by Claudia Gray
Many of the women in attendance—and not a few of the men—wore finery much grander, such as thickly jeweled bracelets or headbands, or outfits made of embroidered silk and velvet. Yet Ciena knew she looked as elegant as anyone else there. Instead of resorting to tight braids as usual, she’d freed her curls, softening them slightly with light fragrant oil. Kendy had loaned her iridescent combs made of shells from Iloh, to hold her hair back at the temples, and simple pearl earrings. Ciena looked right for the occasion, and yet she also felt like herself—not like an impostor, the way she would have in one of the grand, wide-skirted, elaborate dresses and robes she saw.
“There you are,” Jude said. Ciena turned to greet her—then stared.
Since Jude hadn’t said a word about her own dress, Ciena had assumed her friend’s practicality would govern her choice of gown: something gray or ivory, perhaps, simply tailored, appropriate for all occasions. Instead, Jude stood there in tight-fitting orange fabric—at least, apart from a few strategic cutouts that showed her flat belly and willowy back. Her military-short hair had been gelled into spikes, and her gold earrings dangled all the way down her long neck to brush her shoulders in a way that was, frankly, sexy.
As Ciena gaped, Jude frowned in what looked like genuine confusion. “What is it?”
“I—you look great.”
Jude beamed. “As do you, Ciena.”
They flowed with the elegant crowd into an interior hall, surely one of the grandest public spaces within the entire Imperial Palace. The vast corridor stretched seemingly into infinity, with massive columns lining either side. Brilliant red banners hung from the ceiling, their hems weighted so they would remain motionless, never fluttering in any slight breeze. Shiny, well-polished droids rolled along with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres; they swerved easily through the throng. The air itself had been perfumed, though the heavy scent made Ciena cough a little at first. Brilliant crystalline sculptures stood on pedestals, shifting shape fluidly from abstract forms into perfect Imperial symbols. Lights had been trained on the sculptures so they would sparkle brightest at the exact moment of the transformation.
“This is astonishing,” Jude said. “Think of the trouble this must have taken.”
“And the money,” Ciena replied. What had been spent on this evening alone probably could have rebuilt an ore refinery on Jelucan.…
But there she went thinking like a provincial again. Each world had to rebuild itself. Yes, the Empire was there to help and to govern, but in the end, Jelucan and worlds like it needed to become strong on their own.
Ciena meant to say as much to Jude, but that was when she caught sight of Ved and Thane.
Ved had taken advantage of the occasion to wear Coruscant fashion—a long cape, silky shirt wide cut at the chest, and so on. Yet Ciena thought it was impossible for anyone to look at Ved while Thane stood nearby. He wore his dress uniform, like at least another two hundred men in attendance, yet the rest seemed to…fade, next to him. And even though she’d spent the past two years watching Thane grow older and taller, only then did she see him as a man.
Her reaction confused her, but not nearly as much as the moment when Thane recognized her and she realized the sight of her had hit him with equal power. The way his eyes seemed to drink her in—
“Look,” Jude whispered, pulling Ciena aside at what was either the best or worst possible time. “It’s the junior senator from Alderaan—Leia Organa, the princess!”
Ciena stood on tiptoe, eager to see someone so famous. She got a single glimpse of the princess, who was wearing a slim white gown, her long hair intricately braided. Then the crowds closed around Senator Organa again, hiding her from their sight.
“Can you believe it?” Jude said as they joined the procession into the ballroom.
“It makes sense that she’d be here.” Yet Ciena found it intimidating that a girl almost exactly her age could already hold a place in the Imperial Senate, could be so poised, sophisticated, important.
“I meant it’s surprising that she came to any official function, given her speech in the Senate yesterday.”
Ciena remembered then: Princess Leia had announced, on her father’s behalf, impending “mercy missions” to planets the Organas claimed to be negatively affected by Imperial policies. “That was ridiculous,” she muttered. “Pure grandstanding. Missions like that can’t be necessary; the Empire would help the people on its own. That’s what the Empire is for!”
Jude nodded in agreement but said, “We should be generous. Even if the Organas are misguided, they’re probably acting out of a spirit of kindness.”
Maybe so, but Ciena couldn’t resist shaking her head at the arrogance of anyone who thought she knew better than the whole Empire.
Dancing with partners was one of those habits Ciena had thought of as second-waver decadence before she came to Coruscant. Oh, they danced in the valleys, but dances were for the entire group as part of certain key rituals. Yet Core Worlds Culture had taught her to think of the practice as civilized—even between couples, for no purpose other than pleasure. She was grateful for that now, even more grateful that the class had also taught her the steps of the most commonly performed formal dances. The glittering assembly in that huge, ornately tiled and mirrored hall did not intimidate her; she walked confidently across the floor to her position and awaited whichever partner the computers would assign to her first.
Of course, it would have to be Thane.
He stood in front of her, amid the shifting and settling couples all around, not quite meeting her eyes. “I guess they wanted the cadets to begin together,” he said shortly.
“Guess so.” Ciena turned her head, trying to look anywhere else—but what she glimpsed made her smile. “Believe it or not, we’re the lucky ones.”
Next to them, Ved scowled up at Jude, who stood more than a head taller than him. Jude attempted to look dignified, but Ciena knew her well enough to tell that she was stifling a laugh.
Thane must have seen what she’d seen, because she heard him laugh slightly. “You have a point.”
Then the orchestra played the opening measures—a calenada, Ciena thought, recognizing the dance. She knew the correct position to begin and even held her hands up, but that didn’t prepare her for the moment when Thane’s broad hand curved around her waist.
Their eyes met, and the dance began.
The thousand people in the hall all knew the correct steps; they moved in unison, brilliant spinning colors, ever changing but always in set patterns, like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope. Nobody set one toe out of place. Ciena imagined them as jewels gleaming in their settings, clasped tightly in metal that was all but invisible behind the shine.
Thane said, “I thought you considered dancing—what was it—licentious? Risqué? A prelude to sin?”
She had once, before Core Worlds Culture had taught her to be less small-minded. Now it only annoyed Ciena that he would remind her of her provincial ways. “In your dreams.”
That made him laugh—but from contempt or surprise? “You seem sure of yourself.”
“I am.”
It had been banter, not quite an argument. But something shifted in that moment. Ciena had not realized until she spoke that she was in effect declaring her own beauty and attractiveness. That gave Thane an opening to be not merely irritating but cruel.
Instead he said, quietly, “You should be.”
Their eyes met again, and Ciena became newly, vividly aware of the warmth of Thane’s hand clasping hers, the feel of his fingers braced against her back. They hadn’t been this close to each other in a very long time. Every move in the calenada required him to lead, her to follow, which added another layer to the intimacy of the moment. The gaudy swirl of the dancers around them faded until it felt as if the two of them were alone.
Ciena parted her lips to speak, though she still didn’t know what to say—but then, with a flourish, the song ended. She and Thane stopped on the beat, but they remained
standing there, hands clasped, for a few moments after everyone else had begun to applaud. Then it was time to switch partners, and Thane stepped away without another word.
For the next hour, Ciena continued to play her role in the dance, to laugh and smile along with the rest of the crowd, but she couldn’t have repeated anything anyone said to her. She couldn’t have said which dances she performed, to which songs, or who her partners were. Her thoughts raced as she went over and over the rift between her and Thane, trying to somehow make sense of it.
Finally, during a break in the dancing, Ciena hurried toward a server droid. She reached past the many glasses of wine to grab a tumbler of cool water. As she gulped it down, she heard, “There you are.”
Ciena didn’t turn to face Thane. She could tell he stood very close. “Here I am.”
“Listen, we should’ve talked about this a long time ago, and maybe this isn’t the time or place—”
She wheeled around then. “Are you going to apologize?”
“Apologize?” Thane’s eyes could burn gas-flame blue. “For what? Standing up for myself?”
“For shutting me out!”
“You’re the one who—”
Then someone stumbled between them: Ved Foslo, already sloppy drunk. He laughed out loud. “You guys are so stupid.”
“Excuse me?” Ciena wrinkled her nose as she stepped back. Ved stank of Corellian brandy, which wasn’t even being served at this party; he must have hidden a flask within the pocket of his cape.
“Stupid. You. Thane. Both of you. So stupid.” Ved shook his finger at them, as if they were wayward children. “You keep arguing about that laser cannon thing. Who cares about the laser cannon thing? And you both got it upside down anyway.”
At first the words didn’t make sense. Then realization flooded over Ciena in an almost dizzying rush of shock and anger. “It was you?”
That only widened Ved’s grin. “No! Me? Why would it be me? You still don’t get it, do you? Bumpkins from a rock on the edge of the galaxy—of course you don’t know how the academy and the Imperial fleet really work—”
Thane put one broad hand against Ved’s chest. Although it could look like a sober man helping his drunk friend to remain upright, Ciena sensed the veiled threat. Judging by the way Ved’s smile faded, he got it, too. In a low voice, Thane said, “Why don’t you explain it to us?”
Ved took a couple of steps back, out of Thane’s reach, before he replied. “We attend the academy to become citizens of the Empire. The instructors don’t like it when cadets from the same homeworld stay close to each other—it strengthens your ties to your own world. It weakens your commitment to the Empire.”
“No, it doesn’t!” Ciena protested, but he wasn’t going to listen.
“They set you up.” Ved laughed again. “They set you up so you’d hate each other, and you swallowed the bait.”
Thane’s eyes narrowed. “When we both were marked down on that assignment—you moved up to number one. At least, until Jude Edivon overtook you two weeks later.”
“You still think I did it? No way. I can’t hack like that. Even Jude can’t. Only the instructors have that kind of power. And if I were going to frame somebody for anything, the last people I’d go after would be the Office of Student Outcomes. My father told me all about them.” Ved’s smile was both sloppy and smug. “The fact that they were able to boost the rank of a general’s son? I’m sure that was an extra incentive. But they did it mostly to make sure the two of you would stop clinging to each other. And you Jelucani idiots reacted exactly the way they thought you would—except you made it worse. They probably only meant for you two to bicker about it. Not get all—” Ved’s hand made a wavy motion in the air. “You didn’t just get angry. You practically started hating each other. So I guess that makes you two the perfect academy cadets. Again.”
He seemed to lose interest then, lurching off toward the server droid to grab his next drink. Ciena felt as if all the shame Ved should have felt saying such things had settled on her instead.
But she deserved to feel ashamed. She had lashed out at Thane for thinking the academy was responsible—and he’d been right all along. The academy’s motives had differed, but, still, he’d understood the basics. And she had let that drive her away from the last person she ever should’ve let go.
Thane didn’t know where to begin. “Ciena—”
She shook her head, though he didn’t know what she was saying no to: Ved’s story, the academy’s guilt, Thane being the first to speak, anything. He put one hand on her shoulder, but she winced as if his touch hurt. What could he say or do?
So then of course the damned orchestra started tuning up again, and Ciena swiftly walked away to her next place in the dance. She never once looked back at Thane.
He had little choice but to join in, but throughout the rest of the ball, Thane could think of nothing else. Sometimes he wanted to go back to the academy, go through every single corridor on every single floor until he found that Office of Student Outcomes, then look whoever worked there in the eyes and punch them in their faces, hard. Other times he felt more like locating a time machine so he could go back and tell his younger self not to be such a total idiot. He even considered what such a ploy on the academy’s part said about the Empire and the way it treated its officers.
More than anything, though, he wanted to talk with Ciena alone.
When the ball finally ended, Thane pushed through the crowds, looking for Ciena’s dark cloud of hair or the unique blue-violet shade of her dress. It was hard to see through all the fawning diplomats, laughing courtiers, and black-garbed military officers—and why was it so strange to remember that he was one of them?
He saw Jude first. She was a head taller than most people in the room, and her vibrant orange gown stood out. As Thane walked closer, he could hear Jude saying, “As we have no curfew tonight or assigned duty tomorrow, this is an ideal occasion to explore the famous nightlife in this area of Coruscant. I’ve always been quite interested in the clubs here, especially the Crescent Star.…”
Only Jude Edivon could make a night of partying sound like a science experiment. Thane had to smile at the thought—but then he saw Ciena and everything else in his mind faded. “Actually, Jude,” he said, seizing his chance, “I was hoping Ciena and I might, ah, spend some time catching up.”
Jude looked back and forth between the two of them, one eyebrow raised.
Ciena took a deep breath. “Thane and I should talk. If you don’t mind, Jude.”
“Not at all. I’ll be with the others.” Jude gestured toward a group of younger officers, several guys and a few girls, who seemed to be waiting on her.
After Jude was out of earshot, Thane said, “Which one of them is she leaving with?”
“Possibly all of them.” Ciena turned to face him, her hands clasped in front of her in a gesture Thane recognized from the valleys; he wasn’t sure of its significance, but he knew it was formal, and important. “Thane, I didn’t believe the academy to be responsible and argued with you about it and in effect challenged your honor. Such a transgression—”
“No. You don’t get to do that. This isn’t on you, Ciena, at least not any more than it’s on me. I guess we were both idiots together. But the real blame belongs to whatever monster at Student Outcomes did this to us.”
She blinked, as if in shock. “They didn’t intend for it to get this bad between us. We did that to ourselves.”
Galling as it was to admit, Ciena was right.
“Besides, think about it, Thane,” she continued. “General Foslo probably bribed someone to do it and Ved’s lying to cover for his father.”
That…seemed possible, though Thane wasn’t convinced. At the moment it was irrelevant. “Either way, you were right about confronting the academy instructors.” It stung to confess how wrong he’d been, but this knowledge had crept up on Thane over the past few years, and it was past time for him to admit it both to Ciena and to himself.
“We would’ve been expelled for sure. I shouldn’t have lashed out at you about it.”
“I should have understood you were upset.”
Ciena was so determined to apologize. Thane didn’t want to hear it. “My point is, neither of us did anything wrong. I’m so tired of being angry with you. Can’t we finally let it go?”
She stood up, straight and formal again. “I’m willing to restore our friendship.”
That statement sounded like it should be followed by some elaborate valley ritual of reconciliation, but Thane neither knew nor cared what that might be. “Can’t we just—talk? Come on, Ciena. I don’t care who should’ve known better or why the academy did it or any of that. I just want my friend back. The rest doesn’t matter.”
It wasn’t as easy for her to let it go, he knew, but he also saw the shadow of her smile when he talked about having her back. “Where do we start?”
“We start with tonight.”
Going out to nightclubs would mean shouting over dance music, not to mention shaking off the countless guys who seemed likely to approach Ciena while she was in that dress. Returning to the academy was no way to spend a free night. Neither Thane nor Ciena had any other ideas about what was available in the area, and rather than search, they wound up sitting on the terrace nearest the ballroom, on a low stone bench by the fountain, talking for hours as the cleaning droids whirred and buzzed around them.
They did in fact start by talking about the ball itself, who and what they’d seen. Thane got to brag, “I even danced with the princess from Alderaan. Nash is going to choke when he hears that. He’s had a crush on her since he was nine.”
“Princess Leia? What was she like?”
“Even shorter than you,” Thane replied, which got him a not-very-hard kick to the shin. He mimed pain even as he continued, more seriously: “I don’t know. It was only a dance, and she wasn’t even paying that much attention. She wasn’t being rude; it was more like she was distracted. I guess someone like her must have a lot on her mind.”
Ciena opened up more when they talked about their future assignments. “Command track is an honor. Sometimes I think about having a ship of my own someday, and I just—” She shivered, and not only for show; Thane noticed the goose pimples on her arms. “But that means I’m not going to spend much time in single-pilot fighters, not after the first few years, anyway.”