“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.
Pamarthe had a reputation as a fierce, dangerous world, but so far as Leia could tell, that had more to do with the people than the terrain. The island chains could be difficult to travel between on water, and even on land for those who were afraid of heights. But Leia wasn’t, and fortunately, neither was her teammate—someone who was very comfortable floating around in midair, in more than one sense.
“The stars are so clear here,” Amilyn said as they crossed one of the long rope bridges that connected the islands of Pamarthe. “No light pollution! Hardly any clouds!”