Leia, Princess of Alderaan

by Claudia Gray

  “This—this isn’t some kind of threat to your independence.” Leia had never imagined such a response, and struggled to even come up with words. “It’s not intended as condescension—”

  “Of course not!” bellowed Occo Quentto. “You dry ones think yourselves so high above us that you never ask what we would think of you. You speak falsely, with elaborate words that mean nothing, instead of dealing with us as honest beings. We do not trust you, we do not like you, we do not want you. Go away.”

  Occo Quentto began to waddle off their high dais to approving croaks from the other Chalhuddans, leaving Leia standing there with her mouth agape. She looked over to Captain Antilles, who shrugged.

  Think of something! She called, “Occo Quentto! Please, hear me out.”

  They kept waddling. “I have heard you. You think we have no strength. You think we have no pride.”

  That did it. Leia shouted, “To hell with pride!”

  The Chalhuddans fell silent as one. Occo Quentto shuffled around to face Leia again, protruding eyes staring at her in what was probably indignation.

  Leia was past caring. She was too angry for diplomacy, so angry she shook. “This disease is killing your children! If that were happening on my planet, and the only way to save them was to swallow my pride, I’d do it. I’d go down on my knees in the dirt. I would beg or plead or do anything to preserve the lives of my people. If you wouldn’t do the same, you don’t deserve to be a leader.”

  Her last words echoed in the grotto for what seemed like a very long time. The Chalhuddans stared at her; so did Captain Antilles. In a low voice, C-3PO said, “Oh, dear, this isn’t going well at all.”

  Leia wondered if she ought to regret what she’d said, but she didn’t. She was right.

  Then Occo Quentto nodded. “At last one of them speaks their mind.” A few other Chalhuddans croaked their assent. “You are still arrogant, but at least you are honest. So few dry ones are.”

  Leia decided to let the epithet dry one go. “Does that mean you’ll take the vaccines?”

  Occo Quentto stood still and silent for so long that Leia went past worrying they would say no to wondering if they’d gone into some kind of trance. Finally, however, Occo Quentto said, “On one condition.”

  “Name it.”

  “You must ask a favor of us in return. You cannot come to us as a wealthy savior. You must come to us as an equal. That means you must owe us a debt equal to the one we will owe to you.”

  What am I supposed to ask for? Swamp water? But Leia thought fast. “I, ah, wouldn’t want to call on you for a favor undeserving of your generosity, Occo Quentto. May I claim this favor at some point in the future? When I have a worthy task, I’ll ask you.” She folded her arms and looked as stern as she could manage. “And when I do? I’ll expect you to come through.”

  Occo Quentto blew a huge bubble, which floated in the air. C-3PO leaned forward. “Your Highness, that is the way in which Chalhuddans laugh.”

  She began to be able to read the expressions on Occo Quentto’s face, and this one was very close to a smile. “We are willing to be in your debt, as long as it is not for too long.”

  “Is that a yes?” Leia said. And this time, she knew the smile for sure.

  A few days later, as she hurried along one of the skyways of Coruscant, Leia was still rehearsing the story in her mind. Which detail would be most likely to make Kier laugh?

  Nearby, a shimmering electronic screen showed the Emperor’s face as various patriotic slogans slithered along the bottom. The image of Sheev Palpatine had to be decades old. She’d never been in the Emperor’s presence personally, but she’d heard the whispers about his ghastly appearance and bleached-white skin. The man seen on the screens, however, looked like any other middle-aged man, smiling pleasantly. She thought it might be the same images they’d used for the past two decades, but with occasional digital editing to update his clothing to more current styles. Everyone had to know the images were fake—humans showed the marks of greater age within twenty years—but nobody ever said so out loud

  We live so many lies, Leia thought. Maybe Occo Quentto had a point about “dry ones” never telling the truth.

  When she entered the antechamber of the Apprentice Legislature, she brightened to see Kier already chatting with a few of their peers, especially when he caught sight of her and immediately excused himself to walk in her direction. Leia would’ve started toward him, too, if Amilyn Holdo hadn’t appeared in front of her, wearing green hair, glittery metallic pompons on her many ponytails, and a tragic expression on her face.

  “It’s a time of great mourning,” Amilyn said, taking Leia’s hands. “I know you grieve even as I do.”

  “Did someone die?” Leia hurriedly glanced around the room. Nobody seemed to be missing.

  “Leia.” Kier’s voice was pitched just above a whisper. “I tried to reach you earlier today. I wanted to tell you the news personally, when we weren’t in public.”

  A knot had formed in Leia’s stomach. “Tell me what?”

  Amilyn said, “The Apprentice Legislature received a special commendation for recommending Arreyel for the new academy.”

  Leia frowned. How was that bad news?

  Kier put one hand on her elbow. “The first engineers who scouted the site found a radiation source well beneath the surface—shielded by rock, but that rock’s about to be blasted away so Arreyel can power massive new factories for the Empire. As in, planet-wide factories.”

  “They’re giving the populace six weeks to evacuate,” Amilyn added. She no longer looked ridiculous. “No compensation.”

  Kier’s dark eyes narrowed in anger. “Apparently Grand Moff Tarkin informed them that they were lucky not to be fined for concealing this from the Empire all along.”

  The horror Leia felt didn’t cloud her thinking. If anything, she saw more clearly. “It was a trap,” she whispered. “They suspected the power source. They knew we’d wind up picking Arreyel for the school. Then they’d be able to use that excuse to run the intensive scans they needed to confirm what was under the surface.”

  “Probably,” Kier said. “Leia, don’t be upset. It’s not your fault.”

  “It’s so not your fault, nobody else would ever blame you,” Amilyn added. “But you will, because that’s how you are.”

  “I’m not upset,” Leia said, and it was true. Instead she was furious. She’d been tricked into doing the Empire’s dirty work for them.

  Silently she swore, Never again.

  By all official metrics, Leia’s first session of the Apprentice Legislature achieved all of its goals. They were commended for their successes…including the identification of Arreyel as a planet of “extraordinary interest.”

  But to her, the days slipped by in a kind of haze. She reviewed their informational packets over and over again, yet remained indecisive, desperately looking for more loopholes and traps that might not even exist. The others went on some of Chassellon’s nightlife excursions, even coming to the Organas’ apartments to try to drag Leia along with them, but she always turned the invitations down. It felt wrong to go out and celebrate when she was responsible for the undoing of an entire world.

  When she stayed in, Kier Domadi often stayed with her. The first time he lingered behind after everyone else left, she had wanted to be alone so badly that she’d nearly thrown him out. She tried the tactful approach first. “I’m not doing anything but watching a holovid.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “You don’t even know which holovid.”

  He gave her a look. “It’s going to be something that lets you turn your brain off for a while, right?”

  “…yes.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  Kier had the rare quality of knowing when someone wanted to be quiet, and the even rarer one of accepting that silence. Leia soon felt comfortable with him—and soon after that, truly relaxed. They slipped into the habit of spending time together not as any sort of special occa
sion, but more as though they’d always belonged in each other’s daily lives. Some sons of various Elder Houses had tried to charm her in the past, thinking of a princess only as a prize to claim, the ultimate conquest to brag about; Kier took her measure as an individual and asked for nothing more but to know her.

  So far. Leia was vividly aware of the weight of unspoken words between them, of the way they silently negotiated sitting closer to each other. But Kier never pushed. Although she’d told him nothing of her fears for her parents, her uncertainty about their plans, he seemed to sense that she was working through something confusing and difficult, something she had to figure out on her own.

  But he did try to help when he saw she was in pain.

  “It’s not your fault,” Kier told her more than once, usually under his breath as they sat together in their legislatorial pod. “They set us all up to support Arreyel. One of us would’ve taken the bait. It could’ve been anybody.”

  “It could’ve been. But it was me,” she would whisper back.

  Leia went out only once, for Harp Allor’s seventeenth birthday party. Harp’s senator, Winmey Lenz, had personally reserved the venue as a gift—which was how they all wound up in a water park entirely enclosed in an energy-field bubble a hundred meters above the tallest Coruscant skyscrapers. Only a few short months before, Leia would’ve reveled in the chance to slalom through an invisible spiral in the sky, splashing water on her friends, but the entire day, she felt as though she was going through every action, every sentence as mechanically as a droid.

  Even Kier’s company only helped so much. Bail Organa’s travels remained mysterious—in particulars if not in purpose—and so when Kier was back on Alderaan, Leia was usually left alone. But she never felt as lonely as when her father was in their Coruscant apartment. Apparently he had yet to forgive her for her trip to Onoam, because for reasons he’d never explain, going to the Naboo system seemed to be the worst, most heinous thing anybody had ever done.

  Leia sometimes stopped herself there. She wasn’t too grown-up to sulk, but she’d matured enough to realize when she was doing it. Probably she was overreacting to her father’s moods. Still, the bigger overreaction was his, and she knew it.

  Her sour temper returned to Alderaan with her. On her first night back, she couldn’t hide herself away in the library or travel to the Istabith Falls to refresh her soul; no, she had to submit to WA-2V’s ministrations to make her a glamorous princess again, so she could be shown off.

  “Another dinner party,” she groused as 2V slid a soft blue wrap around the shoulders of her white gown. “How many has my mom thrown this year? A dozen? Twenty?”

  “Fourteen. Now, hold still. These are the old-fashioned pins that can still stick you.” 2V adroitly fastened the wrap in place with two jeweled brooches, one at each shoulder. They sparkled prettily, but Leia couldn’t have cared less. “I think two side buns tonight. Do you agree, Your Highness?”

  “Whatever.”

  2V tilted her torso forward to study her charge, perhaps thinking such insensitivity to fashion was evidence of an imminent collapse. Leia simply sat down at the vanity to let the droid do her work. As she stared at her reflection in the mirror, she remembered how, as a little girl, she used to look for proof that she resembled her parents in some way. Although Leia had always known herself to be adopted, had realized any shared traits would be only a coincidence, she had still hoped to see a little of her mother’s wisdom and beauty, or some of the kindness she had once found so easily in her father’s eyes.

  Now it’s like I hardly know them, she thought as 2V began refashioning her messy topknot into an actual hairstyle. They’re braver than I thought, but maybe more dangerous than I thought, and somehow they still want to throw their idiot banquets—

  Wait.

  I’m the one being an idiot.

  Leia didn’t attend the banquets themselves, since she wasn’t yet invested as heir, but she always put in an appearance at the receptions beforehand. That meant she knew who the guests usually were: Mon Mothma and Winmey Lenz of Chandrila. Pamlo of Taris. Vaspar of the Taldot sector…

  Every single one of them was a senator or planetary leader known to oppose Palpatine’s harshest policies.

  Leia’s dark eyes widened. These weren’t banquets. They were strategy sessions.

  “I don’t believe it,” she whispered.

  “I know,” 2V said, leaning back to admire her work. “You’re almost beautiful!”

  We have got to disconnect that droid’s honesty routine, Leia thought.

  Invigorated and curious, she hurried down to the reception. While official functions demanded larger, grander rooms, these more informal gatherings usually began on the western terrace. Leia walked through the wide doors to see a handful of guests already chatting to one another with glasses of teal-blue Toniray in their hands. Kitonak musicians in the corner played a soft melody, and in the distance, the city lights of Aldera glittered brightly against the first darkening of sunset. Her mother was deep in conversation with Senator Pamlo and Cinderon Malpe of Derella; her father had yet to appear, which was odd. Or maybe he was having a private conversation in the library with another guest, about Crait or Saw Gerrera or any of the other things Leia wasn’t supposed to know about. Maybe she’d have the chance to soak up a little information tonight.

  “Princess Leia.” Mon Mothma, the senior senator from Chandrila, came up to her, smiling pleasantly. She wore the usual white robes of her planet, complete with her silver chain of office. “It’s good to see you again.”

  “You too, Senator Mothma.”

  “Please. Call me Mon. You’re very nearly a grown woman, now.” When most adults said things like that, they came across as skin-crawlingly superior. From Mon Mothma, the sentiment sounded sincere. “Soon to be invested as heir to the throne.”

  “If I fulfill my challenges.” Leia carefully used no term of address at all. As much as she liked being asked to call this powerful woman by her first name, she couldn’t bring herself to do it yet. “I’m not sure how well that’s going.”

  “Which one has turned out to be most difficult?” Mon Mothma asked.

  “The challenge of the mind, I guess.” Pathfinding was tough, but she’d managed well enough so far; her mercy missions had proved to be overly complicated, but for reasons Leia didn’t think were her fault. “After interning for my father in the Imperial Senate, I thought the Apprentice Legislature would be easy. Instead it’s turned out to be…let’s say, slippery.”

  Mon Mothma frowned and nodded, the same way she would if discussing topics with adult senators. “Go on?”

  Leia hadn’t shared this with her parents yet. After the last few blow-ups they’d had, she hadn’t wanted to show them another of her mistakes. She wasn’t used to not confiding in them. So it was a relief to tell the story of what had happened with Arreyel.

  Even better was the way Mon Mothma responded. “Try not to be discouraged,” she told Leia. “Officials with decades of experience have fallen into similar traps. Palpatine knows how to bait his hooks.”

  The fact that this was being said so openly was proof that Leia’s theory about the banquets was right; only in a group of assured allies would anyone be so openly critical of the Emperor. “You think Palpatine himself was behind it?”

  “Probably not. But he’s taught his moffs and admirals to follow his example. I’ve been tripped up by his machinations before. It’s been a while since the last time he caught me, but I never let down my guard. That’s the most any of us can do.”

  Leia felt a surge of hope. Mon Mothma, at least, could speak to her as an adult, and trusted her with her real opinions about the Imperial hierarchy. If one of their allies came to believe Leia could play a meaningful role in their efforts against the Emperor, maybe that would convince her parents.

  “Forgive me, everyone,” said Bail Organa as he strode out onto the terrace. Instantly the musicians played more softly to allow the viceroy to greet h
is guests. “Am I the last to arrive?”

  “I think that’s me,” said Kier.

  Leia blinked in surprise. Kier Domadi—who so far as she knew had never met her mother and only encountered her father at the apartments a couple of times, and briefly—had just walked through the wide doors. Although he must’ve felt out of place in the palace, he didn’t look it; not only did he wear a fashionable pale-gray jacket and dark trousers, but he held himself well and spoke with assurance.

  “Mr. Domadi.” Breha swept to Kier’s side, holding out her arm in a way that made it clear he was to offer his. When he did, she led him toward Leia. “Thank you so much for accepting our invitation, particularly on such short notice.”

  “It’s an honor to be asked, Your Majesty.” The only sign that Kier wasn’t totally at ease was the way his dark eyes kept glancing down at his queen’s hand on his forearm.

  “Hi, Kier.” Leia would’ve felt like her smile gave away too much, if it weren’t for the fact that his presence made it obvious her parents already knew as much as she did. “Mom, what’s this about?”

  Breha shrugged, then readjusted the folds of her silvery shawl. “I know it’s lonely for you sometimes while we’re having our banquets. Tonight, I thought you might enjoy some company. We’ve ordered a wonderful supper for you both; the droids will set up a table for you right here.”

  Leia was torn. On the one hand, dining all alone with Kier, in front of this spectacular view—she’d had daydreams very close to this. But she’d begun forming other plans for the night, ones that felt even more urgent.

  Behind her, she heard her father greeting Mon Mothma. “Was Senator Lenz not able to make it?”

  “Winmey sends his regrets,” Mon Mothma said. “But of course I’ll meet with him upon my return.”

  To talk to him about a dinner party? I doubt it.