by Claudia Gray
“We can ask for her to stay out of harm’s way, and if she won’t, we can keep her out of it.” Bail stopped pacing and pointed downward, at the seldom-used lower areas of the palace. “There used to be dungeons down there, you know.”
This time her mother’s voice was sharp. “Bail!”
He held up one hand. “You know I wasn’t serious.”
“Don’t even joke about that.” Breha rose from her seat, the wide skirts of her green dress rustling around her. The constellation globes overhead caught the last rays of sunset light, which turned their stars red and gold. “There’s no hiding from what’s coming. Not for anyone in this galaxy. We were fools to think we could ever hide our daughter from it and keep her safe. Safety was the first sacrifice we made, when we decided to oppose Palpatine. It won’t be the last.”
“You can’t mean this.” Bail took a step back from his wife. Leia had rarely seen them argue in earnest; the melodrama performed for Tarkin’s benefit was the ugliest confrontation she’d ever witnessed between the two. The sick feeling in her stomach told her that might be about to change. “Our daughter is only sixteen! We’ve told her too much already—failed to discourage her—”
“What would discouraging her accomplish?”
“It would protect her a while longer.” Bail winced with a pain that must have been nearly physical. “I would do almost anything to keep her safe for even one more day. Why won’t you?”
“Secrecy isn’t keeping her safe!”
Leia tried to jump in. “I’ve brought good information to you already. Isn’t that worth something? Don’t you trust me?”
Her father turned to her with such pain in his eyes that she wished the words unsaid. “I trust you with my life. But I don’t trust the Empire with yours.”
Breha persisted, as she always did when her mind was finally made up. “We could begin slowly, Bail. In secure conditions. When you lead the supply convoy to where we refurbish our ships in a few weeks—take her with you. We have more defenses there than anywhere else. She can look at what we’ve accomplished and start to understand.”
Leia had already seen the nascent fleet at Paucris Major, but this wasn’t the time to bring that up, if in fact that time existed. She bit her lower lip and tried to look innocent.
Her father wasn’t even paying attention. “I won’t have this. I won’t treat our daughter as a—a skifter in a sabacc deck. If you would, I’m not sure I’ve ever even known you.” Breha closed her eyes, and Bail breathed out sharply, as though he were the one who had been spoken to so hurtfully. Then he stalked out of the library, leaving mother and daughter alone.
By now, Leia felt so wretched she could hardly look at her mother’s pain-stricken face. She whispered, “I’m so sorry I caused trouble.”
“You didn’t. You had a lucky break that may well have saved lives. Eventually your father will see that.” Breha opened her eyes, which were red-rimmed, but her voice remained clear. “Your father isn’t himself right now. It’s a hard thing, allowing your child to go to war.”
Leia nodded, trying to remember the warmth and happiness between them not so long ago in this very room. The memory felt far away. “The rebellion has its own three challenges, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
Her mother sounded more eager for distraction than interested, but that was reason enough to go on. “Before it becomes what it’s going to be, it has to be strong in mind, body, and heart. The Challenge of the Mind is getting everyone to agree. The Challenge of the Body is what you’re doing on Crait and Ocahont. Making the idea of rising up something real.”
“And the Challenge of the Heart is moving forward without becoming what we have beheld.” Breha sighed. “Well seen, my daughter.”
Mother and daughter sat together on one of the low couches, and Leia hugged her mom tightly, unsure whether she was taking comfort or giving it. When her mother rested her head atop Leia’s, she decided maybe it could be both.
“You have a role to play in the struggle to come, Leia. We’ll figure out what that role should be over the next months and years. Your father will fight us for a while yet, and we have to respect his feelings enough to let him fight.” Breha’s tone betrayed how difficult that would be for her, but her words to her daughter remained calm and steady. “I ask only one thing. From now on, whenever you undertake something like this—even if you fall into it by happenstance—you come to me or to Mon Mothma about it immediately. The very first moment you can tell us, whether in person or via holo, you do so. That way we can make sure what you’re doing is both as safe and as helpful as it can be.”
“You didn’t say to tell Dad.”
“Not yet,” Breha admitted.
Never before had Leia’s mother asked her to keep a secret from her father. She’d always thought that might be fun, but it wasn’t.
What do you do when you’re a sixteen-year-old girl who knows her world is about to end?
Leia felt as though she walked through the next several days in a trance. The palace, as familiar to her as any place ever could be, suddenly seemed too large, too dark, its layout complicated and knotty as the braids 2V insisted on weaving into her charge’s hair every single morning. Her father had left for Coruscant late on the night of that last, terrible family argument; he’d made that trip regularly throughout her entire life, but this time his departure carried an ominous sense of division. Her mother—always so strong, graceful, and poised—wore her wrapper and nightgown in the private areas of the palace until very nearly lunchtime, and once when 2V tried to cluck about it, Breha even snapped at the droid. Of course she apologized in the next breath, but Leia remained shocked all the same.
The trouble hasn’t even started yet, she reminded herself one night at dinner, while she and Breha ate silently on the terrace, looking at Aldera instead of each other. If everything’s so screwed up and strange already, what will it be like when things really get bad?
Her mother’s voice broke into her reverie. “Aren’t you supposed to return to Coruscant soon?”
“The Apprentice Legislature’s next session isn’t for a week yet.”
Frowning, Breha said, “I thought I remembered something about you scheduling a transport several days back.”
“There’s a party tomorrow night,” Leia admitted. “One of the formal balls they invite the Royal Academy grads to every year. The apprentice legislators usually attend too.”
The first smile in days appeared on Breha’s face. “Weren’t you planning on going with Kier Domadi?”
Leia shrugged. “I thought I might ask him if he wouldn’t rather come here instead. I could invite him to the palace, couldn’t I?” She badly wanted to talk with him about some of what she’d learned. Maybe he couldn’t yet know the truth about Paucris Major, but they could discuss the particulars about Winmey Lenz and his double-dealing—and, more importantly, about whatever role people their age ought to play in the coming fight. That conversation was one they should have on their own planet, beneath their shared sky.
“You can always invite your friends to our home,” Breha said. “Which is why you should go to the ball tomorrow night on Coruscant. That will only ever happen once, while your home will always be here.”
“It feels wrong,” Leia finally admitted, as a servitor droid rolled up with the after-dinner caf. “Going out to celebrate, while out there—” She gestured at the darkening sky, through which a few brighter stars had begun to twinkle.
“‘Out there’ is exactly why you should go to the ball.” Leaning across the table, Breha took her daughter’s hand in hers. “We won’t always be free to travel wherever we will. We won’t always be able to take the time to attend elaborate parties. We won’t always have the chance to dance with the ones we love.” The quaver in her voice made Leia’s chest ache as she finished, “So dance now.”
Leia hadn’t realized she could love her mother even more than she already did. She squeezed her mother’s fingers tightl
y, and for a few long seconds they simply smiled at each other in the most perfect understanding they would ever share.
It was Breha who broke the silence: “And TooVee will be so happy to pick out your gown.”
“Overjoyed.”
The next night, Leia walked into the Imperial Palace on Kier’s arm, wearing a white-and-silver gown that had fulfilled all 2V’s wildest dreams. Her hair had been braided into a tall coil atop her head, and jewelry sparked at her throat. Kier wore a dark blue suit of Alderaanian make, slightly out of step with the uniformed and stylish men around them yet, to her, far more handsome. When she heard the music, she longed to sweep Kier onto the dance floor—
No. She longed to long for that, to fulfill her mother’s command to dance while she could. Instead, the tumult inside her seemed to have intensified. Every time she looked at one of her friends, or at Kier, or at the happy throng celebrating with no idea of what was to come, a pang pierced her heart. The emotion that ached within her wasn’t fear. Instead she felt the intense sadness that came from recognizing the beauty of her reality while newly, sharply aware of how fragile it was. How quickly it would all vanish.
Will everyone be so carefree ten years from now? Five years? Five months? Leia couldn’t yet tell how fast it was slipping away, but the stability of the existence she’d known was already beginning to give. As dedicated as she was to fighting Palpatine—as willing as she was to pay whatever price that fight would demand—she still found it hard to accept the fragility of everything and everyone she loved.
“Are you all right?” Kier squeezed her hand, pressure that sent a small thrill through her, despite everything. “You seem—far from here.”
She blinked hard, forcing herself back into the moment. “I guess I am. Could you get me a glass of the glowwine? That should help.” Glowwine wasn’t intoxicating, exactly, but it sparked a rush of endorphins that could turn the dull into the delightful. Younger people on Coruscant and many other worlds drank it regularly; even some adults preferred it to true wine.
Kier’s lips brushed her cheek. “As you command, Your Highness.”
The way he said it—low and soft—did as much to distract her as the glowwine ever could. She let go of his arm with some reluctance, already missing his warmth by her side.
Someone else found her almost immediately. “Were you in awful trouble?” Amilyn Holdo asked in the monotone Leia no longer thought of as being so odd. “At least you could tell your parents what you were really doing. I had to pretend I honestly thought stowing away on a cargo vessel would be fun.”
“Did they believe you?”
Beaming, Amilyn nodded. “They know how I get about my enthusiasms.”
Leia imagined what toddler Amilyn must have been like and couldn’t suppress a smile. “No doubt.”
“Your dress is beautiful.” Holding out her arms in a pose, Amilyn said. “What do you think?”
It took most of Leia’s royal training to keep that smile on her face. Amilyn wore possibly the most Amilyn thing ever: a flowing caftan of a dress in a swirling, multicolored pattern that reminded Leia of the storms on gas giants. Tiny bells jingled at the ends of the wide bell sleeves, and metallic, sparkly fringe trimmed the hem and the high neck. Amilyn had even managed to dye her hair the same combination of colors as the dress, which made her look like a psychedelic blur broken only by her smiling face. Leia ventured, “It’s very bright. Very original and daring.”
“Leia.” Amilyn’s face took on an unaccustomed seriousness. “On Gatalenta, we honor kindness and courtesy, but we also honor honesty.”
True courtesy meant treating people the way they wished to be treated. “Well, then, I think the dress is too busy. I can see why you like it, but for this gathering, it’s a bit much.”
“I knew it.” When Amilyn slumped, she appeared even ganglier than usual—like a marionette when the puppeteer let go of the strings. “On Gatalenta, you get tired of everyone wearing the same scarlet cloaks, and everybody’s clothing is pale gray or white, and it’s supposed to be soothing and tranquil—I guess it is—but that’s just not who I am.”
“You’re expressing your individuality,” Leia said, and as she spoke she found that, somehow, she’d gotten to like most of Amilyn’s bizarre clothing. Maybe it was garish and strange, but the brilliant colors and constant variety reflected something of the person within.
“Exactly.” Amilyn picked forlornly at the fringed trim of her sleeve. “I want to be the precise opposite of Gatalenta.”
Leia shook her head. “Don’t do that. If you’re only trying to be the opposite of a thing, you’re still letting that thing define you.”
“I never thought of it that way.”
The insight was new to Leia, too, but she recognized the truth in it. “Dress how you really want to dress. Be who you want to be. Not whatever they are on Gatalenta, or whatever they aren’t.”
She brightened as Kier wove his way through the crowd back to them. He must’ve seen Amilyn standing by Leia’s side, because he returned with three glasses of glowwine and, somewhat clumsily, managed to give Amilyn the first one. “Good to see you.”
“You too, Kier.” Amilyn promptly gulped the glowwine down with abandon; maybe this was what happened when someone from Gatalenta let loose.
Now he could present Leia with her glass properly and clink his rim against hers, but then he took as deep a draught as Amilyn had. When Leia raised her eyebrows questioningly, he grinned. “The sooner we finish this, the sooner we can dance.”
“When you put it that way—” She lifted the glowwine to her lips and went for it.
Within minutes, her worries had vanished—as if the tension within her had been a balloon swelling tighter until it popped with a spray of glitter. Leia’s courtly training meant she could swirl around the dance floor without even thinking, her feet and arms naturally finding the steps. The other dancers moved around them with fluid grace, everyone finding the patterns as if they were shards of color in a kaleidoscope being turned on the beat.
Kier danced with nearly as much ease as she did. Twirling beneath his arm, she said, “You’re good at this.”
“I am now.” His hands found her waist at that exact moment, and she helped him lift and spin her, a dizzying whirl that exhilarated her. “After I spent most of the past month practicing with a Beedee droid.”
Leia laughed so loudly that a few heads turned around them. “You didn’t.”
“It was awful,” Kier confessed. “Nothing like this.”
The song drew to a close, and they finished the dance perfectly, with him pulling her to his side, arm around her waist. They’d been this close before—many times—but tonight everything felt sharper, realer, more urgent.
Dance now.
Probably this wasn’t exactly what her mother had meant, but—
“Let’s get out of here,” Leia said.
A slow smile spread across Kier’s face, even as he said, “Aren’t we supposed to stay?”
They were. They ought to be dancing with the other apprentice legislators and with the graduating academy cadets.
But to hell with “ought to.”
Leia pulled Kier closer and whispered, “I don’t care.”
They ran out of the gathering together, second glasses of glowwine in their hands, into the dazzling lights of Coruscant at night. At first they dashed across the suspended walkways, happy to dodge the passers-by around them, to feel as if they were racing on thin air. Even the holoprojections of the Imperial symbol on huge screens all around couldn’t dull Leia’s giddiness.
When they found a hoversled rental place, Kier steered them directly to it. Once he’d given the Rodian proprietor some credits, and taken the scan that proved they’d imbibed nothing stronger than glowwine, they were off—zooming through the air, wind rushing around them. Leia kept their course simple, partly to be safe but also because it let her attention wander to the warmth of Kier’s arms wrapped around her as he embraced h
er from behind.
“Hey,” he called, pointing toward the senatorial complex. “Let’s head up there.”
Atop the complex, an elaborate garden had been planted for the enjoyment of senior members of the government; on Coruscant, the rich greenness of leaves was the ultimate luxury. On most nights, a number of people could be found there relaxing with family and friends. Tonight, however, the Senate was in late session and the other apprentice legislators remained at the ball, so Leia was able to land in the very center, and they had the garden to themselves.
Kier took her hand as he drew her away from the hoversled to walk on the soft ground. The belomi-palm fronds swayed in the breezes, surrounding them so fully it was almost possible to believe they were on a planet’s surface instead of high above it.
“No place is as beautiful as Alderaan,” Kier said, “but this comes close.”
She thought of his fierce wish to protect Alderaan against the coming conflict, the danger again intruding on her happiness.
“Hey.” He brought his fingers up beneath her chin, tilting her face toward his. “Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I am, really.”
Kier knew her better than that. “Are you worried about your mother?”
He’d been so concerned about the so-called family emergency that took her away from the challenge on Pamarthe. She’d been forced to concoct a lie, which she hated—but this lie was intended to protect both Kier and her parents, so she stuck to it. “Everything’s okay. Her pulmonodes really only needed a small repair. It scared us, that’s all.”
The light filtering through the palms highlighted the sharp angles of his face, the depth of his dark eyes. “Then what is it? Are you nervous about your challenges, after what happened on Pamarthe?” His smile warmed her through. “You’ll make that ascent of Appenza. I’d be honored to climb it with you, if you’d like.”
The would-be heir could take a companion on the climb, and she could imagine nothing better than standing atop that mountain, declaring herself the next queen, with Kier by her side. “Yes. I’d like that.”