Star Wars: Dark Angel, Scarlet Dragon

He struggled, then sobbed as he felt the last connection with the Force seep away. It felt as though he was breathing through lead. "Lylla," he rasped, "you've taken everything from me. Don't take this away. Please don't take the Force."

She laid a hand on his chest. "It's already gone." Luke screamed in despair, pulling against the restraints, but slumped back on the mattress when the effort proved too much, and cried. The sound echoed throughout the cell. Lylla leaned down to his face. "This is the way it has to be, and I'll tell you why. The prophecy of the Chosen One must be fulfilled. That is why I am here, Luke. I was sent here, sent to set destiny straight." She brushed his brow. "Your father did bring balance to the Force. The Jedi ruled the galaxy for five thousand years. Five thousand years of Jedi. And now...five thousand years of SITH." She turned away, and lifted her arms at her sides. A guard came forward and slipped her sumptuous coat on her.

"Your orders, your Grace?" the captain of the guard asked.

Lylla straightened her coat onto her shoulders. "Take him to the infirmary and mend him. Then put him in a suite overlooking the Imperial Square. Feed him whatever he wants." She stepped back and looked down on the broken man on the stretcher. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a coronation waiting." She paused. "You are invited to sit with the Imperial Council or...you may watch from your window at gunpoint. Your choice." She turned away and stepped to the door when she heard Luke mumble something. "What did you say?"

"I said," Luke murmured, turning his head to her, tears still glistening in his eyes, "that I forgive you, Lylla."

The med team and her guard watched the Imperial Regent intensely, dreading her reaction. But she showed none. She glared at him before simply turning and walking out of the cell. Her guard followed, leaving the med team to prep Luke for transport.

* * *

The red-cloaked Imperial guards stepped to each side of the door as The Baroness came through. She looked up to see Grand Chancellor Wrenga Jixton come toward her.

He tucked his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his formal robes. "You're letting him go?"

Lylla regarded him for a brief moment before brushing past him. "We've discussed this."

Jixton fell into step beside her as they strode. "It's a bad idea."

"And what would you do, Chancellor?"

"Lock him up and throw away the key-chip."

"He's Forceless now."

"That doesn't matter, your Grace. There are still Republic sympathizers out there. He's a symbol, an icon."

"A dead icon." She stopped and saw the look on Jixton's face. "Luke Skywalker's execution was broadcasted to the galaxy three hours ago."

Pause. "A body double?"

"A petty speeder thief. The resemblance was actually quite remarkable. And without his Force powers, who will believe him when he says he is Luke Skywalker?" Her eyes slit. "Trust me, Jixton, he is no longer any threat to us."

"You're certain of that?" Jixton asked, the dimness of the hall shadowing his brow.

Lylla said nothing, when her waiting lady Palissa came up beside her. She set her hand on Palissa's shoulder and turned back to the chancellor. "I'm already late, Chancellor. The matter is closed."

He sighed through his nose. "Understood, your Grace."

* * *

The Regent and her entourage traveled the numerous lifts back to the docking bay where Lylla's armored speeder awaited. Her guards mounted the speeder bikes surrounding it as Lylla and Palissa stepped in.

They rode the trip to the Imperial Palace in the upper levels of Coruscant in silence. Lylla's face was as impassive as any stone, but Palissa knew her beloved Baroness's anguish just from the desperate grip of her hand in hers.

When they reached the Palace, she followed her mistress through the sweeping black corridors, matching her fierce stride, one step behind her. As they passed, officers and guards snapped to attention and saluted while servants dropped to their knees in deference. As they came upon Lylla's private manor, her army of dressers, coiffures, and beauticians as well as various dignitaries and Imperial officers awaited her. The enormous onyx doors swept open, wide and silent.

Lylla stepped through, but Palissa stopped in the doorway and turned to face the oncoming crowd. Her eyes were gray steel when she snarled, "The Baroness will call upon you when she needs you. She is no mood for your bootlicking at the moment."

"Forgive my forwardness, Lady Palissa," interjected Lylla's head dresser in a fey, condescending tone, "but the coronation is in just a few hours, and her Grace must be--" However, when Palissa shot him a threatening look, her grey eyes as sharp as steel, and put her hand on the vibro-blade at her belt, he fell silent. Satisfied that he had gotten her intent, she turned the heel of her stiff boot and strode through the closing doors into the sweeping great room of Lylla's private chambers.

As soon as the doors were closed, she stopped and regarded her mistress. The Baroness's dark and severe clothing was a sharp contrast to the soft ivory décor of the place, with its sweeping ceilings, open skylights, crystal chandeliers, and rare fur rugs on the marble floors. She watched Lylla slowly remove her coat and lay it on a divan, then her skull cap. Then she watched her sink to her knees in the middle of the floor and begin to cry.

Palissa stepped forward. "Lylla?" she asked softly, worriedly.

Lylla cradled her head in her hand. "Oh Palissa...it...it was just so hard...I didn't think...it would be like that..."

Her body servant and trusted confidant came up behind her mistress, knelt down and wrapped her arms around her. "I know." She pressed her cheek against hers. "Despite what Jixton thinks, I believe you did the right thing. You showed him mercy, more than he deserved."

"I truly did want him to...stay with us. Just..." She paused, then took a deep breath before she blurted, "Just so I could see those eyes every day again."

"My Lady," Palissa said softly in her ear, "please forgive my bluntness but...he is not his father."

"No," Lylla muttered, "he isn't." She said nothing after that.

Palissa held her mistress for a few more moments before she pulled back. "Shall I draw your bath, Baroness?" Lylla nodded. Palissa rose and began to walk to the bath chamber when Lylla called out, "Palissa?"

"Yes, your Grace?"

"I need you...to take this pain away."

Palissa hesitated. "But the coronation—"

"Do you think they'll start without me, Palissa?"

"Of course not, Madam. But the Emperor...he's been waiting for you."

Lylla slid her gaze to lock on her trusted servant. "He'll understand."

Palissa sighed. She walked back to her mistress and helped her to her feet. Touching Lylla's face, she murmured, "Go prepare. I'll be there momentarily," and, standing on her tiptoes, softly kissed Lylla's lips. She watched her lady loosen the buckles of her bodysuit and peel it off her skin as she made her way to a chamber only the two of them were allowed to enter.

Palissa went through the arch to her mistress's bedchamber. She came upon a carved and jeweled case on a table, and palmed the lock open. She reached in and pulled out a long, thick leather whip. Unfastening the catches on the military-style jacket she wore, she returned to the great room and strode to the private chamber.

The room was circular and dark. Lylla stood in the middle of the room, her back to the door, head bowed, naked. Palissa peeled the jacket off her arms, leaving her in her white shirt and black breeches. She murmured, "Move your braid to the front." She did. Palissa said, "Raise your arms." As Lylla lifted her slim arms over her head, Palissa touched a control on her belt. Two chains snaked out of the ceiling, and leather straps cuffed around Lylla's wrists.

Palissa came around to Lylla's front, and met her lady's gaze. She touched her face. "My beloved Baroness," she whispered.

Lylla smiled softly and answered, "My treasure."

Palissa smiled back, then touched another control. The chains shot upward and jerked Lylla up until her toes scarcely brushed the floor. She walked several paces behind her lady, dropped the length on the ship to the floor, lifted it over her head, and threw a lash down Lylla's back with all the strength she could muster.

She watched Lylla convulse and twist, and waited until she hung limp before striking her again. And again. And again. Even in the dim halogen light, she saw the stripes on her back and buttocks seep red, saw the drops beginning to pool beneath Lylla's feet.

But her mistress didn't scream, didn't cry out. She never did. Because pain was something very different to her Baroness. Most beings did everything they could to avoid pain. But to Lylla, it was a drug. It was the only thing that could distract Lylla Sa'thraxxx from the anguish in her heart.

And Lylla drank the ambrosia of the agony in. Her back burned with fire and blood. But the bliss of it, the sweet blindness it could bring, the symphony of roaring blood within her ears, was not coming.

"I have failed you," she whispered.

The lash cracked off her back.

"I tried..."

Crack.

"He wouldn't..."

Crack.

"Forgive me, my love."

Crack.

"Forgive me..."

She tasted the salt tears on her lips, felt the blood drip from her back, heard the crack of the whip ricochet around the walls, embraced the pain that sliced her flesh with every lash...but those eyes still burned behind her closed lids, that incandescent blue filled her mind's eye, the eyes she had longed to see for twenty years...

And despite the pain, the blood, the chill of the air against her sweating naked skin, and the noise of the whip, none of it could distract her from the memory of that first day she discovered the existence of Luke Skywalker...

To Be Continued.