Note: there is some extreme violence in this chapter. One character beats another character to the brink of death. It isn't super graphic, but it is there, so you know...
OOO
Empire week began boringly. The first few days centered on a lot of speeches about rah rah the Empire is super great yeah we're evil but pretending we're awesome let's cheer for tyranny woo hoo! I clapped when everyone else did and heartily wished the speakers the utmost of ills all whilst keeping my countenance as composed as Mother's—or almost as composed, at any rate. For all my irritation with her lately, I had to admire Mother in these moments. She looked such an Imperial queen. Chin high. Eyes emotional—misty, even. Filling up the space around her like she was ten feet rather than barely five.
I knew I could never be like that. But I would never have to be an Imperial queen. Maybe, I would never have to be a queen at all. Surely, once the New Republic came, the day for monarchies would be over.
Besides. I might not even live to see that day. Maybe Erika Frost would succeed Mother after all when it came to it.
The HoloNet scrupulously ignored the destruction of Chita Station, instead opting to blare a nonstop praise parade of everything Empire—including a none-too-subtle promise to air a documentary about the life and times of the Great & Good Commander Alba Tarkin. Like we didn't all know already that she would be engaged to Prince Palpatine by the end of this week. But Mother at least deigned to share with me that, in fact, Chita Station had successfully been destroyed, clearing the way for the second Death Star's… well… let's just call it "disillusionment".
It had been almost impossible to believe the first could fall—and I'd been in that battle. But at the time, I somehow had believed it. Maybe it took madness to believe something like that could be destroyed once, much less again. But I chose to believe. I had to believe. Because Empire week was the grand distraction which we were happily using to cover our tracks for destroying the damned thing.
And until two days into Empire week, everything seemed to be going swimmingly. Sure, Tai-Lin showed up around Mother an annoying number of times, always polite and offering me kind words in his calm and soothing way. Yes, Alba strutted around all of the events like a bronze-haired cockatoo with her coterie fluttering eagerly behind her. And the extravagance of everything made me sick. But there were no diplomatic or drifting incidents, and the Alliance was prepped and ready to go. I did indeed see Ray around a few times as he had said I might, as he danced attendance on various gatherings the prince was a part of. I tried to pretend I didn't notice him, but he always made a point of slipping away and saying hello in his shy way he had before he really got going in a conversation. I also tried to pretend his insistence on pursuing our "friendship" didn't please me just a little.
Yes, I could deal with it all—until on the third day at one particular party, It walked in. Then, oh, my palms began sweating. My hands began shaking. Knots seized my stomach like a fist and wouldn't release. Ransolm Casterfo, an ally and good friend to whom I'd been talking, began to frown and peer at me cautiously. But when I heard the heavy rasp of breathing—saw the effect it had on the others around—
"I need to use the fresher," I told Ransolm, sounding remarkably calm about it all.
"Of course. I will wait."
Once inside the fresher, my legs buckled underneath me, and I toppled to the floor. I retched, but no vomit came. I came to huddle on the cool tile then, breaths coming in shudders, clutching my polestar necklace for dear life.
Ashes.
Fire.
Blood.
They consumed me as they always did. As I knew, in my soul, how they always would. Naturally I had known that It would be here. How could It not be here, during Empire week? Wasn't that one of the reasons we were striking the Death Star II now? And I had told myself I'd been prepared.
What a joke. What a fool. I wanted to sob but refused myself this right. After my recovery, I'd vowed never to cry again over what had happened that day. That promise had seen me through many years, many dark hours. But it never got any easier to keep.
How could I go back out there? How could I ever leave this stall?
I thought of Luke, in all his Jedi bravery, courageously and effortlessly finding the strength to confront Vader's forces and even Vader himself time and time again. Luke never wavered. Because he was a Jedi? Or because he just had some kind of heroism in him that I never possessed?
I believed I knew the answer. But I couldn't bear to accept it.
The loud patter of flats and high-heeled shoes alerted me to new presences in the fresher. My breathing, quieter now, didn't seem to alert them to my presence, however. I laid there, listening without desire to the ensuing conversation, but unable to find the strength to move.
It was Alba and her gaggle, gossiping with giggles and in boasting tones about various frivolities.
But then suddenly said conversation became very interesting indeed. "—she's so pathetic," Rosetta Motti was saying, then gave a giggle.
Alba scoffed. "I know, right? You saw that look on her face. She doesn't even deserve to be called a princess. She's just a glorified droid!"
"And a cowardly one at that," Juliet Piett added.
"Exactly. But it's hardly something to worry about. The prince adores me. And once I'm the Imperial princess? It'll be bye-bye Alderaanian monarchy. I mean, come on. It should have been abolished ages ago!"
"But… Queen Leia and Princess Padmé aren't traitors."
"What does that matter? A little evidence planted here and there… and it's off with Mother and Daughter's heads. I'm sure Vader will even thank me." And then she laughed.
At some point in all this, I'd gotten to my feet, legs no longer leaden. Now, I burst out from the stall. Jaws dropped. Juliet Piett actually squeaked. Alba Tarkin stared at me, her jade green eyes wide. And I met her gaze right back, feeling so angry I could hardly fathom it. Somehow, though, I managed simply to smile, and then to walk from the room. Because if I didn't get out of there now, I knew I would commit treason.
Guess who I then ran into in a remote hallway when I wanted nothing more than to be alone to collect my thoughts and control my rage? Or rather who ran into me?
"Hi," said Ray with his usual shy smile. He had an eager look on his plain face and a strange febrile light in his ocean eyes.
It faded when he got a good look at me. Oh, I looked a mess, surely. Hair scraggly. Maybe I smelled like sweat, or toilet. I hoped I did. I didn't care. I didn't care. Kriff this. Kriff them. Kriff it all. Their punctilious manners and their fancy garments and their acts of fine ladies and gentleman that really only masked cruelty and subjugation and tyranny. The Imperial palace and its court was not some arcadia: it was the blazes with a façade hastily tacked over it.
I said, "Hello."
"—is everything alright?"
"Oh," I nodded, "just fine."
He had begun backing up, for I was coming toward him now. Then his back hit the wall and a little cry left him. I chuckled, then took his hand. It felt good to take his hand. When I held his hand, I felt less… less…
"Your hands are so slim, Ray," I mused, turning over his palm and examining it. Faint scars latticed the skin, as if from harsh work. I knew scars like these (usually more pronounced than these ones), but only in slaves. Odd. Perhaps he hadn't told me something of his past. But surely the Heir wouldn't keep a slave in such high a position as manservant. "Why, I'd almost call them dainty."
He swallowed hard. "Please let go."
"Why?"
"My hands… they're dirty…"
"So are mine," I soothed. Fresher floor hands. "Don't be afraid."
"You think I'm afraid?"
"You are trembling."
"No, I'm not," he snapped.
But he was. He definitely was trembling. Excitement, fear, and thrill shone in his eyes. And I thought perhaps I would kiss him, now. Now that I clearly had him. I wanted to kiss him, if only in the hopes it could make me forget for a time. Make me feel less powerless. Less furious.
Then he suddenly tensed, gaze flitting to an unknown figure behind me, and then Alba's voice came. Derisive. Infuriating. "Stars. Cavorting with servants now. Is there no limit to how far you will sink, Padmé?"
And the distraction which I had gained from flirting with Ray vanished, leaving only the smoky red in my vision and the almost uncontrollable fury. The tight hold I'd had on myself vanished, like a string being sliced through by shears.
I whipped around and punched her full in the face. I hit her once. And again. Again! I couldn't hit this kriffing woman enough to ever satisfy my rage at her. My rightful vengeance! Think what she had done! She owned slaves! She had slaughtered tens of thousands in cool massacres without remorse! And she was so spoiled, and frivolous, and vain! And she'd threatened my family! My mother! My people! How dare she? How dare she?
And I couldn't forget, either, the surge of protectiveness I felt for Ray. She thought she could insult him? Kriff her. Kriff her. Kriff her!
And Alba was screaming, but then she wasn't any longer. And there was blood, but it didn't matter. I gloried in it. The blood. The cries that faded to dull whimpers and then went silent…
Then a voice said calmly, "You're going to kill her."
"Excellent," replied a cool smoky tone I vaguely realized was mine. I stepped on her face with the heel of my boot, relishing in hearing the crunch of her nose. So much for those aquiline features, I mused savagely. "Perfect."
And there was a soft cackle then. The voice sounded regretful when he said, "I'm afraid I can't let you kill her."
"You want to do it?" He couldn't. She was mine.
"No, Padmé," returned the chocolatey tones of the shadow. Soft lips danced across the flesh of my neck—and in the moment of my distraction, I suddenly felt just how hard my mechanoid heart had begun to beat, just how fast I'd begun to breathe… The pound pound pound of my pulmonode and the strain of my mechanoid lungs consumed me, dragging me into darkness alongside the shadow…
OOO
A while after Luke gives me the necklace—or maybe it's only been a bit—I find the strength to sit up. To walk. But on doing so I find the door locked.
Oh, that makes me panic panic panic. But then I decide to walk, walk, walk around. And finally I find a pin pin pin and I pick the lock lock lock…
Silly. Them thinking I couldn't get out… Sure I can get out. I can move at will again, can't I? I wonder when that started, then forget about it. I must walk, must move, must get out of this room…
I get to a balcony, but don't try to pitch myself off like I once did. I just stand there, looking into the seemingly endless night…
OOO
Author's note: Alright! What are your thoughts on this so far? What do you think will happen next?
Thanks for reading & reviewing.
Warmly,
Hope
