“The Clone Wars.” The docent of the Emperor’s Museum addressed the Apprentice Legislature tour with the clasped hands and carefully monotone voice of a funeral guest. Behind him, a flat screen showed images of thousands of clone troopers marching in lockstep across rugged terrain. “A tragedy such as has rarely been seen before, and thankfully never will again.”

Leia flinched, then glanced around her, hoping no one had noticed. Nobody had. Most of her classmates were visibly, profoundly bored; Kier, who stood by her side, was of course completely engrossed in the images playing before them, real footage of the Clone Wars he’d studied so much.

Real footage. False history.

“Count Dooku of Serenno led the Separatist faction away from the faltering Republic,” the docent continued. “Although he acted out of craven ambition, with disregard for the billions of lives that would be lost. Dooku was correct about one thing. The Republic had indeed become rotten at its core, no longer governed by law, order, and discipline. Had the Senate chosen a different chancellor after the deposition of the weak, ineffectual Valorum, galactic order itself might have fallen apart. But the times we live through create the heroes we need.”

The inaugural portrait of Palpatine filled the screen until it seemed as if the Emperor himself was smiling down at them with kindly eyes. Leia wondered how much digital manipulation had been necessary to create that illusion of kindness. Or maybe he was only acting. Either way, she couldn’t see the point of projecting a benevolent image while doing everything necessary to prove himself a cruel man and a warmonger.

Palpatine started the past war. Was her father starting the next one?

As the docent led them into the display about Palpatine’s childhood (titled “From Humble Beginnings,” like Naboo was poverty-stricken), Leia trailed behind. Kier murmured, “Are you all right? You’ve been quiet all day.”

“I guess. It’s all just so—” She made a hand gesture instead of outright saying the word fake.

Kier considered that carefully. “When I go looking for deeper background information, it’s…hard to find primary sources.”

“You should talk to my dad sometime. He could tell you stories you wouldn’t believe. Like the time bounty hunters took him and several other senators hostage in the heart of the Senate itself.” It was safe to mention that incident publicly. Most of the stories Bail Organa had to tell about the Clone Wars were far more politically sensitive.

“Would he tell me about it? Really?” Kier had the fascinated gleam in his eye that most guys his age only had for new speeders.

Leia managed a smile. “Yeah. My parents adore you, by the way.”

“Hope they’re not the only ones.”

She nudged his side, he nudged back, and they took each other’s hands. A few steps away she saw Chassellon pretending to vomit; the joke was probably meant to be more friendly than not, but Leia had no patience for it. In truth she found it hard to concentrate even on Kier’s presence, or the museum of lies around them.

Her mind kept going back to the fleet around Paucris Major, preparing for a conflict with the potential to make the Clone Wars look like a dinner party.

“Another dinner party?” Leia said in dismay as she stood in the great hall of the palace, watching the servitor droids whir about in a bustle of activity.

“Yes, our queen is holding yet another banquet.” 2V practically gleamed with satisfaction as she rolled alongside her royal charge, weaving through droids carrying wineglasses and bundles of flowers. “I must say, it’s so good to see a return to proper courtly standards of hospitality and conviviality. Now, spit-spot, off to your room. We’ve got to make you presentable, and the Maker knows we hardly have the time!” There was nothing for Leia to do but follow.

She’d decided to come clean with her parents about snooping around the Paucris system as soon as she returned to Alderaan. Probably their explanation would be terrifying in its own right—as would the inevitable lecture she’d receive—but she’d decided she could endure any concrete truth better than the suspense of not knowing.

Instead, she’d have to bear at least one more day of it, plus the knowledge that her parents were hard at work planning this right here in the palace, around a dinner table with their co-conspirators.

Listen to me—“co-conspirators,” Leia thought as she absently shimmied into the pale yellow gown 2V had laid out for her. Her brain had already run ahead to one potential future, where this had all gone horribly wrong, where her parents were jailed or executed for treason, and where she was either left utterly alone or made to die by their side. It was as though she could hear the judicial officer speaking the charges already.

“Shall I put on the cuffs?” 2V said.

Leia stared at her until she realized the droid was talking about the broad silver cuff bracelets set out atop a cabinet. With a sigh, she held out her hands.

By the time she emerged onto the terrace, the guests had already assembled. This appeared to be a smaller banquet than most; no doubt the people gathered around formed the core of the anti-Palpatine movement. Bail Organa was deep in discussion with Winmey Lenz, while Breha spoke with Senator Pamlo. In the distance, Aldera sparkled on the twilight horizon. It was Mon Mothma who first welcomed Leia, walking closer with a smile on her face. “Princess. How very good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you too,” Leia said, but it wasn’t. How was she supposed to get through the usual small talk with what she’d seen at Paucris weighing so heavily on her? Then it hit her—she could just ask Mon Mothma herself. Nobody else at this gathering would tell Leia the truth, maybe not even her parents, but Mon Mothma probably would. Leia began, “My class took a trip to Chandrila recently—”

“I heard you fell prey to the mud flats.” Mon Mothma put one hand on Leia’s arm, a brief touch of apology. “If you come back sometime and let me know, I can make sure you spend your time somewhere more agreeable.”

As in, anywhere else ever. But Leia didn’t get sidetracked. “On the way back, I took a short side—”

She broke off as the doors to the terrace swung open wide, revealing the palace majordomo, Tarrik, who looked on edge and discombobulated. Leia understood why the moment she recognized the figure behind him.

“Your Majesty, Viceroy,” Tarrik announced in his booming voice, his eyes darting from side to side. “Presenting Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin.”

Silence instantly fell. Everyone went utterly still, except for Tarkin, who strolled onto the terrace as though it were his own. He wore full military uniform and a thin-lipped smile. “Your Majesty,” he said, half-bowing to Breha, his behavior as polished and polite as though he had actually been invited. “Forgive my intrusion.”

“Governor Tarkin.” Breha responded so easily, smiled so gently, that any outsider would’ve thought nothing was wrong. “To what do we owe this unexpected pleasure?”

“I was traveling in my personal vessel, the Carrion Spike, when it suffered a systems malfunction.” Tarkin sighed. “Nothing too major, I hope, but we needed to put in for repair, and Alderaan was the closest world. Naturally I knew I must pay my respects to the queen and her viceroy as soon as possible.”

“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 stalked 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.