Leia, Princess of Alderaan

by Claudia Gray

  “You’re very welcome here,” Bail said. Even after working with her father for two years in politics, Leia had never before seen him lie so smoothly.

  Tarkin took the measure of the terrace. His mind was even sharper than his gaze, which meant he no doubt recognized all of them instantly. “I appear to have interrupted something.”

  The knowledge froze Leia faster than carbonite: He knows.

  Her mother had to realize it too, but her smile never wavered. “A simple dinner party, Governor. You are of course invited to join us.”

  Of course she’d invited Tarkin—what else could she do?—but Leia still felt herself newly wrenched by horror when Tarkin said, “How very gracious of you, Queen Breha. I accept.”

  Everyone else on the terrace was beginning to adjust, mustering smiles and nods, but Leia felt sure they all wanted to faint and/or scream, just as badly as she did.

  But one new realization gave her the strength to hang on: Tarkin didn’t know. He suspected, which was bad enough, but if he’d been absolutely sure what her parents were up to, he would’ve arrived flanked by stormtroopers, and a Star Destroyer would be hanging over the city of Aldera. Tonight he intended to take the measure of the gathering, to evaluate whether his suspicions were correct. If her mother and father and their friends betrayed even one hint of fear, Grand Moff Tarkin would pounce on it. The banquet had become a piece of grand theater in which the lives of every other guest were on the line.

  Breha spotted Leia and brightened. “It’s bad luck to seat an odd number for dinner. Our daughter will join us.”

  “Your first official banquet,” Bail said to her, and gave his daughter a look in which only she would see the apology.

  “The first ever?” Tarkin seemed pleased. “Well, well. What an honor to be present.”

  “Usually the heir doesn’t get to attend banquets until after her investiture,” Leia said as she walked closer and offered her hand. His fingers were cold. “So I owe the honor to you, Governor.”

  Apparently she could lie just as well as her parents.

  Even before the recent wave of “banquets,” Queen Breha of Alderaan had been famed as a hostess. Leia had never understood exactly what went into that besides throwing many parties, serving food and drink on a lavish scale, and gracefully greeting everyone who attended. On the night of her first banquet, however, Leia understood her mother’s true skill, very nearly an art.

  Breha steered the conversation to Eriadu, to the redesign of military uniforms, and other topics with which Tarkin was known to be especially familiar. Naturally he dominated the conversation, which both flattered him and cut down on the amount of playacting for the other guests. She had arranged the seating so Tarkin was on her right hand, honoring him above all other guests and also keeping him close, so she could personally manage him. And she kept everyone talking, which was critical, because every silence that fell was charged, nearly excruciating.

  The queen’s most brilliant move, however, came when the wine was served. Tarkin and a handful of the other guests received true Toniray, but all of the Organas, Mon Mothma, and most others had wine one shade too pale. The difference in color was too slight for any offworlder to notice, but Leia recognized it instantly. This was a sibling wine to Toniray, one far less strong, more juice than intoxicant. She’d been served this until her Day of Demand, after which she’d finally graduated to the real thing.

  So the Organas stayed sharp, while Tarkin’s edges were slightly dulled.

  Not much. Leia noted how little of the wine he drank; he was far too cautious a man to become inebriated among potential enemies. But on a night like this, her family needed every advantage they could claim.

  “We’re so fortunate, here on Alderaan,” Breha said as the servitor droids cleared away plates to prepare for dessert. “Our realm is clearly defined. It must be much more difficult, balancing the needs of so many worlds, and sectors, even military divisions.”

  “It’s not work for the faint of heart.” Tarkin offered no details. Although he’d relaxed slightly through the course of the dinner, his hawklike gaze remained focused. “Though of course many planets have similarly complex concerns. Wouldn’t you agree, Senator Malpe?”

  Cinderon Malpe paused, napkin in his hands. It was all Leia could do not to wince. “Of—of course we have our own challenges in our system, and in the Senate.” The stammer made Leia want to cringe. Was he about to ruin everything, this moment?

  Tarkin leaned forward. “What would you say you find most difficult?”

  “We—” Malpe had to swallow hard. Leia imagined she could hear the stormtroopers’ boots on the floors already. “We have to divide our time between two places, of course, needing to spend time on Coruscant—”

  “I’ll say,” Breha muttered.

  Bail set his glass down too heavily on the table, with a thump audible throughout the room. “Don’t do this here.”

  “Do what?” Breha took another drink of her wine—a little too swiftly, a little too much. If the beverage had in fact been alcoholic, it would’ve been the gesture of someone who hoped to get drunk.

  “Start in on this.” Bail’s glance around the room revealed more embarrassment than Leia had ever seen from him before, or at least it was meant to.

  Her mother shrugged, exaggerating the gesture like an intoxicated person might. “Oh, I’m the one who started it. Me, here at home, while my husband finds every excuse he can to run off to Coruscant or—” She put one hand to her throat, as if physically holding in the words.

  “Out with it,” Mon Mothma interjected. She flung her napkin down on the table, glaring at Breha with anger Leia had never seen in her before. “I’ve had it with your suspicions and your insinuations. Go on, Breha. Grow a spine. Say the words.”

  Breha put both hands on the table and spoke with exaggerated sweetness: “My husband enjoys running off to Chandrila. And I’m sure you could tell us why.”

  It felt like a slap. Even though Leia knew this was an act—at least, figured it was almost certainly an act—she’d never once imagined either of her parents being unfaithful to the other. The idea of her father and Mon Mothma made her want to cry. But she understood why someone might believe it.

  “This is what I live with.” Bail gestured toward his wife. “Endless paranoia, a grasping, insecure wife who imagines betrayals every time I fail to send a message within a few hours. It’s like living on a leash.”

  “Imagines? Imagines?” Breha rose from her chair, eyes blazing. “Did I imagine the girl from Corellia last year?” Bail winced, and Pamlo turned her head, raising one hand as if to block herself from witnessing any more of the scene. Leia struggled for composure until she wondered why she was doing such a thing.

  For once, the best move was the most honest move. She released the terrible tension inside by bursting into sobs.

  “This is inappropriate,” Tarkin said, his voice sharp enough to puncture steel. “Look at what you’ve done to the child.”

  Leia kept weeping, head down and hot tears streaming down her face, even as she realized that her breakdown had convinced Tarkin this whole terrible scenario was real—or, at least, that the fight between her parents was real. He probably hadn’t been persuaded that everyone in the room was innocent; Leia doubted they’d get that lucky. But he no longer believed himself to have infiltrated a meeting of conspirators, only a drunken dinner party that had just turned disastrous.

  “Forgive us, Governor Tarkin.” Her father rose from his chair and bowed his head, even as her mother slumped back down again and lowered her head and arms upon the table. “An excess of wine—”

  “Is something you should avoid in future.” Tarkin rose to his feet, drawing himself in like a great cat pulling back its claws. “This disgraceful display would not be tolerated were this an official visit. As I invited myself here, I suppose I have only myself to blame for expecting anything better from members of the Elder Houses. I bid you good day.” With that he stalke
d out.

  No one said a word until the old-fashioned doors slammed shut, and for an instant after that, during which the room seemed to have no air. Then everyone simultaneously deflated. Her father collapsed into his chair as the others slumped backward or rested their heads in their hands.

  Breha reached across the table to grasp Leia’s wrist. “Sweetheart, none of that was real.”

  “I know that,” Leia said, wiping at her face. Sobbing was easier to turn on than off.

  “That was acting?” Cinderon Malpe began to laugh, an almost broken sound. “You’re better at it than I am.”

  Mon Mothma’s face relaxed into a smile. “Good work, Leia. You convinced Tarkin when none of us could.”

  She had done something for their rebellion at last, something important and useful, and instead of feeling triumphant, she only wanted to be sick.

  “Wait.” Senator Pamlo’s face was drawn as she turned from Breha to Bail and back again. “You told your daughter about all of this? Your teenaged daughter?”

  “They didn’t tell me,” Leia insisted. “I figured it out on my own.”

  A few groans from around the room told her she’d just made the situation worse. Bail cut in, “We did explain the truth behind some of what Leia was seeing. She’s surrounded by this, living in the heart of it. Her discovering some portion of the truth was inevitable.”

  “But you’ve brought her into our work!” protested Vaspar. “A mere child!”

  It was Mon Mothma who said, “Leia Organa is not a child.” Her voice carried through the room, commanding the kind of attention that would halt a more crowded gathering than this one. She slowly stood. “Leia has had her Day of Demand. She’s growing into an adult—a representative of the next generation. And make no mistake, they’re the generation who will bear the brunt of what’s to come. They’re the ones who’ll do most of the fighting and most of the dying. They’re the ones who will do most of the rebuilding afterward, if we are so fortunate as to see an ‘after.’ We need the young with us. Without them, this war is lost before it’s begun.”

  Leia’s heart stirred at the thought of Mon Mothma’s faith in her, with her need to rise to that challenge. Yet she couldn’t entirely banish the dread of what was to come.

  Pamarthe had a reputation as a fierce, dangerous world, but so far as Leia could tell, that had more to do with the people than the terrain. The island chains could be difficult to travel between on water, and even on land for those who were afraid of heights. But Leia wasn’t, and fortunately, neither was her teammate—someone who was very comfortable floating around in midair, in more than one sense.

  “The stars are so clear here,” Amilyn said as they crossed one of the long rope bridges that connected the islands of Pamarthe. “No light pollution! Hardly any clouds!”

  “At least not tonight.” Leia had heard tales of the storms on Pamarthe.

  Once the pathfinding class had caught on to the real moral of the class, Chief Pangie had lessened the difficulty levels considerably. It turned out that learning to find your way around wasn’t that hard when you weren’t fighting desperately to stay alive. She’d pulled Amilyn as a teammate for this round; after she’d gotten over her disappointment at again not being matched with Kier, she’d realized this was for the best. Amilyn Holdo might be bizarre, but she was also interested in the astrology of various systems, which made her uncannily skilled at navigating by starlight.

  “Let me see.” Amilyn stopped and held her hands up to the sky, touching her fingers together in an odd pattern that made her squint her eyes, consider, and nod. The tiny glowing pins in her multicolored hair blended in with the night sky above. “All right. Two more islands to the left, and I think we’re nearly there.”

  “More rope bridges.” Leia sighed, and they kept going.

  Their current bridge swayed and bounced beneath their feet as they went. Far beneath, she could hear the roar of the ocean, waves breaking against the rocks that jutted up from the wide oceanic spaces between islands.

  Maybe it would be worth getting wet, to feel the strength of one of those storms, Leia thought. She imagined dark clouds rolling in across churning gray water. Maybe someday she could come back here with a friend—Kier, even—

  She caught herself. The future had become a tenuous thing for her. Never before had she understood how often she reveled in the simplest expectations for the rest of her life—serving in the Senate, spending more time with the people she cared about, eventually becoming queen, even maybe having a child at some point many years away. None of that could be guaranteed any longer.

  Best not to plan ahead.

  The next Pamarthens island they reached was one of the larger ones, which meant it served as a busy spaceport. Pamarthe had a reputation for producing fine pilots, and its trade thrived as a result. People would detour systems out of their way to pick up crew or a hauler there. It was almost bizarre to suddenly walk into a bustle of people and activity on a pathfinding trip, to hear them shouting out passengers and destinations, but it was the fastest way to reach the next wilderness.

  “The chief said at least eighty bridges anchor on this island.” Try as she might, Leia couldn’t remember the precise layout; she was getting better at memorizing visual information quickly, but not that good. “If we take the wrong one, we’re going to wind up on the wrong island, which might or might not connect to our goal point, so—hey. Still with me?”

  Amilyn stared off to the side in what Leia first assumed was one of her usual trips into mental hyperspace. When she followed Amilyn’s gaze, though, she realized what had drawn her friend’s attention: a group of Gamorreans, grunting and shoving, herding shivering humans onto a transport, with the humans packed together so tightly it was difficult to see the binders on their wrists.

  Slavers. The thought alone could turn Leia’s stomach. Watching it happen was harder. But what did her discomfort matter compared to what the poor slaves were enduring, and had yet to endure?

  She forced herself to watch the entire time. Bear witness, she thought. That’s all you can do for them now, so do it. Mon Mothma’s words about the histories to come sustained her, but barely. A lump had formed in her throat long before the boarding ramp was pulled up and the ship lumbered into the air. Only when it had vanished from sight did she turn back to her companion. Amilyn’s cheeks shone with tears.

  “Like they’re in a duraplast bubble,” she said, which made no sense to Leia until Amilyn continued. “We can see through like there’s nothing between us. We can even push against the surface until it bends in. But we can never push through. We never touch them.”

  Leia nodded. “Yeah. Just like that.”

  “We never had slavery on Gatalenta.” Amilyn began walking in the vague direction of their goal, and Leia fell in beside her, but they were both in a kind of nauseated daze. The pathfinding games didn’t matter much any longer. “Not ever, and our Council of Mothers doesn’t allow slaves to be brought to our planet at all. If they are brought there, and their master is caught, the slave is declared free.”

  “That’s a good rule.” Although Alderaan also banned slavery, Leia didn’t know whether they had a law that would free slaves brought to their world. How could she not know that? She’d bring it up with her parents as soon as she got back. If she could do nothing else for the suffering people she’d just seen, she could at least free others in their name.

  They trudged on in uneasy silence for a few paces, hearing the shouts and cries around them—“Ores from Mahranee to Riosa! Need a hauler!” “Passengers for Pantora!”—without ever taking them in. Then one of the announcements caught her attention: “Senatorial charter to Chandrila!”

  Amilyn perked up too. “Do you think that’s Harp?”

  “Why would she charter a flight to Chandrila in the middle of a pathfinding trip?”

  “She could’ve been injured. Or maybe there was a family emergency.”

  “I guess so.” It seemed more likely that
either Chief Pangie or the local medics would handle any injury. However, a family emergency was plausible—more so than finding either Winmey Lenz or Mon Mothma on this random island on a random planet. “We should check on her, just in case.”

  Together they moved toward the voice they’d heard announcing the charter, weaving their way through the passengers, pilots, and cargo droids that crowded the spaceport. Although they were surrounded on all sides by ships and tarmac, Leia could still hear the rush and roar of the ocean nearby, reminding her how small this little sliver of civilization was.

  They reached the clearing, and she saw the passengers for the charter ship. Instantly she stopped walking and put her hand out to grab Amilyn’s arm and tug her around the side of a cargo container large enough to conceal both of them.

  “Isn’t that Winmey Lenz?” Amilyn tilted her head that way and this, like a marsh crane spotting food. “That’s Harp’s sponsor. Would he have come to pick her up?”

  Leia shook her head. It wasn’t Lenz’s presence that unnerved her. As unlikely as his presence here might be, any number of reasons could explain it. But Winmey Lenz was talking with an Imperial official—one in a white uniform jacket.

  Not many senior Imperials wore white jackets. Those were reserved for ISB officers, a handful of more obscure ranks that held similar levels of authority and power, and even grand admirals. White jackets were said to inspire respect; really they instilled fear. Leia’s heart thumped faster at the sight of this man, whoever he was. Far worse than the white jacket was the fact that the unknown Imperial officer was talking easily with Winmey Lenz, as though they were friends.

  That doesn’t mean anything. Mom and Dad made nice with Grand Moff Tarkin not so long ago. Still, Leia couldn’t shake her uneasiness.

  “Stay out of sight,” she told Amilyn. “I want to find out if I can overhear what they’re saying.”