Chapter Text
[commissioned for "The Echo and the Stain" done beautifully by @peanutoffee 💙]
Almost three years had gone by after the passing of her parents, brutally slain in the Kryze Castle on Kalevala, when Satine began noticing suspicious behavior in Coruscant where she had been sent to study politics by her now deceased father. Shadows that lingered a little too closely, flashes of what reminded her of beskar’gam in her peripheral vision, and faces of strangers that she seemed to run into on multiple occasions. There was no proof, but Satine’s gut instincts told her that she was being watched.
For over two years, she had been patiently asking to be permitted back to Kalevala to visit with her baby sister who was now a toddler and, she knew sadly, had no memory of her. The elders of Clan Kryze and the advisors of House Kryze took their time considering her request, reasoning with her that conditions in Mandalore were not suitable and safe for her return, and that her studies were her utmost priority. But out of the blue, long after she had come to accept that her requests were being ignored, she received word that her return was being approved.
During her return to Kalevala, she was given the cold shoulder by those same elders and advisors, who refused to see her. Her security detail was downsized before she was permitted access to Kryze Castle, with only her newest Mandalorian Protector being vetted in time for her arrival, conveniently so. And as her senior guards were relegated to her ship with Clan Kryze’s own watching them, Satine was escorted at all times throughout her childhood home, and even her brief visits with sister Bo-Katan were monitored.
She had known the moment the terms of her arrival in Kalevala were made clear that she was considered a liability, maybe even a threat. But she longed for home, the desperate need for it pulling her inward into herself to drown in her wanting, like a receding ocean wave. She longed to hold the last bit of her parents, little Bo-Katan, and to smile upon her and feel comforted by the hope that they would someday call each other friends. So she agreed.
It was outside of Kryze Castle in what was left of the rolling green hills of her youth, that Satine sought out the comfort of familiar paths she walked as a child. Her eyes took in the devastation that had come to Kalevala, and her heart was beleaguered to look around and not recognize the landscape. The hills were barren with an absence of lush color beneath her feet as there had been in her youth, and among the crags and boulders that had withstood explosive devices and blaster fire, the rolling landscape had been reduced to rubble and debris. In her grief, mourning for the place where she played as a girl, the chill coming off the surrounding ocean was worse than she could have imagined, chilling her down to her bones.
Sullen by the reality she was now seeing before her, Satine turned to look out on the ocean, breathing deeply as the mist and the spray filled her lungs with its sting. Consumed by memories of a place that no longer existed, she kneeled to sit down and look out on the view she had loved so much as a girl. Hesitating at first, she grasped handfuls of broken earth, letting it sift through her hands. She felt certain that this trip home was a final grace being offered by her family, a way for her to say farewell before the Great Clan War came to an end and she was forever a persona non grata.
There had already been graces given, and Satine was not in ignorance of them. The Great Clan War was fought on two fronts: The small battles of squabbling clansmen, vying for their egos, which is how her parents were murdered, and the Mandalore sector’s epic theater of war that pitted the old ways against the new.
And in Coruscant, Satine had found herself attracted to the new ways. She was horrified by the HoloNet News reports with body counts and civilian casualties, with quiet villages reduced to scorched earth and smoldering ash, and assassinations at the hands of bounty hunters. Her love for Mandalore was strong, but she couldn’t pretend to ignore the harsh truth that they, themselves, would be their own downfall if the fighting didn’t stop.
Pacifism wasn’t a concept taught in her childhood, but the more travesties of war she witnessed, the more she found herself receptive to the New Mandalorian movement. The elders and advisors waved her off with condescending remarks about her age and her lack of life experience. They blamed Coruscant for poisoning her mind. They wished to pull her from her studies, but she was able to talk them out of it and they allowed her to remain there until her final year was completed.
She no longer represented their interests, she had been told. She was not the scion they had planned for. They could not support her rise to the Sundari Throne if she did not adhere to their agenda, for Mandalorians were a collective, and her straying from the traditional ways was a reflection upon all of Clan Kryze and House Kryze. She tried to reach out with civility and an eagerness to learn, but she was denied.
The graces were spent.
There would be no more small allowances because the same blood coursed through their veins. There would be no more dismissals of judgment because of her youth. There would be no more olive branches out of obligation to her father’s memory.
As the earth was slipping through her grasp, catching in the chill coming off the ocean and dissipating into the air, Satine Kryze knew she needed to make her peace and move along. There was no time to cry so as the ache to sob formed in the back of her throat, she clenched her jaw and swallowed her grief, blinking back tears that she refused to let fall.
What good does crying do?
The words of her father came to her, like the whispering of a ghost, but Satine didn’t believe in such things. No comfort to assuage her grief had been left by her parents, and none had ever surfaced, aside from the wisdom Duke Adonai Kryze had shown in planning and financing the next four years of her life prior to his untimely murder. It had been a small relief to not leave her school, her small group of friends, and her modest apartment in Coruscant, even though she ached for Kalevala.
But she was here now, and still she felt the ache of a wound that wouldn’t heal, searching for a place that felt like home.
Closing her eyes as her fair hair whipped around her in the wildness of the ocean breeze, Satine quietly sent out a futile plea to the water that she wished would consume her whole, swallowing her in her grief: “Father and mother, please forgive me for the shame I have brought you. It was never my intention.”
She lifted her chin, her eyes still closed, as she then spoke in her native Mando’a as she did everyday: “Ni su’cuyi, gar kyr’adyc, ni partayli, gar darasuum.” I’m still alive, but you are dead. I remember you, so you are eternal. The words didn’t bring her comfort. They never really had. But the routine of paying her small penance was like a swap of bacta gel on a burn. It wouldn’t heal the burn right away and the ache would surely return, but until then, it was a small moment of personal absolution.
Unbeknownst to Satine, her small moment of peace was in danger of being her final rites. A nearby crag, jagged and looming large among the brutal landscape behind her, was the perfect place for a figure in unidentifiable beskar’gam to hide in the heavy fog. Had the figure been there as she passed the crag? She would never be able to say for sure. Quietly careening around the jagged rock formation, the figure spotted the wispy frame of the controversial Duchess, looking out over the ocean as she sat peacefully.
The constant roar of waves crashing against the cliffs below them disguised the sound of boots stepping onto gravel, and in a vicious act of barbarity, a grappling line from a beskar vambrace slipped around her neck before she realized what was happening. In the next instant, the point of a kal dagger was pressed against her sternum as the attacker was on their knees behind her. The vocoder of their helmet disguised their identity as they spoke, “You have brought dishonor to the Kryze name and to all of Mandalore.”
Have you heard my cry, father and mother? Satine thought in horror as the cord around her neck was tight and burned against her skin.
The instinct to fight had kicked in, and Satine’s fingers struggled to find any slack in the grappling line but there was none to be had. Her eyes were wide with panic as she was incapable of screaming and her heart was pounding in her chest. Kicking her feet as she tried to ground her heels into the rubble to gain leverage and launch herself back against her attacker, she was able to raise her lower body into a bridge position, but as she did so, a searing pain in her chest overcame her and she gasped soundlessly. The dagger had pierced her skin.
Satine was afraid to impale herself upon the blade as she realized how incapacitated she truly was. If she tried to fight off the dagger, the line would tighten. If she tried to fight off the line, the dagger would go deeper. Her panic worsened when the red hot pain of the blade was accompanied by the metallic scent of blood filling her nostrils.
The attacker tightened their grip on the grappling line, and cruelly pressed the blade into the wound at her sternum. The pain became too much and Satine felt her awareness begin to flicker like a flame struggling at the remnants of a wick to remain burning. Red faced and making ragged attempts to gasp for breath, her eyes watered as her nails scratched at her own skin, trying desperately to cling to whatever slack she could find.
Find peace, Satine, it’s over. You were wrong, for this was your final grace, she told herself as her bloodied fingers stopped their frantic clawing of her neck and fell to her sides helplessly. Her breath was growing weak as the line tightened once more, and she took one last look at the ocean of Kalevala where she would die.
She would never be a part of the Manda, she would never lie for eternity with her family, but at least her last view would be of the very ocean that she had wished would swallow her whole. With that realization, Satine was at peace as her consciousness faded to black.
The Duchess of Kalevala awoke with a hoarse scream, coughing and thrashing about under the bright lights of her transport ship. Around her waist and her limbs, leather straps held her securely to a medical gurney, keeping her stationery as the aircraft traveled through hyperspace. Her clothing had been cut primitively to make quick work of exposing the weeping wound between her breasts, but her bandeau was still half-way intact, protecting her modesty among the guards on the ship.
She shook on the gurney in an attempt to break free of the holds, still screaming quietly in anguish as her blood shot eyes were wide with fear. She didn’t recognize the medical bay. She didn’t remember where she was, where she had been, or where she was going. There was only panic.
A young man with hazel eyes was the first to run into the medical bay. He called out, “She’s awake! The Duchess is awake! Come on, someone get in here!”
The head of her Royal Guard, Kal Vhett, appeared at her side and his gray eyes were warm with worry.
Recognition would not return to Satine, as she was still convulsing about and hoarsely crying out in spite of Kal’s gentle touch to her forehead and his calming murmurs, promising safety and passage back to Coruscant. Her skin was burning up beneath his touch. He reached over the girl and programmed a command into a vital signs panel, and a moment later after a yellow light scanned over the figure thrashing about on the table, an alarming beep began chiming and the vitals panel showed she was running a fever of 106 degrees.
Kal hollered over his shoulder for the younger man to retrieve help. “She’s feverish. Could be fatal. Go get Thrij. Hurry!” he warned.
Kal had been a part of her father’s inner circle, having protected the Kryze family for decades. Now, an older man with the heavy lines and aches of age setting in, he had made a promise to Lady Satine Kryze at her parents’ funeral pyre that he would see her safely to the Sundari throne before he stepped down.
Another Royal Guard, Thrij Loc, rushed into the room and began keying a code into a security panel near the vitals screen, pulling forth from an unlocked chest vials of liquid and packaged needles and syringes. He worked wordlessly as his nimble fingers assembled the injection of bacta and then another syringe of a concoction they kept on board as a fail safe: A concentrated antibiotic with none of the pain management properties of bacta.
Rushing to Kal’s side by the Duchess, Thrij commanded, “Sir, program a fluid IV.”
Kal had never heard that request before in all of their years of treating injuries and wounds: “A fluid IV? What?”
Thrij chuckled nervously as he sterilized the soft hollow of her abdomen in preparation for the injection, and then leaned forward, bearing the left side of his body against her upper abdomen to hold her still. As he injected the shot of antibiotic, he explained, “Until we can get her to Coruscant, we’ve got to keep her stable. She needs fluids.”
Satine’s face was greatly flushed and her eyes, although wide and frightening to see with the whites of her eyes blood red from her attack, were distant and unfocused. Her cries of pain were like the mewling sounds of newborn tookas, scratchy and unsteady.
Kal was doing his best to subside her panic, but he was at a loss. “Your Grace, you’re safe. You have been injured, but our experience tells us that you’ll live.” He reached for her hand and patted it like a father would, offering a small bit of comfort to the girl. “Please try not to talk. Your vocal cords are damaged, and you’re going to be in worse pain if you don’t let them rest.”
Thrij was administering the second shot, the bacta, as he continued to lean over her, holding her body as still as he could manage. As he released the last of it from the syringe and straightened his posture, he shook his head in response to Kal’s efforts, “She’s delirious from fever, sir. Could be the damage to her larynx. Maybe something worse with the chest, I won’t know until we get her a full med scan.”
“I thought the chest wound was shallow,” Kal frowned, his eyes remaining on the girl who now seemed to be quieter, less riotous where she laid upon the gurney.
“It was,” Thrij confirmed. “She’s lucky for that. Probably hadn’t even been her attacker’s goal to stab her, but happened in a struggle. The blood loss looked worse than it was.” He had begun the traditional work of starting an IV on Satine’s arm, and she was now compliant as he moved her hand around and she showed no sign of resistance. Her lips moved with garbled noise but her eyes were listless as she stared up at the ceiling.
Kal shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest, confessing quietly, “I thought she was dead, Thrij.”
“We all did, sir,” Thrij replied, finishing the outdated but still useful job of starting an IV by hand, and verifying that the fluids were dripping as he finished reviewing her vital signs. He gently placed her hand back down by her side and turned to Kal. “But I think she’s going to make it. We’ll manage the fever and keep her stable. It’s the best we can do out here in hyperspace.”
The ship had only been in hyperspace for five hours.
The journey to Coruscant would take four days.
As if Kal and Thrij spoke these truths aloud, they both left the bedside of the Duchess Satine and looked over at the open drawer of medicine vials. Thrij’s eyes quickly scanned over the contents and did a mental count of what they had and how long it would hold them over. Kal wasn’t as skilled with combat medicine, so he referred to the man: “Will we make it with what we have?”
Thrij moved to dispose of the vials, syringe, and needle he had just used, quickly moving about the space to sanitize and secure the medical bay. He gave an enthusiastic nod, “Most definitely, sir.”
“We weren’t expecting the first dose of bacta to wear off so fast. Thought she’d be out longer than that. At least 8 hours,” Kal glanced back over at the girl who looked like a frail shell of herself, moving gently on the gurney as if she was trying to get comfortable.
“Don’t worry, sir. I erred on the side of caution with her first dosage. We don’t want her comatose, just sedated so she can rest. Had we started off on a heavier dose, we might have missed the fever fast enough to intervene,” Thrij reassured him. He closed the drawer and secured it, then turned to review the medical bay and was satisfied with its status.
“How long will it take until she’s out?” Kal asked, rubbing the side of his tired face with his hand, trying to stay objective as he glanced back at their patient. “Ah, nevermind.”
The impact of the two shots had become a reality and Satine Kryze had been lured into the complacency of sedation. Her eyes were closed and her head had fallen to one side. The red flush of her face was beginning to fade, but the flecks of red that congregated below her eyes were vivid reminders of the sheer force her attacker had inflicted upon her.
Thrij nodded his head, “I’ll watch her vitals, sir. We should clear out for the time being.”
Kal nodded in agreement as Thrij dismissed himself from the medical bay, but when he looked away from Satine’s sedated form, he was surprised to find another guard in the doorway. He looked at the young man with hazel eyes who looked on with curiosity and Kal said, “I’ve known her since she was at the breast of her mother. She’s like my own child, if I ever had one. You showed great courage today, and because of you, Satine Kryze lives.”
Caepo Goss nodded, “Thank you, sir, but I only did my job.”
Kal Vhett shook the young man by his pauldron and smiled, “And you did it well. Go, retire for the time being. Thrij and I will be keeping a close eye on her.”
When he turned to look back at the eighteen year old Mandalorian Duchess, he sighed, noticing something worse with every look. This time, he noticed the yellowing of early bruising on her neck, competing with the band that encircled her in a raw, vicious red, and the vertical scratches that proved she had tried to fight her attacker off.
He dimmed the lights of the med bay and pulled a therma-blanket out of a nearby drawer to drape over her, covering her from her feet to her neck. The chill of hyperspace would sink down to your bones if you weren’t careful, and she was immobile and not even fully clothed. It was the least he could do to try and alleviate any discomfort she might have unrelated to her attack.
He thought of her mother, the late Duchess Zaila Kryze, as he looked down at Satine’s unconscious face and wondered how terrified she must have felt being so close to death. Her mother had suffered a worse fate, dying at the end of a beskad blade, massacred in her own private chambers of Kryze Castle. He was sure that if loved ones lived on after their death, then somewhere, Duchess Zaila was proud of her daughter, who fought for her life and won.
On a nearby monitor, Satine’s vitals were on display, and Kal Vhett looked over at them and found reassurance in her physical strength. She had survived, just barely, but she would be alright. She was stronger than anyone had ever given her credit for it seemed.
But until they reached Coruscant, there could be no assumptions about what would happen next. He needed to keep her stable until they could dock in the city and get her to a medical facility for immediate treatment, but he also needed to consider the possibility that other resources needed to be sought out in an attempt to keep her safe.
This was just the first attempt, but Kal was confident that more would come.
Satine’s eyes fluttered open and she was alarmed again, now somewhere else she didn’t instinctively know or recognize. Above her, a nondescript ceiling, around her, walls of a muted color, and no significant noise or indicators to give her any hints as to where she was. She felt her pulse quicken as anxiety built, and her stormy blue eyes began to dart around the room.
When the realization hit her that her arms and legs were no longer tethered down, she shot upright to find herself lying in a medical bed. She looked down expecting to see the aftermath of the attack, having bled through the front of her tunic, but instead, she was in a patient gown. Someone had undressed her in order to render care, but in her state of mind, the thought of being touched felt like a violation and left her stomach churning with nausea.
The room was sterile and quiet, to the point of being unnerving. Normally, a 2-1B medical droid would be standard in a patient room, but she found herself alone.
An attempt to cry out for someone was unanswered, as Satine could barely speak at all. She reached up for her neck and felt bandages where she expected to feel her own skin, and it triggered a visceral reaction in her. Her eyes widened in horror as she remembered the feeling of the vambrace, cold, and pressing tightly against the side of her head as her attacker held the grappling line around her throat. Her breath felt short, her skin felt tight, and she clawed at the bandages but much like the line, they were not moved.
Satine scurried to her feet, falling to the floor first as she hadn’t counted on gravity’s cruel grasp after days of lying in a bacta-induced sleep in hyperspace. She tried to pull herself up using the bed rails as leverage, but as she did, her torso stretched and a searing pain came from her sternum wound. A horrid sound escaped her lips as she wailed and her vocal chords struggled under their impaired condition.
Footsteps could be heard nearing outside the door, and the Duchess of Kalevala scrambled to her feet and looked around for anything she could use as a weapon. A brick-sized powerpack at the base of the medical bed caught her eye, with its long cord that attached to the underside of where she had previously laid. She yanked at the powerpack, holding it with one hand as the other grabbed the cord and ripped it from its outlet.
Trembling like a caged animal, Satine backed herself into the corner of the room and waited as the footsteps reached the door to her medical bay. Her eyes darted around the room frantically, trying to imagine where she could hide, or how she could skirt around an attacker to escape.
When the door slid open, the face that she saw was young and vaguely familiar, but he wore beskar’gam that was simple and plain of clan colors or allegiances. No helmet, no visible weapon, but it was his vambrace that alarmed her.
Satine tried to scream again, managing another painful yelping sound, as she gripped the black cord tightly and swung the powerpack before her like a melee weapon. Her arm moved deftly as years of training and muscle memory claimed her body as its own.
“Don’t come near me!” Satine tried to warn the intruder but her words wouldn’t form.
“Kal, I need your help,” the young man shouted down the hall as his hazel eyes never left the crazed girl. He raised both hands and stepped forward slowly and lowered his voice in an effort to not alarm her any further as he said, “Your Grace, you recognize me, don’t you?”
She shook her head wildly and put more force into her arm and shoulder, ignoring the way it agitated the wound between her breasts, and she lunged forward in an attempt to scare him off from coming any closer. He dodged the powerpack as it swung close to his face.
Kal Vhett appeared behind the young man in the doorway and pushed his way past him, “Back up, Caepo. Duchess Satine,” he called out, ducking the powerpack as recognition returned to her and she dropped the makeshift weapon abruptly, sending it flying across the room. “Duchess, you know me, right?”
Satine slid to the floor in a heap, reaching up to her neck and pulling at the bandages. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed in strange gasps, nearly hyperventilating before Kal knelt before her and held her by the shoulders.
“Breathe, Satine,” he guided her with his own breaths, giving her an encouraging nod as she followed his instruction. “That’s it, Your Grace. You’ve got it. Like that.”
Minutes later, the panic had subsided in the Duchess’ eyes, and as she continued to breathe in slow, even breaths like Kal had instructed her, she felt herself returning to the moment at hand. She was in a medical bay in Coruscant. Her Royal Guard had kept her medicated during the trip from Kalevala, and she was just now waking from the extended sedation.
Kal frowned, “I’m sorry you were alone when you woke, Duchess Satine. We didn’t expect you to be up so soon.” He pulled her hands and placed them around his neck and then reached down, lifting her off the floor. Turning to the bed, he set her down gently and watched as she sat forward, hugging her knees to her chest. “We have been in counsel with contacts from the New Mandalorians since we arrived.”
Satine was unable to speak, so she pointed to her mouth and wordlessly mouthed, I need a datapad or something.
The young man near the doorway caught on before Kal did and disappeared for a moment, returning with exactly what she had asked for. He handed the datapad to Kal, who then nodded and gave it to the girl.
Satine shifted, crossing her legs under the patient gown, holding the datapad in her lap as she looked down and typed:
WHAT HAPPENED TO ME? I CAN’T REMEMBER EVERYTHING.
Kal glanced over at what she had asked and then looked down, his mouth set in a hard line before he spoke, “You were ambushed by an assassin outside of your ancestral home.”
She returned her gaze to the datapad:
HOW DID I SURVIVE? I MADE MY PEACE AND WAS PREPARED TO DIE.
“When you asked your guard to fall back and give you privacy, he did, but he became concerned when you hadn’t returned. His instincts served us all well because he found you just in time,” Kal glanced up at Caepo Goss, who had taken up residence at the door.
Satine’s eyes bore into the figure at the door with curiosity and gratitude, and he flushed under her stare and nodded, turning abruptly to keep watch in the hall. She immediately felt remorse for treating him like an adversary minutes earlier when he only tried to be of service to her.
WHAT HAPPENED TO THE ATTACKER?
Kal sighed heavily and disclosed, “Killed. He was sent by a splinter faction, but we haven’t been able to identify if it's the same one that ordered the deaths of your parents. Caepo was able to approach him from behind and disable him, but the assassin wouldn’t give us any intel.”
TAKING HIM ALIVE WASN’T AN OPTION?
Kal smirked at her question and lowered his head to hide his expression. He knew she was going to ask. She was a strange one, this girl. He looked up at her and shook his head, “No, Your Grace. Caepo was alone and couldn’t bring you both. He made the choice to prioritize getting you back to the ship for medical attention. Good thing he did because you were in bad shape.” He paused and then added with a gentle smile, “Would you have wanted to break bread with your attacker?”
Satine glared at Kal and then punched out a response on the datapad:
YOUR SENSE OF HUMOR IS UNWARRANTED. OF COURSE NOT. BUT I WOULD HAVE ENJOYED REMOVING HIS BUY’CE AND NAMING HIM AS A TERRORIST. AT THE LEAST.
Kal laughed, “Judging by the way you improvised earlier with that powerpack, I think you would have wanted to do more than just name him. Maim him, maybe.”
She turned back to the datapad to write:
SORRY ABOUT ALMOST HITTING YOU. I DON’T KNOW WHAT CAME OVER ME.
“No apologies needed, Your Grace,” he patted her shoulder gently. “I’m going to leave that with you. The device is encrypted, but I’ll ask that you not try to send messages or holos to anyone. Our whereabouts in Coruscant are easily ascertained, but we are in talks right now for a long-term plan to keep you safe.”
She began typing again on the datapad with a confused look on her face:
IN TALKS WITH WHO?
He glanced over at the datapad and then responded, “We have a few key figures from the New Mandalorians here, a representative from the Republic Senate who is willing to provide us with whatever assistance we need–”
Satine tapped his arm and then typed:
IN EXCHANGE FOR SOMETHING, I’M SURE.
Kal laughed and nodded, “Of course, Your Grace. We’re keeping things cordial with him, but we’re not accepting any help yet. Also, we have a representative from the Jedi High Council here in Coruscant.”
The young girl’s blue eyes widened in genuine surprise and she made a face, then returned to the datapad:
THE JEDI HIGH COUNCIL? WHAT FOR? WHAT HAPPENED ON OUR WAY BACK FROM KALEVALA THAT HAS RESULTED IN THE JEDI GETTING INVOLVED? EXPLAIN THIS, PLEASE.
Kal Vhett stood up straight and cleared his throat, “Your Grace, the New Mandalorians are betting their movement on you. You are a noble-born of Mandalore, and as the movement and its supporters no longer recognize the legitimacy of the Darksaber, you can ascend to the Sundari throne and bring peace to our homeworld.”
“We are being called to the frontlines as every resource possible is being exhausted,” Kal disclosed. “You will need protection until this war comes to an end, and as such, the New Mandalorians and the Jedi Council have proposed an interesting solution.”
Satine narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips together tightly, knowing what was coming next was going to be less than ideal.
Kal sighed, “You will be put in the protection of a Jedi Knight of the Republic, and you shall go into hiding.”
She fumbled for the datapad on her lap and quickly typed:
FOR HOW LONG?
“Undetermined. Until the war is over,” Kal frowned. “Nothing is certain just yet. We are hopeful that we’ll know more by the end of the day. Your condition still requires that you rest, Duchess Satine. The medical droids applied synth-skin to your wounds, but your neck was bandaged as the layers were very thin. You’ll need to stay here and take it easy.”
She shook her head urgently and typed:
I DON’T WANT TO STAY HERE. I’M FINE. I WANT TO BE INCLUDED IN THE TALKS.
“I know you do, Satine, but right now, your focus needs to be on healing so that when this war comes to an end, you can be the hope that Mandalore needs,” Kal spoke quietly, encouragingly.
Satine tossed the datapad aside and held her head in her hands, closing her eyes as she tried to process what had become of her life. She felt frail but she looked scrappy, with the ends of her hair still matted with her own blood from raking her nails down her neck. Her hands had been quickly wiped by someone, but the evidence of her self-mutilation was still visible under her nails.
She looked up with stormy blue eyes, still disturbed with broken blood vessels where whites once shone, and appeared hopeless for a moment, overwhelmed, and distressed.
As she reached out for the datapad, Satine grimaced and reached for the bandaged wound in the center of her chest. She had aggravated the injury, and the pain was sharp and intense. She typed:
PAIN!
Kal patted her shoulder, “We’ll get you someone, just hold on.”
Satine braced herself as she placed her hand against the dressing on her sternum wound and she closed her eyes tightly, her voice raspy as she pleaded, “No droids!” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but in the quiet of the room, Kal had understood her.
He nodded and then turned to look at Caepo, still standing with his back to them in the doorway, and issued a command, “Caepo, find us someone. A human.”
The young man nodded and bolted from the door, disappearing only briefly.
At Satine’s bed side, Kal Vhett felt the lines of duty blur as he tried to reassure her that everything would be alright. She was tough but she was also inexperienced, and clearly shell-shocked, but he needed her to be as committed to her well-being as everyone else was. Her survival was crucial to the New Mandalorians.
Caepo appeared at the door again with a human on his heels, and as she entered the room a 2-1B series medical droid followed her. He frowned and sounded apologetic, “She insisted on the droid accompanying her. It’s clinic protocol.”
The human medic approached Satine and was blunt as she instructed, “You must lie flat.” As she guided Satine into a supine position, she unbuttoned the front of the patient gown and Kal’s eyes widened as he turned quickly to provide the Duchess with privacy. He made eye contact with Caepo and gestured at him to look away. The young man spun on his heels and returned to the doorway.
“What happened?” The medic looked confused as she examined the synth-skin that laid below a translucent dressing to protect it as it healed. “Were you injured by one of these men?”
Satine shook her head no, alarmed by the accusation being suggested. Kal and Caepo both offered their own verbal protests, as well.
Caepo spoke over his shoulder, “When she woke up, she was confused and thought she was in danger. I came into the room and she was out of the bed. She could have hurt herself getting up.”
Satine nodded, gesturing to Kal to find her the datapad that was somewhere on the medical bed near her. He managed to grab it from her side and hand it off to her, and she began to type:
WHEN I GOT UP FROM THE BED, I FELL AND PULLED MYSELF UP. THAT’S WHEN THE PAIN STARTED. THESE MEN ARE TWO OF MY MANDALORIAN PROTECTORS. YOU’LL MAKE NO SUCH ACCUSATION AGAINST THEM AGAIN.
The medic looked at the datapad and was indifferent as she removed the dressing, “Twombe needs to repair the synth-skin. It’s been torn from where you pulled yourself up. If we leave it as is, the wound could become infected or it could leave you with a scar.”
Kal felt Satine’s fingers reach out for him and he recalled her as a small child as he escorted her on one of many trips for her father, Duke Adonai Kryze. She had been scared of droids as a child, and to be honest, he wasn’t very fond of them either. He allowed her to hold his hand and he nodded to her, “You’re a Kryze. You can take it.”
The humanoid medical droid known as Twombe lurched forward as the medic stepped back. Beeping and speaking monotone Basic, he instructed, “Patient Satine Kryze, you will need to lie still and remember to breathe. I will begin by administering an anesthetic to numb the site of the wound now .” The droid’s arm came forward producing a sterile needle, lingering over Satine’s upper abdomen before it lowered smoothly into her skin and a plunger unseen within the droid’s arm completed the injection, and the needle retracted.
Her face was twisted into a disgruntled look as she glanced up at Kal and he smiled back at her, “You won’t feel a thing.”
Over the next few minutes, Satine found his words to be true as Twombe worked diligently at repairing the synth-skin that she had damaged in her desperate panic. She avoided looking in the droid’s direction and instead, focused on the blank ceiling above her.
Just breathe, just breathe, just breathe, she reminded herself silently.
As the minutes continued, she closed her eyes and imagined herself anywhere but there. Falling asleep to the sound of the ocean waves crashing outside of her childhood bedroom in Kryze Castle. Painting in her Corusanti apartment as she watched the sky traffic pass from the windows in her sitting room. Bouncing her baby sister Bo-Katan on her knee and singing to her.
“Your injury has been repaired successfully, patient Satine Kryze,” Twombe announced, lumbering back from the hospital bed. “You must be careful not to reopen the wound. I administered a low dose of bacta to assist in managing your pain. You might feel sedated, but the effects should wear off quickly.”
The human medic nodded in agreement and stepped forward to apply a fresh transparent dressing that would protect the synth-skin, in hopes that the patient would use caution upon hearing Twombe’s courteous warning. When she finished with the dressing, the medic quickly rebuttoned Satine’s patient gown.
“Thank you,” Satine mouthed, but only silence was heard.
Kal saw her effort and turned to the medic and Twombe and was her voice, “The Duchess is unable to speak, but she thanks you greatly.”
The human medic couldn’t have cared less, but she stated plainly, “The Duchess has suffered a fractured larynx. If she hopes to speak again, she needs to adhere to medical advice and stop trying to speak.” Satine shot the medic a sharp look, but the human couldn’t be bothered at all to make eye contact with her.
As Twombe shuffled out of the room past Caepo who gave the droid a look of equal parts curiosity and disgust, the human medic nodded and advised on her way out, “She will remain here for the time being, but this evening once the clinic has closed, she will have clearance to move around freely.” She glanced around and noticed the powerpack and its cord lying on the floor. “I won’t ask. I’ll fix that when I return.” She shook her head in annoyance and exited the room.
Caepo and Kal looked at one another and had a short discussion about shift changes to monitor the room, and when Kal turned back to the Duchess to get her opinion on the matter, he was surprised to find her asleep again. Her mouth was half-way open, her breathing ragged and noticeable. He reached out and tipped a finger under her chin, closing her mouth and therefore putting a stop to the labored breaths.
“Is she out again from the bacta?” Caepo asked curiously, peeking over Kal’s frame to catch a glimpse of her. “Talk about a sleeping beauty,” he commented sarcastically.
Kal nodded as he removed his hand from hers gently and returned her limb to its rightful place at her side. At the foot of her hospital bed, he pulled up the therma-blanket and placed it over her just as he had done aboard the ship. He then turned to look at Caepo, “The moment she returned to Kalevala, her life as she knew it was over. Once she recovers, she’ll never have another day of rest in her life.”
Caepo snickered as he looked up at Kal, “I hope all her schooling in Coruscant has prepared her for this.”
Kal glared as he moved forward, instinctively forcing Caepo to move back on his heels towards the door. The young man had experienced a major win so early in his assignment to the Mandalorian Protectors by saving the Duchess of Kalevala, but Kal needed to keep him humble. He stared down at Caepo Goss and muttered, “As long as factions like this are out there, she’ll be watching her back the rest of her life.”
He gave Satine’s sleeping form one more glance before he guided Caepo out of the room and Kal turned to secure the door behind him. The Mandalorians walked down a cold, sterile hallway to a back room where supplies were kept neatly organized. Conveniently easy to miss, there was a door the same color as the walls that was located in between two large shelves of crated materials.
Caepo paused at the door and deferred to his senior as he asked Kal, “Before we go in, I’ve gotta ask you, sir: Do you trust the Jetii?”
Kal crossed his arms over his beskar chest plate and furrowed his brow, carefully weighing each of his words as he spoke, “I trust them as much as I trust my fellow Mandalorians. How’s that for an answer?”
Caepo pressed the matter, “But I thought you said you’ve fought against clansmen you used to call family? And you’ve raised a beskad to men you used to call friends?”
Kal arched an eyebrow as he gave the young man a tired glance, “That’s my point.”
Activating the door’s entry sequence, Kal and Caepo entered the secure conference room where a circle of individuals was in grave council in hushed tones and guarded glances. Two native Mandalorians known only as Almec and Jerec to the Royal Guards were listening intently as a Rodian Senator named Onaconda Farr discussed the pacifism of the Jedi Order with a tall, mythical figure draped in a floor length robe. At his side was a younger man in a similar robe but with less presence as his shorn hair and long braid indicated his place as the taller man’s apprentice.
Jedi Master Qui-Gon Jinn looked over at the Royal Guards and asked calmly, “How is the Duchess of Kalevala?”
Kal Vhett took a deep breath and nodded, greeting the Jedi firmly, “She is stable at the moment.” All eyes in the room were on him as they silently hoped for more information. They had been a rapt audience, and he knew there would be probing questions if he did not control the outflow of information himself. Clasping his hands behind his back and glancing down, Kal continued, “The Duchess Satine was targeted outside of Kryze Castle on Kalevala in the Mandalore sector. We believe the attacker was from a splinter faction, though our intel on Kalevala is still trying to ascertain if the order came from the Duchess’ own clan or house.”
Whispers in the room indicated horror at the thought of a nearly eighteen year old girl being ordered to death by her own kin.
Kal cleared his throat kindly and resumed speaking, “She was strangled with a grappling line, and she was stabbed with a traditional kal dagger. We believe the stabbing was accidental and happened during her struggle to fend off the attacker.”
Jerec looked horrified, but asked what many in the room were thinking: “How were her guards subdued by this one attacker?”
Suddenly, the eyes on him became accusatory with the exception of the tall Jedi, who appeared increasingly calm, much to Kal’s confusion. He sighed heavily, “Clan Kryze would only permit Duchess Satine to return to her ancestral home under certain conditions, one being that she would be monitored at all times by Clan Kryze guards within the home, and that she would only be cleared to bring one of us off our ship with her.”
Jerec questioned again, “And they all were subdued?”
Kal shook his head, “No, sir. The attack took place outside of the home, so the Duchess was only under the protection of her sole guard. She ordered him to stand back as she ventured up the cliffs outside of Kryze Castle. She requested privacy.”
This time, Almec spoke up in an outraged tone, “And the guard permitted that?!”
Voices were chattering amongst themselves and beginning to theorize and share insight, overtaking the room with pointless speculation. Kal Vhett raised his arms out and his voice was louder as he commanded, “Please, let us settle down! There is much to be discussed and we have little time to set things in motion.”
As the room settled back down again, Kal nodded, “Thank you all. On behalf of the guard in question, this young man was following the orders of the Duchess of Kalevala, whom he was sworn to serve. This guard was also responsible for her rescue, so I ask that you be respectful in your judgment of this man.”
His words seemed to quelch the thirst of the room’s anger, and they resumed thoughtful contemplation and quiet commenting back and forth.
The tall Jedi with his calm, wise face was the next to speak, asking gently, “Sir, might I ask, is the Duchess in good health considering her injuries?” His arms were folded together beneath a heavy robe, and in spite of his looming, intimidating height, he gave off a presence of genuine concern.
Kal stepped forward in the direction of the Jedi, as if to continue their conversation directly and not with the remainder of the room. He nodded, “A fractured larynx and damage to her vocal cords seems to be the worst of it. The stab wound resulted in blood loss, but thankfully nothing more. She has broken blood vessels in her eyes, bruising to her neck, typical injuries from an altercation of this nature. We are hopeful that she will pull through.”
Qui-Gon Jinn nodded as he looked down at the ground between them, thoughtfully noting the condition of his possible ward. “I have been told that the Kryze family are warriors, as are most Mandalorians, I suppose.”
Kal nodded.
At the tall man’s side, his apprentice appeared less than interested in the conversation, but looked on with a disgusted look on his face as he considered the condition the Duchess was in. He seemed disagreeable in comparison to his master, who seemed even tempered and kind.
“Then she is a fighter,” Qui-Gon stated plainly, offering a gentle smile. “Will she be amenable to the situation if all parties give their vote of confidence?” He knew Mandalorians were not fond of Jedi, and it could be tedious work winning the heart and mind of someone who had little respect for him. He was up for the challenge, but he knew his padawan would find the idea of doing so exhausting.
When Kal spoke, his body language and demeanor seemed lighter. Optimistic. “Perhaps not immediately, but the Duchess Satine is not like most Mandalorians. She is rather open minded, even about the Jedi.”
The apprentice huffed and rolled his eyes, “Well that’s a relief, Master Qui-Gon.”
Qui-Gon Jinn did not acknowledge his padawan’s comment. Instead, he reached out to Kal, grasping the arm of the Mandalorian Protector as he said, “The Jedi Council gives their support. As soon as the Duchess is suitable for travel, we will do what we must.”
Twombe was annoying and Satine was still not too keen on droids, but she figured the droid was better than the human medic. Something about the medic annoyed her more. Maybe the way her tone never seemed to change. As Twombe inspected the synth-skin patch on her chest, Satine wondered if there was anything the human medic had heard that earned a more dramatic response from her.
“Patient Satine Kryze, the synth-skin is bonding to the wound well,” Twombe stated. “Please take care not to perform strenuous movements and to rest. I must now remove the bandages from your neck. Please hold still.”
Satine’s heartbeat quickened and she took a deep breath.
Twombe identified the change immediately and paused, “Please do not be anxious. I will not hurt you.”
But the physical pain was the least of her worries.
She had come alert less than thirty minutes ago, feeling strangely rested, until she reached up to pull at her dirty hair, scratchy and slack with days worth of grime weighing it to her scalp and the back of her neck. As her sore fingertips brushed against the thick bandages, she had an immediate mental recall of her attack. For the first time, she was fully alert and aware of what had happened to her.
The cord digging into her skin.
The cold beskar of the vambrace against her head.
The message transmitted through an emotionless vocoder.
The reality that she was helpless to fight him off.
The stinging heat of a puncture wound.
The way she longed for the peace of her own death.
As Twombe and Thrij came into the room, she was in the early throes of a panic attack. Thrij knelt at her bedside and talked her through it, encouraging her to visualize pleasant things and take consistent, controlled breaths. A few moments later, her panic was passing, and she was thankful to be awake and not subjected to another round of sedation.
Breathing as Thrij had instructed, Satine grimaced and tapped her fingers against the bed beneath her as she waited for Twombe to finish removing the bandages from her neck. She could sense the cool air of her room against the skin, raw underneath strips of synth-skin that were now adhering and beginning the healing process.
“Your wounds have taken to the synth-skin, Patient Satine Kryze,” Twombe announced. “I do not recommend applying bandages to the neck any longer. Bruising is as expected and will fade. You may have permanent scarring after the synth-skin has fully healed, but your outcome is positive.”
Satine sighed with relief and opened her eyes, looking aside to the medical droid with a sense of gratitude. She was glad to no longer need the binding around her neck, and although she still couldn’t speak with any volume or clarity, she said a quiet ‘thank you’ to the droid.
Thrij was nearby at the locked drawer, standing by in case he was needed to step in and assist as a second set of hands. His gray hair was flat and closely shorn to his scalp, a typical military cut that he’d never deviated from after he passed his verd’goten at thirteen and became a man in Mandalorian culture. He was in his thirties, but the years of battle in the Great Clan Wars had worn deeper lines of stress and age into his handsome face. He looked older than he truly was.
“Your Grace,” he spoke, strolling over to her beside, shoulder to shoulder with the humanoid medical droid, “How do you feel?”
As Twombe began to shuffle back from the bed to move around the room, Satine reached for his hand and used it to help steady herself as she sat up in the bed. There was a moment of dizziness as her blood pressure adjusted to the sudden change in her position, but other than that and a manageable level of pain, she seemed alright. She nodded and whispered, “I feel okay.”
“Just okay?” he smiled.
Satine smiled back, and whispered again, “I feel I am.. very well. I am grateful for all of you. I cannot thank you enough.”
Thrij gave a small bow at her bedside and held his arms at his side, “The honor is ours to serve you, Duchess Satine.”
“Ah, she’s awake,” came a boisterous voice in the doorway. Satine looked up to see Kal Vhett making his way in, skirting past Twombe. He came to stand by Thrij and look upon her expectantly, clearly pleased with her. “You are looking well, Satine.”
She was restless where she sat and she felt a bit overwhelmed with both of the guards looming over her. She looked up at them and she scrutinized their faces as she asked, “Would you mind widening the berth around me, please? I feel as though I need a bit of space.”
She was met with blank stares.
Satine sighed and rolled her eyes at her condition and looked around, retrieving her datapad from the foot of the bed where it had shifted as she slept. Her sore fingers typed quickly and she held up the datapad to the men:
PLEASE ALLOW ME A BIT OF SPACE. I AM STILL FEELING ANXIOUS.
The men were receptive as her request fell to them like an order. They both backed up and stood still, waiting for her next directive.
Satine smiled at them in appreciation and looked down to type again:
I WOULD LIKE TO GET UP AND MOVE AROUND.
Kal and Thrij were happy to help, outstretching their arms to give her stability as she dropped the datapad beside her and carefully shifted her lower body to face them. The dull and constant throb of her chest wound was there, but so was her stubbornness. Satine felt if she had to spend one more moment lying or sitting, she would surely lose her mind.
As she stepped down onto her slippered feet, Satine’s knees wobbled with uncertainty, but she quickly found her footing and felt confident to let go of her guards. She was tall for her age, thin and lithe, but the last few days had left her gaunt with hollowed cheeks and circles under her eyes. Her medical gown appeared to swallow her whole.
She turned her body carefully to grab the datapad and she typed:
HAS THERE BEEN ANY NEWS?
“Uh, yes, there have been further developments, Your Grace, but perhaps we should-”
Satine was shaking her head left and right as she stood before Kal and Thrij. Using the datapad, she typed:
NO, I HAVE WAITED LONG ENOUGH. WHAT IS HAPPENING?
Thrij glanced aside to his senior and mumbled, “Sir, may I be dismissed?”
Kal looked at him and confirmed, “Yes, take your leave.”
It wasn’t until Thrij and Twombe had exited the room that Kal looked up from the floor and focused his eyes on Satine. He knew she would not be pleased to give up her autonomy in exchange for her safety. No one of her age would. But she had to understand that it was for her own good. Her ego would be bruised, but it would heal. But if she was lost to another attempt on her life, the New Mandalorians might not survive. She was their only hope.
Kal forced a smile at her, “Your Grace, the recommendation is unanimous.” He paused and allowed her a moment to process, as she appeared shell shocked.
Her face lowered as she slowly typed on the datapad:
THE JEDI?
“Yes, Your Grace. They are eager to meet you and be of service to you.”
Satine sighed and stood quietly as Kal’s words faded into the dissonance of her thoughts. Her hand relinquished the datapad to the flat surface of her bed and she crossed her arms over her chest in a small act of defiance. As she did so, she brushed against her chest wound and hissed at the unexpected sensation. She frowned and dropped her arms, clasping her hands together in front of her as she tried to compose herself.
This is not the worst outcome, Satine, she told herself. You could be dead.
Kal reached out to her shoulder and clasped it gently, the way a father would, and he spoke quietly to the girl he once carried around the Sundari Royal Palace, “I have met them. The tall man is rather calm and peaceful. You will get on with him just fine.”
Satine raised her eyebrows in a questioning way.
“Come, my girl, let us get you some nourishment. You look to be a shadow of yourself,” Kal chuckled.
As he tried to steer her carefully towards the door, she remained unmoved. Her feet were planted firmly on the floor and she shook her head at him and gestured again with her eyebrows. He sighed as she would not let it go, reaching back for the datapad and typing:
YOU SAID ‘THEM.’ HOW MANY MUST I CONTEND WITH?
Kal frowned, “There are only two. A master and his apprentice. The master is personable. You will be fine with him.”
WHAT IS WRONG WITH THE APPRENTICE?
Satine glared at Kal with a flash of annoyance in her bloodshot eyes.
The leader of her Mandalorian Protectors reached up and rubbed his forehead as he tired of her stubborn questioning and inability to let the matter rest. He was starving. He was sure that she was, too. Taking the datapad from her hands and looking down at her with an air of authority, he frowned, “Your Grace, to put it mildly, the younger one will drive you mad. I don’t see the two of you getting along anytime soon. Consider that the worst of it."