Journey to Star Wars: The Force Awakens Lost Stars (12 page)

“My culture doesn’t—”

Uncharacteristically, Jude interrupted. “I have a culture, too.
We value generosity and the graceful acceptance of gifts.”

Ciena searched for the words to object, but—if it was part of Jude’s
culture
. “Well…”

Jude looked hopeful.

“I don’t need to own a dress, but—maybe you could help me rent one?”

So she found herself arriving at the grand ball in the only formal dress she’d ever worn. Surely vanity fueled the happiness bubbling within her,
but she couldn’t help it. The soft
violet-blue fabric sparkled subtly, and both the short cape and the long skirt flowed around her as if in an unseen breeze.

Many of the women in attendance—and not a few of the men—wore finery much grander, such as thickly jeweled bracelets or headbands, or outfits made of embroidered silk and velvet. Yet
Ciena knew she looked as elegant as anyone else
there. Instead of resorting to tight braids as usual, she’d freed her curls, softening them slightly with light fragrant oil. Kendy had loaned
her iridescent combs made of shells from Iloh, to hold her hair back at the temples, and simple pearl earrings. Ciena looked right for the occasion, and yet she also felt like herself—not
like an impostor, the way she would have in one of the grand, wide-skirted,
elaborate dresses and robes she saw.

“There you are,” Jude said. Ciena turned to greet her—then stared.

Since Jude hadn’t said a word about her own dress, Ciena had assumed her friend’s practicality would govern her choice of gown: something gray or ivory, perhaps, simply tailored,
appropriate for all occasions. Instead, Jude stood there in tight-fitting orange fabric—at least, apart
from a few strategic cutouts that showed her flat belly and willowy back. Her
military-short hair had been gelled into spikes, and her gold earrings dangled all the way down her long neck to brush her shoulders in a way that was, frankly, sexy.

As Ciena gaped, Jude frowned in what looked like genuine confusion. “What is it?”

“I—you look great.”

Jude beamed. “As do you, Ciena.”

They flowed with the elegant crowd into an interior hall, surely one of the grandest public spaces within the entire Imperial Palace. The vast corridor stretched seemingly into infinity, with
massive columns lining either side. Brilliant red banners hung from the ceiling, their hems weighted so they would remain motionless, never fluttering in any slight breeze. Shiny, well-polished
droids rolled
along with trays of drinks and hors d’oeuvres; they swerved easily through the throng. The air itself had been perfumed, though the heavy scent made Ciena cough a little at
first. Brilliant crystalline sculptures stood on pedestals, shifting shape fluidly from abstract forms into perfect Imperial symbols. Lights had been trained on the sculptures so they would sparkle
brightest at the exact
moment of the transformation.

“This is astonishing,” Jude said. “Think of the trouble this must have taken.”

“And the money,” Ciena replied. What had been spent on this evening alone probably could have rebuilt an ore refinery on Jelucan.…

But there she went thinking like a provincial again. Each world had to rebuild itself. Yes, the Empire was there to help and to govern, but in the
end, Jelucan and worlds like it needed to
become strong on their own.

Ciena meant to say as much to Jude, but that was when she caught sight of Ved and Thane.

Ved had taken advantage of the occasion to wear Coruscant fashion—a long cape, silky shirt wide cut at the chest, and so on. Yet Ciena thought it was impossible for anyone to look at Ved
while Thane stood nearby. He wore his
dress uniform, like at least another two hundred men in attendance, yet the rest seemed to…fade, next to him. And even though she’d spent the past
two years watching Thane grow older and taller, only then did she see him as a man.

Her reaction confused her, but not nearly as much as the moment when Thane recognized her and she realized the sight of her had hit him with equal power. The way
his eyes seemed to drink her
in—

“Look,” Jude whispered, pulling Ciena aside at what was either the best or worst possible time. “It’s the junior senator from Alderaan—Leia Organa, the
princess!”

Ciena stood on tiptoe, eager to see someone so famous. She got a single glimpse of the princess, who was wearing a slim white gown, her long hair intricately braided. Then the crowds closed
around Senator Organa again, hiding her from their sight.

“Can you believe it?” Jude said as they joined the procession into the ballroom.

“It makes sense that she’d be here.” Yet Ciena found it intimidating that a girl almost exactly her age could already hold a place in the Imperial Senate, could be so poised,
sophisticated,
important
.

“I meant it’s surprising that she came to
any official function, given her speech in the Senate yesterday.”

Ciena remembered then: Princess Leia had announced, on her father’s behalf, impending “mercy missions” to planets the Organas claimed to be negatively affected by Imperial
policies. “That was ridiculous,” she muttered. “Pure grandstanding. Missions like that can’t be necessary; the Empire would help the people on its own.
That’s what the
Empire is for!”

Jude nodded in agreement but said, “We should be generous. Even if the Organas are misguided, they’re probably acting out of a spirit of kindness.”

Maybe so, but Ciena couldn’t resist shaking her head at the arrogance of anyone who thought she knew better than the
whole Empire
.

Dancing with partners was one of those habits Ciena had thought of as second-waver
decadence before she came to Coruscant. Oh, they danced in the valleys, but dances were for the entire group as
part of certain key rituals. Yet Core Worlds Culture had taught her to think of the practice as civilized—even between couples, for no purpose other than pleasure. She was grateful for that
now, even more grateful that the class had also taught her the steps of the most commonly
performed formal dances. The glittering assembly in that huge, ornately tiled and mirrored hall did not
intimidate her; she walked confidently across the floor to her position and awaited whichever partner the computers would assign to her first.

Of course, it would
have
to be Thane.

He stood in front of her, amid the shifting and settling couples all around, not quite meeting her eyes.
“I guess they wanted the cadets to begin together,” he said shortly.

“Guess so.” Ciena turned her head, trying to look anywhere else—but what she glimpsed made her smile. “Believe it or not, we’re the lucky ones.”

Next to them, Ved scowled up at Jude, who stood more than a head taller than him. Jude attempted to look dignified, but Ciena knew her well enough to tell that she was stifling
a laugh.

Thane must have seen what she’d seen, because she heard him laugh slightly. “You have a point.”

Then the orchestra played the opening measures—
a calenada,
Ciena thought, recognizing the dance. She knew the correct position to begin and even held her hands up, but that
didn’t prepare her for the moment when Thane’s broad hand curved around her waist.

Their eyes met, and the
dance began.

The thousand people in the hall all knew the correct steps; they moved in unison, brilliant spinning colors, ever changing but always in set patterns, like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope.
Nobody set one toe out of place. Ciena imagined them as jewels gleaming in their settings, clasped tightly in metal that was all but invisible behind the shine.

Thane said, “I thought
you considered dancing—what was it—licentious? Risqué? A prelude to sin?”

She had once, before Core Worlds Culture had taught her to be less small-minded. Now it only annoyed Ciena that he would remind her of her provincial ways. “In your dreams.”

That made him laugh—but from contempt or surprise? “You seem sure of yourself.”

“I am.”

It had been banter, not quite an argument. But
something shifted in that moment. Ciena had not realized until she spoke that she was in effect declaring her own beauty and attractiveness. That
gave Thane an opening to be not merely irritating but cruel.

Instead he said, quietly, “You should be.”

Their eyes met again, and Ciena became newly, vividly aware of the warmth of Thane’s hand clasping hers, the feel of his fingers braced
against her back. They hadn’t been this close
to each other in a very long time. Every move in the calenada required him to lead, her to follow, which added another layer to the intimacy of the moment. The gaudy swirl of the dancers around
them faded until it felt as if the two of them were alone.

Ciena parted her lips to speak, though she still didn’t know what to say—but then, with a
flourish, the song ended. She and Thane stopped on the beat, but they remained standing
there, hands clasped, for a few moments after everyone else had begun to applaud. Then it was time to switch partners, and Thane stepped away without another word.

For the next hour, Ciena continued to play her role in the dance, to laugh and smile along with the rest of the crowd, but she couldn’t have
repeated anything anyone said to her. She
couldn’t have said which dances she performed, to which songs, or who her partners were. Her thoughts raced as she went over and over the rift between her and Thane, trying to somehow make
sense of it.

Finally, during a break in the dancing, Ciena hurried toward a server droid. She reached past the many glasses of wine to grab a tumbler of cool
water. As she gulped it down, she heard,
“There you are.”

Ciena didn’t turn to face Thane. She could tell he stood very close. “Here I am.”

“Listen, we should’ve talked about this a long time ago, and maybe this isn’t the time or place—”

She wheeled around then. “Are you going to apologize?”

“Apologize?” Thane’s eyes could burn gas-flame blue. “For what? Standing up for myself?”

“For shutting me out!”

“You’re the one who—”

Then someone stumbled between them: Ved Foslo, already sloppy drunk. He laughed out loud. “You guys are so stupid.”

“Excuse me?” Ciena wrinkled her nose as she stepped back. Ved stank of Corellian brandy, which wasn’t even being served at this party; he must have hidden a flask within the
pocket of his cape.

“Stupid. You. Thane.
Both of you. So stupid.” Ved shook his finger at them, as if they were wayward children. “You keep arguing about that laser cannon thing. Who cares about
the laser cannon thing? And you both got it upside down anyway.”

At first the words didn’t make sense. Then realization flooded over Ciena in an almost dizzying rush of shock and anger. “It was you?”

That only widened Ved’s grin. “No!
Me? Why would it be me? You still don’t get it, do you? Bumpkins from a rock on the edge of the galaxy—of course you don’t know
how the academy and the Imperial fleet
really
work—”

Thane put one broad hand against Ved’s chest. Although it could look like a sober man helping his drunk friend to remain upright, Ciena sensed the veiled threat. Judging by the way
Ved’s smile faded, he got
it, too. In a low voice, Thane said, “Why don’t you explain it to us?”

Ved took a couple of steps back, out of Thane’s reach, before he replied. “We attend the academy to become citizens of the Empire. The instructors don’t like it when cadets
from the same homeworld stay close to each other—it strengthens your ties to your own world. It weakens your commitment to the Empire.”

“No, it
doesn’t!” Ciena protested, but he wasn’t going to listen.

“They set you up.” Ved laughed again. “They set you up so you’d hate each other, and you swallowed the bait.”

Thane’s eyes narrowed. “When we both were marked down on that assignment—you moved up to number one. At least, until Jude Edivon overtook you two weeks later.”

“You still think I did it? No way. I can’t hack like that.
Even Jude can’t. Only the instructors have that kind of power. And if I were going to frame somebody for anything,
the last people I’d go after would be the Office of Student Outcomes. My father told me all about them.” Ved’s smile was both sloppy and smug. “The fact that they were able
to boost the rank of a general’s son? I’m sure that was an extra incentive. But they did it mostly to make
sure the two of you would stop clinging to each other. And you Jelucani idiots
reacted exactly the way they thought you would—except you made it worse. They probably only meant for you two to bicker about it. Not get all—” Ved’s hand made a wavy motion
in the air. “You didn’t just get angry. You practically started
hating
each other. So I guess that makes you two the perfect academy cadets.
Again.”

He seemed to lose interest then, lurching off toward the server droid to grab his next drink. Ciena felt as if all the shame Ved should have felt saying such things had settled on her
instead.

But she deserved to feel ashamed. She had lashed out at Thane for thinking the academy was responsible—and he’d been right all along. The academy’s motives had differed, but,
still, he’d
understood the basics. And she had let that drive her away from the last person she ever should’ve let go.

Thane didn’t know where to begin. “Ciena—”

She shook her head, though he didn’t know what she was saying no to: Ved’s story, the academy’s guilt, Thane being the first to speak, anything. He put one hand on her
shoulder, but she winced as if his touch hurt. What could he say or
do?

So then of course the damned orchestra started tuning up again, and Ciena swiftly walked away to her next place in the dance. She never once looked back at Thane.

He had little choice but to join in, but throughout the rest of the ball, Thane could think of nothing else. Sometimes he wanted to go back to the academy, go through every single corridor on
every single floor until he
found that Office of Student Outcomes, then look whoever worked there in the eyes and punch them in their faces, hard. Other times he felt more like locating a time
machine so he could go back and tell his younger self not to be such a total idiot. He even considered what such a ploy on the academy’s part said about the Empire and the way it treated its
officers.