by Claudia Gray
“But it’s not what you’re worried about.”
Surely he deserved some small measure of the truth. How much could she parcel out and declare safe? Leia finally said, “Recently I traveled somewhere that made me—made me realize that what my parents are planning—that it’s inevitable.”
His expression clouded. “Are they about to do something dangerous?”
“No, no, not yet.” She shook her head vehemently. All of this was dangerous, but Kier was asking whether action was imminent. That, at least, Leia felt sure she could deny. “I don’t know how long it’s going to be, though. I just know it’s going to happen. Everything about our lives is about to change.”
He embraced her tightly. She rested her head against his chest, at the exact place where she could best hear his heartbeat. They were so breakable, so mortal. The fight to come would overtake them, and there was nothing she could do to protect either of them.
“I know it has to change,” Kier whispered. “The Empire can’t stand. People can’t live like this, and that means an uprising is inevitable. We have to prepare for it; we need it. But what’s about to happen—”
“Don’t.” She placed two of her fingers over his lips. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I want to forget about it completely, just for tonight.”
Leia sank down onto the soft ground, relishing the coolness of grass beneath her palms. After a moment, Kier knelt beside her. When he hesitated still longer, she started to ask him what he was thinking—but then he reached out, fingers trembling, and removed one long pin from her hair. He held it between them, a silent question as to whether he should continue.
Alderaan had any number of traditions about braids, about who wore them, and when, and why. The customs varied from continent to continent, age to age. But always, one of the most profoundly intimate acts was to allow someone else to take the braids down.
After one deep, shaky breath, Leia turned, offering him the back of her head.
Kier went slowly at first, figuring out how to proceed, but he gained confidence as he went. Each pin was carefully placed in a pile off to the side so that they could keep only the slightest sliver of space between them. Every time their eyes met, the troubling world around them fell further away.
2V knew her work. Leia’s hair didn’t begin to tumble free until the very last braids were loosed. When at last it fell heavy and dark around her shoulders, Kier buried his hands in it, and she didn’t have to think or worry anymore, just close her eyes, kiss him, and let go.
Apprentice legislators rarely contented themselves with the experience itself. Kier’s academic interest was the exception; most apprentices hoped for political or Imperial careers, and their time with the Senate served as a mere starting point. Therefore, attracting the attention of a senior official usually meant good news.
A princess of Alderaan didn’t need that kind of attention—and even if she had, Leia would’ve been horrified to receive the summons to meet with Grand Moff Tarkin.
“What can he want?” Kier shook his head in consternation when she showed him the screen. They sat together in her family’s apartments, watching one of the famously melodramatic holovids from Shili. “It’s not like we’ve seen him anywhere near the Apprentice Legislature since day one.”
“He’s been to Alderaan, though.” Leia remembered that terrible dinner party, the suspense that had hung over them all like a canopy of black. “Recently. I think he was trying to rattle my parents.”
“You think he suspects something?” Kier sat upright, almost as if he would leap to his feet in alarm. She remembered the sharpness of that initial fear. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It would only move you into the bull’s-eye along with us.” She curled into a ball on the sofa, hugging her knees to her chest. Their family apartments hadn’t felt as empty since she began spending more time here with Kier, but Tarkin’s message had made her father’s absence freshly vivid. “I wish I could ask my dad about how to handle this.”
“Could you call him?”
Not where he’s gone. Leia pulled herself together. “Not in time. The summons says this morning.”
When she rose from the sofa, smoothing the simple tunic she wore, Kier got to his feet beside her. “Do you want me to come with you?”
“Tarkin’s not going to allow that.”
“I didn’t mean into his office. Just to walk there with you, if it would help you stay calm.”
His sweetness eased some of the tension within her—not all of it, not even close, but enough for her to collect herself. Leia put her hands on either side of his face. “What would help me is knowing you’ll be here when I get back.”
“Then I’m staying right here.”
Kier kissed her goodbye so thoroughly that the warmth of it buoyed her up during the entire journey through the labyrinthine set of lifts, skyways, and corridors that brought her to Tarkin’s Coruscant offices. When she got there, however, and saw the imposing Imperial seal on the doors, the chill began to creep back in. But royal training could carry her through far more than ceremonial rituals of the court. Commanding and confident? No. That’s not what the Grand Moff wants to see. Demure and innocent—that’s better. Leia clasped her hands in front of her, lowered her chin slightly, and walked inside.
Before the protocol droid had even finished introducing her, Tarkin had risen from his desk. Not even his polite smile could gentle his cadaverous face. “Your Highness. How good of you to come.”
It took every minute of every year of her training for her not to flinch when taking his outstretched hand. His fingers could’ve been fleshless bones. “Thank you, Governor. I appreciate the honor, but I admit, I was surprised to hear from you.” Lower your eyes, tighten the throat as though you were sad. “After how I behaved—”
“Now, now, none of that. You were hardly responsible for that disgraceful scene.” His “kindly” pat on her shoulder didn’t fool her; he was trying to discombobulate her under the guise of comforting her. “In fact, since that night, I’ve been concerned about you. I felt I should take some kind of action, were such required.”
“You, sir?” Leia couldn’t keep the incredulity out of her voice, but that was all right. He’d expected to catch her off guard and would be pleased to have done so.
He gestured toward the chair in front of his desk and politely didn’t sit until she had. “Yes. Forgive my interference, but it occurred to me that if the daughter of a queen and a viceroy had difficulties, there would be very few people to whom she could turn.”
“That’s an extremely kind gesture.” From another sort of person altogether, it might have been. “Really, though, what happened that night—it’s between my parents. I have to let them work it out in their own time.”
Tarkin nodded, and though he studied her avidly, she detected no suspicion…at least, not yet. “That’s a very mature attitude, allowing your elders to act as they see best.”
Eyes downcast, she said, “I know this is the right way to handle it, but I admit, it’s hard sometimes.” Did he hope to reduce her to tears again? If that was what it took to end this interview, Leia was prepared to sob until he had medical droids wheel her out for observation.
“Undoubtedly.” To her dismay, Tarkin gestured for a servitor droid to bring them tea as he settled into his chair like a man prepared to talk at length. “But it’s that kind of self-control that will make you a fine senator and an excellent queen. Your parents have quite a reputation, Your Highness, but I dare say you’ll eclipse them when the time comes.”
Why is he talking about this?
She kept a tiny, uncertain smile on her face as she accepted her cup of tea. Tarkin kept on while the droid poured next to him. “Although the centralized governance of the Empire is what provides our stability and our strength, planetary leaders nonetheless play a critical role. The Emperor needs to know that monarchs, presidents, prime ministers, chieftains, and senators will support his rule, and monitor activities
more closely than we can hope to from Coruscant.”
Cooperate with us. Do as we say, and you keep your throne. He wouldn’t be having this conversation with her unless he thought she’d inherit that throne soon.
Since her parents were still hardly even middle-aged, there was only one reason for Tarkin to think that.
Her entire body tightened—her throat strangling her voice, her ears trying to shut out sound so she couldn’t hear any more of this. Leia’s heart beat wildly in her chest, and the impulse to dash out of the room was almost overwhelming. She simply sipped her tea before saying, so steadily it shocked her, “I realize how important that is to Emperor Palpatine.”
“I believe you do. You’re a good girl.” Tarkin smiled, obviously thinking her young and naïve enough to be flattered by such condescension. “While I commend your attitude toward allowing your parents some, ah, distance, I want you to know that in the future, should you feel uncertain and require guidance, I shall be glad to give it.” Be our puppet ruler, and I’ll hold the strings.
“Thank you, Governor. I appreciate that.” On more levels than you can ever realize.
Maybe some hint of emotion slipped out. Maybe he was simply too calculating a man not to apply one final test. She knew only that Tarkin cocked his head, studying her like a predator about to pounce, before he said—with courtly flourish—“I see such attentions as an investment in our Empire’s future. Someday, I hope, we will achieve perfect rule and perfect peace, from here on Coruscant to the farthest systems of Lothal, Paucris, Rattatak—or whatever worlds we may yet find.”
Paucris. It sliced through her like a sword’s blade. Tarkin certainly hadn’t named that system by chance. He hoped to shake up a young girl who—so far as he knew—he’d already seen easily reduced to tears. His eyes locked with hers as he searched for the telltale slip that would betray her, and doom them all.
Leia didn’t flinch. With the full force of her imagination, she pictured Kier sitting in front of her, imagined it was him she was smiling at, and heard the warmth in her voice as she answered, “May we someday see that perfect peace.”
For one seemingly eternal instant, nothing changed—and then Tarkin ever so slightly relaxed. “Hear, hear.”
She had to make chitchat through that entire cup of tea. Had to allow him to escort her out of the office, her arm through his, and tell him goodbye. She even made sure to walk at a normal speed for the first while after she left, until she’d taken three lifts and one skyway back to the senatorial complex. But as soon as she’d entered the inner corridors, Leia broke into a run.
She burst into her father’s office, startling the staff. “Please tell me Dad is here.”
“I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” said the protocol droid, with a distinct undertone of and you should know that. “Senator Organa’s return is still scheduled six days hence—”
“I need to use his private office. Excuse me.” Leia rushed straight in, knowing nobody on her father’s staff had the rank to prevent her, even if they’d wanted to. She pulled up the HoloNet and put in a call to the palace, directly to her mother; as the connection was made, she brought up Mon Mothma on audio only.
Mon Mothma answered first. “Princess Leia?”
“Yes—hold on, I’m getting my mom—” Queen Breha shimmered into holographic form in the office, wearing the exercise gear no one but her family would ever see her in. Before her mother could even ask what was happening, Leia blurted out, “The Empire knows about Paucris Major.”
Her mother blanched so visibly it was clear even via holo. Mon Mothma’s voice was sharp. “How do you know this?”
“I didn’t go snooping, I swear—”
“It doesn’t matter if you did!” Breha said. “How do you know?”
“Tarkin called me to his office. Acted like it was this friendly mentoring thing, but he was sounding me out. Saying things that suggested I’d inherit the throne soon.” Her mother’s hand went to her own throat, a sight that seared Leia almost past endurance. “Then he was naming far-off systems like it was random, but he named Paucris. He was looking directly at me. I’m positive he did it to rattle me. There’s no way that’s a coincidence.”
“I’m sure you’re right.” Mon Mothma sounded as though she’d aged years in mere seconds. “We have to send a messenger to warn them—we can’t trust droid probes with this, and we hardly know who to trust until we’ve patched Winmey’s leaks—”
“I can’t leave Alderaan,” Breha said. “We’re holding a medals ceremony in only a few hours.”
“Nobody cares about the medal ceremony,” Leia began before her mother cut her off with a gesture.
“Of course nobody cares about that, sweetheart, but if I suddenly cancel a public event, word will travel back to the Empire. For all we know, they’re already prepared to strike. We can’t run the risk of tipping them off, or else they’ll pounce before we can evacuate.”
“I have a meeting with one of the grand admirals this evening,” Mon Mothma said. “Princess, you must go, immediately.”
As much as she’d hoped to do for this movement, as often as she’d begged to help, Leia hadn’t expected to be called on for anything as urgent and serious as this. Yet she understood instantly. A senator or a queen would be missed; an apprentice legislator would not. Leia already had all the information necessary to complete her task. And their trust in her was absolute.
“I’ll leave right away,” Leia promised. “Is the Polestar on Coruscant?”
“It’s here on Alderaan.” Her mother swore, which under other circumstances would’ve been shocking. “You’ll have to hire a ship. An independent freighter, the type not to ask too many questions.”
That sounded intimidating, but Leia nodded.
Mon Mothma added, “As tight as time may be, you should stop somewhere along the way and change ships. We don’t want anyone to be able to track your movements directly.”
“Got it,” Leia promised. “I’ll need credits.” The funds necessary to hire at least two freighters went beyond even the generous stipend she had on Coruscant.
“I’ll personally bring you an untraceable credit solid,” Mon Mothma said. “Where are you?”
“Dad’s office.”
The only goodbye that followed was the click of a voice link deactivating. Leia refocused on her mother, who had sunk into a chair, her hands woven through her loose hair. Breha said only, “I’m not even going to ask how you know about Paucris.”
“That’s probably a good idea,” Leia admitted.
“You realize that the Empire could be moving in on our base there even now?” Her mother was shaking so much that it was visible even through the blur of the holo. “You realize the danger you’re in? I can’t let you go unless I know you understand, completely.”
“I understand.” Yet she wasn’t as afraid as she’d been in Tarkin’s office. She’d come to realize that she would never be overwhelmed by fear as long as she had something to do. Leia’s mind raced ahead to the journey, the message, to all the details that would carry her onward and keep her from imagining her arrest by the Empire and the horrors that would surely follow. “I’m all right, Mom. I’m ready.”
“Yes, I think you are.” Breha blinked fast. It hit Leia that her mother knew both her husband and her daughter were in imminent danger, and yet there was nothing she could do but perform her duty, wear her crown, and smile. It seemed unbearable. Yet she lifted her hand as though she could touch Leia’s face and said, “I love you.”
“I love you too.”
Instantly the holo went dark. Leia understood why. Extending the conversation would only have tormented her mother. It was better to focus on what had to be done. The Apprentice Legislature didn’t have another session for a few days—she’d turned in her proposals early, as usual, so that deadline didn’t matter—Harp had invited her over to watch some holovids tomorrow, by which time Leia would either be back or in prison—
“Kier,” she wh
ispered. He would still be waiting for her in their family’s apartments, in suspense. When she snapped open a new holo-channel, he appeared in front of her almost instantly; he must’ve been waiting directly in front of the camera. “I’m all right,” she began. “But I think Tarkin’s on to my parents. I have to go to the Paucris system, right away.”
“Wait, what?” Kier put his hands out as if he could dam the flood of information. “You have to go where?”
“It doesn’t matter.” Really she shouldn’t have burdened him with that information in the first place, but everything was happening so fast. Leia continued, “Just cover for me if anyone asks, okay? Tell them I had to go home on short notice.”
“Leia, this sounds bad.”
She nodded. “It could be. But maybe—maybe I’ll be in time.” Holding her hand out, much as her mother had, she said, “I’ll talk with you soon.” Please, let that be true.
Kier looked like he wanted to argue, but he also knew when arguing with her would prove useless. “Soon,” he repeated. “Promise?”
“Promise.” With that, she shut off the holo, leaving herself alone in unnatural stillness for a few breaths. It was almost long enough for fear to creep in—but then Mon Mothma rushed through the doors, white robe fluttering, more flustered than Leia had ever seen her before.
“Credit solid,” Mon Mothma said, breathless. “Linked to banks so obscure even Palpatine doesn’t have their information, and adequate to cover the cost of ten ships if you need them.”
Leia took the gold-striped solid and slipped it into one of the secure pouches at her belt. “If two ships won’t do it, eight more won’t help.” It was gallows humor, but it helped her smile.
Mon Mothma paused, still winded, obviously searching for wisdom or at least helpful advice. Then she shook her head, put her hands on Leia’s shoulders and spoke the only words that mattered. “May the Force be with you.”
