Private Sins of a Solar Kingdom

[Lethe Harrow]

SINS OF A SOLAR KINGDOM
Ft. Darth Libertas ​

THE AUBADE HOTEL
THE MITHRA DISTRICT, SOLAY CITY

The twin suns of Tatooine had nothing on Solay.

A planet caught in a state of perpetual day, subjected to twenty seven hours of interrupted sunlight courtesy of the ten suns that subjugated the system, the people of Solay never truly slept. Not in the traditional sense. Even during the dead of the supposed night, a full three suns held an oppressive sway over the skyline, making it impossible for an outsider to tell one day from the next. All blurring together in a sweltering haze.

Such conditions bred a strange kind of people.

Staunch, stubborn traditionalists that laboured from sun up to sun up, breaking their backs in service of a ruling elite that lived quite the literal high life, utilising jump platforms to oversee and dominate their holdings from above. Which, even for a scion of the Tapani sector, was all a little trite and cliche.

They did have a rather delightful array of colourful liquor going for them, however. A cross section of which Lethe took great pleasure in sampling from the balcony of her temporary residence, watching the populace scurry about the rough paved streets below, enjoying the excuse to get thoroughly buzzed on someone else's dime.

Officially, she was laying low after a job in the neighbouring system, waiting for Amea to send her the details of the next contract. The mysterious brunette had been providing her with an increasingly large percentage of her gainful employment as of late. It seemed the information market was booming in these uncertain times caused by the sudden shift in galactic power.

Unofficially, well…

It turned out that the wider galaxy didn't have a monopoly on instability. Solay had more than its fair share as of late, with the news of the late king's sudden and surprising passing detonating a bomb on the political landscape. A rapid, brutal struggle with illness by all accounts. One that had coincidentally spread through the upper echelons of power almost in concert, taking with it a bevy of heirs, government officials and more than a few military brass along with it.

It was a small wonder that the general populace were spared such an obviously terrible malady.

It was equally fortunate that the Ten Great Houses, though formerly seen as an outdated relic from the founding days of the kingdom, were on hand to step into the breach and assume control during the turbulent period that followed. Seizing Galantly safeguarding many of the planet's valuable infrastructure and cabinet positions, they worked tirelessly and harmoniously to ensure the peace and prosperity of the populace continued unabated by the tragedies that had befallen them all.

For the first three months, at least.

Long enough for stability to take hold, and with it the question of royal succession. A question that rocked the tenuous alliance the Great Houses had fashioned just enough for the cracks to begin to appear. Cracks that quickly gave way to a silent, ruthless war that was quickly taking hold within the planet's long shadows as each house now vied for supremacy.

Assassination, treachery and faustian bargains were now a daily occurrence.

Ten suns cast a lot of shadows.

Ten houses, ten candidates.

Ten prospective paydays.

An enterprising individual could find worse ways to spend her down time.

 

[Darth Libertas]

Lethe Harrow

Supposedly, the Dark Age had ended almost a century ago. Now was supposed to be a time of progress, and prosperity. After all, a Dark Age had to be followed by a Golden Age. The exact time span of the Dark Age was, of course, arbitrary. If the new era was supposed to be distinguished from the old one by providing stable government, it had failed.

Apparently not just on the galactic level. True, Solay was not Bastion or even Coruscant. It had not been passed from one would-be empire to the next like a bad penny. It had been doing quite well for itself. Until most of its ruling group suddenly fell dead due to a mysterious disease. Fortunately, the nobility was there to step in. In the best tradition of governments across time and space, the new regime had appointed a commission. The demise of most of its ruling class necessitated a prudent, diligent investigation, after all.

(Retired, but reactivated) Royal Investigator Ser Tremayne Howe sunk back into the leather seat of his hover-limo with a tired groan, after disconnecting a call with a rather annoying noble. He rubbed his temples, feeling an approaching headache. In moments like this, he really felt his age. "Just when I thought I was out, they pull me back in," he grumbled, adjusting his monocle. "And for what? A farcical circus."

"Our whole nation has been struck with grief. The people are afraid. The Transitional Ruling Council could not entrust this delicate task to anyone but you, Ser," his aide-slash-minder opined. Sharply dressed, he was much younger than his boss, being in his late twenties. "It was you who dismantled the Obsidian Blades, who rescued the daughter of..."

Ser Tremayne waved the younger man's words aside as if they were buzzing insects. "I'm an old horse put to the pasture, and now the new powers that be have seen fit to dig up my carcass again to play my part in this drama," he snorted. "Wasting Sickness. Lady Cynthia Curzon? Maybe. She was ailing for a while. Corrino was so deep in his cups half the time he forgot where he was. But Marshal Tyrell? He'd just been given a clean of bill. The entire royal family?"

"The evidence is weighed heavily in favour of it. The experts we've consulted..."
"Those who haven't been hounded into silence?" the investigator cut him off. "Pah, your handlers don't have to worry, my boy."
"Ser, my loyalty is to no one else than you and our nation, which urgently needs answers to heal."

"Come off it, boy. I won't embarrass you by asking which of the vipers put you to the task. You're young, you've got a career ahead of you. I won't deviate from their script. We just have a few more calls to make, and then we'll deliver..."

He would, unfortunately, not conclude his sentence. Or his investigation, for that matter. For suddenly the speeder erupted in a large, orange fireball. Pedestrians on the streets fled at the sight of the explosion. Those too close would be physically thrown by the wave of the detonation. Soon sirens would howl and the media would go mad.

 

[Lethe Harrow]

Darth Libertas​

The Vice-Chancellor of the Exchequer's office stank of cigars, brandy and the failings of weak men. A stench that permeated the room from the rich, lustrous and expensive red carpet to the equally ostentatious, and rather hideous, drapes. The latter of which had been surreptitiously drawn for the meeting currently being held, transforming what was already a poorly lit room into an abysmally dim affair indeed.

It’s owner, a portly man in his late fifties, his boot polish black hair as greased as the weasel looking excuse for a mustache that occupied the space below his fisherman hook of nose, was currently hunkered down on the other side of the lavish kashyykian walnut desk. Whispering loudly to another greased up noble with the air of someone that wasn’t sure how to even spell clandestine, let alone engage in any sort of affair.

“She does come highly recommended, Regis.” The Vice-Chancellor warbled, his pet weasel twitching nervously. “We could use someone with her particular… Ah, skillset? … This dastardly affair is getting out of hand. That business with Howe…”

“Howe was a doddering fool, old boy.” Regis harrumphed in turn, sipping at the crystalline flute he held precarious between his sausage-like fingers in one hand while waggling a cigar in the other. A veritable stereotype in an ugly maroon military uniform that came complete with a bar of enough unwarranted metal that he sounded like a windchime in a gale everytime he moved. “He was one foot in the grave. It was about time someone did the man a favour and put the other in for him.”

“Regis!”

“No, this one… How do we know she isn’t working for the other side? I mean, what are the chances someone with such a skillset happened to be on Solay just when we started looking? Seems circumspect if you ask me.”

“Yes, I suppose it does sound a little suspicious. And it seems there have been some concerns about her, ah, behaviour in the past. Maybe we should -”

“Stop talking like I’m not three feet away?” The mercenary finally cut in, having grown tired of the show playing out before her. Like Regis, and the Vice-Chancellor, she held a glass of yellow coloured liquor in her hand. The only pleasantry they’d extended her way before engaging in their supposed private conversation. “Just a thought.”

“Yes, of course, my apologies Ms. Harrow.” The Vice-Chancellor offered, clearly being as sincere as he was attractive. “Regis, we do need to stop overlooking the commoners.”

“Dame.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My title. ‘The Right Honourable Dame Alethea Harrow’ if you want to be exact. ”

“Ah, yes. Tapani.” Regis remarked in the same tone one would expect from someone finding excrement on their boots. “They do like to hand those titles out like their candy. Everyone is Sir this, Baron that, Lord Muckity Muck the third.”

“Oh, Regis, do behave! Whatever will Ms… Dame Harrow think of us if you carry on like this.”

“Not much.”

“I’m sorry?”

'Not yet you're not,' the mercenary thought with an drawn out sigh. The foppish jovelity the pair seemed to be enjoying was grating on her nerves, more so because they seemed to think it was at her expense. Fortunately for her, it wasn’t. Unfortunately for them, it wasn’t.

“You know,” Lethe raised the thin flute of vibrant yellow alcohol to her eye-level. “I spent the last few days sampling your absurdly good range of liquors. And do you know what I learned during that time?”

It wasn’t a question.

“That this, Veruvian Sunshine, I believe you called it?” Another non question that didn’t require an answer. She’d done her due diligence and researched her prospective clients ahead of time. Likes, dislikes, hobbies and vices. The latter proved quite enlightening. “Would pair quite nicely with an ingenious poison called Mycotoxin. I don’t suppose either of you heard of it?”

That got their attention. Enough for a nervous energy to the silence.

A sudden, cold flopsweat beaded the brow of the Vice-Chancellor of the Exchequer, while a look of puzzled, unfocused confusion appeared on the face of the foppish rake that was Sir Regis as the proverbial penny began to drop on who exactly they’d invited into their midst.

Neither stank of guilt, however.

“Pity.” She murmured, taking a long sip from her own flute. The loyal royalists, the few that had survived the initial and follow up waves of cleanses by the High Houses, had quite the bounty on those behind the late king’s murder.

“Mycotoxin,” She continued, either unphased or enjoying the sudden discomfort she was causing within the room. “Is derived from Kytrogorgia. A slimy, garishly coloured little mold. Something to which I’m sure you relate.”

They were either too engrossed or too dense to notice the obvious, lazy inference for what it was.

“Now consumption of Mycotoxin can cause a wide range of effects depending on the dosage. Several of which, if you’ve been keeping up with current news, you’d recognise from the recent string of illnesses plaguing the capital.” She placed the glass down. “Of course, most of those were brought about using rather small micro-doses over a longer time frame. Presumably by someone with a great deal more patience than I’m known for.”

“W-What are you saying?”

“Gerant, you fool. You know what she’s saying.”

Ah, so Regis wasn’t quite as dumb as he looked. That somehow made it sweeter.

A refreshing change to the bitter citrine taste that coated her mouth.

***​

[The Office of the Exchequer was rocked by the tragic loss of Vice-Chancellor Lord Gerant Valorick. Lord Gerant, the heir apparent of the Great House Valorick, passed away in the early hours of Taungsday following a brief, yet valiant struggle with the same unexplained illness that has seen many of this Kingdom’s brightest and finest taken from us all too soon.

Upon assuming the temporary office of the Vice-Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lord Mallor of Great House Morn has vowed to uphold the same rigorous ethics and morals of his predecessor.

In other news, several prominent Solayan companies have seen a dramatic reversal of fortunes following a recent string of tax brea–]

She cut the news holo out with a lazy flick of her wrist. The motion causing a fine trail of white ashes taking flight across the hotel bathroom she’d sequestered herself in since the events of that morning. The cigarette helped dull the edges of the artificial detox. The limited warmth the thin cancerous stick offered served as a welcome distraction to the frigid chill of the ice bath she languished in. Her time with the Mecrosa Order had given her an exceedingly high tolerance for certain chemical concoctions, but there was a limit. One she had played a dangerous game in crossing, however satisfying it might have been.

House Morn certainly seemed to agree.

As did a few other individuals, if her inbox was anything to gauge.

 

[Darth Libertas]

Lethe Harrow

[Speaking to the press in his daily briefing, Acting Minister of Law and Order Lord Clarance Gallagher firmly rebuffed rumour-mongering in connection to the tragic death of Ser Tremayne Howe. "Ser Tremayne was a patriot, a great investigator and a personal friend. Claims that his death was orchestrated by the Lords Declarant are nothing less than slanderous. Tremayne was an implacable enemy of outside criminal elements. It was his unrelenting crusade against them that led to his tragic death. I, and my entire department, will bring the full force of the law bear against them.

I urge citizens not to fall prey to disinformation. It will sow the seeds of discord that will bring harm to our great realm. This is a time of mourning and unity, not rumour-mongering. I urge all citizens to be vigilant."

The Minister proceeded to elaborate on measures imposed by the Transitional Council to protect citizens of Soya from the unexplained disease that has taken the lives of many of the Kingdom's best and brightest, including His Majesty the King. "I don't make this decision lightly. My duty has always been to protect the ancient liberties of Soya's people. But we face an unprecedented crisis. To contain the spread of the disease, a curfew will be imposed at night. Large gatherings must be prohibited. Daily check ins will be imposed..."]

This was all very riveting, surely. Lethe would, meanwhile, have received new messages in her inbox. One, should she choose to open it, read as follows:

"Dear Dame Alethea Harrow,

we continue to be impressed with your initiative and speedy resolution of problems. Remuneration for your latest assignment should have arrived on your account. House Morn wishes to deepen its working relationship with you. Please come to the Lucky Raven club so that we may make further arrangements.

Yours,
Cawne Amersu"

The holomail contained a time for the meeting as well as a certificate that would tell the security types on the streets she had an official permit to be up and about. It would've probably ended poorly for these poor fellows if one of them tried to get in her way.