“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.”