Invitation To The Dance

Dark Lady

Rating:       NC-17.  NOT for minors.  Rating for an attempted rape, and a seduction, also the death of a child.
Warning:   Not for minors.  
Disclaimer: Lucas and Lucasfilm own the characters, and this is for fun, not profit.
Summary:  For his role in being the first Sith to confront the Jedi in a thousand years, Maul has been vouchsafed immortality at Korriban.  However, Sidious recalls Maul to enact vengeance on his behalf.
Feedback:  dark-lady@blueyonder.co.uk
Initial posting: On dmeb2.

Affairs Of State.

The quilt is for Maulmaus…


It had been a long night, and Palpatine's favourite concubine, Roganda Ismaren, lay exhausted in the arms of her erstwhile lover, the Emperor. There had been eating, drinking, dancing and revelry, and in the last few hours, loving.  Or what passed for 'loving' between them, for of late, Palpatine found it difficult to express his ardour, and so he took delight in inflicting pain upon her.

He whispered soothingly in her ear, and took her hand to place it upon his withering and decaying body. "My love, who is the pretty girl in the long white shift, who does not grace our august company with a decent dress?"

Roganda Ismaren exhaled slowly to escape breathing in the foetid air which drifted past her delicate nose as her Emperor spoke. She reminded herself of the wealth and power she so flagrantly enjoyed, and teased his body with an elegantly painted hand.

"Your daughter, Sire."

"Indeed! I had forgotten."

They lay together quietly, until, in an excess of emotion, Palpatine pinched her breast painfully, and climbed upon her again. As he writhed on her, he used the Force to conjure up delights and pleasures for her, for although he was Sith, and Sith do not permit themselves the luxury of love, he cared for her in his way. He preferred also that she returned to him willingly, rather than merely endure his embraces, and so, after pleasing himself, he took care to please her in a manner she enjoyed. The bruises and bites were small price for her to pay for this alone.

The bed creaked and Palpatine frowned in concentration as he bumped his bony hips against her plump young thighs. Roganda was rich in the gifts of the Force, and devoted much of her time to developing the darker aspects of it within her. She felt the frown and wriggled with more enthusiasm until her lover gave up the futile exercise and rolled off her with a grunt.

"Have her presented at Court my Love. Find an occasion, the next levee but one, a birthday perhaps? And give her a decent dress."

The image of Narayana preyed upon Palpatine's mind. Her beauty enthralled him; her quietitude of spirit caused   him turmoil; the steely determination he beheld in her mind made him wonder whether she might refuse his invitation.

Upon these matters he thought one night, while sat in a comfortable arm-chair in front of a roaring fire. Pre-occupied with matters of government, and the complex matter of his growing lust for his daughter, he let his mind fall into a long-practised meditation.

As the fire flickered, the ruddy light from the flames disappeared into the shadows of the cavernous ceiling of his private apartments in the Imperial Palace on Coruscant. From time to time he sipped from an exquisite glass of the finest crystal. The liqueur it contained was rare and wonderful, distilled from the first dewberries, hand picked from the gardens of Nichos IV, and the essence of the fragrant petals of the rare ice-rose of Hoth. Its reputation was that of a restorative for the male of the species.

The flare of the fire caused the many chiselled facets of the glass to spark with glints of light, red and gold, which danced in his hands. Palpatine slowly turned the glass, watched the dancing lights, thought of his one-time apprentice, Lord Maul, turned the glass against the fire once more.

A pity you failed, Apprentice, thought Palpatine, staring at the sparks of light. You had a passion for the Order, a fire that fuelled your ambition. My Lord Vader has but a cold and steely determination for control of all he sees, How will it serve him I wonder, when it comes to our continuation.

The fire was an affectation. The climate control of the Imperial Palace rendered such primitive methods of heating obsolete, but he was an old man now, and his body grew cold. The fire warmed him, and reminded him of home. The dancing flames cast an ever-changing glow on his melancholy face, shrouded within the deep black hood of his voluminous robe, The heat of the fire sent warmth to his bones and he shifted in the chair to gain a greater comfort. Not even the Force would rejuvenate his body now, for his excessive use of it drained his physical body as it enhanced and grew his spirit.

Affairs of state preoccupied his mind nowadays, there was the question of succession, and the fact that there was no natural heir. There was the question of Vader, who would expect to assume his place as Emperor upon his demise, and would not step aside and be but the loyal lieutenant of an heir of his body. There was the question of whether Vader could, or indeed would, produce an heir of his own.

Vader has a distaste for the activity required to produce an heir, whereas you, my Lord Maul, had such a taste for it that you kept a woman of your own, and vented your needs upon her. Shall I separate the spiritual and temporal worlds then? Shall my son take the empire into his charge, while my Lord Vader takes the helm of religion, and steers my subjects to the Dark side?

He sighed.

'But first we must get us this son,' he murmured aloud.

He drained the glass. His trusted valet appeared at his side, bowed and took the empty glass in a white gloved hand. He placed another, full, into the Emperor's outstretched hand, bowed, and silently withdrew. The sweet fragrance of the freshly poured liqueur filled the air, and Palpatine raised the glass to his nose, drew in the bouquet, and sipped again.

All was silent, save for the continued crackle of the fire, which made an occasional retort and sent sparks shooting into the hearth. He recalled the pyre for the Jedi Qui Gon Jinn, killed by Maul on Naboo. He had thought that when a Jedi died, the body faded into the Force, but not that of the great swordmaster Jinn. Perhaps Jinn was not so great then?'

Raising his glass he saluted Maul, and celebrated the first Jedi death he had brought about. But the first of many… he gloated. Eyes of fire and heart of darkness indeed, such a heart to stand against two Jedi, and reveal the presence of the Sith for the first time in a thousand years. Pity that young pup Obi Wan got lucky with the Force as he did. But then if he had not, where would the Chosen One be now? Amusing to think that Obi Wan was instrumental in giving him Anakin, who had since grown into Vader.

Ah, he had had a fondness for Maul. His dedication to the Sith Order, his ruthlessness, his loyalty and fanaticism - and his control. Most of all, his control. Maul had craved spiritual power with a lust beyond his own, denying himself all manner of fleshly pleasures in order to gain knowledge and wisdom. A true warrior monk - except for the matter of his woman; that was something beyond his, Palpatine's, comprehension.

Thinking about an heir, he turned the glass, wondered whether Roganda might produce him a son if she was aided by the Force. Perhaps he should try an ancient magick, a sorcery so evil it was little practised, even in these enlightened times. The union of a father and daughter was a thing practised by mages and those of royal blood since the early times of Earth itself, and Narayana was ripe for the plucking. Such activity concentrated power, retained the hold of a family upon its wealth.

An evil smile spread over his face as he imagined his hands running over her. Yes, he would enjoy playing with her pretty body.  His own body expressed an interest in the matter.

Was there a rumour about virgins and the fertility of a man? Their ability to raise the ardour of the old and used?

His body expressed a greater interest. Yes, he thought, patting the arm of the chair. the girl is the answer. A soft cackle escaped him, and he licked dry lips, nodding in self-affirmation.

Raising the glass for one last swallow before retiring to bed, he smiled, commanded the attention of his valet, and rose from the chair.

Emperor Palpatine slept well that night.

The night following, upon Palpatine's retirement to his bed, he raised a finger and commanded the presence of his favourite concubine.

"Fetch me my love, the sweet Roganda," he ordered, and the valet dispatched the page, a young cadet from the battle ship 'Scythe of Hope', who ran most expeditiously to Roganda's suite.

Palpatine did not have long to wait. He sat upon the edge of his sumptuous bed, feeling the soft down of the over-quilt encased in its cover of fine white cotton, five hundred threads to the inch.

The down itself was from the under-wing of the Byssen goose, and the bodies of many thousands of birds must be plucked to provide enough down for a quilt such as this. This plucking was a dangerous process, for to keep its softness, the down must be pulled from the live creature, and they spat a fatal venom from their razor sharp bills when attacked.

Ever courteous and mannered to those he valued, he rose as Roganda entered his chamber. "My sweet." he murmured, gliding towards her, taking her hand to kiss it, lightly. "Come, we have matters to discuss, matters concerning my daughter."

Roganda curtseyed, an informal matter when one was about to receive the blessing of the Emperor's body. Nevertheless the dip and the bow were deep enough to cause her gown to fall open and display the swell of her breasts for his appreciation. The filmy gown was fine and silky, artfully cut to enhance her undeniable beauty. Her long blonde curls cascaded in pretty disarray over her shoulders, and her long lashes swept her cheeks as she lowered her eyes in deference to her Master.

"Rise, my love, rise." A quick and economical gesture from his right hand and she rose swiftly to her feet, enquired as to his pleasure.

"Come. Sit with me," and he led her to the bed. There were two covered glasses on the night table. He poured a subtle essence from a bottle, filled them, and passed her a glass, for it was their custom to indulge in a little sustenance before their play. He sat, patted the bed at the side of him.

"Now tell me of my daughter, Narayana," and as he sipped, he listened to Roganda tell him of Narayana's approaching nineteenth birthday, that this was the age of her majority; that her disposition was stern, uncompromising; that she was pure. Above all, that she was pure.

"Why?" politely enquired Palpatine, sipping occasionally, staring into the space over the glass.

"She seems not to have the inclination Sire, for she trains interminably, and devotes her time to studies of a military nature, hoping to become a Hand of the Emperor."

"You have seen her train? How does she look to you?"

Roganda compressed her lips. She did not like these enquiries, it felt as if the presence of another woman was invading her bed.

Roganda thought of the Emperor's bed as her own. The quilt was a sumptuous thing beyond the capacity of all her resources, and she coveted it deeply. She loved this quilt. The luxurious feel of it as she wrapped herself in it was beyond anything she had felt before. The knowledge that hundreds had died trying to pluck the down from the geese, that bright red blood from savage wounds caused by the razor-bills had spilled upon the white ice, or they had writhed in long and exquisite torment from the venom - all this enhanced the quilt, in her eyes. So she described the girl, how her limbs were long and straight, and well formed; that her shape might be of a boyish nature but was pleasing to the eye and no less feminine for that; that her skin was fine; that she moved in a graceful way, was pleasantly disposed.

"And her manner?"

"Oh, she is charming. Quiet and softly spoken, but in a way that does not brook dissent. She has made no enemies here, but because of her reserve, no close friends either."

Palpatine nodded, took her glass, and placed it with his upon the night-table.

"And she is truly pure, untouched?"

"Indeed sire."

"Then give her a ball for her birthday. Reward her for her diligence in our service, in attending to our defence. And her dress, make it a memorable thing."

He raised his hands to her neck and started to slide the gown off her shoulders, stroked her long and lovely throat, and bent to kiss it. His dry lips trailed down to her breast.

"Remove my cloak now." And she tugged at the familiar clasp, let the heavy black fabric fall around the hips of the man seated at her side, looked, and smiled in pleased surprise.

"Why, Sire… " she breathed, as she placed her hand on her Emperor's suddenly lively body, and touched, and teased.

*****

The following morning, the sumptuous quilt was delivered, carefully wrapped in a soft tissue, to Roganda's suite.

After unwrapping it, she wrapped herself in the quilt, and stared at herself in the mirror. She stroked the fine cotton, hugged the quilt close. A tell-tale stain, the Emperor's first unwitting emission, still damp, was turned to the inside.

She turned it to the outside, and arranged the quilt so that the stain lay upon her breast. Bending her head, she sucked at the quilt until the stain was gone, licking and chewing lightly, carefully lifting the cotton from the down with her long fingers. A final lick, a last salty taste, and she looked into the mirror again.

A fancy took her that the shadow of a dark cowled shape was behind her, watching intently. There was perhaps the faint cackle of an old man, and the scent of his rancid breath upon the air.

The Dance.

From the vantage point of his golden throne set upon a dais, which itself was set above the multitude of the Imperial Court by the height of two men, the Emperor watched the thronging chatting crowd. The crowd was gaily dressed for this nineteenth birthday ball in honour of Narayana. The dresses of the women, ostentatious and luxurious, made a rainbow backdrop for their men, elegantly clad in severe cut tunics of deepest black or richest burgundy, only relieved perhaps by the flash of a white cravat. There was the flash of jewels, of sparkling white diamonds of the purest clarity and rubies of the deepest red, adorning matronly bosoms and pretty young throats. There was the glint of medals worn proudly upon puffed-out chests and at the shoulder of many a warrior.

A semi-circle of red-clad Imperial Guards of the most elite corps surrounded the person of the Emperor, excluding all except Roganda. As the black-robed Palpatine watched his court, finding thoughts and whispers in the melee, Roganda stood imperiously at his side, the fingertips of one hand resting lightly upon the arm of his throne. Palpatine had summoned her to his side for this occasion, and she knew, therefore, that tonight he would take his pleasure upon her.

This pleased her, for it had been some weeks since their last embrace, and she wondered whether he had found another upon whom to spend his infertile seed. Discreet enquiries of her spies, and the Emperor's valet (who was not in her pay but believed it prudent to indulge her.) assured her that there were no secret encounters, nocturnal or otherwise. She was re-assured for the moment. As his favourite still, her place was at his side, hand resting lightly upon the arm of his throne.

From deep within the cowl of his hood, Palpatine watched Narayana, visible in the beautiful multi-coloured silken sur-coat the court dressmaker had fashioned for her. He dipped into her mind; watched her politely dance a stately measure with an elderly diplomat, and make a boisterous caper with a handsome captain drafted in for the purpose. The young man teased her in a flirting way, asked her to walk on the balcony with him. She refused, smiling as she did so and blushing prettily.

Narayana was celebrated throughout the glittering evening. A birthday song was played in her honour, the crowd cheered with dignified 'hurrahs', and the music played until the Emperor announced he would take the last dance with her.

*****

'A matter of courtesy…' thought Roganda, smiling tightly as she followed the couple onto the dance floor, watching her lover take Narayana's hand in the formal manner prescribed by the court. She watched further as a delighted Palpatine raised a hand to bid the music commence, and took the girl with him into the space which had cleared for them.

The Emperor's size and apparent frailty belied his strength. He held her close, gripped her hand with a bony claw, and held her waist in a vice-like grip. The court whispered and many wondered at how he danced with her.

"It is but fatherly affection…" they said, as Narayana felt his scrawny body intimately against her own.

"It is but fatherly indulgence…" they said, as Palpatine whispered in the ear of his beautiful daughter, kissed her lips at the end of the measure, and touched her long black hair.

'It is an unseemly lust, he has…" thought Roganda, standing at the edge of the dance floor, mind plotting, planning, as she stared in fury at the couple.

*****

"Attend me, daughter," commanded Palpatine to Narayana, dismissing Roganda with a gesture. Roganda bowed, sweeping the heavy skirts of the ball-gown behind her as she did so. Her face flared scarlet with embarrassment at this dismissal, and she bowed longer than necessary to regain her composure. Eyes followed, tongues wagged, the chatter began. Her eyes stung with a tear - the humiliation was hard to bear, and she must needs use her fan to hide her hurt. A jealousy and hatred for the girl, innocent of duplicity though she was, arose in her heart. She hastened to her apartment, and searched for books, old books. Those books on poisons, the weapons of scorned women since time began.

The Invitation

Narayana dutifully followed her father. As a Force sensitive, she found she was aware of Roganda's anger and hurt, but in her innocence of such matters, was puzzled as to the reason for it. She picked up the skirt of the fine white shift, swept the sur-coat behind her, and within the enclosing circle of guards, followed.

Palpatine swept through opened doors and into his chambers, which were dimly and restfully lit by discreet soft lights. There were two deep armchairs set in front of a warm glowing fire, and a profusion of white flowers everywhere. There were poppies on the hearth, daisies upon a desk, and scented lilies on the night table by the bed. Music from a mellow string quartet played in the background, and the atmosphere was intimate and cosy. It made her wary, she felt uncomfortable, wondered, did men display such flowers routinely in their chambers? Especially such men as her father, those who lived the life of a bachelor, the solitary life of the unmarried, the dedicated monk.

She stood as far from the bed as she could and looked at the fire, and her father appeared at her side bearing two glasses of a fragrant wine. It smelled sweet and expensive. He offered her a glass.

"No. Thank you. I do not enjoy such things."

"Not even on such a night as this my dear?" He proffered the glass again.

"No, never." She smiled, not wanting to offend.

He was insistent. "Nonsense my dear girl! Such things as this fine wine are a blessing from the Force, to be enjoyed." She took the glass and he sidled closer. She became aware of his rancid breath and a faint sour smell.

"Perhaps some juice…" 

Palpatine snapped his fingers and the valet appeared at his side. "Perrin juice for my daughter, then you may go."

The perrin juice was quickly presented to her, and the valet left. She sat in an armchair and looked at the fire, sipping slowly, sometimes just pretending to do so. "I would like to thank you for my party…" she began.

"You enjoyed it? Good. And you danced? Good. You liked the cake? A magnificent cake was it not? Cook was especially proud of that icing, a masterpiece of the confectioner's art."

The cake had indeed been wonderful. A sparkling confection of fine white sugar set upon the lightest sponge delicately flavoured with citrus; thin strands of purest white candy icing made a pretty simulacrum of herself, dressed in a sweet sur-coat of painted sugar, the whole set upon a riot of white sugar flowers.

She laughed. "A pity the figurine must be shattered to cut the cake." 

In the armchair next to her, Palpatine sipped at his liqueur. "Not so my dear, not so. In fact, I believe it should be here. Cook was told to take special care. " He gestured at a box set upon chest on the other side of the room. "Fetch that box, and careful now."

As instructed, she fetched the box and placed it upon a low table, and moved the table between them. She felt more at ease now and watched her father open the box to reveal the pretty sugar figure of herself. The sugar figure was inside and undamaged. She clapped her hands in delight.

Palpatine leaned forward to inspect the figure. "Delightful, delightful," he murmured, leaning over to snap off a sugar flower to eat. Narayana was sorry to see the disfigurement of the piece, but after all, it was her father's sugar, her father's cook, her father's cake; he could do with it as he wanted.

"Yes my dear, and you are your fathers daughter," said Palpatine, staring at her and breaking off a piece of pink sugar sur-coat. He brought it to his lips and tasted it with a short pink tongue, licking it in a lascivious manner. "So fresh, so delicious. The sugar itself is flavoured. Take some before it spoils, for such fresh and pure things spoil quickly in this hothouse of a palace, and I do not like things which are… spoiled."

A chill ran down her back and she took a flower, tasted the delicate flavour, and ate it, finally brushing the few crumbs from her skirt into the hearth. As she did this, Palpatine took another piece, breaking off the head of the figurine and sucking it with relish.

"Now help me to my bed, because I am an old man."

Narayana rose and took his arm, and led him to the bed. She looked around for the valet, but then her father said, "Let your father kiss you, my dear." He reached up and held her face in his gnarled hands, and brought his mouth closer. After the kiss, a tender affair, and a little too tender for her liking for she could taste the sugar on his mouth, he patted her arm, smiled, and then reached for another.

This time his arms were round her waist, and she found she felt soothed. Her mind was floating and she was being pushed down onto the bed, his hand on her breast. Transfixed, like a Tanth mouse caught by the eyes of a snake, she could offer no resistance, and tumbled slowly backwards, his intent upon her body suddenly plain.

Palpatine pulled her back to rest on his chest, and put her head on his shoulder, while he put his mouth to hers again and tugged at the neck of her shift. Distracted by the thoughts of the delights he would soon enjoy, Palpatine forgot the mind of the girl, and her mind slipped his control. A wave of revulsion swept over her as his foul breath drifted across her face. She gathered all her strength, reached into the Force for aid, and fought her way out of his embrace.

She ran to the door, struggled to open it and could not. Realising in totality her predicament, but determined to fight him, she turned to face him and took a warrior's stance, prepared to resist how she could.

Her father looked at her with a cold and disdainful glare. He wanted her willing, or the ancient magic would not work for him. As he pulled himself up off the bed he straightened his robes and raised his hand to her. His hand crackled with purple Force energy. "Your soldier's tricks will not be any good to you now!" he spat maliciously, as a bolt of Force from his hand shattered the sugar figure and the next enveloped her in a mist of exploding pain.

Narayana had seen her father treat those who displeased him, she had watched as traitors to the cause found their last moments filled with wracking pain. Surely such pain was not for her?

But the pain was indeed for her.

Sidious prowled around her prone body and threw bolt after bolt of pain to her, as she whimpered and shuddered on the deep red carpet.

"I will not kill you, but I will send you death for your refusal, and your impertinence." In fury he hurled one last bolt to send her unconscious.

When he had finished with her, he screamed for the guard to come and take her, imprison her in the room she occupied at his command.

The Summoning

The Sith Master gathered together those things needful for the summoning of a dead Sith Lord. He chose the ritual things of salt and wine, bitter herbs and sweet, and a small silver bowl of his own blood. Forming a circle of these things, he placed a lighted candle at the centre of the spirit gate thus made, sat, and meditated upon it's opening. After some time of silence, a gesture, a single word of power, and he placed his hand over the candle as if he were reaching to a friend.

A great and dreadful silence fell, as did a fearful dark. A silence where not even the beating of a heart was heard; a silence of the grave and the coffin; such a silence that it shrouded him in a heavy blanket of despair and futility. Slowly, out of the darkness came a distant sound, the clamour of voices and deep laughs as if men were drinking and carousing.

Sidious whispered into the clamour, and the air went chill as silence fell. A rime of ice formed on his lips, and his breath steamed in the air as he seemed to fall into a pit of fire. He watched as a figure in a black cloak walked lithely towards him out of the fire and bowed before him. The face of the figure was not visible inside the voluminous cowl, but the walk… the stance… Sidious wondered about who he had called from the abyss of death.

'No matter,' he thought, "A bargain my Lord Sith." he stated imperiously, wondering which Sith Lord would choose to manifest himself in such a manner.

The reply was soft, "You dare to call me from my Master?"

"I dare! As I say, a bargain."

There was a hiss of displeasure; the voice was familiar. Sidious started, surely it was not Maul who had answered his summons? Did Maul's spirit now reside in Korriban? Such a boon was rarely granted, and only to Apprentices of outstanding power and fervour. Had Maul been such an apprentice?

The creature before him raised his hands to his hood and drew it back from his face with a graceful gesture. It was indeed the spirit of Maul, and the phantasm inclined his head in greeting, folded his hands in his sleeves and spoke.

"I was meditating, and heard the spirit gate open. I was curious and then I saw it was you. What is it you want of me?"

"A girl needs to be punished. She has displeased me."

"In what manner has she displeased you? Can you not attend to this small thing yourself?"

"I wish her to see death, for she refused me."

Maul regarded Sidious with a dispassionate stare. "Death does not exist, surely she knows this? Moreover, I am not 'death'. Some might say that her refusal of you is, in itself, an affirmation of life and that she is not ready to see death at all."

Maul looked at the distance and waited for Sidious to finish.

"That is neither here nor there, Apprentice," 

Maul drew himself up and gave Sidious a look of cold dislike. "Your apprentice no longer, Sith Lord."

"You have answered my call and you are bound to this, under all that our Order holds sacred," replied Sidious, with equal coldness. "I want her virginity stolen, I want to feed on her fear, her pain, her disgust, as you take her."

"You wish to play voyeur? That can be arranged, but what do you offer me in return? For as I am bound, so also are you." Maul thought a little. "Perhaps the Book of The Planes of Existence?" he offered, "and the words of power which allow unhindered movement between them?"

Sidious leaned back in his chair and thought. This was a mighty thing, a great book of power. He had withheld it from Maul during his time of training, lest the power of the Apprentice too early outstrip that of the Master. Giving the book to Maul would mean that it was lost to future generations of Sith Lords, and Maul had always wanted it.

As if divining his thoughts, the apparition of Maul leaned forward and murmured in a low voice, "The book in return for your sweet vengeance my Lord Sith. A small thing for the satisfaction you will obtain."

Sidious nodded assent. Maul bowed to indicate his acceptance of the terms. "The bargain is sealed then. Now only tell me when you wish this accomplished."

"Tomorrow night after we have eaten. The girl will be here."

As Maul faded into the distance, Sidious imagined that the former Apprentice had said, "And I hope she is comely…"

Dance with Death

Palpatine leaned forward towards the girl standing proudly in front of the fire, and cackled. He shifted on the throne, grasped the arm of it and gripped it in excitement. "Yesss my pretty! You have a suitor, a warrior fit for such as you, death himself. If I may not have you, he will."

He turned sharply to Maul. "Take her!"

Then he watched, cackling quietly to himself, still leaning forward, his lips curled and his rotted teeth biting his lower lip in anticipation of the voyeuristic feast to come.

*****

She turned in fear that a dead and stinking apparition would lay foul decaying hands upon her person, and rend her garments, but instead she saw a figure standing just outside the central pool of light, a figure in a deep black cloak and hood.

Maul stood motionless in the shadows, head deep within the voluminous hood, hands folded within his sleeves, and waited. She saw the glint of yellow in his eyes, the flash of fiery red as he appraised her.

Narayana watched him in return and prepared herself for combat. Weapon-less, she gathered her power about her for protection, wrapped the darkness around her like a cloak of the finest velvet. The Force flowed over her like liquid armour as she balanced lightly on the balls of her feet and took a warrior's stance, determined to resist to the last, if she could. She called:

"Are you death, come to molest me?"

He walked gracefully towards her and bowed, inclined his head a little, fixed his dreadful gaze on her. She demanded his name.

"My name is Maul, Darth Maul. I am not death, but dead, yes."

There had been rumours of a 'Maul', a one-time apprentice of her father the Emperor. A Maul who had been powerful, a creature to be greatly feared, a killer who followed his master's bidding without qualm or scruple.

She felt the eyes of Palpatine upon her as she snapped, "Why are you here?"

"Is that not apparent to you? Your Master wishes that we amuse him."

His voice was soft and seductive, slightly hoarse. An incongruous thing coming from the mouth of such a terrible apparition.

"Is he not your Master also, that you answer his call?"

"I am here from loyalty, Madame, and curiosity. There are many that could answer this call, but I am perhaps the fairest among them."

She gazed on his terrible visage and shuddered as she realised that the fearsome creature in front of her was indeed the Maul of whom she had heard such dreadful tales. Intent on watching him, she had almost forgotten Palpatine, who coughed an old man's cough and impatiently waved a hand.

"Dispense with the wooing apprentice! Get on with your task! I wait for my amusement."

She was watching his eyes, looking for a clue, any hint at all of his next movement, and saw his golden eyes flash as if in anger, heard a soft hiss, perhaps of displeasure. But the Maul said nothing and took another step closer.

There was no warning, as with a fluid motion he extended his hand and picked up hers, brought to his lips, kissed it in courtier fashion and released it. Reluctantly she thought, but the action disarmed her a little. She steeled her resolve. The Maul stepped back.

"I will woo as I wish." He said very softly, as if for her ears alone.

"You will woo me not at all!" she replied angrily, and her own eyes flashed as she started to prowl around him, searching for a time to strike.

Maul moved again, so quickly she had no time to defend herself as he snatched her wrist and pulled her to him, making her stumble forward into his arms. She was kept upright and held firmly against his chest.

She had let no one, man or woman, come into her life and possess her. There had been no-one close, although she was curious and had sometimes wondered.

Despite herself, she felt suddenly aroused by this closeness, responded to the broad chest, the powerful arms which held her, the smell of him…

Oh, the smell of him! This was not the decaying sour smell she had found in her father. This was a subtle male musk; a vibrant scent of man; of leather; a hint of spice and something else; something indefinable. Her nostrils flared as she enjoyed it and she was startled by it. She looked up into his golden eyes, saw wide black pupils and the golden irises ringed with fire, found beauty overlaid on the terror, yet resisted his hold of her. 

"Release me!" she commanded.

"No. We have bargained, Sidious and I, I am bound to this." His voice was strong, firm, matter of fact. The matter was not negotiable. Narayana sagged back into his grasp, feared greatly for her dignity and bowed her head in distress.

The distress almost overcame her. "If you must," she sobbed, "but do not debase me in front of my father." Within his arms she covered her eyes, but did not weep.

Then she felt a deep laugh start within his chest, and he abruptly choked it off. "Your father? Is he indeed? As for debase you? Do you think I would make a spectacle? An exhibition? Of myself? Of us? I have a new master, and my power is such that it makes your father look puny indeed. I do not spend my days carousing away my power in the Well of Souls on Korriban."

Maul tightened an arm around her and she felt his warm sweet breath against her as he tilted her chin and kissed her, then took his tongue quickly along her lips which opened for him.

Her resistance crumbled away of her own volition, and she felt him dip into her mind as he took one of her hands, put it around him under his pleated cloak. Her other hand stole around his waist, involuntarily, almost of its own accord. Now she felt his body against her, full length; broad chest, flat stomach, slender waist, and hips against her own. She felt his arousal against her belly, and maiden that she was, she blushed in the gloom. Woman that she was, she wondered again how things might be, and she started to burn, a deep and delicious fire in her belly, and lower… Her assailant spoke.

"He will not see what he wants to see. He will search the Force, he wishes to feed on your terror, your disgust, your pain, to enhance his own power and fertility. Perhaps he will find nothing, perhaps he will find pleasure, delight, joy even?"

Pleasure? Delight? Joy? She did not want this. How could there be any of these things in a rape?

"I do not rape." Said Maul, enunciating the words clearly and distinctly. Again she looked up in surprise. Had he read her mind? Calmer now, and resigned to what might befall her, she saw his mouth and found it well shaped. As if in answer to her unwitting scrutiny he opened his mouth a little to smile, and she saw the fangs, so white, so pointed, so sharp.

She forgot Palpatine for a moment, and traced the outline of his cruelly curved lips with a finger. "Do you bite?" she asked.

"Of course!" From his vantage point of a few inches of height he looked down at her. His voice indicated that he was surprised at her question.

She traced her fingers down his cheek, felt the soft skin under her hand and saw tiny scales under the wild pattern of red and black. She wondered again. Was the colouring his own, was it a tattoo? Then Palpatine screamed in anger, reminding her of her predicament.

"Satisfy the bargain Apprentice, satisfy me!"

Maul turned and gestured, drawing his hand through the air in a slow description of an alien shape, then he pointed a clawed finger at Palpatine. The Emperor suddenly relaxed, closed his eyes, and put his hand into his robes. The hand worked, and the Emperor smiled.

Maul smiled also. "He is occupied now, he will not disturb us."

"How will you accomplish this… this… thing?" she asked of him, burying her head in his robe.

"You are a maiden are you not?" Her cheeks reddened as though her virginity were an undesirable encumbrance.

"Yes, you are indeed, but you will not care how this is accomplished."

As he spoke she was firmly guided to a couch, where he sat her down beside him, put his hands on her neck and slid the sur-coat off her shoulders. The heavy silken garment slid to the floor with a rustle as he used a weapon-sharp claw to cut the fabric of her shift and under-shift.

"Take off my cloak, he commanded, and with faltering fingers she pushed the hood off his head to reveal the horns, leaning forward as she did so and finding, once again, the subtle musk he had. She stared at the horns in wonder, and raised a hand to gently touch, but he snatched her hand. "Not yet!" he whispered, as he bent to kiss her.

Her breathing quickened unwittingly, as she enjoyed the kiss, and she pulled at the clasp and pulled the cloak off him. "Now the belt." And he put a hand at the back of her neck and then up into her long black hair, winding it around his fingers and caressing her head as he did so. She tugged at the unfamiliar fastening and he put her hands around his back, helped her undo the clip and the buckle.

Then the tunic went and in the dim light she undid the ties to his thin black under-tunic and pulled that off also, revealing the patterns on his skin.

They fascinated her. She found them erotic. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed an 'O' of delight as she delicately traced a pattern with a finger, and asked 'are you black on red or red on black?'. Her hand trailed down his breastbone, down his stomach, and onto the waistband of his breeches, until realising where her fingers were leading, she suddenly stopped with a quick intake of breath and took her fingers away as if they were burnt. She looked up to see Maul was perfectly still, was watching her through narrowed eyes like a cat waits for a bird to come within its grasp. His eyes were hooded and a little smile played on his mouth. He pulled at his boots and pushed them off, and took her hand to put it back on his skin, bent his lips to hers and kissed her with increasing passion.

The kisses were sweet. His mouth was cool and his tongue was clever. As his ardour increased his eyes brightened with lust and she became more languorous, returning the kisses with a passion, her resistance turning to need and desire.

The Sith took his mouth along her throat, and down her neck, making nibbles, bites, and deft hot touches as she held his head, caressing the bare black skull and the sharp ragged horns. He kissed her breasts through the remains of the torn silken shift, made the fabric rustle over her skin, played with it against her body. She found her awareness of his touch heightened and sharpened, as he touched her where he would, until she found her hands were again pulling at the ties to his breeches.

This time she did not falter. He gently pushed her hand down and sighed with pleasure, as she uncovered him and found his penis, curved up against his stomach, and touched the satin skin, held hard, and stroked; the first time she had touched the flesh of man. She pushed off the breeches, eagerly struggling to pull him against her, and in her, but he laughed and resisted, increasing her need for the satisfaction he would give her. And she lost herself in her need.

Her kisses became urgent and she made mewing sounds in the back of her throat as she strained against him, frantically pulling at his shoulders, his back, grasping his horns. Until she pulled him on top of her, and with a growl, he put his knees between hers and thrust himself into her.

There was a small cry at the sudden sharp pain she felt as her virginity broke, but then the pleasure of his body overcame her, and she lost her mind in the sliding of his body within hers, the touch of his skin against her own, and the alien treble beat of his heart thudding against her chest.

The girl keened softly and the Sith threw back his head and growled as their bodies shuddered and released together, until, with a sigh, they lay entwined on the couch. She wept a little at the joy she had felt, and he stroked her cheek to soothe her spirit. His slender fingers wove a hypnotic pattern lightly upon her temples, until she fell into a light sleep, head buried in his shoulder, arms wrapped about his lean and sinewy frame.

*****

Narayana woke from sleep, and stretched with abandon as a feeling of repletion and completion filled her. Looking round for her lover, she heard murmuring and looked over the back of the couch to see the two Sith engaged in deep discussion. Their heads were bent close over a table, they shared a generously sized bottle of wine, and there was much to hear, but little could be discerned at first.

"I have kept this bargain, now you will keep it also, and then we will attend to other matters," said Maul his voice penetrating the heavy gloom, and he took a sip of wine as her father took a great draft of his own. Palpatine whispered angrily, made objection, and banged the table with a balled fist.

"Satisfied or not, the bargain is kept. Now, tell me, where is this…" and Maul leaned close to Palpatine as the atmosphere became menacing, threatening, and the air turned colder. She drew her silken sur-coat around her as she stared in alarm, and hearing the silken rustle, Maul turned to see her watching the pair. He turned back to Palpatine, gripped one of his wrists, and in a lower voice, hissed the request again.

Blue fire crackled dangerously from her father's hands, but he could not withdraw from the clutch of his former Apprentice and he perforce must answer in a low voice. He leaned forward and when his hand was released, described gestures of power in the air, and made fantastic shapes with his fingers, took a book from within his robes and placed it upon the table. He spoke to Maul words and rhymes of power, until Maul was satisfied. When he was, he poured more wine for the two of them, raised his glass to Palpatine in salute, and laughed.

Then her father rose and threw back the chair in which he had been sitting, and strode angrily from the place, and she heard the door, the 'snick' of the lock.

*****

Bare-chested, Maul padded back across the room, the fabric of his baggy breeches rustling a little, his bare feet making no sound on the rich Synthe-wood floor. He sat again beside her. The half-full glass was still in his hand, the open bottle in the other, and the book under his arm. "Drink," he said, smiling and putting it to her lips. "it is a fine vintage. Your father has most excellent taste and we should avail ourselves of his hospitality."

The wine was indeed a thing to savour. Wrinkling her nose she sniffed the bouquet, took a sip, and then a greater draft, as he placed the book on the floor. 

"Your father has most excellent taste in all things. He always had." Said Maul, tipping the bottle upward and taking a sip from the neck, then a greater swallow.

He rested the bottle on his knee and watched her drain the glass. He filled it again and watched as she took more, looking at him speculatively over the rim, her deep blue eyes sparkling. His own eyes were blazing again. He licked his lips with a long black tongue, and watched intently as she drained the second glass. He grinned with delight as she held out the glass for a third but took the glass from her, shaking his head. 

"You drink much wine? You are accustomed to it?" 

She shook her head. "Oh no, that was just my second glass ever."

Maul nodded wisely and poured a tiny amount into the glass, saying, as he handed it back to her, "You know then of course, that it is customary to savour the third and smaller glass, in order to truly appreciate the nuances of flavour and bouquet of such an extraordinary vintage?"

"Of course." She said, sipping slowly and looking at him over the glass. Pulling the sur-coat around her she sat up cross-legged on the couch, next to him, and they sat, side-by-side.

"Are you truly dead?"

"Yes."

"But you are real enough. You do not feel dead when… when you… " She smiled, looked into the glass, and at the fire. The flickering glow reflected off her face to hide her blush.

"When I what?" said Maul, putting his arm around her to pick up a stray lock of jet black hair and play with it, his golden eyes looking intently into her bright blue ones.

"When you put yourself inside me."

"Aaah" and he sipped from the bottle again. "Fire within and fire without. I am called 'Fire of Hate', after all." He stroked her cheek. "Yes, a fine eye your father has. Most especially for beauty in the female…" he said, reaching forward and pushing fingers up the back of her neck and through her lustrous black hair. Rubbing the thick silky strands through his fingers, he fanned the long tresses out over the back of his hand. Pushing her back on the cushions, he pulled the sur-coat away, exposing her for his delectation and delight, and his eyes travelled over her fine white form. Her pale skin gleamed in the soft light, her shapely figure seemed composed of deep shadows hiding subtle secrets, and softly sculptured curves. Maul leaned forward and kissed her.

The bottle tipped and the heady aroma of luscious sweet wine filled the air as the deep red liquid spilled down between her breasts, filled the hollow of her navel, and drained away towards her thighs.

"Such a cup…" whispered Maul, and he held her hands tight to keep her still, and took his kisses down her body, following the river of wine. As his mouth travelled her silky skin, he slid off the couch and knelt beside her, held her knees with his other hand so she could not move, and aroused her senses with such touches of his mouth and tongue she could not but sob in delight, the pleasure of it filling her mind until she could think and feel nothing, only Maul.

The once-Apprentice Maul gently disentangled her from his embrace and sat up on the couch. She watched sleepily from under the crumpled sur-coat as he reached for his breeches and put them on; watched as his beautiful body was covered with the fine black under-tunic. On impulse she sat up and touched his chest, wanting a last glimpse of the pattern, and a last touch of his soft skin, then leaned forward and put her arms around him, leaning her head against his arm.

He continued with her arms wrapped round him putting on his boots, then the over-tunic, and belt, clipping the light-sabre to it, and she took her hands away as he stood to don the long pleated cloak with the ornamental sleeves. He sat by her and covered his head, and put his hands on his knees, looked at her, was silent for a time.

"I must go. My time on this plane is limited by the energy within the blood your father sacrificed to bring me here. Alas, his blood is thin, but now…" Maul picked up the book and stroked the fine leather binding, disintegrating with age. "He kept this from me during my Apprenticeship, but now I have it and nothing is beyond me."

Abruptly, he stood. "I will depart you. Sleep, for tomorrow beckons and I have much to do, much to learn." He made a strange gesture, and her eye lids were suddenly heavy. She slept, as he had bid.

Solo Perfomance

The Emperor had given no orders as to her detention or other wise, so Narayana continued her life. She trained assiduously, and when she had done that, she trained some more, burying her mind and body in the need for perfection in her chosen path.

Sometimes she thought of Maul and the sweetness she had enjoyed; sometimes she woke in the dark of the night, craving his touch, but always, she ruthlessly turned her thoughts elsewhere, until one morning…

Her knees felt weak and her hands were trembling. Leaning over the waste bowl of the fresher Narayana stared at the thin liquid she had vomited up and wiped her bitter mouth on the back of her hand. Then she realised - her monthly courses had been absent for some time now. A little panic swept over her and she ruthlessly damped it down. 'How', she asked herself, 'could she possibly carry the child of a spirit? Was he not dead? Surely, such a thing was not possible, but there had been no-one else.'

There would likely be no-one else either, for she doubted that another could fire her senses to the heights that Maul had. A momentary sickness, a transient thing. 'It is but a fancy that I am carrying, not a child.' She told herself, donning the breeches and tunic of her calling. 'A nonsense that will be gone by tomorrow.' She muttered, as she tugged on her boots, 'A womanly conceit' she said briskly, as she clipped her lightsabre to her belt and went to her station in the Imperial Palace.

But as time went on and she denied herself, her belly grew, as did the gossip and chatter of those heads wiser in these matters than herself, and she must face the truth.

The small haversack was packed, her ticket to Tatooine booked. She was well paid during her time in her father's employ, and she spent but little, for female fripperies and fancies were never to her liking. A short stay with the nursing order of the Sisters of the Blessed Effulgence was well within her means, and they would place the child for adoption if she would pay a little more. As yet, she was uncertain about this, wondering whether she would want to lose such a child forever, knowing who the father was. So many decisions and such little time. 

She stared at herself in the small mirror permitted in the women's dormitory, straightened her tunic, and fetched her cloak. How would she look when the child was born? Might she love it?

She could not see herself with any child, let alone imagine how the child of such a union might look, Maul's species was a total mystery to her. Was the child ready to be born? She felt her time was close, but the child within her was small, and she was doing this purely upon instinct. The Sisters would know, and in any event, the child showed now and she could no longer hide this pregnancy. The gossip and endless mindless chatter of the court angered, her, she would put an end to their speculation.

She left a short note and caught the flight.

Her station was unmanned and her presence was missed.

There were sniggers behind uncharitable hands, and wise nods from respectable and venerable matrons greedy for the advancement of their own daughters, and now seeing how it might be possible once more. The gossip grew, the chatter became malicious. Until it came to the ear of Palpatine. He would deal with the matter at supper.

*****

At the end of the evening, the Emperor called for his daughter. "Bring me Narayana." he said heartily.

A hush fell upon the court. A silence fell, as chatter stopped and conversation halted. There were shifty looks from side to side as each wondered whether the Emperor knew, and indeed, they wondered - should they know? What was hidden and what was not?

Roganda was caught by surprise, she thought he knew, and wondered whether it were a game he played.

"Sire, she has fled. She has gone to Tatooine to have the…" she faltered.

"Have the 'what', Roganda?"

"She rose from her privileged seat and curtsied in front of his throne.

"Child, sire."

Palpatine feigned surprise. "We were not aware of any… attachments?"

The court was silent, not wishing to be in Roganda's place but eagerly awaiting her reply. Her fellow concubines stood behind the throne with bated breath - would this lose her her position as favourite, pregnant though she was? They prepared for a shift in power and influence over the mightiest ruler the galaxy had ever known.

Roganda set her mouth in a disapproving line.

"Neither were we, Sire. It appears she has fallen prey to the scourge of women and is even now on Tatooine, presumably getting rid of the foul thing."

Palpatine stared coldly at her, and she wondered whether this was a step too far.

"Roganda. Remember what you carry within you of mine. It is the place and purpose of women to carry the children of their men, whether noble born or bastard, for be assured, we as men cannot." He beckoned her closer.

"Do you know whose child this is Roganda? For he must support her and console her as is the duty of a father, and if he is not found, then we must do his work for him, in all charity." Palpatine's whisper was heard throughout the court.

Charity! She thought. Charity? What would he know of charity? That was surely an alien concept to an Emperor who would blast a planet and its billions of sentient occupants out of the galaxy without a second thought. She lowered her eyes contritely. "No Sire."

Palpatine thought a while, and beckoned her yet closer. He patted her on the shoulder, and smiled soothingly. "Fetch my daughter back for me, my love." He said fondly, "Will you do that for me? Will you do that for a loving and distraught father who fears for his child?"

She felt sick, this was a command, not a polite request. She gritted her teeth and curtsied, lifting the great skirts of the court dress with a rustle of fine fabric, dipping her knee with grace and aplomb.

"It shall be my pleasure Sire."

Palpatine nodded, smiled in a grave fashion and looked into the distance. "Just her, my love, just her. No encumbrances, no burdens."

He leaned close and his foul breath swept across her face, making her gag a little. She hid the revulsion and thought of the power she enjoyed, both in his bed and without. "Take care of her Roganda, for this is woman's work," he hissed quietly in her ear. "I want no embarrassments either."

Roganda decided to travel alone, without a maid, a page, a slave, or any servant, girl or man. She prepared a single box of sturdy travelling clothes, a world away from the brilliant silks and satins of her ball gowns and dresses. She packed snug breeches, and heavy coarse-cloth cloaks, fine sand-proof veils and soft leather boots. There were woollen garments for desert-cold nights, and two parasols to protect from the sun. Roganda had fine skin, and the sun never kissed her face, lest it cause a wrinkle or shadow upon the perfection so loved by Palpatine. She wore her lightsabre, for she was moderately accomplished in the use of it, and in the absence of an escort, might need it. Tatooine was a lawless place, she would not forsake all protection.

Lastly she packed a small basket of nostrums and medicines - something to ease the travails of her charge perhaps. Perhaps also, poison.

The trip to Tatooine was uneventful, but long and tedious. She passed the time in meditation, developing her strength in the Dark side of the Force. Once at the spaceport, and recovered from her journey in a small inn that was clean and cheap, she hired a repulsor-lift scooter and journeyed to the oasis of Mos Eirys, where the Sisters maintained their clinic.

Assuming the identity of a patron needing assistance, she enquired of the Sisters, talked of her pregnancy, and demanded a tour of the facilities before making a decision as to whether she would stay.

The clinic was well equipped, as modern as any small hospital in any city of the outer rim planets. The Sisters were charitable, and offered neither judgement nor condemnation of her state. She saw waiting mothers of several species, discreetly housed in small cottages in the grounds. They showed her healthy newly born infants, which made her shudder but she kept her smile and nodded brightly when they were displayed for her to coo upon.

She would make her decision within the next five days, she said, and would stay with them until then for a modest fee.

The days were uneventful, but she was not idle. She visited the mothers-in-waiting, and made polite enquiry of their state, engaged them in witty conversation, told them tales of Coruscant and the Court. The mothers-in-waiting were delighted to relieve the tedium of their stay by chat and womanly gossip, and the nursing Sisters were glad to see the spirits of their charges lifted. Being women, they gossiped well, and Roganda soon found where Narayana was.

*****

The little room was cool and the warm evening breeze flowed ceaselessly through the open door and cleverly constructed windows and chimney. One small window looked out upon the oasis, and although there was no water to be seen, Narayana could see the vaporators collecting water and hear the continual faint hum of the solar-powered motors.

There were no gardens here outside her cottage, no green and growing thing upon which to rest her eyes, but there was a garden of sorts. There was a large bed of fine rounded pebbles, and some large wind-worn rocks deliberately set upon the pebbles. The rocks were dark-hued, and made a striking contrast to the paler pebbles which were raked in flowing patterns around the stones. She wondered whether the pattern represented water, or whether it was truly abstract, and thought to remind herself to ask the Brother Gardener the same question the next day.

Narayana knew her time was close now. The babe within her was healthy, and kicked with a vitality which surprised her, and had turned, ready to make its entrance into the world. The sisters had tentatively marked her lover as a Zabrak, from Iridonia, a little known planet on the outer rim of the galaxy; a harsh planet with little water, but not as dry as Tatooine they said, patting her stomach and smiling fondly...

They reassured her - they had searched the medical tomes on the Galactic net, Zabrak babes were small, the birth would be easy, the species was robust and she should not worry, she was a healthy young woman - the soft and soothing words of the Sisters came to the forefront of her mind.

Turning her eyes away from the datapad, and gazing through the window again, she placed her hand over her stomach and fancied she heard the call of the new life within her. So she closed her eyes, and reached out with the force to touch the babe's fledgling spirit with her own. A little resentful until now at the intrusion of this child into her body, this was the first time she had attempted such, and was astonished at the vitality she felt in him. For it was a 'him'.

Putting the datapad away she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes, delighted at this discovery. She placed both hands upon her belly, and felt the child kick, enjoyed his presence, encouraged his movement and designed for him a sheltering haven of warmth and love within her. The child redoubled his efforts and she laughed to herself at such a willing response - he must be gifted with the Force then, and she remembered wild golden eyes, and a flickering fire: suddenly felt so alone…

Finale

A shadow darkened the open door and a figure stood there, silhouetted against the last of the evening light. The shadow watched until Narayana came to with a start, and registered the presence of Roganda.

"May I enter?" said Roganda softly, making as if to knock. Not waiting for an answer she entered in a subdued swirl of dusty gray cloak and expensive perfume, bearing a small basket. She put the basket discreetly upon a low table. 

Her reverie interrupted, Narayana pushed herself up in the chair.

"No, do not stand, my dear." Roganda stood over her making a restraining gesture. "I but come to give you womanly support during your last days here, for you have no mother I believe? No, I thought not."

Roganda moved closer and sat against her in a confidential manner, woman to woman and in friendly intimacy. She patted Narayana's knee, "At such a time, a girl needs her mother, or someone close." And she made sparkling conversation, made polite enquiry of her health, and a myriad other matters to gain her confidence.

And in her innocence, for Narayana spent all her spare time training, did not attend the gossip of the court, and paid little attention to the machinations of those around her; she put her suspicions behind her. As the evening blended imperceptibly into night, she felt lulled by the concubine, and they became, she thought, friends.

*****

A knock on the already open door the following afternoon; a quiet and courteous question; a quiet but delighted reply - and Roganda stepped again into the room where Narayana sat reading. Roganda looked for her basket and saw it was unmoved, untouched. She looked at Narayana and sat in another chair.

"And how are you today, my dear?" she ventured, and used her power in the Force to probe Narayana's mind, and the unformed spirit of the child. Unformed it may be, but there was a vibrancy and fire about it, somehow, like a small bright flame. She felt the child move, but sluggishly now as it prepared for its entrance into the world.  Roganda knew, then, that the child would come in the next few hours - and that to discharge Palpatines orders, she must be vigilant and wait upon the girl.

"The sun is high but do you never wish for a walk? In the garden perhaps?"

"There is no real garden as there is on Coruscant. Only a small sea of pebbles, but it is well arranged, and quiet in its own way." Narayana struggled out of her chair, and Roganda took her hand to help her. "Let me show you."

The two women made their way to the door, but Narayana stopped suddenly, and put her hand on her swollen belly. She closed her eyes and held the jamb of the door, breathed evenly and deeply, then relaxed more as discomfort swept over her and through her.

"The child?" said Roganda, eagerly.

"Yes," came the short reply from Narayana, as with her eyes closed, she dismissed what had become pain, and used the Force to reach to her child, to comfort it.

"Come, let me find you a soothing draught." Roganda waited until the pain had gone, and guided the girl back to her chair.

"Please call the sisters. They have said this will be quick for the child is small."

"No time to waste then." Seeing Narayana's eyes were closed as she awaited the next onslaught, Roganda found the intercom, tore the wire from the wall, and fetched her basket, made a draught of cool clear water and a cordial.

The girl moaned a little as a wave of pain built around her, and again she overcame it, asked for the Sisters and their expert care.

"They come, dear, they come.." and the sweet refreshing drink was held against her lips. Roganda mopped the girls forehead, held her close like a fond mama, and held the cup, as she drank the poison.

*****

Roganda waited. She listened to the spirit of the child as the poison coursed through Narayana's body; she felt the tiny flame flicker and die; she heard Narayana's scream as she realised what was now lost to her; she harvested the child as it slipped quickly, too quickly, from the weeping girls body. 

The child was not what she had expected, and she decided she would not take this tale to Palpatine. The colour was strange and dark, the size was too small for a human, the tiny body curled tightly into itself.

Roganda laid the small body in the basket, and turning away, glanced back and frowned, as she saw something strange, something odd.

The perfect infant was strangely coloured, the skin being a darkish red with a vague shadow as if a pattern were promised. Puzzled now, Roganda picked it up and took it to the light, stood in the doorway and uncurled the body to examine the pathetic scrap more closely. She rubbed her hand over the head, felt the beginnings of soft cartilage starting to push through the skin of the skull. Like horns they were, the baby's head was crowned with the beginnings of horns.

Pulling open the delicate eyelids, she saw the unseeing eyes were coloured a pale gold, a gold which once held the promise of a deep and rich brilliance. Unbidden, an image stole into her mind, of fire and the dance of flames in the dark. Not being of a romantic nature, except inasmuch as wealth and power were concerned, she turned the image away.

Studying the hands - there were transparent diminutive claws at the ends of the minute fingers, each perfectly formed. The penis was upturned, curved delicately into the body just below the stomach. She touched it quickly with her index finger, found it contained soft bone.

An abomination, a hybrid, a mix of two species that should not have bred at all. The impure creature was not the result of her lovers efforts at impregnation, but the get of something, or someone, else. Something with vigour enough to create a new life.

So one scandal was averted, merely to reveal another. The getting of a half-breed upon the Emperor's daughter; the breeding of a sub-human whelp by some off-world alien of doubtful provenance, this was a matter for condemnation. The other matter - well, did men in power not behave thus since time began?

Roganda shuddered at the thought of Palpatine's reaction to this perversion within his familial circle. He had a deep and abiding hatred for the non-human, sentience and awareness being of no account for him.

Unconsciously she placed her palm protectively on her belly. Her own place at the side of her liege was assured, the child within her grew in strength daily.

Adding fuel blocks to the fire, she built it up until it roared and flared with a most fierce heat, enough to scorch her cloak, and placed the covered basket upon it. Then she watched it, and its pathetic contents burn, until all was reduced to a fine black ash.

Ever it was that women must clear up after their men, whatever their place in the world. So Roganda stirred the ash into oblivion, set her mouth in a thin line of disapproval and went to rouse the weakened girl, prepare her for their journey home.

© Dark Lady - May  2001