II: Exile

Heyx had been holding her when she had fallen asleep.  Or, she thought he had.  When Saffra stirred, it quickly became clear that she was the only one in bed.  She laid on her side, staring at the drapes hiding the massive windows on the other side of their chambers.  Her head felt foggy, probably from a drug-induced sleep.  She must have panicked again.

Another miscarriage.  

She had heard that three was supposed to be a lucky number, but that wasn’t so for her.  Saffra was almost certain this one would come to full term.  She was barely past the second trimester when complications once again set in.  This had somehow been the worst of them all.  She was able to feel the child fluttering around inside of her, put a hand to her stomach and have it press a limb against her palm.  She’d interacted with it, spoken softly to it when the child grew agitated and wiggled around her womb at night.

And now it was gone.  

Saffra wiped at her eyes that had started to moisten, pulling herself up to a seated position.  She looked down at the navel of her nightgown where it had been swollen the day before.  It hung loose on her now.  Saffra put her hands to her face, shoulders shaking.  She had been so sure.  She dropped back on the bed to hide among the ridiculous amount of pillows, clutching her stomach and wishing this was a bad dream as tears continued to spill out.

There was a knock at the double doors to announce a servant. Saffra recognized the presence of Heyx’s Umbaran majordomo and pulled the sheets up to her chest, sitting up and rubbing at her eyes again.

“Enter.”

The pale man dressed in dark robes entered the room and stopped short at the foot of the bed, hands clasped behind his back.  And then he spoke.

“My Lady,” he said, voice as oily as ever. “You are ordered to leave.  My Lord Heyx is most upset to inform you that this relationship is not fruitful.  He sees no future to it.”

Saffra stiffened, her grip on the sheets shaking as her insides went cold.

“What do you mean?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

The majordomo lifted his chin, looking down his long nose at her.

“Simply, it means that he is divorcing you”—he pulled a datapad from a hidden pocket in his tunic, presenting it for her to see—“The document is here.  All you need to do is sign.  He is allowing you to take whatever of yours you want, and pay for passage back to your family estate.  

Most gracious of Lord Heyx, My Lady.”

Saffra’s whole body was quivering with anger and shock.  She tried to maintain her composure, but her tone wavered, threatening to burst into tears.

“Why isn’t he here to tell me this himself?” she asked, not bothering to wipe at her increasingly wet face.

“Because, My Lady, Lord Heyx is rather busy with important matters pertaining to the family business—“

Saffra laughed, a sharp sound that caused the majordomo’s shoulders to stiffen.

“So he’s divorcing me by proxy then?  I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

She threw the sheets back and slid out of the bed, stalking to the foot of it to snatch the datapad and briskly sign her name with a flourish.  She nodded at the Umbaran.

“Send servants up to pack my things.  I expect to leave before the morning is up.”

“Very good, My Lady,” the majordomo drawled, pocketing the datapad and gliding out of the room.  

Saffra folded her arms, biting her lower lip.  Her parents had arranged for this match.  If they knew that Heyx was backing out, then they would have a thing or two to say about that and how he had mistreated their daughter.  Those divorce documents would be nullified as soon as she told them what had happened, and Heyx would be the one answering to her to stay in her good graces.

—

“What do you mean you left?” The Countess snapped.

Saffra blinked at her mother, shrinking back a little.

“I-I didn’t have a choice,” she stammered. “He ordered me to leave.  I couldn’t go against him—“

The Countess grabbed Saffra by the upper arm, dragging her close to keep her from scuttling away.

“You are his wife!  You are a Lady!  If you had a lick of sense in that empty head of yours, you would have remained there to assert your dominance and stand up for yourself!  You’re not supposed to go cowering back to your parents!  It might have been a test on his part!”

Saffra shook her head, once again fighting back tears.

“You don’t know what he’s like—“

“No, I don’t, but you’re supposed to!  You’re his wife—“

“Was,” The Count chimed in, sipping dark liquid from a crystal glass.

The Countess muttered something that was probably a curse on her bloodline, unlatching her hand from her daughter’s arm.

“Was,” she spat. “In any case, you ought to have confided in each other.  You should have known what to do to twist his arm enough so that you could get what you wanted from him.  What leverage do you have that you can use now?”

None.  None.  She had none.  Heyx barely told her anything about what he did, unless it was to rant about profits dropping and somehow involve her as being part of that problem, or gloat about his successes.  Saffra twisted her hands together in front of her, hoping to find some sympathy in her mother’s eyes.  Again, none.

“Heyx is manipulative and self-serving,” she said, voice tight as she spoke quickly. “Everything he does is for his own benefit.  He only kept me around because he wanted my company and an heir.  I–”

Her throat felt like it was closing up.  She fought past it, pressing her lips together before continuing on.

“–I couldn’t have his children.  He ended our relationship because I couldn’t provide him with an heir to his empire, and he found that more important than having me for his wife, no matter how supportive I was despite his narcissistic behavior and constantly putting his needs and that of his weapons smuggling above my own.”

She met her mother’s eyes evenly, dropping her hands to her sides as her fingers balled into shaking fists.

“I’m not going back to him, no matter what you say to try to induce me to do so.  Heyx is a horrible man and an even worse husband, and you would be cruel to try to push me back into his ungrateful arms.”

The Countess gazed back at her daughter, her expression unreadable.  Then she swept past her with a sniff.

“You will write him a letter apologizing for your faults and your actions that caused him to think ill of you, Saffra.  And once things are mended, you will be going back to him.  This alliance is too important for your emotions to cloud your judgment in such a way.”

“Mother!”

The Countess turned on her, eyes flashing.

    “If you allow him to go through with this divorce, then you will be a disgrace to this family.  A blot that cannot be scrubbed out.  I didn’t raise disappointments.”

Saffra gaped, pressing her palms against her abdomen.  When her voice emerged, it was strained.

“Mother, I just lost another child.  He told me to leave.  Please don’t make me—“

The Countess didn’t meet her gaze.

“I have nothing more to say to you, Saffra.”

Saffra whipped away from The Countess, flying to the Count and taking him by the arm.

“Daddy,” she sniffed. “Daddy, please.  I can’t go back to him.  He’s horrible!  How many times do I have to say it?!”—she stamped her foot on the marble—“I won’t ever go back there!  I’m not your puppet!  You can’t tell me–”

    She didn’t see the hand come up, but she felt the strike across her cheek, stumbling backwards with a squeal of alarm.  The Count was looking at her coldly, hand still raised.

    “You’re being a child, Saffra,” he growled. “We all make sacrifices.”

He leaned close to her, causing Saffra to flinch as she expected another hit.

    “Do as you are told.”

Saffra held his gaze for a few long moments, shaking.  These were her parents.  They were supposed to understand her plight and be there for her.  Instead, here they were, telling her she needed to return to the man who had emotionally abused her for the entirety of their marriage, as short as it was.  They wanted her to pretend that she actually loved him, ignore his glaring vices and produce children for him, no matter if she killed herself doing so.

    She wanted to turn on her heels and run, let herself dissolve into tears until there were no more left to cry.  But…

Something violent was clawing its way up her chest, burning inside.  She was through with being used and tossed aside when she wasn’t good enough anymore.  She needed it to stop.

“Saffra,” The Count said, his tone condescending. “What is it you will be doing now, Darling?”

Her gaze snapped up, eyes blazing.  Her lips parted to spit something venomous back at him, then her teeth clicked shut as an idea began to take root, flourishing rapidly.  Defiance melted away from her face, the usual meekness that her parents expected returning.

“I will contact Heyx and see if we can smooth things over,” she said, her voice soft and subdued.

Saffra bowed her head to sell it even more, and to hide her shifting eyes as she tried to work out the plan that was starting to come together.  The Count pressed a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s better.”

“I’m sorry for lashing out at the both of you,” Saffra replied, lifting her head up to show tears sparkling down her cheeks.  She didn’t have to pretend to cry.  There was enough misery bubbling around in her chest for them to be genuine.  She glanced between the two of them. “I’ll do better, I promise.”

    The Countess deigned to give her a hug, but Saffra could tell that there wasn’t any affection in it.  She excused herself from their presence under the pretense of having to compose herself and see how she would go about edging into Heyx’s good graces again.  She spent half of the time in her chambers unraveling her plan and working out any weak points, the other half acting on it.  Among the trunks she had been allowed to take from Heyx’s manor, there was one containing various expensive beverages.  Saffra hefted a wine bottle that she knew contained a liquor her parents were fond of.  She passed it between her hands, then set it on her dressing table before calling a servant up to ask for a sedative to help her sleep.  Something strong that would knock her right out.  The servant obliged as fast as possible.

—

    Servants were there to assist her with readying herself to join her parents for their nightcap in the parlor.  Saffra had forgone dinner, but she was required to be there for the wine at least.  She had taken a small amount of the sedative so she would act suitably groggy and dulled.  The rest had been administered to the wine bottle and carefully sealed up to hide any hints of her tampering.  She had one of the servants who had assisted with her dress take the bottle down to the kitchen to pour out glasses for her parents; he was to explain to them that it was a gift she had brought back from Heyx’s.

    When she arrived in the parlor, they were waiting, discussing matters that they believed to be important.  Saffra clasped her hands in front of her as she shuffled into the room, seating herself in a chair she had long considered to be her favorite when she was younger.  

    “How was your rest, Dearest?” The Countess cooed.

Saffra felt her petting at her hair and wanted nothing more than to bat her mother’s hand away.  She tightened the hold of her fingers in her lap, trembling a little.

    “It helped.”

“Good.  You do realize that we’re doing this for your own benefit, don’t you?  We only want the best for you, Saffra.”

    Saffra pressed her lips together, nodding.

The servant came in with the wine bottle on a platter, three goblets balanced around it at the perfect moment.  She didn’t know how much longer she could keep from snapping at them.  The wine was poured out into equal amounts in the goblets, passed around to the family.  Saffra took one, her fingers rubbing the stem of the glass while she watched her parents test the drink.  They gave comments of approval at Heyx’s tastes before sampling the wine with larger gulps.  The servant left, closing the doors after him.

    Her mother was the first to react, fumbling to a chair and clumsily setting her goblet down on the glass table.

    “This is very–very strong,” The Countess coughed.

The Count was nodding as he dropped down on the divan nearest to her, blinking exaggeratedly.  Saffra remained glued to her seat, not daring to say a word.  The goblet was loosed from The Count’s hand as his head wobbled, then his neck craned back over the top of his seat.  The Countess was quick to follow, flopping over on her side.  Saffra waited a few minutes before she stood up and picked her way over to her parents.  She tilted her mother’s head back, assessing her face before giving it a hard slap.  She was most definitely out.  She kicked The Count in the shin and he didn’t even budge.

    A slow smile lifted the corners of her mouth.  

Saffra glided over to the doors, quietly locking them with a hum.  She had told the servants to steer clear of the wing of the manor where the parlor was located for the duration of the evening.  

It would take all night for what she needed to do.

The proboscises that Saffra typically kept tucked away in her cheeks unraveled as she approached her father, sitting down next to him and wrapping her hands around his head.

    “I’ll consider this to be my inheritance, Daddy,” she murmured, the tendrils snaking their way up his nostrils.

—

    Saffra slipped out of the parlor in the wee hours of the morning, shaking from head to toe.  The amount of Luck she had absorbed from both of her parents was incredibly strong and potent.  It was exhilarating and frightening at the same time.  She knew that the quivering and lightheadedness would pass; she had consumed a young Jedi as a child and recognized that sensation from years ago.

    Her fingers knitted together as she tried to control her quivering, then moved up to brush her hair behind her ears.  Saffra drew in a deep breath, lifting her chin as she headed upstairs to her chambers at a brisk pace.  She needed to start packing.  Once the servants found the bodies of her parents, then the manhunt would start.  Saffra needed to be as far away from Anzat as possible when that happened.