Chapter Thirty-Eight: In the Morning

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sanar couldn't imagine that a standoff was the best way to win the support of Mujir's Resistance. She could admit—since neither Kyp nor Geneva had submitted to speaking first yet—that Kyp had mostly behaved himself. But Sanar recognized in Geneva too much of what she had been to dismiss her concerns about Kyp's unflinching demeanour. As hypocritical as it was for Sanar to think it, Kyp could get farther by at least pretending to give some early ground.

The room had been silent since Dejah introduced the group to Geneva Tal. Every one of them remained standing. Kyp and Geneva stood with two feet and a universe between them, staring each other down in a battle of wills. Sanar was tempted—original Dream Guy or no—to stomp on Kyp's foot.

Durron's foot, she reminded herself reflexively. Stangit, her head was starting to pound. Her nightmares—fake-Daddy lectures, over and over again, never mind the thousands of memories—hadn't been kind. If her entire being hadn't been a war zone, she might have asked Kyp about a trance. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with Kyp Durron any more than Geneva did.

Dejah harrumphed quite pointedly in Kyp's direction.

Kyp shot the fighter a look, but nodded. "I'm not here to take over the Resistance," he started bluntly. "But I am not here to follow your every order, either."

Dejah groaned. Geneva bared her teeth—Sanar thought the Resistance leader might have meant for it to be a smile. "I will speak to the Kavishka and my long-dead predecessor's daughter. Dejah may stay if she keeps quiet."

Dejah waved each of the unnamed group members out of the room. "Just wait outside," she whispered to them.

"Why lead us in, in the first place?" Krista muttered. Miko hurried her out before any more of her comments could reach Geneva's ears.

The door swung shut before Geneva spoke again. "You have an interesting entourage, Kavishka."

"Did you somehow magically profile each of them?" Kyp asked sarcastically.

"Did you?" Geneva raised an eyebrow. "Magic is your ploy, is it not?"

"I really don't like the implications of the word 'magic,'" he replied evenly.

"What would you prefer? Am I supposed to believe you worship Mujir? Perhaps she left this planet for yours?" Geneva snorted. "And don't even start, Dejah."

Dejah hadn't moved. Sanar had been watching, expecting just what Geneva had.

"I serve the Force," Kyp said, not acknowledging Geneva's insult. "And I recognize Prophecy when I see it." He glanced at Sanar apologetically.

Geneva noticed. "So, you're the Klis girl."

Sanar stepped forward. "Sanar Klis." She spoke firmly, and met Geneva's eyes squarely—not too defiantly, but letting her father's legacy shine. "And yes, Jarran Klis was my father."

(Kyp Durron killed me, and you fell in love with him.)

No.

Geneva's lips twisted as if she had sucked something sour. It looked more honest than her earlier, ill-fated smile. "Take a seat," she ordered. She gestured to three chairs in front of her desk. Her eyes were fixed on Sanar.

When Kyp looked too ready to do just as Geneva said, Sanar interrupted his movement. She crossed in front of him, slowing his progress. She didn't take the centre seat, which he had been aiming for; while exchanging a look with Dejah, however, Sanar took the seat to his right. Dejah nodded in approval—Sanar had managed to pick up on Geneva's game. Kyp paused before following Geneva's order; Sanar gave a sign of her support; and Geneva and Kyp sat down at the same time.

Sanar had always hated politics. Dejah had made sure to drill a few Geneva tactics into Sanar's head before they left that evening. Geneva's expression was impassive—better than some of the options.

"I assume Dejah has informed you of our plans for 777."

"She told us a little," Kyp agreed. "You're attacking on the anniversary."

"An attack that I—not the Kavishka—will lead." Geneva's eyes flashed a challenge. "If you are even the Kavishka."

Kyp's lips turned up in a smirk at the jibe. "I'm not a general," he said in a tone that was almost mild. "I will meet with Rafintair on 777, and if all goes well, the Sildar will kill him. But I recognize this as your war. I am a foreigner."

(Kyp Durron is foreign, and he gained the position as Kavishka by killing his predecessor. Vengeance can deal with that—if he meets all his mandates. But if you deem him unworthy of your returned love, then the Sildar has no trust in him. It will turn on him.)

Shut up.

"Yes, you are," Geneva agreed sharply. "Don't expect people—even your own gender—to accept you easily. If at all."

"I have never expected it to be easy."

Sanar wished she couldn't read—sympathize with—the deeper meaning in Kyp Durron's statement. It was never easy.

Geneva returned to explaining the MR's plans. "The Resistance will storm the Holy City in the evening, while the men are stuffing themselves at the feast. Rafintair has apparently located our headquarters." Geneva glared around her office as if it could tell her how such a leak had occurred. "He plans to send soldiers to wipe us out during the banquet."

"You're sure of the timing?" Kyp asked.

Geneva turned her scowl on him. "It was first retrieved by one of my best spies, and the information has since become increasingly obvious. Gaffil was the subtle brother; Rafintair does not care that we know. He sees no way that we could defeat a sizeable force."

Kyp sat back, considering Geneva. Sanar leaned forward. "Is he right?" she asked bluntly. "We have to attack on 777—Rafintair's planned offensive just makes it all the more necessary—but how will the Resistance fare?"

Had Geneva possessed just a little less control, Sanar would have expected to be slapped. Instead, Geneva shot to her feet in fury. "We will do what we must," she fairly hissed in Na'Lein. "Perhaps you have forgotten, while gallivanting through the rest of the galaxy, just what we do here."

Sanar's hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. "I haven't forgotten," she retorted, consciously using Na'Lein. "They forced me to leave, but I never forgot. I came back."

Kyp looked furious. She realized that he had probably felt her reaction, even if he couldn't understand the words exchanged. "Perhaps I should make something clear," he interrupted, using his coldest voice. "Sanar is—"

She cut him off before he could make it worse. "Shut up, Durron." Her eyes never left Geneva's. "I never forgot," she repeated, this time in Basic. "Never. How could any woman? And how could I, when my father died because of this place, when I underwent the High Priest's worst and then thought my sister lost to the same fate? I can't forget. My physical location cannot change my blood."

Silence stretched for several long moments after Sanar's declaration. Dejah was the only one who remained sitting, and her wide eyes were focused on Geneva. Sanar could feel Kyp standing beside her, stewing and demanding that she let him help if he could. He couldn't, and she didn't look at him.

"I suppose you want free reign to talk to them, too?" Geneva finally asked. Her eyes were hard, and her voice razor sharp.

"Of course."

Dejah looked dumbstruck.

Geneva crossed her arms over her chest. "I will be acquainting the Kavishka with our plans and resources. Will you be coming?"

"No." Sanar knew better than to be led around extraneously. "Dejah can help show me around. Introduce me."

Geneva twitched. It was doubtful that she wanted Dejah's acquaintances to meet Jarran Klis' daughter. "Dejah has been away for several weeks now; she may not be the most appropriate—"

"She'll do for tonight, at least," Sanar replied evenly. She grinned at Dejah. "And if she runs out of connections, I trust her to point me to the right guide."

Smiling as she was, Geneva looked ready to rip Sanar's eyes out. This was a strand of the sister-fighter bond. Sanar much preferred this to—Durron. She could fight for the power of the Klis legacy; fighting herself (and Daddy and Prophecy) about Kyp Durron was far more difficult.

(Sanar, don't you see it has to be?)

"I'm sure Dejah will do her best to make your reintegration into the Resistance profitable," Geneva managed to say.

And that's one-nothing for the Klis. "Thank you." Buoyant over how simply this kind of fight went, Sanar stopped thinking for the next several minutes. "Ready to go, Dejah?" she asked. She quite consciously did not ask Geneva's leave.

Oh, look at that, Sanar thought. Dejah's eyes could get wider. "O-of course," the fighter muttered. "Geneva?"

It was a very weak attempt to cover Sanar's challenge, but worked surprisingly well. Something like amusement flickered in Geneva's eyes. "Go, Dejah. Show the Klis what her family started."

And will finish, Sanar thought, and only barely did not say. If Geneva felt threatened by the return of a Klis, then she should already know. "I'll catch up with you later, Kyp," she told the dark-haired man. Still rather pleased with herself, she smirked and winked at him. "You have fun." As she left, she squeezed his shoulder. It was an accident. She had been up-beat, and only seeing the dream—

(Forever, you and I.
Lost.
Always.)

—and she remembered herself right away. She snatched back her hand as if it had been burned.

Kyp stared at her; she tore her eyes away as quickly as possible, but couldn't have said how long it took. Larifx. Larifx. Larifx and—

"Bye," she bleated, and ran, destroying her carefully cultivated buffer against the truth and everything to do with Kyp Durron.

-x-x-x-x-x-

Sanar left Geneva's office and antechamber like a wompbat out of the hells. She was followed closely by Dejah, who looked as if she had been run over by a stationary X-wing. Krista thought the former remarkably familiar (Sanar had never really grown out of being high-strung, after all), but the latter made her eyebrows rise. "What do you think that was about?" she asked the others.

"Geneva inspires quite extreme reactions," Gantik said, watching as both women disappeared around the corner. "I'm surprised to see Sanar so…upset, though. I expected her to come out swinging."

"She wasn't doing too bad," Kyp remarked suddenly. When they turned to the new voice, Geneva and Kyp were just exiting Geneva's office.

"Everything Sanar does is bad," Gantik commented casually. "She said once that life's too short to play nice."

Kyp glared. "So that's how you view 'good' and 'bad.' I always wondered."

"Yeah…" Miko muttered, looking at Geneva. "Maybe this isn't the best time to start that?"

"The rest of you," Geneva said, "can go to your rooms for the night. I'm sure there is someone, somewhere, who can show you the guest rooms. And Ms. Whilem." Geneva avoided a complete sneer. "You have accommodations within the city? Perfect," she finished without waiting for confirmation.

"What about you, Kyp?" Miko asked. "Or did Prophecy save you a suite?"

"I rather doubt it," Kyp said dryly. "But I believe Geneva and I have some details to…iron out. Do you know which way Sanar went, by the way?"

"I don't think she wants company right now," Krista remarked, but gestured to the left corridor.

"No, I didn't think so." Kyp sighed. "If you manage to catch up with her, though, she's probably your best bet at a tour."

"Tomorrow, maybe," Braun suggested.

"Oh, and we can ambush her," Krista said brightly. "And laugh at her while she tries to choose between killing us and falling back asleep."

Miko wondered—not for the first time—if he had fallen in love with a suicidal girl. "Maybe we'll just find Dejah before they leave."

Krista looked disappointed. "Well, if you must take all the fun out of it."

Geneva looked disgusted. "The Whilems can show you the city tomorrow," she told them. Krista, more specifically, since she had yet to look at any of the non-Kavishka men. "My fighters cannot afford to be…distracted…right now."

"Of course." Miko nodded and put more effort into not looking like misogynist scum. "We know what it's like before a big fight."

Geneva didn't so much as blink at him.

"What it's like for us is me giving my brothers heart attacks via flirting, and everyone else one of the same via pranks." Krista pouted. "Nothing distracted about it."

Geneva's expression moved from disdain to mild horror.

"She's joking," Miko hurried to defend. "Mostly. She only—"

Geneva wouldn't listen to him, Krista's long-time, less worrisome translator or no. "I think the Whilems would be quite suitable as guides."

Gantik shrugged at Miko and Braun. "Get used to it. Bad enough you're male, but foreign? It'll be a cold day in Hell before she acknowledges you."

Geneva's only indication of having heard Gantik was a slight tightening in her face. "The Kavishka will tell you tomorrow night how you can help with the attack on the Holy City. Ms. Whilem should make sure to show you the city's set up."

"Yes, Mother," Krista muttered, rolling her eyes at Miko.

Geneva looked surprised, and for the first time almost pleased. "Goodnight, larith." Without further response, the MR leader left the room. Kyp followed.

Krista turned to stare at Gantik. "What did I do?"

"Dejah didn't tell you to call her that?"

"Call her what?"

Gantik and Clayra exchanged a look that said, Foreigners. "'Mother,'" Clayra said. "It is her honorific."

"I was kidding. Don't tell me she missed the sarcasm—does it not translate, or something? Sanar's always understood it. Oh, wait, or let me guess—the big bad Resistance leader cares."

Gantik gestured for them to follow him out of the antechamber. When they were in the hallway, presumably headed toward the guest rooms, he spoke in a hushed voice. "Geneva's bite is even worse than her bark, but she does care. She wouldn't be here, couldn't have survived or gained such a following, if this was only about hate, let alone power."

"I didn't say—"

"But you were thinking it." Gantik's eyes were almost black, and his expression stern as he lectured her. "That's how Na'Lein people will always know you as a foreigner. You don't see past women like Geneva, even after years with Sanar."

"I'm not sure you're one to talk about Sanar," Miko remarked pointedly. He didn't have the full details, but he knew something of what had happened between Sanar and her brother-in-law.

Gantik's expression took a turn towards the furious. "The guest rooms are just down at the end of this corridor. Knock until you find an empty room. Geneva won't want you around any of her fighters; they have a busy few days ahead of them. We'll be back for you in the morning."

"Well, I know why Geneva doesn't like him," Krista grumbled as the Whilems sped off.

"Be nice," Braun admonished lightly. "I believe him to be fully capable of getting us lost."

They found rooms not down the corridor, but rather in a dead-end hallway off to the west. Geneva really didn't want them around her non-foreign troops. Braun said goodnight and ducked into a single-bed room before Miko and Krista could pretend to also pick their own rooms.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was too early to be awake, Sanar decided with a grimace. She rubbed her eyes, trying to remove the gritty pain, and corrected herself—it was far too early. Period. Why hadn't she just ignored Dejah's 5 AM wake-up call? Kriff, if that hadn't worked, she could have knocked the fighter out; it would have guaranteed her at least a few more hours' sleep.

But no. Instead of sleeping (or trying to), Sanar had figured that the early part would be better than the nightmares part. And she was out of bed. At six in the morning. To make Durron's life easier.

And shut up, Daddy, because I can imagine a complaint about that one all too well.

Sanar dared to rub her eyes again, only to walk right into her guide. "Kriff it, Dejah," she snarled. "Walk or stop, but pick one."

"And I thought the Kavishka was exaggerating," Dejah murmured.

"What?" Sanar demanded. "What did he say?"

Dejah glared. "That you're a nightmare in the morning."

"This is an ungodly hour to be awake."

"Consider it revenge for that stunt you pulled last night with Geneva."

"What—? Oh, that. Pfft." Sanar waved a hand dismissively. "She doesn't like either of us anyway. And besides, she's practicing for politics. She'll have to forget about it. Eventually."

"Like you'll have to forget she has taken over your father's position?"

"It is really too early for that," Sanar grumbled. Remember how this conversation had started, Sanar eyed the hallway suspiciously. "So, who's this?"

"Teigra." Dejah stared hard at the door to their left. "Teigra Bel."

Sanar raised an eyebrow, and felt the start of a smile on her face. Finally, a name she recognized. "Won't she be even worse than me at this hour?"

Dejah did a double-take. "You knew Teigra?"

"Sure." Sanar shrugged. "We worked together sometimes."

"She is my cousin." Dejah took a deep breath, then deliberately faced Sanar. "She isn't well. No," Dejah said, stopping Sanar's questions. "Let me speak. Teigra…fell in love a few years ago. It ended badly—he's dead—and Teigra hasn't been well since then. She won't be like you remember."

"She fell in love," Sanar repeated woodenly. "What did he do to her?"

"Darrick didn't do anything. Teigra's husband murdered Darrick when he discovered that Teigra and Darrick were going to run away together. Teigra was forced to watch. A year later, when her position was secure, she killed her husband."

"What hath love wrought?"

Dejah shook her head. "The only time I ever saw her truly happy was with Darrick."

"At what price?" Sanar pointed out.

"Do you want to ask her? I think you know the answer she'll give."

So do I. Sanar swallowed. "Let's keep going. I'm sure Teigra will want her sleep."

Passing Teigra's door, Sanar tried to ignore the truth that dogged her steps. Usually, she was good at that.

(Kyp Durron killed me, and you fell in love with him.)

It was far too early for any such attempts to do anything but fail abysmally. All she could see, think, hear was the man she lov—

No.

-x-x-x-x-x-

When Kyp opened the door to his room, he found Sanar waiting for him. She was sitting on the bed, staring into space. He blinked, then grinned, forcing his exhaustion back. "Hey. Did you get sick of dragging Dejah around to do your dirty work? Or are you just giving Geneva's nerves a rest?"

Very slowly, she dragged her eyes away from nothing to stare at him. After the past several days, he was almost used to that strange look on Sanar's face. "Hm?" She was so quiet.

He walked fully into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. It was an old, suspicious habit from his youth. "Did you enjoy your tour?" he asked. He tried not to be too obvious about his concern.

"Oh. Yes."

Two words—success, he thought sardonically. He pulled off his outer robe, which was considerably more irritating than the outfit underneath it. It had seemed fitting at the time—more formal, more mythical, even. He missed his old, black cape—it was far more comfortable, but satisfied his taste for dramatics. Unfortunately, he couldn't have worn it on NLY without raising eyebrows. As he folded the robe, Kyp tracked Sanar's eyes to his hands. He hung the coat on a peg, and pulled up a chair across from her. Sitting down, he waited until her eyes rose to meet his own. Well, his mouth—close enough. She hadn't been big on eye contact lately. "Did you see anyone you remembered?"

She nodded. Her eyes didn't move. "Teigra. An old…friend."

He waited. She didn't speak. "How was she?"

"Insane." Sanar blinked, and averted her eyes quickly. "She fell in love. He died." Sanar flinched, and rubbed her eyes.

Kyp didn't know what to say about that.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Sanar looked straight at him. "I didn't want to see her at first," she admitted, "but we ended up running into her later."

He hesitated, then reached out to squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry."

She relaxed and gave him a tired, but genuine smile. "How did things go with Geneva?"

"All right." He shrugged, standing. "She got better as the day went by—I guess once she figured out that I'm really not planning to take over." He smirked at Sanar as he walked to his bag. "Actually, I think she's more worried about you."

Sanar snorted; her smile grew a little. "Smart woman."

"Seems to be."

"How did the others react?" she inquired, also standing. Seeing him start to rifle through his belongings, she walked over and leaned against the wall near him.

Kyp shrugged. "They don't trust me, most don't like me. About what I expected." He looked up from his bag and grinned at her. "No Kavishka groupies."

"Poor baby." He had dropped his gaze, and didn't catch her expression. "You should have told me earlier. I probably stumbled across some of them with Dejah."

He looked up at her again. "Hmm?"

She resumed her non-eye contact staring. This time it was where his shoulder met his neck. "Dejah's contacts were a lot of the—you know—straddlers. The 'golden days of the MR' people."

"Because of your father," he murmured, touched that she was adding her public support to his situation. Rummaging around his bag, his fingers finally caught a piece of heavy paper.

She shrugged one shoulder, and averted her eyes once more. She was retreating again. "Yeah."

Carefully pulling out the paper, Kyp straightened. "Geneva gave me something I thought you might want." Sanar looked up at him, frowning slightly. He gave her a crooked grin—her eyes widened a fraction at the sight—and held out the drawing. She took it carefully, but their fingers brushed. Sanar stared at his offending hand. "It's an old…poster, or standard," he explained, watching her closely. "It's just a copy of a portrait Geneva has somewhere around here, but I thought this would be easier to carry around than a framed painting."

Finally she looked away from his hand and turned her gaze to the drawing. She gasped, completely taken off guard, as her wide eyes took in the image. Her lips formed the word Daddy, but no sound came out. The hand holding the paper shook, and the other had to rise and share the burden.

"Mujir," she said after a moment. She took a deep breath, then another. Her hands stilled, and her eyes rose to his. Contact. Her eyes were practically gleaming, burning into his. He thought at first she was crying, but something in her felt almost angry.

"Sanar," he said, sighing. "What is going on with you?"

Surprising him, she half-laughed and swiped at her eyes. "Nothing."

"Nothing," he repeated incredulously. There wasn't that much space between them—perhaps a little more than a metre—but he halved it. "Nothing."

"Nothing," she repeated, her eyes still caught in his. She took a deep breath, then broke the connection. Her eyes skittered away. "I just—"

He moved another few inches closer. "You just what?"

She bit her lip as if trying to keep the thoughts in.

Recalling how she had let him in before Niha's pronouncement, Kyp took a chance. "It's just you and me, Sanar."

Her eyes flew to his, and he almost stepped back from the emotion there. She whispered something, too soft for him to hear.

He leaned in closer to try to hear her. "What is it?"

She seemed to come to a decision as her jaw set, and her gaze didn't falter. She tapped her fingers against his chest, then pressed one hand against his heart as if feeling out his emotions with each breath. "I—" She swallowed. "Tell me you love me."

His eyes darkened, and he almost didn't say it. Her dark eyes were still burning, quivering, and he realized she looked almost as terrified as he felt—but just as stubborn as ever. Say it or I'll make you say it, her eyes seemed to say; but then he always heard that from her, even (especially) when he knew it was all in his head. Except this time, and he knew this was real. The moment pressed in on him, threatening to stop him when everything else had failed. Instead, he took her hands in his. "I love you, Sanar," he whispered. Even as he spoke he could hear how his voice was shaking, thinning, changing and cracking and quieter still was don't throw this in my face.

Her face softened, and he thought he saw—

"Okay," she said, and kissed him.

-x-x-x-x-x-

It was her name that finally convinced her, and the drawing—that sketch that she could ignore in favour of this man—that exorcised the betrayal from her mind. The thought flickered through her mind—You left me, Daddy—and for once Kyp's eyes were more brown than green, and when he said he loved her, she believed him—and an acknowledgement of her own began to form in the back of her mind—and then all she could see, think, remember, hear was that she knew him—

(Forever, you and I.
Lost.
Always.)

—finally and forever she knew him, and she stopped thinking about her father's death, or Devnos' warnings. Instead of running, she kissed him and stayed there because—

("Hush," she replied. Very gently, she pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "Always," she vowed.
For a second, she saw him; for an eternity, she found the one for whom she would wait a lifetime.
There would never be another—none true.)

—she knew this man better than she knew herself.

In the morning, she could hate him. In the morning, she could remember who he was, how he had ruined her life, and how she was betraying her father.

But not now.

Right now, she could only think about the man she had loved for as long as she could remember. Right now, it was far too late for her to stop.