Leia assumed Chief Pangie had stranded them to create a bonding experience for the whole group. Working together to overcome the odds was supposed to create camaraderie and make them all lasting friends.

If that was the plan, it was failing miserably.

“Could you guys at least try to move faster than a glacier?” snapped Harp Allor when she had to stop, yet again, for their slower classmates to catch up. “We have a lot of ground to cover before sundown, and you guys are dragging your hindquarters.”

The Ithorian pointed at his cumbersome snowshoes, which were sturdy but slowed his pace. Sssamm of Fillithar hissed that maybe she could remember not everybody had hindquarters and to stop being so biped-centric.

Amilyn, who had clambered atop a stump, peered into the knothole of the nearest tree. “Nope,” she said in her singsong voice, “no snow owls here either.”

Kier had kept his temper so far, but this comment made him squint at Amilyn up on her perch. “Why are you looking for snow owls?”

“Why wouldn’t I look for snow owls?”

Apparently Kier couldn’t think of a good answer. After a long, silent moment, he nodded as though to say, Fair point.

Chassellon retied the expensive muunyak-wool scarf at his throat, making sure it had a rakish flair. Leia couldn’t fathom caring about appearances at a time like this, and by this point they were all overheated from the work of the hike. He was willing to make himself sweat even more rather than wreck his look. 2V would love this guy. “Chief what’s-her-name clearly resents us. Thinks she’s too good for students instead of soldiers. Can you imagine what trouble she’ll be in when this gets reported to Queen Breha? I can’t wait.”

“Can we all try to focus?” Leia held on to her temper, barely. “See that dead tree over there? The one that’s split in two at the top?”

Kier nodded. “The one that was struck by lightning. I noticed it on the way up too. We need to turn west around here.”

She was chagrined not to have realized the tree had been hit by lightning—but what did it matter? At least somebody else in this class could use his brain and his mouth at the same time. “All right. West we go.”

Already Harp Allor had begun hurrying ahead, bounding through the calf-deep snow. “The path’s clearer here! We can make up some time!”

“Harp?” Kier called. “I think I remember—”

Suddenly Harp jerked to one side and toppled over into a drift. Her cry of pain echoed against the rock-strewn slopes.

“—some tricky ice around there,” Kier finished.

Leia ran to where Harp lay in the snow, clutching one leg and wincing. “Are you all right?”

Shaking her head, Harp said, “I twisted my ankle.”

“Oh, that’s just sensational.” Chassellon buried his hands in his wildly curly black hair. “Can’t you walk it off?”

By now Kier had reached Harp as well, and the two of them tried to get her to her feet. Before Harp could try her weight on it, Leia saw the odd tilt of her boot and squeezed the girl’s arm as a warning. “Don’t! It’s not twisted; it’s broken.”

Kier added, “It’s nothing a few hours in a bacta tank won’t fix, but there’s no way you can get down the mountain without help.”

Thanks for confirming the obvious, Leia thought but didn’t say. She was getting better at figuring out exactly what she was mad about, when she was mad. Right now it wasn’t Kier Domadi, just the mess they were in.

Tears had welled in Harp’s eyes. “I screwed everything up for everybody.”

“No, you didn’t,” Leia said, but Chassellon snorted. She glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He held up his hands in their expensive fambaa-leather gloves, a gesture of mock surrender. “I agree with you, Princess Leia. Allor didn’t screw things up for everybody, just for herself. I for one intend to return to the chalet by sunfall with or without her. From the look of things, without.”

When Leia got really, really angry, her temples would pulse, and sometimes she felt like the top of her skull would pop off to let out all the steam inside. Her head had already begun to throb. “You’d leave her out here on her own?”

Chassellon shrugged. “Apparently Chief Pangie thinks this stretch of wilderness is perfectly safe from all hazards except clumsiness. Therefore Ms. Allor here should be fine until we send a jumper to fetch her.”

“That’s unacceptable.” Kier’s tone remained even, but Leia could tell he was nearly as angry as she was.

“She would be lonely,” Amilyn said, still swaying atop her perch on the stump, staring into the knothole as though the long-awaited owls might yet appear.

“Lonely. Oh, well, let’s all get thrown out of the class to keep her from being lonely for a few hours.” Chassellon folded his arms across his chest. “Or we could act like rational sentient beings and start moving.”

“Go on ahead,” Harp said, her head drooping. “I’ll be fine.”

“We’re not leaving you,” Leia insisted. She let go of Harp, trusting Kier to support her, and marched over to Chassellon. “Think about this, will you? If we all stay behind with Harp, Chief Pangie has to keep us in the class. She can’t expel everybody.”

“You might escape, Your Highness, but the rest of us have to look out for ourselves. Trust me, when someone like that wants to make life worse for the people who have power over her, she’ll find a way. I don’t intend to give her any extra ammunition.” He reshouldered his backpack and put one hand on Leia’s shoulder, his expression so genuinely sympathetic that for a moment she thought he’d come around. Instead, he said in a lower voice, “I realize you have to stay. Word can’t get around that the princess of Alderaan abandoned someone on the slopes to save her own skin, can it? Appearances matter.”

“Appearances?” Her temples pulsed again, and her cheeks flushed hot against the biting cold air.

Chassellon took no notice. Instead he called to the others: “All those for the chalet, follow me!”

To Leia’s consternation, fully half the class started down the hill after him. Only the Ithorian even paused, inclining his head to say sorry. The others kept going without looking back.

And if I had to get stuck with only half the group, did it have to be this half? she thought. Kier stood there silently judging her while Harp sniffled against his shoulder. Sssamm seemed alert and calm but, as a serpentine life-form, couldn’t be a whole lot of help carrying Harp, her gear, or anything else. And Amilyn was still looking for the blasted owls.

Every single one of them apparently expected Leia to be their leader. That made sense, given that this was her planet, but it would’ve helped if she had the slightest idea what to do.

But I do know. I do. Leia took a deep breath. Her father had always said she should take heart when she had others on her side. Look deeply into them, he’d say, help them discover what they’re capable of, and you’ll always find you have the people you need.

That was…not easy to believe right now. But there was nothing else to do but begin.

“We were turning west,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“I’m sorry you’re hurting,” Amilyn said earnestly to Harp as she took her turn dragging the makeshift travois Kier had put together. Her acid-green hair looked like a chemical burn against the surrounding snow. “But there’s a bright side, too. Who would’ve guessed we’d encounter mortal peril so soon?”

Harp made a face. “I hope this isn’t quite ‘mortal’ peril.”

“It will be if we stumble into a crevasse!” Amilyn’s glazed smile broadened while Harp looked around nervously.

They were reasonably safe from that danger, given that Sssamm was slithering ahead to scout the terrain; his scales hissed against the snow, in contrast to the crunch of the humanoids’ footsteps. Leia wasn’t scared any longer; among the five of them, they remembered enough of the way back to be sure they could reach the chalet. Maybe they’d make it before nightfall, maybe not, but the important thing was ensuring Harp remained safe and well.

Still, if I know my mother, she hired the toughest pathfinding instructor in the galaxy, Leia thought. Anyone who thought princesses were “pampered” had never spent time with the royal House of Organa. Chief Pangie really might kick me out of the class if I don’t get back before sundown. If she does that, I’ve automatically failed my Challenge of the Body. What happens then? Do I have to try again next year? She’d never researched what happened to heirs apparent who didn’t complete the challenges they’d named on the Day of Demand. The possibility of failure had never entered her mind.

“I’m so sorry, everyone,” Harp said for about the eightieth time. But this time she kept going. “I’ve always done whatever it took to be at the top of my class, every single class. Stupid mistakes like this—” She breathed out sharply, like someone trying not to cry. “I guess I’m not used to failing this badly.”

Kier kept looking forward, walking at the exact same pace, as he answered her. “Then this is the best class you’ve ever had. Nobody learns anything new without failing the first few times they try. You have to face that and figure out how to get back up again. That means learning how to fail is the most important lesson of all.”

Although Leia said nothing, she felt the words as much as heard them, trying to process what he’d said. Her whole life had been like Harp’s, constantly striving to learn more, do more, be more. Nobody had admitted failure was even a possibility, much less that it could actually be good.

Under other circumstances, she would’ve found their surroundings breathtaking in their beauty—the conifer-filled valleys stretching out beneath them, the endless stretches of pristine snow, the way the jagged mountain range cut the lowering sun’s light into separate golden rays. Sssamm’s iridescent green scales glittered with every bend of his tail, and even Amilyn’s multicolored clothes were at least vibrant. Maybe if she could think of failure as a positive outcome, she could even enjoy part of this.

Someday, perhaps. As a memory. Today? She just had to keep marching.

Besides, failure wasn’t always personal. When Leia had failed on Wobani, others suffered the consequences.

Kier fell into step beside her. “The others probably aren’t that far ahead of us,” he said. “We might make it by sundown.”

“Maybe.” Leia doubted they would, but it wasn’t impossible. “Thanks for working on the travois.”

He shrugged. “My historical anthropology teacher always insisted on making us try our hand at primitive skills, so we’d see just how much intelligence they really take. If you ever need somebody to knap a flint knife for you, let me know.”

“Let’s hope it won’t come to that. Still, I just wanted to say, I appreciate it. You didn’t have to stay and help.”

Kier glanced sideways at her. “But you did.”

“What?”

“Have to stay.”

“What, because of appearances?” And here she’d been thinking they were at least jerk-free after Chassellon left. “That doesn’t have anything to do with it. I’d always stay with someone who needed help.”

“That’s not what I—” Kier fell silent. She realized he was hunting for words, and then recognized something in the way he couldn’t meet her eyes. This guy wasn’t standoffish; he was shy. Finally he said, “I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m not good at saying what I really mean.”

Now calmer, and curious, Leia took a deep breath. The air smelled of evergreens. “All right, try again.”

Kier kept going for several paces, long enough that she’d started to think he’d given up, before he said, “I didn’t mean you were staying because of appearances. I meant, your royal role means you have to stay.”

She wasn’t seeing the difference, but decided to hear him out. “You mean, people hold a princess to a higher standard.”

“No. I mean, you hold yourself to a higher standard.” Kier glanced at her. Their breaths were small puffs of white in the bitingly cold air. “We hear a lot about how the House of Organa dedicates everything to the good of the people—”

“We do,” Leia insisted.

Holding up one hand, Kier continued, “Yeah. You really do. It’s not just propaganda on Alderaan, the way it would be on almost any other planet in the galaxy. The queen, the viceroy—and you too, it seems like.” Mollified, Leia nodded, and he took this as a cue to keep going. “So you don’t really have a choice to stay or go. Just like you don’t have a choice whether to be in the Apprentice Legislature or not.”

“You think I got stuck with the Apprentice Legislature?” Well, it was better than his thinking she didn’t deserve to be there. Now if only she felt she still deserved it, after Wobani. More forcefully—to convince them both—she added, “Trust me, I can’t wait to get back to the Senate.”

Kier’s sidelong look felt like an appraisal. “Really? Or do you just think you should?”

“I understand my own motivations perfectly well, thank you very much.” Leia meant for her words to sound angry. Meant to be angry. But really she wanted him to be quiet so she could mull over what he’d said. The idea of being able to choose her own future instead of inheriting the throne—it was so alien to her that she’d never consciously considered it, not even once. Only now did she realize that was actually very strange.

As if she’d sensed Leia thinking the word strange, Amilyn piped up, “Look at this!”

They had made it through another thick patch of woods into a wide clear space with stretches of slope completely free from trees; whiteness stretched out below them in nearly every direction. But those slopes were too steep to easily walk down, especially when one of them would have to pull the travois.

At least the path was easy to spot. “That’s the way we came up,” Leia said, pointing toward a rockier line that traced its way downhill, maybe two hundred meters west. Sssamm hissed that he could just make out Chassellon’s group farther down that path; with his sharp Fillithar vision, that meant the others could have been nearly two thousand meters ahead.

“When I was a little girl, I used to love tobogganing,” Amilyn said.

Leia managed not to snap. “That’s nice for you. Once we get back to the path, it’s going to be too uneven for the travois. Kier—” She felt awkward about asking him this, which made no sense, so she kept on. “Do you think you can carry Harp?” He nodded, though he looked more wary than certain.

“What I loved best about the toboggan is how fast we could go.” Shrugging off the straps of the travois, Amilyn began digging around in her pack.

When Sssamm hissed that he thought he might be able to balance Harp in one of his coils, Leia was going to object because the danger of them rolling out of control was too great. But the vision of them hurtling downhill made her realize what Amilyn had been saying—just as Amilyn pulled something bright yellow from her pack. She flung it down, at which point it popped obediently into its full shape, an emergency tent.

As Amilyn stepped on the corner of the tent, she bent down to tether two of the flexible poles together. “See, if we can flatten it out—”

“—we’d have a toboggan big enough to carry all of us,” Leia finished. “Why didn’t you just say so from the start?”

Amilyn frowned. “I did. Didn’t I?”

“It’s too dangerous.” Kier knelt by Amilyn’s side, shaking his head. “We’d pick up speed quickly, and with that much weight on board, it would be hard to steer. If we crash, we could all wind up with broken ankles. The field generators protect us only so much.”

That was when Sssamm slithered closer, hissing excitedly. He curled onto the tent-toboggan, expanded his coils to hold out the edges, and stuck his tail into the last unfastened flap. Then he lifted it to form a perfect sail, which he turned that way and this to prove how easy steering would be. Kier began to smile, and Amilyn clapped her hands.

For the first time, Harp looked hopeful instead of depressed. “Can we try it?”

They didn’t need Leia’s permission. Really she should’ve said so. Instead she began to laugh. “Let’s do this.”

The entire descent after that was a rapid blur of snow-spray and distant trees. Sometimes they’d slalom from side to side so fast Leia thought they’d topple over, but Sssamm always managed to right their course in time. Harp yelped a time or two when they hit a ridge—or when they’d briefly go airborne before touching down—but most of the time she was laughing, just like Leia.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t had this much fun in a long time. And she hadn’t had this much fun with people her own age since…

Since ever? I think ever.

As the sun set that day, Chassellon Stevis and his group trudged up the steps of the chalet, each one of them clearly exhausted and miserable. That made it so much sweeter to watch them come into the great room, look at the enormous fireplace—and see Leia and her friends lounging by the hearth with oversized mugs of mocoa.

“Where have you guys been?” Harp called. She had an emergency bacta bag on her foot and foamy cream on the tip of her nose from her cup of mocoa. “We’ve been waiting for ages.”

Chassellon sputtered, “You couldn’t have—how could you—”

“They did it by showing some ingenuity, Stevis,” said Chief Pangie, who had taken the second-comfiest chair by the fire, leaving the best for Harp. “And by showing some compassion, a quality your group could use a little more of.”

“You’re having a good laugh, are you?” Chassellon held his chin high, looking as impressive as he could given his sodden clothes and damp hair—which wasn’t very. “We’ll see who’s laughing when Queen Breha hears about you abandoning us!”

Leia shrugged. “I’ve been talking with the chief. Turns out this part of the challenge was my mother’s idea in the first place.”

“But—a queen—she would never—”

“Push us hard?” Leia could’ve laughed. “You’ve obviously never met my mom.”

Chassellon deflated so pathetically that she almost felt sorry for him. From the corner of her eye she observed Kier lifting his chin as if in pride, maybe at the toughness of his monarch. He might give Leia a hard time occasionally, but she could tell a loyal Alderaanian when she saw one.

Chief Pangie lifted her mug toward the second group as if in a toast. “Since you failed to show any teamwork out there, I’m going to have to assign some extra duty for the group as a whole, next time. Say—carrying the others’ packs for them? That sounds about right.”

Thinking about the way Chassellon’s face looked then amused Leia the rest of the evening, and the entire trip back to Aldera. As she walked back into the palace, worn-out and rumpled but exhilarated, she tried to find the right words to describe it. Like one of those wilting vines from Harloff Minor. No, that wasn’t it. Like TooVee that time when I was a toddler and ran straight from my bath into the formal dining hall. That last memory was one Leia had been told so often she wasn’t sure if she remembered the event itself or the retellings, but it was easy enough to imagine 2V’s horror at her tiny, wet, naked charge barreling into a diplomatic dinner.

“Good evening, Princess,” said the guard standing duty in front of Bail Organa’s stateroom, a kind of signal flag as to her father’s location. The guard didn’t immediately step aside to give her the door, but probably he assumed she’d want to wash up before presenting herself to her parents. Not this time, though. She couldn’t wait to tell them everything. They’d be proud of her, maybe proud enough to erase the stain of her mistakes.

“Good evening.” Leia’s face almost hurt from grinning. “I’m here to see my parents. They’re in, aren’t they?”

“I’m sorry, Your Highness.” The guard tried to say this gently, which only made it worse. “Your parents are in conference about their next banquet and gave strict instructions that they weren’t to be disturbed by anyone.”

It was a long moment before Leia decided to risk the question. “Not even me?”

“No, Your Highness. I’m sure they’ll be eager to see you when they’re finished.”

When they’re done planning their next dinner party.

“All right. Thank you.” Her voice sounded calm, didn’t it? Like a princess, and not a hurt little girl?

Maybe not. The guard looked so sad for her, almost pitying, and she couldn’t even hate him for it.

Days later, Leia remained moody. Even her long-awaited return to Coruscant for her first session of the Apprentice Legislature couldn’t fully banish her gloom.

The adventure with her pathfinding class had brightened only one day. Afterward, she was left with her parents’ continued absence, and her lingering remorse for what had happened on Wobani. She’d devoted herself to caring for the Wobani refugees in the immediate aftermath of their arrival on Alderaan; it was the only way she knew to make up for her errors in judgment there. But the refugees didn’t know she’d messed up negotiations that might’ve saved the rest of their people, too—which meant their gratitude hurt more than it helped.

“We’ll be moving along soon,” one woman had confided as Leia helped them set up accounts for their stipend from the queen. “We’ve cousins on Itapi Prime—distant cousins, but we’ve done a little business together lately. I think we’ll have a place there.”

“I’m staying right here!” declared an old man nearby. “Alderaan’s the most beautiful planet in the galaxy, if you ask me. I think of it as home already.”

They were so happy. So satisfied with how things had turned out for them. Leia knew she ought to take pleasure in that instead of constantly reminding herself how much better their situation would’ve been, for them and for everyone on Wobani, if she had only…

Only what? Walked off and left them there to suffer? Leia could never have done that, not without knowing a compelling reason to do so. Her parents hadn’t told her that reason because she still didn’t have access to all classified information.

Well, then, that meant she had to be brilliant in the Apprentice Legislature. Here, at least, she knew what she was doing. It would be her first step toward real political power, and with power came knowledge.

On her initial visit to Coruscant two years prior, to serve as one of her father’s interns, they had flown in together on the royal yacht, Polestar. Leia remembered her father pointing out various landmarks, legendary places becoming real to her at last. The bustle and brilliance of Coruscant overwhelmed nearly everyone who saw it for the first time, even girls who had grown up in palaces, and Bail Organa had laughed to see her wide eyes.

This time, he’d traveled here two days ahead of her, for yet more important business she apparently didn’t get to hear about.

Leia took in the scene alone as the Polestar swooped lower, taking its place among the intricate ribbons of traffic that covered the planet. In her opinion, Coruscant looked its best at night, when it sparkled with trillions of blazing lights, just like a galactic core. But it was daytime now, so she was buffeted by the frenetic energy of countless small craft, the bustle of individual traffic through transparent aerial passageways between blocks, and the ominous hulks of the tall buildings around them.

Only a place like this could make the Imperial Senate seem calm, she thought.

Since Leia was familiar with the Senatorial complex already and had her own place to stay in her father’s apartments, she hadn’t bothered to arrive early for the Apprentice Legislature opening. However, she hadn’t meant to cut it as close as she did, hurrying through the winding corridors to find her pod in the chambers as the first fanfare played. As she slipped inside, Kier Domadi glanced over his shoulder. His simple gray clothes stood in stark contrast to the formal finery worn by most of those around them, and to her own high-collared violet dress.

He kept his voice low as he said, “I wondered if you weren’t coming.”

“Why wouldn’t I be coming?” she whispered back. Speaking to him in such hushed tones meant leaning close to him, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath.

“Why wouldn’t you be early?”

Again Leia felt stung. Kier had earned his place here and valued it more than she did. The Senate might be familiar to her, but for him, it was new. For both of them, it was important. “You’re right. I should’ve been early.”

“That’s not what I—” he sighed. “I meant, you seem like the type to be early, most of the time.”

She considered this. “I am, actually.”

“We’ll see.” But he smiled as he said it.

Applause began as the guest speaker took the dais. It was a man Leia had never met before but one she had heard a great deal about…none of it good.

“Welcome to the Apprentice Legislature,” said Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin. He stood thin, pale, and sharp, like a needle carved from bone. “Every one of you will now begin the process of representing your planet to the Senate, and indeed, before the Emperor himself. We all live to serve this great Empire, to increase its strength and work for its preservation. This is where your service begins.”

To Leia that sounded less like service, more like servility, and that wasn’t what the legislature was about. The Imperial Senate was one of the few checks on Palpatine’s power, not that Tarkin would admit it.

“Some may say that you are only young people—still children, practically, and that you therefore have nothing to offer our Empire. Indeed, there were those in the Imperial Starfleet who were surprised to hear that I volunteered to speak at your assembly today. Those people are far too shortsighted.” Tarkin’s hawklike gaze searched through the various pods; Leia wouldn’t be surprised if he’d memorized all their faces by the end of his speech—if not before he even arrived. “When I was still a student, then-Senator Palpatine took an interest in me. He provided invaluable guidance, which shaped my path forward. His example taught me to look for the best when they are young, because the earlier we begin, the more influence our lessons will have. So know that you aren’t merely practicing the form of government, deciding a few minor issues here and there. You’re also proving what kinds of Imperial leaders you could someday be. Show us your potential, and we will show you the way.”

Everyone applauded as Tarkin came down from the dais. Leia clapped along with the rest, but Kier did not. She pretended not to notice; it was safer for him that way.

The reception afterward was relatively informal as such things went: food and drink set out on one of the high ledges overlooking a broad swath of the city. Sunset had painted the horizon rosy pink, and shafts of sunlight streamed between the craggy dark silhouettes of skyscrapers. A few Rodian musicians played a jaunty tune as everyone milled around and mingled. Of course the point was to meet people you hadn’t talked to before, but still, the members of Leia’s pathfinding class found each other.

Chassellon Stevis appeared to hold no grudges; he wore his hair in braids, a stylish silk suit, and a broad smile as he greeted her. “Good to be back in civilization, don’t you think?”

“I like this better than being stuck halfway up a mountain, if that’s what you mean,” Leia said, smiling back. If Chassellon wasn’t going to sulk, then she wouldn’t hold his attitude during the first challenge against him…but she wouldn’t forget it, either.

Harp Allor looked flushed and happy. “Isn’t this exciting? Senator Lenz says he’ll even introduce me to Grand Moff Tarkin personally, later on.”

“Your senator came?” Leia was caught off guard. Her father hadn’t mentioned the possibility.

“He said he wanted me to get off to a good start.” Harp glanced around, then pointed to Winmey Lenz, senior senator of Chandrila. A lean, dark-skinned man with a nearly trimmed beard, he was familiar to Leia from the receptions that preceded her mother’s dinner parties. He spoke with animation to a military official, one of the few in attendance. Lenz caught Harp’s gesture and waved at her briefly before resuming his conversation. Now that Leia looked around, she realized not all the adults in attendance were staffers; there were a few other senators mingling in the crowd.

My father could’ve been here with me the whole time. He just didn’t think it was important.

Kier interjected, “Senator Organa got our princess off to a good start years ago, I guess.”

He was trying to make her feel better, which meant he’d realized she felt bad. His knowing about her embarrassment just made it worse. “He could’ve come here for you,” she pointed out.

“I’m sure your father knows I’m in good hands,” Kier said.

Interesting turn of phrase, Leia thought, but she’d consider that later.

“We meet again.” Amilyn Holdo wafted along, the same slightly glazed expression on her face. Her hair had been dyed pale blue with orange tips, and she wore a flamboyant caftan in a dizzyingly bright pattern, trimmed with glittery tassels. Rather than stopping to chat, she headed straight for the snacks; at least she knew her priorities.

Leia leaned close to Kier and murmured, “I thought they valued simplicity on Gatalenta. Dressed plainly, except for those scarlet cloaks.”

“I thought so too. Apparently Holdo goes her own way.” Kier said it gently, which was a good reminder that it shouldn’t matter to Leia what this girl wore, or what colors she dyed parts of herself, or that she always spoke in the same airy monotone. A member of an alien species she wasn’t familiar with was currently hovering in midair near the punch bowl, its many striped tentacles gesturing in an elaborate and fluid sign language; if you took a galactic perspective, it was hard to call anything truly “weird.”

Maybe to cover the awkward pause, Harp said, “So, how much do you think we’ll get to do in the Apprentice Legislature? I know we have a few real tasks put before us, but how much do you think the Empire will listen to our recommendations?”

“Probably about as much as they listen to the Imperial Senate,” Kier answered. “In other words, hardly at all.”

“Excuse me?” Leia stepped back. “We work hard in the Senate. My father puts in ten-hour days, sometimes—”

“And so does Senator Lenz!” Harp protested.

Kier held up his hands. “Let’s just say, I have a lot more faith in the viceroy’s leadership on Alderaan than I do any leadership here on Coruscant.”

“Don’t go sounding like a radical,” Chassellon said, absently picking a bit of fluff off his jacket. “It’s so gauche.”

They needed a conversational segue, fast. Leia nodded toward Tarkin, who held court at the center point of the balcony. The setting sun silhouetted his stark profile. Again she thought of hawks, and talons. “I suppose we have to work our way around to our guest speaker. Might as well get that over with.”

“Seems like a bore, if you ask me.” Chassellon shrugged with the indifference only wealth could provide. “I propose we ditch this and find ourselves some real fun. They know me at some clubs on the lower levels.”

Since Chassellon was no older than Leia herself, she doubted this. But she said only, “No, I need to introduce myself to the Grand Moff. My father would expect me to.” Not that he’s likely ever to hear about it one way or the other.

Kier shook his head. “I doubt the Grand Moff cares much about meeting me, and the feeling’s mutual. Besides, I need to get settled into my dormitory room.”

Leia hadn’t thought much about the fact that the other apprentices would be living in a dormitory. She’d stay in her usual room in her father’s apartments. While the Organa family lived fairly simply on Coruscant—at least, for someone of his station—she felt sure her quarters were luxurious compared to the dorms. It was one more thing that set her apart from the others—apart from nearly anyone.

“I want to keep soaking up the atmosphere here,” Amilyn said as she drifted over to them again. That came across as reasonable until she added, “If you don’t let the gases in a new planet’s air sink into your skin organically, it can cause disturbances in your dreams.”

Chassellon rolled his eyes. Leia took that as a signal to head to the receiving line and get it over with.

So many of the apprentice legislators were nervous to meet a grand moff. She observed that feeling without sharing it in the slightest; she had been no more than six the first time she met a king. While the others trembled, stammered, and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot or tentacle to tentacle, Leia stood straight, glad she’d braided her hair in a coil atop her head to provide the illusion of extra height, and waited her turn. When at last she was face to face with Grand Moff Tarkin, she took his hand with assurance. “Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan.”

“Your Highness,” Tarkin said. His hand tightened around hers—only slightly more than would be customary, but enough that she felt he was holding her there. That lasted for only an instant, however, as did his brittle smile. “I look forward to discovering whether you’ll be the same kind of senator as your father.”

“I hope to be,” Leia said. “I’ll be visiting Eriadu for the first time soon, as part of a pathfinding class. They don’t tell us which mountain ranges we might have to find our way through, but I thought you might have an idea.” Diplomacy often meant flattering people. One way of flattering them was referencing their homeworlds; another was asking their opinion on a subject in which they would be well informed. She was proud of folding both into one question.

“The Rivoche Ranges,” Tarkin said without hesitation. His eyes remained fixed on hers with an unnerving directness. “You’ve done your homework.”

“I try to, sir.”

“A good habit to cultivate.” He paused, then added, “Unlike, for instance, looking for loopholes in Imperial regulations.”

Outwardly, Leia didn’t flinch. Inwardly, shock was followed by shame. Had word of her rescue on Wobani spread that far, that fast?

Probably it wasn’t Wobani he was most interested in, though. More likely it bothered him that she’d witnessed what happened to Calderos Station. She’d been waiting for word of the attack to hit the HoloNet, eager to learn the different theories about who might be responsible. Instead, there had been total silence. That meant a cover-up.

That meant she was one of the few people who knew a secret the Empire very much wanted to keep. Leia understood enough to realize that was a risky position to be in.

Tarkin added, “You have a talent for finding weaknesses, Your Highness. And for exploiting them. That talent can work for you or against you. You’ll have to decide which.”

He moved on to the next young legislator, and Leia stood alone in the crowd, silent amid the noise, unsure of what surrounded her.