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.