Star Wars: The Last Qymaili | ✔

12 | Khetsuu

Song: "Anakin's Dream" from Revenge of the Sith OST

It had been two months since the initial meeting of Tikhél and Shia. The three of them pretended that nothing between them was awry, but in reality, the tension between his wife and Tikhél was as thick as the smoke at Naha'le Nu'ii. In spite of this, Shia had done her best to befriend Tikhél, and eventually consented to the wedding.

For if Shia could not make him forget Ronderu, perhaps Tikhél could.

Qymaen's robes were cool against his scales as, under the Abbaji Minor skies, he took the hand of his second wife, Tikhél saraal Tash-soon to be Tikhél jai Tash. The shaman stood before them, Shia watching from the side along with Bent and several other companions. The vows passed in a hazy blur; the words "bi amalj"-"I promise"-left his lips. The musical sensibility of Tikhél's voice repeated the same words.

Yet unlike the cold nothingness he'd felt kissing Shia's half-human lips, he felt too much for Tikhél-too much fire for her, her body most of all.

This isn't healthy, a small part of his brain whispered as he pulled away. Her scales, bronze-colored and bathed in radiance, were hot beneath his touch. This was a mistake.

But he shoved that thought to the back of his mind as he stepped away with his second bride, making his way over to the first. Shia's eyes were visibly joyous as she clutched Tikhél's hands. "You will be welcome in our home as long as you live, my friend."

But out of the corner of his eye, Ronderu's translucent form waved amidst the sunny day-her gold eyes hopelessly sad, her hands outstretched in warning. Don't you still love me, sweet Qymaen?

This was a mistake, the sensible part of him shouted. But he could drown out the sense, the flurry of thoughts threatening to drive him insane, with passion. Passion. Passion fed by his bloodlust and desire for Tikhél.

I'm done with you, Ronderu.

And are you proud of that? Her ghost said, quietly and yet more brutal than the worst fatality.

It was only now that he found tears rolling down his bare face. He snapped harshly back into reality. Shia had collapsed on the floor, her face pale. Tikhél's arms were clasped around the torso of her new sister-wife. "Qymaen!" she shouted again.

He was by Shia's side in an instant, gripping her hand. "What's wrong with her?" But it was only now that he saw the telltale signs.

Shia's stomach, protruding largely from her waist.

The fact that it had been six months since she'd brought the news of her child.

The great puddle of liquid resting on her skirt and around the place where she was now hunched in the embrace of Tikhél.

"What should I do?" Tikhél asked.

I'm going to be a father, his thoughts repeated like a mantra. I'm going to be a father.

He hadn't been expecting for Shia's water to break when they were this far at home-back on Kalee, her associates could help her give birth easily. There were few women around, and he'd sooner dance like a Tatooinian Twi'lek than hand his wife off to another man.

"I can help her," Tikhél said. "I also have another friend. I'll get her. We'll help Shia."

His hands trembled. "Go. I'll take her back to the medic's tent and await your return."

✺✺✺

Qymaen suspected fourteen standard hours had passed before Tikhél finally exited the tent. Her hair was disheveled, her gown was torn, and her hands were coated in blood as she grasped his.