“I’d bet anything you’re a Genry on Coruscant, which means on Shili you’d be an Ai. And on both of those worlds, that formation of blue dwarfs nearby? It gives the people born under that sign wisdom, charisma, and”—Amilyn ducked her head flirtatiously—“exceptional virility.”
A short laugh from the junior office turned into a cough just in time to ward off the worst of the captain’s glare. When the captain turned back to the viewer, he irritably waved her off. “You’re cleared to go.”
“You don’t want to chat?” Amilyn kept the innocent look on her face until the viewscreen went dark.
Leia’s throat hurt so much from crying she could barely get the words out. “The astrology,” she said hoarsely. “That’s how you knew which star system to pick to cover our tracks. Astrology.”
“Everything is written in the stars.” Amilyn took Leia’s hand, a simple gesture of comfort—but one that sealed them together as friends for a lifetime. She didn’t let go until she said, “Let’s take you both home.”
When Leia was very tiny, her parents had sometimes brought her up into their enormous bed, allowing her to snuggle between them as she fell asleep. Upon receiving her own “big girl bed” at age four, she had declared herself too old to sleep with her parents, a rule she’d held to resolutely, except of course when she was sick or that time she watched a scary holo about undead gundarks. Her memories of those evenings with her parents had become misty and indistinct over time, as much something she knew had happened as something she remembered happening—until the night after Kier’s death, when she crawled back into that bed, curled into a fetal position, and felt as if she’d never move again.
“Do you think you could eat something?” Breha sat beside her, rubbing her daughter’s back. “Or at least drink some water or tea?”
Leia wanted to shut down, to give into the treacherous misery weighing down her limbs, but she didn’t have the right to do that. She had to keep going. Food felt impossible—nausea still gripped her—but she whispered, “Maybe tea.” From the corner of her eye she glimpsed her mother’s hurried gesture to a servitor droid, which trundled off to the kitchens.
A soft thump and a few apologetic beeps testified to a collision in the hallway, and only an instant later, Bail re-entered the bedroom. Her father’s haggard face would’ve shocked Leia if she hadn’t been sure she looked much the same. “I spoke to the Domadis.” His breath caught in his throat before he shook his head and began pulling off his long coat. “To put two people through such pain—”
Quietly Breha said, “Bail. Please.” One of her hands covered Leia’s shoulder.
Her father caught himself. “I told them there was a small-craft accident in the upper atmosphere, and that he sacrificed himself for Leia. The droids had worked out a more detailed scenario we could use if they’d asked more questions, but…they didn’t need it. Didn’t want it.” After a moment he added, more hoarsely, “I told them that we are forever in their debt, and that Kier Domadi would be recognized as a hero not only by our family, but by all of Alderaan.”
Would their dead son’s heroism comfort the Domadis? Leia couldn’t imagine anything making this hurt less, for them or for anyone. And no matter how bravely Kier had rushed to help her, she couldn’t forget what would’ve happened if he’d lived. “He would’ve reported the rebellion.” She’d told her parents that much in her first moments back on Alderaan, but she’d been too upset to reveal more than the bare facts. Neither of them had brought up the subject since. “He wanted to cover for our family if he could—he didn’t understand how impossible that was—but still. He would’ve done it.”
Bail sat on the edge of the bed, clearly weighing his answer. Breha brushed her fingers through the loose strands of Leia’s hair that had fallen from her messy braids, the way she had sometimes soothed her daughter when she was a child. Leia sat there, her body too heavy with grief to rise, staring up at the centuries-old mural painted on the ceiling, where old-fashioned spaceships soared toward the sun. Finally Bail said, “Kier did what he thought was right despite incredible risk. Under Palpatine’s rule, very few people have the courage to live that way, but he did. He acted selflessly, out of love. We may make mistakes when we let our hearts guide us—terrible mistakes—but I think we are never wholly wrong.”
Leia didn’t know if she agreed. She was weary in heart and mind, too tired to question herself, too tired to hold up her heavy head. Laying herself back down on the broad bed, she wondered when she’d be ready to get up.
But she would. When Leia rose from this, she intended to assume her rightful place alongside her parents as they struggled to free the galaxy. She’d lie here until she regained her strength, and then, she swore, she’d be ready to fight.
Kier’s memorial service on Alderaan was simple, short, and heartfelt. He’d been given full honors scarcely short of what a war hero would’ve received, and his parents had unexpectedly accepted their queen’s offer of a place in the royal cemetery.
“It overlooks the palace,” Mrs. Domadi had said. She had her son’s dark eyes and sharp chin. “And the river that flows to Aldera. Kier loved this world. He’d want to rest at its heart.”
“He—he wanted to study history, you know. This way he’s with his heroes forever.” Mr. Domadi’s voice sounded so like Kier’s that Leia had to struggle not to cry just hearing it. He smiled directly at her as he said, “I think he’d want to be near the palace for other reasons, too.”
His words wrenched her heart—but Leia had gotten through it, with her parents by her side. She’d had days to recuperate in the palace, and endless droids and staffers eager to help in any way they could. Before Kier’s burial, she had taken a lock of his dark hair and had found comfort in putting it inside her keepsake chest. She’d thought she was beginning to heal.
Then she returned to Coruscant. Walked into the Organa family apartments half-expecting to see him sitting on the low couch where they’d hung out together. Traveling along pathways they’d taken to and from the senatorial complex. Sitting in the Alderaan pod of the Apprentice Legislature alone. Her friends all tried to help her in their way, but being around them only reminded her more sharply of Kier’s absence. The one person Leia could bear to spend time with was Amilyn, who took her skyfaring nearly every day; the struggle to stay aloft in the scarves pushed everything else from her mind and allowed her to exist only in her body, in the now.
On her fourth day back, she went to her father’s offices to go over some proposals, only to discover his last meeting was running long. She took a seat at his desk, dreading the expanse of time ahead of her. Even if it lasted only minutes, those were minutes grief could strike.
Then the HoloNet signal blinked. Leia, used to taking messages for her father, answered—only to see the stark, pale image of Grand Moff Tarkin appear, hovering above the floor like a ghost.