Star Wars: The Last Qymaili | ✔

40 | What Have I Done?

Song: "Darth Maul Breaks Obi-Wan" from Star Wars: The Clone Wars OST

"He...." Shia sighed. "He's declining. San Hill said six hours at the most."

"Does Scipio accept visitors?" Ronderu asked softly. I was too late. I couldn't save him. "Perhaps we could pay him a visit."

"How can you be so calm about all this?" her friend snapped, throwing her hands up. "You're not even crying!"

"He's not dead yet," Ronderu pointed out. "There's still a way we can save him. Life support created by the Republic can help him. We'll ask the Banking Clan if we can take him to Mandalore or another Republic-controlled space—that should fix him."

"No," Shia whispered. "I'm afraid it's much worse than that—he's lost everything from the hip down."

"One can survive without being a toy of your own pleasure, Shia," she snapped.

She scoffed. "Says the one who was pining for him for ten years. At least I loved him and wasn't off chasing human Jedi instead."

Ronderu backed away slowly, a scowl on her face. As if I would go for Arna—that damned liar. She clenched her fists icily, ready to threaten Shia to take her to Scipio....

And she was doubled over with agony. Complete pain, roaring torment, as if someone had heated a knife and jammed it through her stomach, her ribs, her lungs, her face. Her hands closed beneath her bosom, and she sank to the floor.

"Ronderu!" Shia shouted, catching her as she fell. More hot sparks. More electricity. More hot knives, cutting out her entrails and playing with them like they were interesting toys.

She screamed and curled into a ball. Sweat coated her body. Shame, anguish, fear penetrated her very core. And she was a little girl again, and body weight was crushing her bare scales against a sleeping mat. She was sobbing, and every muscle wanted to die....

And then, abruptly....the agony stopped.

It ceased. And the bond she had shared with Qymaen for nearly thirteen years, the bond that had caused the most beautiful intimacy one could share with the other, was truly snuffed out.

She lay on the floor, her eyes gazing toward the baseboard, as Shia stroked her sweaty hair. She could not save him. Dooku and his cronies, indirectly or directly, had succeeded.

Curling into a ball, she shuddered. Her womb was barren, as it would always be. She would never dance in battle with him again. She would never feel those diamond rivets against her mouth; she would never marry him.

After all this, she had failed.

She hiccupped once as her respirator tried to breathe. And she, the great Khaneme Kummar, who had quietly endured all sorts of afflictions throughout her life....was sobbing.

✺✺✺

Grievous' eyes opened. A claw scraped burned scales off his shriveled skin. He breathed but did not breathe; his heart beat, and yet it did not. A different entity, something outside of himself, was controlling his life-functions.

Beeping buzzed in his head horribly, like needles stabbing through his ears. But did he even have ears? Everything except his face and back was numb—and he wished it were so for those places too.

"You are awake," San Hill observed from beside him. A droid continued plucking scales from around his eyes. "How do you feel?"

His lips were frozen against the icy plate that sat over his face. Why am I hurt? Why am I numb?