her hand into Sabé's, who startled to attention. "In that case, Sabé and I can take breakfast on one of the balconies."
Ellé's smile fell. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Your Majesty. Emperor Vader has requested Sabé's presence in the throne room as soon as she's finished preparing you."
"Wait—what?" For once, Padmé was visibly caught off guard. "I'm coming too, then."
"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but he was very clear. He wants to see Sabé—alone."
"That—that's not acceptable, Ellé. I won't take no for—"
"Padmé." Sabé squeezed her hand, and Padmé looked back at her. Were those…tears in her eyes? "I'll be all right. We don't want to upset the emperor."
Padmé shuddered and cast her gaze to the floor. "I don't like this," she said after a long moment. She still hadn't let go of Sabé's hand.
An ironic smile twisted Sabé's lips. "Don't worry about me. I can handle him. You know I can handle him."
Padmé frowned, clearly dismayed to have her own words thrown back at her. "I know," she acquiesced, tracing the side of Sabé's thumb. Then she leaned her head on her shoulder.
Sabé did her best not to stiffen in surprise, though she wasn't entirely sure she was successful. A slight ache was pounding behind her forehead and yesterday still hadn't ended and Padmé's head was tucked against the curve of her neck. Was she reading too much into the situation? She fought the urge to rest her head on top of Padmé's, as a lover might have done. She knew from experience that that only made the truth more unbearable.
At last, a sharp knock echoed throughout the room.
Padmé bolted upright almost guiltily, like a child caught stealing from the sweet-sand cookie jar, and dropped Sabé's hand just as Moteé—flanked by an entourage of two guards—appeared in the threshold. One of them handed her a red velvet jewellery box, and she lifted the lid to reveal Padmé's crown, mounted in platinum and studded with thousands of diamonds and pearls. "Oh, it's beautiful," Padmé said, plastering on a magnanimous smile. "I don't recognize it, though. Is it—"
"This one came from Birren, Your Majesty," Moteé said, her tone devoid of emotion. "The supreme governor was kind enough to offer it to the Imperial family as a…coronation gift."
"Ah," Padmé muttered, and Sabé understood without asking that they'd both come to the same conclusion: this was no gift. Skywalker had demanded tribute from the Elder Houses—not only to fill his treasury, but to assert power over his potential challengers: the galaxy's hereditary royal families. "Well," Padmé continued after a beat of hesitation, "that was very thoughtful of…Lord Mellowyn, correct? I'll have to be sure to pass along my thanks."
"That won't be necessary, Your Majesty." Moteé handed the jewellery box to Ellé and lifted the crown from its cushion. "May I?" she asked, approaching the empress.
Padmé nodded and bowed, only rising to her full height once the diadem was secure atop her head. Sabé felt her chest tighten until she could hardly breathe. Dripping in silver and crowned in glory, Padmé could have been an ice queen of Naboo legends. "You look breathtaking," Sabé whispered, taking the empress's hands in her own. It was the truth, after all. Anyone else would have said so.
Padmé's gaze drifted a little farther down Sabé's face before she pulled her into a hug. "Be safe," she murmured into Sabé's ear. "Don't aggravate him, Sabé. Please."
Sabé nodded stiffly and Padmé tugged out of the embrace, gripping Sabé by the elbows so that their foreheads nearly touched. The empress's eyes were shining like pools of water in the sun, and Sabé's heart soared into her throat and her lips parted and her sleep-deprived mind thought that Padmé might actually kiss her—a real kiss, on the mouth and everything—until instead she felt the brush of the empress's lips against her cheek.
Oh. Well.
It was enough, of course.
It was enough because it had always been enough, these little hiccups in reality when Sabé could pretend, just for a moment, that they were more—more than friends, probably, though they were already more than friends, and not in the way that she wanted. She didn't know where these thoughts were coming from, or, more accurately, where they were coming back from, because they'd haunted her before and she'd successfully quelled them—until now. Why now, why now, why now?
(Because Padmé was falling out of love with Anakin Skywalker.)
It was too soon, too selfish, to pursue that train of thought.
The throne room was long and rectangular with a high, arched ceiling—and unlike the rest of the palace, it had actually been finished. It said something about Skywalker that he'd prioritized the construction of a room with no other purpose but to showcase his power. Still, having grown up on Naboo—and, more specifically, in Theed Palace—Sabé couldn't help but admire the elegant architecture.
Corinthian columns of coral-coloured marble—similar to the ones in the throne room of Theed Palace—lined the walls. Crystal chandeliers dangled overhead from gold-plated ceiling medallions. An old-fashioned portrait of Emperor Vader, dressed in ceremonial armour with his helmet tucked beneath one arm, loomed over the rest of the throne room, bounded on either side by floor-to-ceiling window bays. At the end of the hall, a flight of stairs swept up toward a semicircular dais, where a baroque-style throne—framed by two smaller thrones and an overarching, domed window—overlooked the expanse of the room.
And then, of course, there was Anakin Skywalker.
He had stationed himself on the largest throne, but not in the way she'd expected. Instead of sitting tall and proud, he was hunched over some pieces of metal in his lap. It took Sabé a moment to realize that he was tinkering with a deconstructed lightsaber. If she squinted, she could still make out the shape of the hilt—long and silver, with a knob at the bottom and a slit down the side. A matching, albeit smaller hilt lay on the armrest beside him. The sabres clearly didn't belong to the emperor; his own hung from his belt. Were they Kenobi's, perhaps? When Sabé had met him on Naboo, he'd used only one blade, but it was possible that he'd adopted a second one since then. She didn't know enough about the Jedi to guess at how common that was.
She waited at the foot of the dais until Skywalker deemed it worth his time to address her. "Yes?" he said. His gaze didn't stray from the lightsaber in his lap.
Sabé took a tentative step forward. "You summoned me, Your Majesty?" She hated how the words tasted when they referred to him. But she was here as a representative of Padmé, and the last thing she wanted was to put her in more danger.
Shattering Skywalker's skull for having dared to lay an unwanted hand on her queen—well, that would have to wait.
Skywalker unscrewed the knob from the end of the lightsaber hilt and floated it lazily above his palm. "What do you do to amuse yourself, handmaiden?"
"Wh-what?"
"You heard me."
She drummed her fingers against the side of her leg. "I play hallikset. I'm a trained musician." She paused. "And you—you do this?"
"I like fixing things," he said simply. Defensively. Like a child, almost.
She pressed her lips together. "What if something doesn't need to be fixed?"
His head snapped up for the first time. Yellow flames ran rampant in his eyes, but even they couldn't distract from his dishevelled appearance. His curls stuck up and out in every direction, his silken robes were rumpled, and bags had settled beneath his eyes. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. "I'm improving them," he muttered, glaring back down at the lightsaber. "You wouldn't understand."
"Try me." The words emerged as more of a snarl than Sabé had meant them to.
Pressure wrapped around her throat, tightening like a noose until she couldn't breathe. She clawed fruitlessly at her neck, unable to break the invisible grip. Through the haze of oxygen deprivation, a memory dawned on her: Skywalker strangling her when he'd found her in his wife's bed, decoying as Senator Amidala. Why in the universe had she ever left Padmé with someone this violent?
"I should kill you for your insolence, handmaiden!" The pressure on her neck subsided and she crumpled, bracing her hands against her knees and gasping to pull cool air back into her lungs. "Unfortunately," Skywalker jeered, "my wife is quite attached to you."
Well, that's more than you can say. Sabé had to bite down on her tongue to keep the words from slipping out. Now was not the time for petty jealousies. She contented herself with glowering—silently—up at Skywalker, who was making the long trek from the dais to the ground level. The deconstructed lightsaber sat on the cushion of his throne.
"You should know," he said once he was within arm's reach, "I do respect you."
"I don't want your respect," Sabé spat.
Anger flashed through his eyes. She brought a hand to her throat in anticipation, but he shook his head and turned his back to her. The moment was empty of sound save his footsteps on the marble floor, clip-clip-clipping across the room until he stopped in front of one of the window bays. "Trust me," he said at last. "You do."
"Why?"
She intended the question as a challenge to him, or maybe as an inquiry into why he had spared her. He took it as neither. "I know what you did on Tatooine."
Sabé recoiled, caught off guard. "How?"
"I have—er…" He looked off to the side, his features creasing in a scowl. "I used to have a personal connection. To the Whitesuns."
Sabé stayed silent. She could tell when someone didn't want to talk about their past. She had worked with enough traumatized people on Tatooine, seen enough grieving and heard enough keening, to understand that slavery left its victims with scars that could never be put into words. "But you gave it all up," Skywalker said accusingly, whipping around to face Sabé. "You gave it all up for her. Didn't you?"
"You know," Sabé sneered, "you were the reason Tonra and I embarked on that mission in the first place." Following Padmé's reign as Queen of Naboo, the newly-appointed senator had sent Sabé and Tonra to Tatooine to free Skywalker's mother, Shmi, from slavery. Though they had failed to find her, they had succeeded in liberating twenty-five people and securing them refuge on Karlinus, the most prosperous world in the Chommell Sector besides Naboo. After Sabé's departure from Padmé's service, she and Tonra had returned to Tatooine to continue their work there. They'd agreed to take turns, one of them staying on Tatooine with Beru Whitesun while the other travelled to seek asylum for the people they managed to free. Sabé had been taking a recess on Naboo when the news had broken about the Empire, and she'd never returned to Tonra on Tatooine as she had promised she would.
"Tonra," Skywalker echoed, almost smugly. "Was that the name of your accomplice?" Sabé stiffened. Damn it. "Who does he work for now, do you know?"
There was no point in hiding the information from him. He could easily find out from a cursory HoloNet search. "Empress Amidala."
"So me, then." Sabé shuddered in rage. "In that case, I'm thinking I'll order him to Chandrila. The new royal family will need some form of protection."
A hopeless laugh clawed out of Sabé's throat. Royal family? "You must be mistaken, Your Majesty." Despite her best efforts, her voice still shook. "Chandrila is a democracy."
"Yes, and so was the Galactic Republic. But democracy in the galaxy seems to have run its course. It's time to try something new."
"'Something new'? You just want to install a puppet leader—"
"Don't forget your place, handmaiden." Skywalker was towering over her within seconds, gripping her chin in one hand. "My wife's affections can't keep you in my good graces forever. Luckily, I know how you can make it up to me."
"Oh?" Sabé arched a brow. "And how would that be?"
Skywalker released her chin and clasped his hands behind his back, pacing circles around her. "I have been informed that you were let in to see my sister, Her Imperial Highness Ahsoka Skywalker, Princess of the Galactic Empire."
Sabé fought the urge to roll her eyes. "I was, yes." There was no point in lying if he already knew the truth.
Skywalker came to a stop in front of her. "From here on out, you are to attend to the Princess Ahsoka on a daily basis. One of the nurses informed me that you did a satisfactory job, and I haven't yet had the chance to recruit handmaidens on my sister's behalf."
Sabé gaped at him for a moment before she came to her senses. This man thought he had what it took to recruit handmaidens? "Do you even understand what it is that we do?"
A wave of fury crashed over Skywalker's features, transforming his entire demeanour. "You think you're so much better than me, don't you, handmaiden? Because you've been part of this courtly world since you were a teenager?"
"I don't—"
"Well, I'm the emperor." He seemed desperate to prove it to himself. "And all these years later, you're still just a handmaiden."
"Just a handmaiden?" She laughed darkly. "How—"
"One more thing." Skywalker grabbed Sabé's shoulders, pulling her close enough that his lips brushed her ear. And then, as if it were a dare: "She loves me."
Sabé's blood ran cold.
Skywalker pushed her off of him, pivoting on his heel and retreating to his throne. "You are dismissed," he said over his shoulder.
"But—"
"I said, handmaiden, you're dismissed."
Sabé balled her hands into fists but complied, storming out in the opposite direction. Two guards were waiting for her outside the throne room when she emerged. One of them informed her that she was under strict orders from Empress Amidala to take a nap. Sabé could have feigned annoyance or indignation, but truthfully, she was touched. Of course Padmé was still looking out for her.
Will you stay with me forever? Please, Sabé? Will you promise not to leave me alone again?
The words echoed in Sabé's mind all the way back to her room. What if Skywalker was wrong? What if Padmé really did love her? Her brain succumbed to desperate fantasies of Padmé's breath on her neck, Padmé's hands in her hair, Padmé's lips on hers. Theirs would be a tragic love, made richer and more alluring in the shadows, like a wine turned sumptuous by age. Sabé wanted to cry at the thought. She had to do this sometimes, as much as her own infatuation frustrated and terrified her. It was the only way to keep herself from falling apart, to remind herself that what she was was still beautiful.
She turned the corner and came upon her quarters. Swallowing the ache in her throat, Sabé reached for the door, only to pull back her hand when she thought she heard voices inside. Were Moteé and Ellé already home? No, they couldn't be. Padmé was always accompanied by at least one handmaiden. Maybe it was one of the palace cleaning crews, then? The handmaidens' room was long and utilitarian, with five beds lined along each wall, so it required a fair amount of upkeep. Sabé was pretty sure that it had once belonged to a group of Jedi younglings.
She swept inside anyway and stopped in her tracks. Dormé was perched on the bed closest to the door, her ankles crossed delicately and her eyes locked on Captain Typho's. He sat to her right, smiling at her like she was the most wondrous thing he'd ever seen. He even had a gentle hand on her knee.
Dormé noticed her first. "Sabé?" she exclaimed in disbelief. Typho's head jerked up, his good eye widening when it landed on Sabé. A moment too late, he yanked back his hand. "What are you doing here?" Dormé cried, exploding to her feet. She grabbed Sabé by the shoulders, shaking her slightly as if to confirm that she was actually there. "You—you left us! For Tatooine!"
"I did." Sabé ignored the hurt that spiked through her chest. She had left, after all. "And then I came back."
"My lady," Typho greeted her, standing and brushing invisible dust from his uniform. "We, uh…we apologize." He shot Dormé a stern look. "We didn't exactly expect to see you here."
"It is my room," Sabé said dryly.
"Well, um…now it's mine, too," Dormé stammered. When she glanced back at Typho, her face flushed a bright red. Sabé had to purse her lips to hide a smile. She couldn't believe she hadn't seen this coming. They had practically gone a date at the start of the Clone Wars, when Typho had taken Dormé to a fancy restaurant on Naboo—an exhibition of Eirtaé's in which artistic explosions had played just as large a role in the experience as the food. A mischievous Padmé had told Sabé all about it on the night before Sabé's departure, and had apparently recommended that Typho follow up on their adventure by taking Dormé to a new noodle place on Coruscant.
"So, where have you two been?" Sabé asked innocently. If Typho and Dormé didn't want to talk about whatever was going on between them, then she would respect that. For now.
Typho cleared his throat. "We were on Naboo, my lady," he said, and his expression soured. "My uncle Quarsh Panaka was appointed Governor of the Chommell Sector. He requested my presence for his first formal address."
"Panaka?" Sabé nearly choked. "But—"
"Governor Bibble has been deposed." Dormé's voice was quiet. She was looking down at the floor, playing with her hands.
Sabé squeezed her eyes shut, trying to straighten out her thoughts. "And Queen Apailana?"
"She's still on the throne," Typho reassured her. "But apparently she's been holed up in her office ever since Bibble disappeared."
"Bibble disappeared?" Oh, gods, this was just getting worse and worse. "What about Saché? She was favoured for governor in the next election, wasn't she?"
"I spoke to her at Panaka's address," said Dormé. "Only briefly. She seemed okay, but she was…distracted."
"I can imagine," Sabé muttered. Saché and Yané would bear the brunt of this. They still had a house full of kids to take care of, and Saché's political career had just become a lot more complicated. Sabé didn't want to imagine that the Empire would stoop so low as to target Saché's wife or children, but she also wasn't naïve enough to put it past them.
"Well," Typho said, breaking the silence with uncharacteristic awkwardness, "I should…probably go find my room." He reached for Dormé's hand and kissed her fingers, peering up at her with a glimmer in his eye. "My lady."
"Captain," Dormé replied, her tone laced with just a bit too much affection.
Typho rose to his full height, acknowledged Sabé with a nod, and shut the door behind him. "So," Sabé said casually, once she and Dormé were alone. "You went with him to Naboo."
A blush diffused across Dormé's cheeks. "I—it was by request of Senator Amidala! She didn't want want Gre—Captain Typho to go alone."
"Okay," Sabé said. "But I have eyes."
Dormé stuck her hands on her hips. "Oh, you're one to talk. What about you and your handsome captain?"
Sabé frowned. Why did everyone seem to think she was still with Tonra? "Nothing's happened there in awhile," she told Dormé honestly. Besides, Tonra wasn't the one on her mind as of late.
Sabé tossed her satchel onto her bed and froze when she noticed her bedside table. A couple loaves of five-blossom bread were wrapped up in a napkin, and next to them sat a bowl of berries from the Lake Country. A piece of flimsiplast peeked out from underneath the bowl, inscribed with Padmé's cursive handwriting.
Something to remind you of home. Please get some rest. Love, Padmé
After her name she had drawn a heart. A heart. Sabé must have stared at it for a moment too long, because Dormé came bustling over. "What's this?" she gasped when she noticed the spread of food. "A secret admirer?" Before Sabé could stop her, she had picked up the piece of flimsi. "Oh," she said, and then, "Oh."
"It's not like that," Sabé snapped, immediately snatching back the note.
"No, but you still like her, don't you?"
"Dormé," Sabé hissed through her teeth in warning.
Dormé had the decency to look ashamed. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—"
"It's okay," Sabé huffed, running a hand through her hair.
Dormé hesitated. "Is that why you came back?"
"What?"
"Senator Amidala. Is that why—"
"Of course that's why, why else would I have come back to Coruscant of all places if not for Padmé?"
"You know that's not what I meant." Dormé fixed her with an appraising look. "Did you come back to Coruscant because you still lo—"
"No! No, no, no, no, no." Sabé collapsed onto her bed and stared up at the ceiling. "I'm over that. And even if I weren't, she doesn't feel the same way. So."
"So," Dormé agreed, infuriatingly patient. "You know, we can talk about this in here. Captain Typho and I already swept the room for mics and cameras."
"I'm sure that if the Jedi didn't bug this room, Skywalker will," Sabé grumbled.
Dormé clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle. "Oh my gosh, I should have known. You dislike Anakin."
Sabé bristled. "Of course I dislike Anakin. He crushed the Galactic Republic and seized control of the entire galaxy."
"Okay, but there's more to it than that."
"How could there be more to it than that?"
"Do I even have to answer that question?"
"Dormé." Sabé sat upright, glaring at the other woman. "I need you to take this seriously. This isn't about Padmé. It's about the fate of the galaxy." She paused for a moment to gather her thoughts. "Do you happen to know anything about Skywalker's Padawan?"
"You mean Ahsoka Tano?" Tano. So that was the girl's last name. "Yes, actually. I met her a couple of times, very briefly. She oversaw the senator's security on a few occasions. Lovely girl. Why do you ask?"
"She's…uh…in a coma now. By Skywalker's hand."
"What?"
"And I'm trying to figure out why. I mean, what he could possibly want from her."
Dormé shook her head, her eyes brimming with horror. "What in the galaxy did he do to her to put her in a coma?"
"I don't know." Sabé swung her legs off the side of the bed and swiped her datapad out of her satchel. "But I'm going to get to the bottom of this, don't worry."
She pulled up a HoloNet browser and typed in "Ahsoka Tano". When the results finally came through, she blinked in surprise. "There's…nothing here. Nothing on Ahsoka Tano, anyway."
"What?" Dormé demanded. "That can't be right."
"I know."
"She was a major Jedi commander during the war. There's no way she just…wouldn't exist on the HoloNet."
"I know."
"Are you sure you spelled her name right? There's an H after the A—"
"I spelled it with an H."
"And you didn't spell it 'Ashoka'?"
"I spelled it 'Ahsoka'. Like it's pronounced." Sabé's patience was fraying. Maybe Padmé had been right and she really was running on too little sleep. "Come here, see for yourself."
Dormé climbed up onto the bed to peer over Sabé's shoulder. "You're right. That's…strange."
"Yeah." Sabé stared blankly down at the screen. "It's like she never existed at all."
"You don't think…" Dormé's voice was trembling.
"I don't know what I think." Sabé drummed her fingers against one knee, racking her brain for an answer. Before she could get very far, Dormé snatched the datapad out from underneath her nose. "Hey!" Sabé cried, twisting around so she could lunge for the datapad, but Dormé rose smoothly to her feet and stepped out of Sabé's reach, tucking the stolen item beneath one arm.
"Enough of that for now," she chided. "You need to get some rest. That's what Senator Amidala said in her note, remember?"
Sabé groaned and fell face-forward into the mattress, presumably to express her frustration—though the truth was, she could already feel the pull of exhaustion on her brain. The sheets were just a little too soft, her limbs just a little too limp, her thoughts just a little too hazy. "Ugh, fine," she surrendered, her voice muffled by the blankets. "But only because I know I can't help Padmé if I'm this sleep-deprived."
"See? That wasn't so hard," Dormé said sweetly. With a long-suffering sigh, Sabé pulled herself up onto her elbows and got under the covers, just in time for the lights to go out. There was a soft click as Dormé shut the door behind her, and then Sabé was alone.
She closed her eyes and rolled onto her side, letting sleep wrap her up in its warm embrace. It was such a relief, to feel her body sink into a mattress and her cheek into a pillow, that she finally let her mind float free of worry. It wasn't until a bit later, in the space between dreams and wakefulness, that her thoughts turned to a beautiful ice queen, her tempestuous husband, and the girl he had erased.
His wife had named his children Luke and Leia.
Looking down at his daughter—her little face scrunched up as if in concentration, her tiny hands fisted above her head, her chubby legs lashing out in the occasional kick—something inside of him softened. Now he could finally give his children the universe. Padmé's fantasies of a domestic life on Naboo were nice, but how could they compare to the entire galaxy laid out at her feet? She had been so resistant at first. That was okay. She would come around. She loved him; she had said so on Geonosis. And they both loved these children, these babies who were so small and fragile that he could have cried. They both wanted to give them the best lives possible.
Why wouldn't he have taken the opportunity to make them royalty?
This would finally let him prove to Padmé that he was no longer an insignificant slave boy from Tatooine. That he belonged in her world of silks and sapphires and secrets. You don't keep secrets very often, and that's how you are, but Padmé's life and work is secrets. Can you respect that? He scowled at the memory. The little handmaiden—Sabé—had thought she could intimidate him by implying that he didn't belong in Padmé's world. Well, he was the one married to Padmé. And now he was the one who held the title of Emperor. It would be best for her if she didn't forget it.
He looked around his children's new nursery, completed as of this morning. This was the first chance he'd had to see it, given his earlier meeting with Padmé's handmaiden. Arched windows spanned the entire length of one wall, sheer silk curtains parted to let in some sunlight. Opposite the windows were Luke's and Leia's cribs, adorned with wood carvings and gossamer bed hangings. A small table, crowned with a bouquet of flowers, was nestled between the cribs, and a cushioned rocking chair sat to the left of Luke's cradle. The emperor sank into the chair, stared up at the row of chandeliers on the ceiling. Ironic, that Separatist war reparations had helped pay for something so beautiful.
He'd appointed Nix Card to his council to assist with his finances. Though the man had never gotten along well with Padmé, he still represented the InterGalactic Banking Clan, and it would be important to stay on good terms with them after the whole Clovis fiasco. Together, they had funnelled money out of Republic welfare programs and into the Imperial treasury. An additional share of credits had gone toward the senatorial "transportation" committee. The emperor had given no explanation as to why he wished to subsidize that particular cause, and Card hadn't asked.
His hand settled absentmindedly on his belt, where one of Ahsoka's lightsabers still hung from his hip. He'd woken up with the urge to tinker with them, as he'd often done following her departure—her betrayal. Appo had since returned the shoto to the treasury, but the emperor hadn't felt ready to part with the main sabre. He really should just destroy them. The last thing he needed was for Ahsoka to stumble upon a link to her past. But patching up her sabres was the closest he'd come to patching up the emptiness in his chest, and he wasn't willing to relinquish that just yet.
He missed her.
Even as she lay in his palace, unconscious and completely at his mercy, he missed her. He missed the girl who looked to him for everything, who would have trusted him with her life. Ahsoka was no longer that girl. She'd proven far more stubborn than he'd expected, and though he shouldn't have been surprised—she'd betrayed him once before, after all—her defiance still stung. Did she really think he didn't know what was best for her? True, she'd grown stronger in the Force since she'd been his Padawan, but she couldn't compete with him, and they both knew it. If she'd just accepted her place, he could have made her his apprentice and spared her all that pain. Now she would have to make herself useful to the Empire in a different way.
At least he'd actually gotten what he needed from her. Obi-Wan—Kenobi—had done him no such favours. He'd already been struggling to break through Kenobi's defences when Yoda had interrupted him, ruining what little progress he'd made. And that wasn't even the worst of it. After Mustafar, he'd felt strangely disconnected from the Force for days on end, as if trying to drain Obi-Wan had also drained him. He honestly didn't think he had the strength to try it again. Not for awhile, anyway.
Which was infuriating. The Dark Side was supposed to bend to his whims now. He had killed the Sith Master; to assume his place, his power, was his due. Wasn't that what Palpatine had implied, when he'd told him the story of Darth Plagueis? But you can't possess the Dark Side, Anakin, Kenobi's voice echoed in his head. The Dark Side will only end up possessing you! Apparently, even the memory of Obi-Wan insisted on lecturing him.
Fine. Kenobi could scold him all he wanted, but he was his prisoner, and a mere prisoner couldn't possibly hold power over an emperor. If he'd had to choose which of the two Jedi to entrust with an Imperial title, he would have picked Ahsoka, anyway. Kenobi had sixteen years on his former student, which would make him difficult to control in the same way as Ahsoka. Ahsoka, for her part, was young and pretty and female, and most of the people he needed to bargain with were heterosexual men. If he played his cards right, she could be a great asset to him. For Force's sake, even the Zygerrian queen had told him Ahsoka was a "prize".
He flinched at the thought. Zygerria had nothing to do with this, except for the fact that he was finally going to get their slave empire shut down. He smiled grimly to himself, imagining Atai Molec—who had had the gall to threaten his Padawan with sexual violence—clawing at his throat, choking out a plea for mercy. What he did, he did for the glory of the Empire—an empire which would bring peace and prosperity to the galaxy, which would work to free people from slavery. Surely Ahsoka would understand that.
It was settled, then. Ahsoka would remain at his side, as she should have all along, and Kenobi—the man who'd doubted him from the beginning—would fester in prison. Perhaps it would have been a little too convenient, anyway, if not one but two members of the Imperial family were to suffer severe memory loss.