Luke bowed his head, dipping his shoulders, deeply wary. "To continue to serve, Master- nothing more is necessary."
"You are too modest, my friend. Such an act deserves reward..." the Emperor paused theatrically, considering, and Luke kept his gaze down to hide his unease; What's he up to?
"My new Super Star Destroyer is to be delivered here within months- it's yours, my friend. Your new flagship."
Luke didn't look up, aware that he had been cornered - to refuse before Court would be an intolerable breach in etiquette, but the new Destroyer would be bristling with covert surveillance and concealed stealth equipment of new design, much of which would have been developed in direct response to Luke's ability to detect and disable existing equipment, all of which would have to be dealt with and cleared from sensitive areas before Luke could resume his own operations.
The Peerless had been his safe haven and Palpatine knew it.
"An unwarranted reward, Excellency." Luke said, raising knowing eyes to his Master's taunting grin. In truth, he'd expected some reprisal when his Master found out that Master Yoda was already dead, whether Palpatine believed Luke knew or not; it was in his Master's nature. But that didn't mean that Luke shouldn't maintain some sense of tactfully injured pride before the Emperor- any less would seem fraudulent.
He'd become accustomed to these games within games, either before an attentive audience or in his Master's private Council Chambers. The public presentation of Emperor and Heir - no visible discord and therefore no opportunity for those in Court to try to play one against the other - hid the more fractious game played between a conceited, distrustful Master and a reluctant, wilful advocate; the veiled battle of wills which that always entailed. And beneath this was another layer of powerplays, that of manipulations and evasions, absolute authority maintaining precedence over stealthy insurrection.
It was second nature to Luke now, this life, these games; allies were unreliable unless one had the means to guarantee their loyalty and adversaries were little more than opportunities to be used and discarded. The only way to avoid the same was to stay beyond reach.
Power gained position and position gained power, as his Master was so fond of reciting. There was no room for weakness here, where integrity and morality were crippling flaws- he'd learned that lesson too. The only way to remain beyond reach was to lead the pack, credibly and decisively; the moment one showed the slightest hesitation the mob would turn - and Luke had no intention of falling to this pack of cold-blooded self-serving scavengers.
It had become is driving mantra- to outlast them all, if only out of sheer wilful obstinacy. Every time he came back, every time he walked among the scavengers and the manipulators and the opportunists, he felt his own determination fire. That he wouldn't crumble for Palpatine's amusement, that he wouldn't be dragged down by the pack. Every time he stood among them he felt the same resentment, the same revulsion, firing that same refusal to succumb; to lay down and die for someone else's gain. The determination to prevail, to become invulnerable; untouchable... whatever the cost.
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CHAPTER NINETEEN
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The trial was held in the massive State Room on the lower levels of the South Tower, an exercise in Imperial pomp and propaganda, a host of high-ranking officials and Royal Houses 'invited' to attend.
It seemed to Luke to be little more than a poorly disguised indulgence of the Emperor's ego- but then he had expected no less.
It had been made clear that he was expected to spend a spell on Coruscant, so he'd hardly been surprised when he had returned to his apartments to be presented with a formal invitation to attend the final verdict. The representatives had waited- to deliver the message by hand rather than for a reply; any 'invitation' on the Emperor's behalf was to be viewed as a direct command and never refused.
In a typical display of overindulgence, it had been delivered on a gold platter by two messengers accompanied by four Royal Guards. Luke had taken the vellum card, glanced at its content then turned away, dropping it on the table nearby without comment. The act would, he was sure, have been studiously reported to Palpatine before the night was out.
The verdict, when it was finally delivered, was hardly unanticipated...
The morning of the execution was bright and still, and Luke had briefly stayed huddled beneath his sheets, turning breakfast away before rising and chiding himself for his own irresolute morals. He'd made his decisions; he should at least have the integrity to stand by them now.
Despite his quiet protestations and subtle avoidances, his Master had made it very clear that Luke would attend Mothma's execution just after midday, Chancellor Amedda contacting Luke's Aides to announce that the Emperor had ordered an 'Honor Compliment' of twelve Red Guards to be sent to his quarters at the relevant time to accompany him to the event- just to clarify the situation.
Still, when Luke had ordered Darrick to bring a pale jacket and white shirt, his dresser had raised his eyebrows in politic silence, though the old man knew better than to say anything out loud. The Emperor always had members of his entourage dress in what were termed 'Court Livery'; scarlet, midnight blue or, for those in his closest entourage, black. Though he was entitled, Luke seldom wore black- but to wear pale tones today would be a glaring statement of dissent.
Aware of his silent disapproval as the old man studiously brushed at imaginary specks on the pale, impeccably-fitted jacket, Luke had turned on his Dresser, issuing a sharp rebuke and dismissal which caused the old man to shrink back, head low, leaving Luke with yet another reason to feel guilty. After long minutes of consideration, he'd called Darrick back in and asked him to bring something more suitable and the old man had nodded diplomatically, nothing more needing to be said.
But it meant that when Mara had arrived, Luke was still in his dressing room, so she knocked quietly and leaned in through the door in an unprecedented display of familiarity as Darrick bowed and left with his customary silent discretion.
She didn't speak as he tied the fasteners of his high-collared jacket; didn't rush him. Maybe she too had sensed the atmosphere in his apartments, everyone tip-toeing around him with wary caution - with good reason, considering his mood for the last few days Or maybe it was another softening of the battle-lines long-since drawn between them, but even she had enough tact to be moderate today.
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Mara watched Luke smooth non-existent creases in his dark jacket, eyes down, jaw locked, clearly agitated, as he had been every day since his return to Coruscant, walking a knife-edge of guilt, but for a very different reason to her own, she suspected.
When they'd reached Coruscant the reality of their transgression had hit Mara with devastating force, guilt seeping into her at what she needed to do when they returned to the Palace - who she had to lie to - the realisation washing a wave of anxious agitation over her. "What will we do?" she 'd whispered.
"You'll do as I taught you." He'd said calmly, gazing silently out into the massed lights of the glowing planet, "He has no way to know unless you tell him."
She held still, eyes on his back, so eventually he spoke out again, lowering his head to rub at his eyelids, as he often did when he was tired or tense. "He's not all-powerful and he's not infallible. He won't know if you do as I taught you, and what he doesn't know he can't take from you and he can't make you tell him."
She remained silent and he'd finally turned to look at her, "He only knows what you tell him, Mara. Whatever he learns it's from you."
She glanced away again, apprehensive, aware from his clipped tone that he was the same despite his veneer of calm, though she didn't know whether it was because he was about to lie to the Emperor or because he was relying on her to do the same.