Her father took her back to the apartment with a warning glance and a curt admonishment. The first thing Leia did upon arriving was punch the window.
Pain burst in her knuckles like crimson stars. It sharpened her senses, gave focus and direction to the sandstorm in her chest.
She punched the window again.
The thud it gave was incredibly satisfying. There was no crackle of broken glass—these windows were designed to keep back assassins; her punch would do nothing—but there was the crackle in her knuckles. Despite herself she whimpered, glancing down to see hot blood smeared across the window, leaking from her hand.
She pulled her hand back and let the blood drip onto the floor. The cleaning droids would no doubt have her head for that—it wasn't like it was the first time she and Luke had given them cause to get blood out of the carpet—but right now, she didn't care. The pain as she flexed her hand was a welcome one.
She eyed the window again.
"Don't," her father said. She turned her head to see him standing next to the table and the sofa, arms crossed across his chest, impassive. "You will only cause injury to yourself."
"Yeah, well, I've already been electrocuted today," she bit out, "so what's one broken hand on top of that?" She raised her arm—
And found she couldn't move it. It was frozen up there, immobile.
After a moment it snapped down to her side just as inexorably.
"Don't," Vader repeated, releasing his Force grip on her arm. "Abusing the window will not change what happened."
"I don't even know what did happen," she snapped.
"Nor do I. But I'm sure Palpatine will get to the bottom of it during their discussion."
"I can't believe you left Luke with him," Leia seethed. Vader had had to drag her kicking and screaming out of that throne room, even after the Inquisitors, guards and Rebels had been ordered out and Palpatine had insisted he just wanted to talk to him. "He just tortured us, embarrassed us in front of the Inquisitors—"
"The opinions of the Inquisitorius are nothing."
"—and you really believe he won't harm Luke?" She sneered. "Maybe he'll even stick a transmitter in him, make sure nothing like this ever happens again."
Vader had gone very, very quiet.
Leia couldn't bring herself to regret the words.
Her father tried, "Luke will be fine. He has never disappointed the Emperor before, and I'm sure whatever weakness caused this will soon be purged. He is too valuable to be alienated." There was something bitter in the words.
"So he tortures him?" Leia's thoughts always came back to that. Her brother had had a single moment of weakness—one—and she'd stepped in to keep him from caving and shattering in front of the entire throne room.
And Palpatine had electrocuted them both for it.
Was it a moment of weakness himself—had his anger consumed him? Had he lost control?
It wasn't unlikely. Anger characterised the Sith: it was in her father's every move, embedded in his very psyche; it flickered in the Emperor's yellow eyes and crouched behind his half-snarl half-smiles.
But Palpatine was always ruthlessly in control of it.
He had been angry at her before. He hadn't hurt her before.
She clenched her fists, feeling pain shooting up her right hand.
What had Luke done?
Why had he done it?
What was going on?
"Luke failed," Vader said, though the words seemed reluctant. "Those who fail him are punished with pain."
You have never failed him before now, was implicit in the words.
Leia scoffed. "Are you?"
A moment of silence.
Leia's eyes blew wide. "Oh, Father—"
Vader held a hand up. "It is of no import," he said. "The events of today have only solidified my resolve. You and Luke are only seventeen; you have not given him much cause to punish you yet, but you will in the future. Even if you have done no wrong—which can be debated about regarding today's events," he added when he saw her mouth open, "you will bear the brunt of his wrath. I will not allow this. Palpatine has to go."
He was watching her carefully. "Will you support me in this?"
She cradled her injured hand to her chest and looked out the window, over the bright night of Coruscant to where the Imperial Palace stood, the brightest of them all.
She probed her bond with her brother, but found it closed off for now. Whatever was going on over there between Luke and Palpatine, neither of them wanted her to know what it was.
She pinched her lips together and sighed. "I need to talk to Luke."
Luke's muscles had still been shaking from the pain, his body curled in a foetal position on the floor, when everyone else filed out. He was hyperaware of all the mocking glances sent his way by the Inquisitors and he burned with it—though whether the heat came from shame, anger or somewhere in between, he didn't know.
He'd been barely aware of Palpatine ordering Leia and his father to leave as well, of Leia refusing to go, standing stoically between him and Palpatine until she'd been dragged away shouting. He couldn't tell much more than flickering shadows through his eyes, but through the Force her protectiveness was stark and clear; it made him feel better, almost.
But then she was gone, and so were the guards, and he was left alone with the Emperor.
He'd uncurled from the floor, enough to stare warily at the man—eyed the offered hand, expecting a trick or a rejection but also a punishment if he didn't comply. Accepting his offer of assistance felt like a mockery of his childhood, where he was a grandfatherly figure always ready to help him up.
Now, Luke couldn't be sure he wouldn't help him up just to push him back down again.
But no such blow came. Instead, Palpatine—much stronger than his frail appearance suggested—had helped him to the steps up to the dais and let him collapse onto them, limbs trembling with the effort.
Palpatine seated himself beside him—and wasn't that a horrifyingly comical image, the Emperor sitting on the floor with black robes pooling around him?—and waited.
Luke hadn't known what they were waiting for, but he'd complied. They were still sitting in silence now, his breathing slowly starting to even out, his head starting to clear. The tremors faded from his body.
It was only when his headache had almost entirely receded that Palpatine asked, "How are you feeling, my boy?"
Luke glanced up at him, but the expression seemed sincere. Non-threatening.
Just like it had earlier. . .
"Good," he choked out. "I mean, better. Than before."
Palpatine smiled. It looked forcibly pleased—in fact, Luke didn't think he'd ever seen him smile warmly, without some sort of glee, pride or even sadism to it. The warmth didn't suit him. "I'm glad."
They lapsed into silence again.
Luke carefully tried to push himself up on his elbows, only to hiss when pain lanced down his spine. Palpatine instantly put a hand on his arm to gently push him back again. "No, no—don't get up. After we're done here I'll summon a medic and we'll have you checked up."
Luke wanted to ask what they were even doing here, but he bit his tongue.
Palpatine noticed.
"Come, my boy, has that cowed you so badly? Speak your mind—you and your sister always have the most insightful thoughts."
It was something he said often. At least, the tone of compliment was familiar, the respect for them. Or, perhaps, respect for their abilities.
A powerful servant is still a servant, his father had said.
His mind was wandering, his eyes glazed. Palpatine brought his attention back to him with a tap and a sharp, "Luke?"
He jerked his head up. "Yes, Master?"
Palpatine studied him for a moment more, then he laid a wrinkled hand on his knee. It was an affectionate gesture. "Luke," he asked, voice just as gentle, "what happened just now?"
A breath.
"I. . ."
Luke couldn't answer.
How could he? He didn't even know himself.
And of the parts he did know. . . he couldn't sell out his father.
So he told at least a half-truth as he bowed his head and said, "I don't know, sir."
"Because I do," Palpatine said. Luke's gaze snapped to his, panic rushing through his chest. How could he know— "You were disobedient."
There was disdain in the word, but also something else. . .
Through the Force, Palpatine was amused.
Amused.
At him?
Resentment flashed through him, startling in its intensity. The all-encompassing loathing he'd felt before, writhing on the ground in agony, began to fester in his gut.
"I gave you an order, and you refused to follow it through. You were disobedient." He shook his head. "I am. . . disappointed."
Despite the hatred, Luke couldn't help the stab of shame at those words.
"You and your sister— I forget, sometimes," Palpatine said, sighing, "that you are not infallible. No one can be. The Inquisitors are certainly not, which is why I see them punished so much more often than you. They are lesser, less powerful, with less potential to rule. Your father, also—he is a good instrument, but a blunt one."
Luke bristled. He opened his mouth to object—
Palpatine chuckled. "Your loyalty to your father is commendable. I know you idolise him—as well you should. He is a great man." He patted Luke's knee. "But you, my child, have the potential to become an even greater man."
Luke shook his head, more in denial than disagreement. He didn't understand that.
"Oh, it's true, I assure you. You know that once I am gone, your sister will become Empress. When she does, you will have to be as invaluable to her as your father is to me. You will be her closest confidant, her most trusted hand."
She won't stick a transmitter in me, Luke thought.
Palpatine's face hardened, though Luke doubted he'd heard the thought. He wasn't as skilled at mind-reading as he wanted them to believe. "There will be no room for failure. You would do anything for your sister, wouldn't you?"
"I'd give her the moon."
Palpatine's expression softened once more. "Then you cannot fail, or you will only hurt her by the consequences of your actions. And imagine if you gave her reason to punish you." Palpatine winced. "It would destroy her if she had to do it."
But she would do it, he left unspoken.
She wouldn't.
Luke knew Leia better than anyone—better than he knew himself. Leia wouldn't.
But Palpatine could never understand that.
So he just nodded along, revelling in this one tiny victory he had over him.
"You are a fantastic warrior, Luke, and very strong with the Force. But one thing you lack is discipline. When your master—whether that be me, or Leia—tells you to do something, you must do it."
Palpatine shook his head. "The fault is all mine, I suppose. I should have taught you better. But I am teaching you now.
"Your father requested you and your sister be transferred to work on his flagship. I see now that I cannot grant that request. Instead, I am assigning you to work in the Imperial Archives, to teach you some much-needed patience and humbleness."
Luke shot upright, ignoring the way his back twinged in protest. "Master—!"
"No, Luke. This will teach you what you need to know. It will make you better."
Luke just stared at him.
The Archives were stored in the very base of the Palace, presided over by snappish officials who loathed anyone from the outside world. At least one copy of every piece of paperwork on Coruscant from the last twenty years was stored down there, and working in the Archives meant you had to organise it all.
It sounded horrible.
"You need to learn your place, my child," Palpatine soothed, anticipating his outburst. "You have all the power you need to take your father's place, but you need to learn how to serve."
A powerful servant is still a servant.
Luke bowed his head. He couldn't keep the bitterness out of his voice as he said, "Yes, Master."
"Good." Palpatine smiled at him. "Now, I'll summon a medic and then you should go home.
"I'm sure your father and sister are very worried about you."
Palpatine watched the boy leave the room with a deep sense of vindication.
He'd sensed the rebelliousness, the resentfulness, the hatred in him—how could he not? But despite his father's burgeoning plans to overthrow him, Luke still didn't have the spine to be a credible threat to Palpatine.
He remained, as he always had been, an incredible asset.
It would be amusing if he let this little Skywalker rebellion run its course, he mused. He hadn't had a real challenge to his power in seventeen years, and all three of them would certainly be a worthy adversary. But he'd cancelled Operation Cinder in favour of handing his Empire to the twins when he passed—the idea of them idolising him, teaching the future to idolise him, until he went down in history with a dynasty that spanned generations, was far too tempting.
He had their hearts—just as he'd had their father's from the moment he met him, aged nine. If he played this game well enough, he could teach Leia exactly what this would teach Luke: that they may wield as much power as they wanted, rule over as many worlds as they so wished, so long as they were subservient to him.
He was the master. He always had been.
His word was law. His word was justice, despite what the insolent girl had muttered to herself. His will was the only will that mattered.
He would teach this lesson to them, and they would teach it to the rest of the galaxy.
And if he underestimated the depth of their hatred for their torturer? If he underestimated the strength of their bonds with one another?
Well, that would just make the game that much more interesting.
Leia had wrapped her hand in a bacta patch and paced until Luke returned.
He dropped the shielding that kept out her worried attempts to reach him once he brought the speeder to a stop outside the door. The moment she felt his presence, heard his footsteps, she ran at him and hugged him.
He hugged her back. He was trembling slightly.
She reached for his hand, alarmed. "Are you—"
"It's fine," Luke assured her. "The medics said it'll wear off in time. They also said that you should go to them for a check up in the morning, seeing as he attacked you too."
"For a few seconds." Her tone was oddly defensive, her arm coming up to rub her bicep self-consciously. "You were on the floor forever."
"It was a few minutes."
"A few minutes too long!" she snapped, moving them to sit on the sofa. "And he'll do it again. Father says it's what he does to the people who fail him, even if we're better than the Inquisitors—"
"Maybe we're not."
She jerked back. "What did you say?"
Luke shrugged, then winced at the gesture. "Maybe we're not better than the Inquisitors. We're treated the same, aren't we? I thought we weren't," he added, reading her objections before she voiced them, "but why?"
"We're better at our jobs than they are. We fail less than them."
"And father fails less than us," he bit back, "but that doesn't mean he's better. At least not according to Palpatine, who was just saying how he thinks I'm going to be a greater man than he is." Disgust swamped her—she wasn't sure whether it was Luke's or her own.
Of course Luke would be a greater man than their father. For Luke, who idolised the man, it might be harder to swallow, but it was clear as day to anyone else—even Vader. He saw in Luke everything he could have been, and wasn't.
But she knew that wasn't what Palpatine had been referring to.
She was familiar with the rule of two—master and apprentice—even if they didn't practice it.
It was a rule of strength—and the moment someone was stronger than either of them, then that someone replaced them.
Luke did not want to replace their father. He loved their father.
And nor did he want to serve directly under Palpatine.
"He punishes Father, you know?" she said into the silence. "I was arguing with him earlier, and it came out. Whenever Father displeases him in the slightest, he electrocutes him as much as he can without short-circuiting his suit. Father never objected to it."
She said the words with the half-sneer, half-frown that they both knew so well. Their father's more. . . careless. . . tendencies had never ceased to worry them.
She felt fresh anger flash through Luke. He sat, closed his eyes, hands clenching into fists on his knees.
Torturing him was one thing.
Torturing Leia for a handful of moments in a fit of rage was crossing a line.
But consistently torturing their father for some tiny reason, then keeping it a secret from them? Causing his idol so much unnecessary pain, when they all knew he already suffered enough?
That was just—
"You've made a decision," Luke said quietly, "haven't you?"
She smiled. He knew her so well. "I've decided to support Father in his coup," she said. She knew there were no holocams in this room, which was a blessing—the words rang like a death knell. "I wanted to run it by you before telling him."
"You know that whatever he and you do, I'll support you," Luke said.
Leia smiled some more. "And you're angry at him."
"And I'm angry at him," he conceded, an answering smile beginning to form on his face. "I don't want him running this Empire, and I don't want him hurting us anymore.
"I'm in."